CHAPTER 7

Castiel had never been in a bar before, so he wasn't quite sure what to expect. It ended up being far darker, louder, and just generally more unpleasant than he had pictured, mostly due to the fact that it was practically packed with people, all of whom seemed to be staring obsessively at the TVs along every wall. Dean seemed to enjoy the atmosphere, though, and Sam seemed completely unbothered by it, so Castiel did not complain.

He was, however, curious about what everyone else seemed to be staring at. Usually, he wouldn't care – or, at least, it seemed unlikely that such a thing would interest him. But they were currently standing and doing nothing, waiting while the woman behind the bar served drinks to a group of three men, meaning that there was nothing else to occupy his interest. So he gestured toward the TVs and asked, "What is happening on the screens?"

The Winchesters stared. Castiel was beginning to think that everything that he ever did or said would be met with that exact expression of utter disbelief. It was already beginning to be a bit tiring.

"Seriously, were you raised under a rock or something?" Dean asked, sounding more amused than anything else. "Or in some sort of weird cult thing?"

"It's football," Sam said, apparently taking pity on Castiel and deciding to offer an explanation. "A game that people play." Castiel nodding. Sam's explanation really didn't clear things up much, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Dean was still watching Castiel like he was expecting an answer. Luckily, the other men left with their drinks just then, and the woman turned to them, asking, "What can I get for you folks?"

"Just water," Sam said. When Dean rolled his eyes, he added, "Someone's gotta play designated driver and drag your ass back to the motel room when you end up too drunk to walk straight."

"Lame," Dean said immediately, and ordered something called shots for both himself and Castiel.

The woman smiled and walked away, and Castiel thought that Dean's question would have been dropped. Apparently not, though, because the moment that she was gone, Dean turned his attention back to Castiel. "Seriously, though, where did you come from?"

Castiel shifted slightly, and his fingertips tapped out a rhythm on the tabletop. "I told you," he said.

"You said that you've been living on the streets and killing monsters," Dean corrected. When Castiel remained silent, he added, "Come on, there's gotta be more to the story than that!"

"There really isn't," Castiel said, wondering if this counted as a lie. Because that was, essentially, an accurate summary of his life so far, or at least of the parts that he remembered.

Dean raised his hands, although he somehow managed to make the gesture look strangely sarcastic. "Okay, okay," he said, giving Castiel an odd look. "Just asking. No need to get all defensive."

Castiel frowned. "Sorry," he said. "That wasn't my intention."

Dean shrugged. "It's cool," he said, lowering his hands again. For a minute, Castiel thought that they really were going to leave the subject alone, until Dean added, "But, I mean, considering you've been traveling with us and sleeping in our motel room, it makes sense that we'd want to know, doesn't it?"

Castiel stiffened. "I will be leaving shortly," he said in a tight voice. "Going to the Roadhouse, wasn't that what you said?"

Dean looked uncomfortable at that, and nodded. "Right," he said awkwardly, and then didn't say anything more about the subject after that.

Sam glanced between Dean and Castiel's faces. "And… You want to go to the Roadhouse, right?" he asked, looking over at Castiel. "Is that what you've decided?"

"It sounds better than sleeping on the streets," Castiel said, which was the most honest statement that he could make while still sounding kind. Although, he supposed that he was being a bit too harsh, so he amended, "Well, if this Roadhouse place contains people whom you consider friends, then I'm sure that there will be no troubles."

The woman returned with their drinks. Castiel frowned, slightly confused by how small they were, but didn't comment. Dean grinned as he paid the bartender, slipping her an extra five dollar bill that made her grin at him. Dean just winked as they collected their drinks.

"Let me guess," Sam said as they sat down at an empty table. "Your new goal in life is to get into her pants, right?"

Dean grinned and nudged Sam in the side. "I wouldn't exactly call it a lifetime goal," he said, "considering that I'd give it an hour tops before I get to check that one off the bucket list."

Castiel looked between the two of them, then turned around to look at the bartender, just as she turned and walked into the back room. The bar blocked most of her lower body from view, but Castiel still managed to see enough to confuse him further. He returned his gaze to the Winchesters. "I don't understand," he said. "Her body is significantly smaller than Dean's. I don't believe that her pants will fit over his legs."

For one second, Sam and Dean simply gave him that look again, as though they were wondering if he had really just said that. Then they both began to laugh.

Castiel watched them both, puzzled. It took a long time for them to control themselves. Castiel smiled tightly as he waited for the laughter to stop, slightly pleased to have sparked this reaction from the brothers, though he wished he knew what the joke had been.

In his experience, people's strange reaction were caused by Castiel's ignorance regarding something commonplace. Castiel glanced down at himself, and saw the jeans and gray flannel that Dean had given him to wear, and thought that he understood.

"This is some sort of cultural tradition?" he asked after a moment. Part of him wondered if this was a safe question. It seemed like the kind of thing that most people would know, and he didn't want to make the Winchesters ask further question about his past and – specifically – about the gaps in his knowledge caused by his lack of memories. But this time, he was curious enough to want to be sure. "Sharing clothes," he amended, when the Winchesters gave him a curious look, and then gestured down at himself as an example. "You have given me your clothes to wear, and now you are talking about sharing the bartender's clothes. I take it there is a connection here?"

"Yes," Sam said, and he kept a straight face, though Castiel could tell that laughter was threatening to break through. "Yes, exactly. I'd forgotten, Dean, Jimmy's already gotten into your pants."

Dean shifted in his seat. "Shut up," he grumbled, not sounding nearly as amused this time, which seemed to only make Sam laugh harder. Dean grabbed one of the small drinks and drank it quickly, practically throwing it into his mouth and then gulping hard. "Gonna need a whole lot of these things if you're going to be so immature," he grumbled, glaring at his brother. Sam's only reaction was to grin and giggle.

Dean gave Sam one last evil look, then passed one of the glasses across the table to Castiel. "Your turn."

Castiel didn't know what the glass contained, but he nodded and picked it up, sniffing it experimentally. It had a strong odor, one that he didn't recognize. After a second, though, he shrugged and drank, tilting his head back and pouring the entire thing into his mouth at once, as he had seen Dean do.

He instantly regretted this decision.

"Fuck," he gasped, slamming the glass down onto the tabletop again, because he had heard Dean use that word when he was upset before, and it was the first thing that came into his head. He coughed hard, trying to dispel the burning sensation that had filled his throat. "What was that?" he asked, or tried to, but he was coughing and wheezing enough that it took two or three times before he could make himself understood.

"I take it you've never done a shot before?" Sam asked, looking like he was trying his best to hide his amusement. Dean had no such qualms. He was unabashedly grinning like Castiel's reaction was the best thing that he had ever seen.

"No," Castiel said. "They were not what I expected."

"Dude, your face," Dean said, his grin widening even more. "I wish I had gotten that on video."

Castiel wasn't entirely sure what to make of Dean's obvious delight in Castiel's suffering, but he ultimately decided that it was harmless, so he said, "I suppose it must have been amusing."

"Amusing?" Dean repeated incredulously. "It was frickin' hilarious! Here." Dean grabbed a second shot and pushed it in front of Castiel. "Do another one."

Castiel frowned but picked up the drink, glaring hard so as to make it clear that he did not trust it. He knew better than to drink it all at once as he had before, he lifted it to his lips and took a hesitant sip. His face immediately twisted with distaste, and he pushed the drink back to Dean. "These are disgusting no matter how you drink them," he announced.

Dean shrugged and threw back the remainder of the shot that Castiel had rejected. "The taste isn't the point," he said, as if disgusted that he even needed to explain this. "The point is, they get you drunk super fast."

"Come on," Sam said, gesturing toward Castiel. "We can go get you something else if you want. What do you like?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said. "I have never had alcohol before."

"Really?" Sam asked, looking surprised. "You've got to be, what, thirty?"

"Somewhere around there," Castiel said. Jimmy's identification said that he was thirty-two years old, and though he couldn't be sure of how accurate that was, it seemed like a reasonable estimate. "And yes, that shot was my first experience with alcohol."

"Huh," Sam said, the stood and began to head for the bar. "I'll pick something out for you, then."

"Thank you," Castiel called as Sam left.

It was then that he noticed the expression on Dean's face. He was staring hard at Castiel, looking positively delighted by this new piece of information.

"Never?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, wondering why Dean insisted on asking this question again when Castiel had already answered it twice. "Never."

"You're serious?" Dean asked. Castiel didn't bother to answer this time – he thought that he'd made himself quite clear already – but that didn't seem to bother Dean at all. In fact, he looked even more excited now, his expression shifting from merely happy to downright gleeful.

"Oh, man," he said, with so much enjoyment that Castiel began to worry that he should be afraid, especially considering that the last time that Dean had looked this excited, they had been preparing to commit illegal acts. Dean scooted his chair closer to Castiel's and clasped him on the shoulder, grinning as he said, "We are going to have so much fun tonight."

Oh, yes. Castiel was pretty sure that fear was a completely appropriate emotion.

Sam returned with a pink drink with a slice of pineapple decorating the rim of the cup, which made Dean laugh even more, and make comments that Castiel didn't understand about the girly nature of the drink. Castiel, however, enjoyed it immensely, and decided that it was worth putting up with Dean's attitude.

"You have been hunting your whole lives?" Castiel asked at one point, mostly to make Dean stop talking. "You must have some interesting stories, then." And that, apparently, was all the prompting that Dean required in order to make him launch into a story about a group of guys called the Ghostfacers who were, apparently, idiots. Castiel didn't understand everything about the story, but he was used to that by now, and Dean's retelling was still funny enough that Castiel found himself laughing.

Dean grinned, looking pleased with himself as Castiel struggled to control his laughter, and immediately launched into a new story. This one involved hunting a creature called a rakshasa – a type of shapeshifter, apparently – which had transformed into a clown and utterly terrified Sam. Castiel listened and laughed, while Sam cut in every thirty seconds or so to protest that Dean was lying, while Dean denied even thinking of doing such a thing.

Castiel was fairly certain that Dean's story was, at the very least, highly exaggerated, especially when Dean took another shot and said, "So then I burst into the funhouse, right? And the clown's got Sam curled up in the corner, just bawling his eyes out."

"I was not!" Sam exclaimed, leaning across the table to hit Dean on the shoulder, too hard to look fully playful. "For one, it didn't even look like a clown anymore. It was invisible at this point. And for another, I was the one who killed the thing while Dean was busy trying not to get stabbed."

"Okay, okay," Dean said, acknowledging that. "But you admit that if it had still looked like a clown, then you definitely would've been sobbing."

Sam gave Dean a dirty look and didn't respond.

Dean grinned, undeterred. "And you definitely almost had a panic attack when you had to sit in that creepy clown chair in the one dude's office."

Sam crumpled his napkin into a ball and tossed it at Dean's head, then turned to Castiel. "Hey, Jimmy, wanna hear about the time that we had to exorcise a demon while on a plane?"

"Okay, I think that that's enough storytelling for one day," Dean quickly said, getting to his feet and grabbing Castiel by the collar to pull him up as well. Castiel frowned, more than a little disappointed, but Sam just grinned and mouthed, in an exaggerated manner, "I'll tell you later."

Dean had finished all three of the shots – not counting the one that Castiel had taken – and there was only a small amount of liquid left in Castiel's glass, so Dean headed to the bar to buy them a couple of beers. He stumbled once on the way to the bar, which made Castiel wonder about his sobriety levels, though he otherwise seemed fine. In all honesty, Castiel thought that he should be more concerned about himself. He didn't feel drunk, exactly – though he didn't actually know when being drunk felt like – but the alcohol was enough to make him feel slightly warm, and maybe the slightest bit unsteady on his feet.

He was just wondering if he should take a break from drinking when Dean pressed a beer into his hand. "Cheers," Dean said with a grin, clinking his bottle against the side of Castiel's, and then taking a long drink. Castiel debated with himself for a moment, then took a drink. It was not quite as good as the drink that Sam had bought for him, but it wasn't nearly as strong as the shot had been, and Castiel found that he enjoyed it.

"You ever shoot pool before?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Castiel replied, which was apparently enough of an answer for Dean, who pulled him over to an empty table covered in green felt. He produced balls from the various pockets, then grabbed two sticks that were hanging on the wall.

"Just follow my lead," Dean said, tossing one of the sticks to Castiel, who fumbled but managed to catch it without spilling his drink. "And feel free to be as horrible as possible."

"Why-?" Castiel began.

Dean just winked at him. "Watch and learn."

Castiel was absolutely terrible at the game, just as he had expected that he would be. He was, however, surprised to see that Dean was nearly as bad. From the way that Dean acted, though, you would have thought that he was the best player in the world. It took him five turns before he finally knocked one of his balls into the hole – Dean had explained the rules enough that Castiel understood that that was the goal – and when he finally did, he cheered loud enough that the half the bar turned toward them.

"Um, Dean," Castiel said in a low voice, glancing over at a muscular, tattooed man who was giving them a dirty look. "Don't you think that we should be a little bit quieter?"

"Why?" Dean asked. His voice was heavily slurred, and Castiel couldn't help but wonder if he had underestimated how drunk Dean actually was. "Don't want the rest of the bar to know how badly I'm beating you?" He leaned on his pool stick as though it were a cane and laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world, then took another long drink from his beer.

Castiel bit his lip, unsure about hos he should deal with Dean in his current condition. "Maybe we should return to the table," he suggested.

"Oh, no!" Dean said immediately. "You don't get to quit just because you're losing!"

Castiel thought about pointing out that Dean had only managed to sink one ball so far, so it wasn't as though he had a terribly large lead. But Dean winked at him again before turning back to take another shot, and so Castiel went along with it, though privately, he wondered what exactly Dean was trying to do.

The game took a while, mostly because they were both so bad at pool that they almost never managed to hit any of the balls into the holes. Dean did eventually win, as Castiel had assumed that he would, and when he did, he immediately threw up his hands and shouted, "Yes! Told ya that I'd kick your ass!"

Castiel narrowed his eyes, thinking that Dean's reaction was completely uncalled for. Instead of arguing, though, he just sighed and began rolling the remaining balls back into their pockets.

"Okay, who wants to play me next?" Dean asked, raising his stick his over his head like he was trying to gain attention. When nobody responded, Dean added, "Come on! A hundred bucks says I can beat any of you chumps!"

That got people's attention. The muscular man who had been glaring at them earlier now stood and ambled over. "Yeah, I'll play you," he said with a grin.

Now, Castiel was reasonably sure that Dean was either completely drunk or completely crazy, or possibly some combination of the two.

"Dean," he hissed, grabbing Dean's shoulder and leaning in close, keeping his voice low so that he wouldn't be overheard. "This is a horrible idea!"

"Relax," Dean said, shrugging out from under Castiel's hand, then looked around at the group of men who had approached the pool table. "Anyone wanna take bets?"

"Dean," Castiel repeated. "You are in no condition to be betting money on this game." For one, Dean was bad enough that it would be a waste even if he were sober, but the amount of alcohol in his system would just make it worse.

Castiel's point was further proven when Dean stumbled on his way back to the table, forcing Castiel to rush forward and catch him (which nearly ended badly, considering that Castiel was not quite sober himself). Dean, however, just laughed and patted Castiel's shoulder. "Don't worry, I've got the cash."

"You are going to lose the cash," Castiel said bluntly.

That only made Dean laugh harder. "You don't think I can win, huh?" he asked, and shook his head. "Watch me prove you wrong, then." Castiel was going to protest more, but Dean pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket and pushed it into his hand. "Go buy yourself one of those sissy drinks that you like so much and stop bothering me. I got a game to win." Then he gave Castiel a shove in the direction of the bar and turned back to the group around him. "Okay, so how much are we betting, huh?"

Castiel bought himself a drink, just as Dean had told him to. He had asked the bartender for something pink, which she had delivered, and though it wasn't the exact same drink that he had had earlier, it tasted even better. It was also fairly large. He hadn't specified a size when he'd given the bartender his money, as he wasn't sure which size was normal, and she had evidentially decided to give him something incredibly large, which used up most of the money that Dean had given him. Castiel gave her the remaining money, as he was vaguely aware that that was something that should be done. Then, with nothing else to do, he wandered back to the table, being extremely careful to avoid tripping or spilling his drink on himself or anybody that he passed.

Sam had been doing something on his phone, but he looked up when Castiel approached. Noticing the frown on Castiel's face, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Dean is being highly idiotic," Castiel announced as he sat beside Sam. "You may want to interfere before he loses large sums of money."

Sam glanced over to the pool tables, then relaxed. "He's hustling again, huh?" he asked. "Guess he's chosen you as his new partner in crime."

"What?" Castiel asked.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said dismissively, and though Castiel was still concerned, he decided not to question it any longer. Perhaps they really did have enough money that Dean could lose hundreds of dollars without it being an issue. "You still want to hear about what happened on the airplane?" Sam asked with a grin. Castiel nodded eagerly, and Sam launched into his story.

Sam's story turned out to be as informative as it was useful. By the end of it, Castiel felt as though he had learned a lot about how to fight demons, which would be useful to know later on. Castiel had an incredibly difficult time concentrating on the important bits of information, though, since his head was swimming and the world seemed to be slowly spinning around him.

He was pretty sure that he was drunk.

Sam continued to talk about various monsters and how to kill them, and Castiel did his best to pay attention, even though he only heard about half of the words that Sam said. He also tried to ask intelligent questions, though half the time he ended up giggling at nothing, and he also had to hold the table for support, which was odd. Sam seemed more amused than anything else, and somehow Castiel found that hilarious as well, and doubled over in a laughing fit that lasted for several minutes.

Finally, Dean joined them, holding a large wad of money in one hand. "What's his problem?" he asked with a gesture toward Castiel. His voice was significantly steadier than it had been when Castiel had last spoken to him.

"You got him completely smashed, that's what," Sam said. "I take it your game went well?" he added, nodding toward the money.

"Yup," Dean said, holding up the cash and spreading it out so that Sam and Castiel could see just how much money he had acquired. "You have officially earned back the money you owe us for the food," he added, giving Castiel a squeeze on the shoulder. "You should've seen it, Sam. He honestly believed I was going to lose all my cash. That was the selling point, right there."

Castiel blinked. He wasn't sure what exactly he had done, but helping Dean to earn money seemed like a good thing, so he nodded. That made the world swirl even more. "Excellent," he said. "Glad to help, whatever I did."

Something about his voice made Dean look amused. "Wow, he really is drunk, isn't he?" he asked, then shoved the money into his pocket and added, "Now come on, help me get him out to the car. There are about twenty guys back there who completely hate my guts, I want to get out of here before they decide to start a fight."

"You, not wanting to be involved in a bar fight?" Sam asked, and snorted. "That's a first." He shook his head as he got to his feet, and said, "What about that bartender, anyway? I thought you wanted to go try to sleep with her, but you haven't even said a word to her the whole time we've been here."

Dean shifted, a frown forming on his face all of a sudden. "Shut up," he grumbled, and reached down to wrap an arm around Castiel's waist, helping him to stumble to his feet. "We gotta get Jimmy back to the motel room before he gets to the bad part of being drunk. No way am I gonna risk him blowing chunks in the backseat of my car."

"Right," Sam said. "Taking care of Jimmy is more important."

If Castiel was sober, he was pretty sure he still wouldn't understand what Sam's smile meant. Now, he didn't even bother trying to figure it out. Dean scowled at Sam, which just made Sam shake his head and smile wider. Castiel didn't know what that meant, either.

"You could help me, you know," Dean added as he started leading Castiel across the bar. Walking was strangely difficult. He wasn't doing it very well.

Sam snorted. "No way," he said. "You were the one who wanted to get him hammered. You deal with him."

"Some brother you are," Dean muttered, and tightened his hold on Castiel's waist, keeping him steady as they continued toward the door. It suddenly seemed much farther away than it had been when they entered, which was odd. The floor was also completely unsteady under his feet, which was even odder.

Suddenly, he laughed. "I'm Sam," he said, when Dean gave him an odd look.

That just made Dean look at him like he'd gone insane. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm Sam," Castiel insisted. Dean still didn't seem to understand, so he added, "The night that we first met. We carried Sam like this."

"Huh, guess we did," Dean said, tightening his hold on Castiel. "You're a hell of a lot easier, though."

Castiel nodded seriously. "Sam is too big," he said, and nearly bumped into a table.

"Yup," Dean agreed, pulling Castiel to the side at the last moment making him miss the table by an inch. Instead, Castiel stumbled and fell against Dean, who steadied him and started practically dragging him to the exit.

"I almost attacked Sam, you know," Castiel suddenly said. He didn't know why he was saying all of this, but he didn't see any reason not to talk, either. "I saw him pointing a knife at a girl and thought that he was the bad guy. I was going to put a stop to him." He stumbled again. "I didn't actually know what I was doing."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said. "Guess I should be glad that you didn't, though Sam would've kicked your ass if you tried."

"Or the Vetala would've eaten us both," Castiel said, and Dean made a noise of agreement. They were at the exit now. Dean pushed it open with his shoulder and led Castiel outside. "I'm glad that I didn't, too," Castiel added. "I like Sam."

"Geez, why did I think that getting you wasted was a good idea?" Dean asked, though he didn't sound really angry. More like fake angry.

"I like you, too," Castiel assured him. "Maybe even better than Sam." Huh. Castiel hadn't thought about that before. He tilted his head, thinking. Then he winced, because that made his head spin more, and it definitely wasn't enjoyable.

Dean didn't say a word, just led him toward the Impala. Although, maybe that was because Castiel was still talking.

"It doesn't make sense, because I think that Sam is nicer," he continued. "Or, no. Maybe? I don't know, you're nice, too. But not nice like Sam is. And you don't like having me around, so that's another reason to like Sam better."

"I like having you around," Dean said.

Castiel shook his head. That was worse than nodding. "It's okay, though," he said. "I understand. You don't have to let me stay with you and Sam, or- or-" He couldn't actually think of any way to finish that sentence, so he just decided to forget about it and say, "Anyway, I still like you."

"Just get in the car," Dean said. Castiel didn't understand his voice. Because clearly there was some sort of emotion there, but Castiel didn't have any idea what it was, and that was confusing him.

Sam was also looking at them in an odd way. And Dean saw Sam's look, and snapped, "What?" Sam shrugged, but he kept giving them the look, and Castiel didn't understand that one, either.

Then he realized that he was going to be sick, so he stopped thinking about Dean and Sam and looks. He pushed himself away from Dean completely and stumbled for the bushes so he could throw up there. Dean would be upset if he did it in the car. Even drunk, Castiel knew that much.

"Oh, god," Dean groaned.

"Remember, this was your idea," Sam said.

Dean just mumbled something and then snapped, "Shut up."

Castiel was done being sick now. His mouth tasted disgusting.

Dean grabbed him by his arm and helped him to his feet, then pushed him into the car. Castiel fumbled for the buckle, but he missed it twice in a row, so Dean reached over and did it for him. "It's five minutes to the motel," he said severely. "You better now get sick in my car, got it?"

"Got it," Castiel repeated. He had officially decided that he didn't like being drunk anymore.

Sam was driving, so Castiel had expected Dean to take the passenger seat, where Sam usually sat. Instead, though, he circled around the car and climbed into the seat beside Castiel.

"Dude, you have got to learn to handle your liquor better than this," Dean said.

"You could've warned me that this would happen," Castiel said, trying to sound angry, but mostly his words just slurred and came out weird.

Dean just chuckled. "Now where would be the fun in that?" he asked.

Castiel just grumbled and asked, "How do I make everything stop being dizzy?"

"Just wait it out," Dean said. "You'll feel better in the morning." Sam laughed, which made Dean kick the back of his seat, and Sam protested that he was driving, but Dean didn't seem to care about any of that.

Castiel just shut his eyes and tried not to get sick again. The movement of the car wasn't helping with that at all.

Some time later – Castiel honestly didn't know when – he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Jimmy?" Dean said, quiet. Probably nobody but Castiel would be able to hear him.

Castiel opened his eyes. Dean was staring at him.

"Yeah?" Castiel asked.

"I do actually like you, you know," Dean said.

Castiel didn't say anything. Dean didn't say anything, either. Finally, Castiel nodded, then winced. But he told Dean, "Good." He nodded again, even though it made him feel sicker. He also tried to keep his voice quiet, like Dean's was. "Good. Because I like you."

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into a smile. "Good," he said.

Castiel did not feel better in the morning. In fact, he felt significantly worse, as if his brain was attempting to beat its way out of his skull. Even the murmurs of the angels in the back of his mind were too loud, and even though he swore that he heard Dean's name being said, he couldn't even attempt to concentrate on what the angels were saying today. Instead, he curled himself tighter into a ball and pulled the blanket over his head, pressing his head into the pillow as if it would help to muffle the voices in his head.

"He's awake," Sam said, still sounding amused by the whole situation, the way that he had the night before. Castiel groaned but sat up, even though it worsened the throbbing in his head. Sam was stretched out of the couch with his laptop in his lap, looking over at Castiel with a grin on his face.

It was then that Castiel realized that he was lying on one of the beds.

"What-?" he asked, blinking down at the sheets as if they would offer some sort of explanation as to how he had ended up here.

"You fell into Dean's bed and refused to move," Sam said, his grin widening. "Dean ended up getting stuck on the couch."

Castiel winced. "Sorry," he said, though he supposed that Dean was the one that he should be apologizing to, not Sam.

"You managed not to puke in my baby, so I guess I'll forgive you," Dean said, and Castiel realized for the first time that he was in the room, sitting over at the table and flipping through a leather-bound journal.

Castiel frowned. His memories of the night before were hazy, but he did vaguely remember throwing up as soon as he had reached the motel parking lot. And now that Sam had mentioned it, he did remember tripping over his own feet and landing in the bed, and how Dean had tried to persuade him to move to the couch, but had given up almost immediately. Although, Castiel wasn't sure if that was because Dean had been being kind to him in his drunken state, or if Dean had simply realized that it was a battle that he was going to lose.

Castiel also remembered that Dean had said that he liked him. That was nice.

And Castiel suddenly felt as though he were going to be sick again.

He scrambled to his feet. The sheets were wrapped around his feet, and he nearly tripped over them as he scrambled toward the bathroom, but he managed to get himself free and make it to the toilet just in time to throw up.

"You're going to want some aspirin," Dean called after him.

"Geez, the poor guy's going through his first ever hangover, you could at least try to be sympathetic," Sam said.

"I am sympathetic!" Dean protested. "That was good advice!"

There was silence, and then Dean gave a long sigh. After that, there was a scrape as Dean pushed his chair away from the table, then footsteps that began to draw closer to the bathroom.

Castiel believed that he was done being sick for now, so he lifted his head, just in time to see Dean standing above him, holding a glass of water and a couple of pills.

"These'll help a little," he said, offering them to Castiel, who accepted them gratefully. The thought of putting anything in his stomach made him worry that he would be sick again, but he obediently sipped the water, then swallowed the pills. Thankfully, his stomach didn't revolt, and he hesitantly took another sip of water. And Dean was right – it almost did seem to help, somewhat.

"Coffee's better," Dean said, as if he had read Castiel's thoughts. "I'm pretty sure Sam made a pot."

Castiel grimaced at the thought, but said, "If you say so, then I will try it." Then he added, "Thank you."

"No problem," Dean said. "I remember my first hangover. I mean, it was over a decade ago, but still. Sucks, doesn't it?" Castiel nodded weakly, and Dean added, "Plus, I figured it was the least I could do, considering that Sam keeps insisting that this was my fault."

"I did not realize that it would be this bad," Castiel said.

"Yeah, well," Dean said, then shrugged and offered Castiel his hand. "Come on, let's get you that coffee, you'll start feeling human again. Well, probably."

"Human sounds good," Castiel muttered, taking Dean's hand and allowing him to pull Castiel to his feet, then stumbled toward the kitchen table. Sam was still stretched out on the couch, grinning at the two of them as Castiel slumped into the closest chair and covered his eyes with his hand.

Apparently Sam had indeed brewed coffee, because a second later, Dean set a Styrofoam cup beside Castiel's arm, then dropped into the seat opposite him, holding his own cup in one hand.

"Okay," he said, tilting his chair back and looking over at Sam. "What's this about some strange murders?"

"You seriously want to get back on a hunt so soon?" Sam asked. He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "What happened to your 'me time'? You can't go more than a day without getting to kill something?"

"Shut it," Dean grumbled, then added, "Anyway, I didn't even get to kill the last ghost. Jimmy got that one."

Sam just shrugged, but he said, "Three deaths in this little town in Indiana over the past couple days. Two of them are being called suicides, because the victims were in rooms that were locked from the inside."

"You don't think so?" Castiel asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not unless you think that someone would actually decide to kill himself by swallowing roughly half a pound of glass," he said. "Or that someone could manage to stab herself over thirty times with a dagger without something supernatural making her do it."

Castiel grimaced at the mental images that Sam's words provided. "That sounds incredibly painful."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, then asked, "So how did the third guy die, then?"

"Mauled to death by a wild dog," Sam said. "Supposedly. Police found no signs of the dog anywhere on the scene – no fur, no paw prints, nothing."

"Huh," Dean said thoughtfully. "You think it's some sort of creature?"

"I think it's definitely something we should investigate, at least," Sam said. "Beyond that, I'm not sure. Although if I had to guess, I'd say that I'm leaning towards witches."

"Yeah, this is the kind of thing that they'd do," Dean agreed, then climbed to his feet. He downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp, tossed the cup into the trash, then grabbed a handful of clothes that had been scattered across the floor at some point – Castiel honestly wasn't sure when – and began shoveling them into his duffle. "Well, then, we should definitely hit the road before they try anything else."

"I agree," Castiel said, mentally debating whether or not he should stand and try to help as well, when his stomach was still slightly queasy and his headache was still threatening to come roaring back if he made any wrong moves. Perhaps it was better to just sit here and let them take care of the packing, but at the same time, he did want to be helpful and earn his keep.

"We're probably not going to get there until tomorrow, even if we hurry," Sam said, also standing to help Dean pack. Then he glanced back at Castiel and said, in a much-less-certain voice, "So, should we swing by the Roadhouse to see if Jimmy can stay there? It'll only be an hour or two out of our way."

Oh, right. Perhaps it was because of the hangover, but somehow, Castiel had forgotten that he was not invited to join this hunt.

"Jimmy?" Sam urged after a minute had passed with nobody saying anything.

Castiel cleared his throat, and nodded, despite the fact that his head suddenly seemed to be pounding harder than ever. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I suppose that that would be a good idea."

"Hey, Jimmy," Dean suddenly said, turning toward him. "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do? You know, long term, beyond just finding a place to stay for a bit?"

Castiel frowned as he considered the question, then had to admit, "Not at all. Honestly, I haven't thought past the next day or so." Actually, he hadn't even thought that far into the future, if he were to be completely honest. Well, he had known that he would be at the Roadhouse, but even then, he hadn't given a single thought to what he would do there, or what it would be like.

He supposed that he would try to find out more about Azazel and the angels. And do research to try to find proof that the angels were real, so that he could assure himself of his sanity – though that didn't seem entirely likely, if Sam had never been able to find concrete proof. Still, though, perhaps Sam had never looked hard enough. Perhaps there was proof out there that Castile would be able to find, if given the chance.

It still was far from a definite plan, but still, he supposed that it would do.

"Do you need a few more days to think about it?" Dean asked, his voice almost casual. There was something odd about his voice, though, that kept the facade from being complete, though if asked, Castiel wouldn't even be able to guess at what it was. There was something also odd about the way that Sam was staring at Dean, though that was equally-impossible to interpret.

"Yes," Castiel finally said. "I suppose it will take at least a few more days to decide." Likely, it would take him far longer than that, or else he would never make up his mind, and simply drift from place to place for the rest of his life without ever finding a direction. He wasn't sure if that would be relevant to say, though, since he didn't know why Dean was asking this question.

"Do you want to, you know, just hang around until then?" Dean asked, and again, his voice was not quite casual. "I mean, you can figure it out just as easily with us as you could with Ellen, don't you think?"

For a moment, Castiel wasn't sure what to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then nodded. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes. But why?"

Dean just shrugged. "Like I said, you're a cool guy." Castiel was going to protest that Dean had never actually said that, but Dean was already continuing, "And you have saved both of our asses now. It's not like we're gonna just kick you to the street after that." He paused, then made a point of adding, "Just for right now, okay? Just until you decide what you want to do. As soon as you know that, then you're going to go do it."

"I understand," Castiel said. Dean had said that he preferred to travel with only his brother. Given that, it was nice of him to even allow Castiel to stay for a short time longer, forget about offering a permanent invitation. Castiel made a point of meeting Dean's eyes, hoping that that would show how much he truly meant it when he said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Dean said, which Castiel thought was odd – this was a very nice gesture, so why would he not want to Castiel to acknowledge it further? It made no sense.

Nevertheless, if that was what Dean wanted, then Castiel would oblige. "Alright," he told Dean seriously. Dean had glanced away, so Castiel continued to stare until Dean looked back over at him, and then he nodded once, to show that he was serious. "I will never speak of this again."

For a moment, Dean looked utterly confused. Then he laughed.

"See?" he asked. "This is why we keep you around."

Castiel's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he just smiled. He did not understand the amusement, but that was alright, just so long as the Winchesters allowed him to stay.