Determined
"This is a foolish idea" Cas mumbles to himself as he pulls up to the third bar he knows about in town. The only reason for knowing of this one's existence is due to the building's proximity to the library. Cas passes it almost every Thursday, barely giving it a thought before he skims the shelves for his next adventure.
Cas parks along the curb and idles for a moment, wondering for the thousandth time if he is doing the right thing, or if once again, he is sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. Especially since Dean may be willing to break that nose. But this is Dean, he has to try to make things right. He will never sleep again if he doesn't. With that thought, Cas pushes a puffy fingertip against the bags under his eyes, analyzing them and the rest of his bedraggled face in the vanity mirror. A purple bruise covers the left side of his jawbone. Cas peers at it warily, opening his mouth wide and clicking his jaw from side to side. He sinks into another puddle of uncertainty.
With a deep breath and a trembling hand, Cas pulls open his car door, stepping out and making his way into the bar. The sour smell of stale vomit rushes his nose as soon as he walks in; followed by a hint of body order and the unmistakable smell coconut rum. The mix nearly makes Cas scurry back from where he came. How can Dean tolerate this?
He steels himself, taking quick breaths through his mouth, slowly blowing the reverse out his nose. Determined, Cas inches forward and starts to take the place in through his other senses, hoping the experience will be less violent than the smell. The bar has a rough Fifties theme- as in, they have juke box and some old records adorning the wall, along with a few photos of Elvis. Beyond the meager attempts at décor, there wasn't anything too distinct about the place.
It was quiet, but then again, it was two in the afternoon on a Tuesday. Not to mention it was a bar next to a library, Cas wasn't expecting much. In fact, he is starting to think that he has picked the absolute worst time to go on this expedition. He is choosing to fish in a dry bucket rather than an ocean. No self-respecting—or even semi self-respecting woman would find herself in a place like this . . . mid-day. With a heavy sigh, and the lingering weight of time-wasted resting on his neck, Cas resolves to look anyway. He is desperate and he knows Dean is more desperate.
As he scans the bar, he sees few souls; none worth a second glance. A man with a ponytail placed low on his skull- an attempt to distract from the grassless desert on the top of his head, stares blankly out the window while fingering his empty shot-glass. Another, younger looking man in a wrinkled suit and a binder on the table beside him, mumbles to himself as he watches a baseball game on the television in the corner. They were a sorry pair, and Cas finds himself wondering just what their stories are. He imagines for a moment that the young man just failed an important job interview. Maybe the older one simply, has no where to go and no one to care. The possible stories for the two are endless; but Cas quickly stops his mind. He doesn't need to waste any more time. These guys aren't going to help Dean. Castiel needs a female.
He backs out of the bar before turning and jumping back into his little, tan sedan. He turns over the engine, eager to get to the next destination. As he puts the car in gear, he realizes he has no idea where the next destination might be. That was the last bar he knew of in town. He assumes there has to be more, because Dean has been kicked out of many. Moreover, he can't ever roam too far, because Sam always manages to find him in a night. Sam—Sam! There's an idea! He'll call Sam!
Cas flips open his phone and quickly dials Sam's number. The phone rings twice before the bouncy voice of the sober Winchester brother bubbles up on the other end.
"Hey Cas, what's up?"
"Hello Sam, I need your help."
"Oh, no, what did Dean do?" Sam's cynicism travels through the receiver, loud and clear.
Cas hesitates to answer, he is unsure of how to answer. He doesn't want to say what Dean attempted to do, that was Cas's fault anyway. He knows in any case, if he tells Sam, the young man will only blame Dean and his drinking.
"Dean did not do anything, Sam, I did. I may have made things . . . worse. I'm sorry."
A moment passes before Cas hears a light chuckle come through the speaker on his phone.
"I highly doubt that buddy; tell me what happened." Sam's new tone is comforting.
"Well . . ." Cas takes a wary breath "I did not heed your warning, Sam. I went to see Dean."
"I figured you would, you are very good at giving direction, Cas . . . not so much at following it."
Cas pauses, taken slightly aback by the accusation.
"I feel I am very capable of following direction, Sam; but that was not direction as much as it was, a suggestion."
Another, more audible chuckle dances over the line.
"Hey, hey, it's alright man. I just mean, whenever you feel very strongly about something, nothing stops you. It's a compliment really, not many people are so dedicated."
Cas feels slightly guilty of his assumption. Sam has never criticized him before. There would be no reason for him to start now. Perhaps, his fatigue is getting to him more than he realized.
"Anyways man, tell me what happened."
Cas sighs again, catching a glimpse of his worried eyes in the rearview.
"Well, when I went to see Dean, a woman answered the door. She was Dean's . . . uh . . . company for the night."
"Yeah, and?"
Cas isn't surprised that Sam isn't surprised.
"Well, I wanted to speak to Dean privately so I asked her to leave. She did not- not until she was paid to do so."
A few beats passed before Sam decided to comment.
"Did she already, you know—do her job?" Sam's voice turned up an octave with the question. He is obviously more intuitive than Cas had been.
"I assumed so, but after I paid her and woke up Dean to tell him that everything was alright and he did not have to worry about the transaction, he confirmed that I was wrong in my assumption."
A pause follows Cas's words before a sharp inhale of breath pierces his ears.
"Oh, Jesus. You cock-blocked him?" Sam laughs hysterically, causing Cas to pull the phone away from his head.
"I don't understand that reference, Sam." But Cas is inaudible through Sam's riot. Cas imagines Sam's giant body falling out of whatever chair he's sitting in.
"Not only did you cock-block him, you paid to have him cock blocked? Oh, Cas! Man, that's priceless!"
Cas snorts at the remark.
"I wish it were, but it was actually two hundred and fifty dollars. Well, three hundred. The prostitute did not have change."
Another roar of laughter barrels through the phone. Cas pulls it away from his ear once more, waiting nearly a minute for the raucous to die down.
"I am not finding the humor here, Sam." Cas can hear him gulping in breaths, trying to regain some composure.
"I know, I know man. I'm sorry. Oh boy! That was good! Okay . . . " Sam clears his throat and gives one last giggle "so, what did Dean do when he found out you paid her to leave?" Another muffled laugh follows the question.
"He got very angry. He was still quite intoxicated. He, umm, pushed me against the wall."
"What!" Sam's voice loses every ounce of humor with Cas's confession. "Did he hurt you, Cas? I swear to God, he has fucking lost his mind!"
"No!" Cas strains up his neck and looks again at his purpling jaw in the mirror. "No Sam, he didn't hurt me."
"You sure?" hesitation stains Sam's voice.
"I am sure, Sam. No harm done." A twinge of guilt stabs at Castiel's temples.
A heavy sigh slips through the line. "Okay, okay. So what's the problem then?"
Cas can still hear the skepticism and concern on the edges of Sam's words.
"Well, I am afraid I deprived Dean of the only thing he really wanted, other than alcohol of course; but he can come by that easily. I am curious, Sam, what other bars are there in town? The three I have already visited did not lead me to the woman I met at Dean's—or any women for that matter. I . . ."
"Are you seriously trying to hook Dean up?" Sam blows out the question with a hurricane of doubt.
"I want to give him back what I took away. I don't see how that's bad." Cas's brows knit together, wishing he could understand these sort of things like Sam can.
"Yes, Cas, usually you return things you took or, uh, misplaced. But in this case, just leave it alone."
Cas's voice comes out in a flood of desperation that seems to surprise Sam, and himself more. "I can't! Please, Sam, just tell me about the other bars Dean goes to! Perhaps, the last one you saw him at? I have a feeling that is my best chance at finding the woman! Please Sam. I need to make this right."
A reluctant sigh travels into Cas's ear.
"Okay, okay buddy. If you have to . . . I know I can't do anything to stop you anyway. You got a pen? This is going to be a long list."