The lady to whom Dean was referring turned out to be his car. "This is my Baby, 1967 Chevy Impala, an American classic." Dean preened over to the car, placing his hand on the roof above the passenger side door. Castiel took in the polished chrome accents, a sharp contrast to the glossy black body of the machine. He gave Dean a quiet smile as he slid into the passenger seat. His eyes moved around the interior. It had smooth soft black leather seats and classic chrome accent controls against the creamy white dashboard. On the floor between the front seats was a shoebox of cassette tapes, a quick scan of which indicated that Dean was a fan of classic rock. As Dean plopped down into the driver seat, his hands caressing over the steering wheel, Castiel looked between the car and its owner. He immediately felt a sense of rightness, this man and his car seemed a perfect fit.

Castiel's artist mind began to wonder if Dean wasn't something like his prized possession. The car, with its strong metallic dark exterior and its loud, gruff rumble of a voice, but soft, comforting and classic on the interior. He smiled to himself at his own silly reverie, don't start waxing poetic, Castiel, he thought.

"Dean, this car is beautiful." He breathed with true sincerity.

Dean positively beamed. "She was my old man's. I completely rebuilt her after she was totaled."

Castiel could see the pride in Dean's face at this, but there was something else, something dark that flashed across his visage as well. But Dean quickly shook out of it and grinned as he started the engine and the sweet sounds of Robert Plant's voice bathed over them as he sang that he had to keep searchin' for his baby to find his bluebird. Until then, he'll keep Ramblin' On.

Castiel had never been to the Roadhouse, although it was only a few miles from his home. Never one for bars, he didn't really have a whole lot to compare this one to. But as he looked around the place he decided that this place had something like a spirit of its own. He could see why Dean liked it here. When they walked in, Dean was immediately greeted by a young blonde, who gave him a playful punch in the arm, "Pay up, Winchester! You know I beat you fair and square before you snuck out of here the other day."

Dean put his hands up in a gesture of surrender as his eyebrows went up in feigned innocence. "Aww, Jo, that hurts. You think I would renege on a bet? I, uh, had a uh, family emergency. Sam needed me for, uh, something. Couldn't ignore a moose call, could I?" He smiled at his own joke, pulled a couple of $20s out of his wallet and slapped them into her outstretched hand. "Here, take it, you shark. And don't ever ask me to play Buck Hunter with you again. Unless you want to team up and challenge Sam and Ash, I am sure we could make a killing," he whispered to her with a conspiratorial grin. She grinned back nodded then caught site of Castiel.

"Who's your friend?" Jo sidled up to Castiel and put her hand in the middle of his chest. "You look like much too nice a person to be hanging out with this low life." She jerked a thumb in Dean's direction and as he feigned to be grossly offended.

"His name is Castiel. Castiel, this is Jo, the little sister I never wanted."

Jo turned her head back to Dean, lifted one eyebrow and pursed her lips, "Bite me, Dean," she quipped with a laugh before turning back to Castiel.

Jo stood on her toes and leaned towards Castiel's ear. "Truth is Dean's awesome, but don't ever let him know I said that. OK, now look over at him and look surprised and smile like I said something really embarrassing. It will drive him crazy all night wondering what I told you." Castiel did as Jo said and was rewarded with a confused scowl from Dean that was really kind of adorable. "So, two seats at the bar?"

"Naw, we'll grab a table. Don't want to be harassed by Flo here."

"You can kiss my grits, Winchester." Jo said with her best ridiculous southern accent. And with a wink, she headed back to her other tables.

Castiel liked Jo immediately. They headed over to a table where Dean proceeded to tell him about the Roadhouse. It was owned by a woman named Ellen, whom he introduced to Castiel when she brought a couple of beers over to their table. While she was there, she pulled Dean into a warm, motherly hug which Castiel could see Dean savored. She asked how he was, adjusted a stray hair on his forehead, kissed his temple, and left them to their conversation. Castiel smiled at the kind encounter.

Dean went on to tell him that Ellen was married to Bobby, his business partner and close family friend. Jo wasn't really his sister, but Ellen's daughter. There was also Ash, the eccentric but genius friend who bussed tables and hacked computers for fun. "Aside from Sam, they are the closest thing I have to family," Dean had told him.

He listened to Dean talk about this surrogate family and was able to lose himself in the rhythm the man's speech, the deep rumble of his voice, the animation in his face, the little lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. He found himself absorbed, surrounded by the intoxicating essence of Dean Winchester.

Castiel was pulled out of his trance when Dean took a long draught of his beer, and slammed it down on the table, "OK, out with it."

"I'm sorry?" Castiel managed.

"You've been listening to me ramble on since we got here. Your turn. Spill. What was up with you today when I got to the studio?"

"I was just having a rough day."

"Not buying it. After a rough day you come home after work and put your feet up with a beer. That, well, it was something else."

Castiel hesitated. He had been able for a short time to forget what today was. He didn't know if he really wanted to bare his problems to this man who was for all intents and purposes a stranger, and a student at that. But when he looked at Dean and their eyes locked, there was something there, something that made him feel like this man would just get him.

"It has been exactly three years since I lost my best friend. He was killed in Afghanistan. After that I left the Army. I just lost the motivation to fight in a war where I didn't even understand what I was fighting for. I lost my friend, my career, and my wings." It felt liberating to say it out loud. When Castiel glanced up from his drink to Dean, he saw nothing but recognition there, another broken and tired soldier.

"Man, that really sucks." Dean took another drag of his beer. "Fucking war, huh? I lost half my squad in fucking firefight. Good men, shit, kids. I think the oldest was 23. I got a leg and shoulder full of shrapnel to take home with me. I guess I should be happy I survived, but really, I can't seem to get past the question of why I would live but my men died. I mean, I was in charge of them. It felt like my responsibility to bring them home safe. I guess I let 'em down, like I seem to let down everyone I care about."

Castiel hadn't expected that. He was so busy wallowing in his own sadness it hadn't crossed his mind that this man, who put on such a brilliant mask, may also be hurting inside. He tilted his head to the side narrowed his eyes, and looked directly into Dean's eyes and told him, "Dean, I don't know what happened in your life to make you feel that way, but I have seen you with your brother and watched you interact with the people that know you here this evening. I can tell you that every one of them adores you. I sincerely doubt that you have let everyone down as you say. And as for feeling responsible for the lives lost in war, you have to let that go. You can't save everyone, my friend."

Dean just stared at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression on his face. Castiel wondered what else this man must have been through in his life to make him feel like he had failed so much. Dean's face softened and he whispered a barely audible, "Thanks, Cas."

The nickname surprised Castiel. He had always used his full name, with the exception of an occasional Cassie from Balthazar, which he didn't really like. It felt intimate but somehow right that Dean would call him Cas. He spared a sad smile for his new friend.

"I should be thanking you. When you saw me this afternoon I was a mess. It has been difficult dealing with everything. You saw me at a low point. But this evening has really been helpful. Just telling you about my loss I think it was what I needed."

"So talk to me. You've got your own private Dr. Phil. Wanna tell me about this friend?"

Castiel hesitated. He was not ashamed of his sexuality but he didn't know Dean well enough to know if he was comfortable with having a gay friend. He decided that he could share his story and keep the true nature of his relationship with Balthazar to himself.

"Balthazar and I were stationed together at Fort Benning. He was killed by a roadside bomb when we were in Afghanistan. I watched him die and was helpless to do anything about it. And today is the anniversary of his death. I – I just sometimes miss him. It's been lonely without him." Castiel trailed off, the last words said in almost a whisper.

Dean waited patiently for Castiel to continue. Castiel looked up at him, "He would have loved your Impala. He had a taste for nice things. He had a classic car too, an Austin-Healey. He used to say it made him feel like James Bond." Castiel huffed a small laugh at the memory. "He was born in London and came to America when he was 12, but he still had a love for all things British."

"He does sound cool. At least he had great taste in cars – and friends." Dean said with a smile while lifting up his bottle and tipping it towards Castiel before taking a sip.

"I wrecked his car, though. He left it to me when he died and I was inebriated one night and I think I didn't even care if I lived or died and I wrecked it. It was kind of all I had left of him. I couldn't even get rid of it. It's still locked up in storage, all mangled and broken." Castiel couldn't believe he had just blurted all of this out. He didn't understand what it was about Dean that made him want to tell him his life story. He felt ridiculous for keeping a broken car and for being such a depressing mess.

Dean's expression changed from one of sympathy to someone who just had a brilliant idea. "Cas, you want to fix the car?"

"I have thought about it, but I wouldn't know where to start and I haven't even looked at it since the wreck."

"Well, Dean Winchester to the rescue. I happen to be the proud owner of an auto restoration shop and I would love to get my hands on a classic roadster."

Castiel didn't know what to say. Maybe this would bring him some closure but he was afraid to look at the car again. He didn't know if he wanted to face the memories it would bring up, like re-opening an old wound. After a few contemplative minutes he agreed that he would show Balthazar's car to Dean that weekend to see if it would be salvaged.

Well, I woke up this morning, I got myself a beer
The future's uncertain, and the end is always near
~Roadhouse Blues – The Doors