Dean Winchester refuses to be that naive girl in the badly made mafia movie but there he is, falling over himself for Castiel Novak, the guy with the unexplained scars and dirty tongue.
Summary: A phone call in the middle of the night leaves Dean sitting on his bed as the time ticks towards 4am, a gun on his bedside table, and the absolute fact that he won't be sleeping anytime soon.
Warnings: mild violence
Word Count: 2,820
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Dean startled awake, his heart immediately starting to race. His phone was buzzing beneath his pillow and he grabbed at it blearily. The room was completely dark and nothing seemed out of place, so he peered down at his phone to see what had woken him. He popped into a sitting position and his eyes went clear as Castiel's contact flashed on the screen. Dean accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear with a soft "Cas?"
"Dean," Castiel's voice was slightly garbled, the line crackling. "Fuck, baby, I need you to come get me. Can you come get me?" He sounded panicked and Dean's heart started to race even faster.
"What? Where are you? Are you okay?" He slipped out of bed, pressing the phone harder against his ear.
"I'm a little hurt but if you can't come, it's okay. I just, I can't drive my car right now and my ride is a little busy," he said.
"Where are you? I," he looked out of the window at the impala, thankfully parked on the street. "Text me the location, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can," Dean jammed his feet into his sneakers and snatched his keys from his dresser. He opted for the window rather than risking the front door. "Hang on, I have to put my phone in my pocket but don't hang up," he said. Castiel gave a grunt of acknowledgement so Dean took it as his answer. He shoved his phone into his pocket and slid the window open. He stepped out onto the ledge and braced his hands against the big oaktree outside of his window. He carefully lowered his window with his foot, then started climbing down the tree, landing softly in the grass. He scraped his leg once, but it didn't hurt, so he dusted himself off and silently walked around the house. He opted to run through the junkyard rather than go down the gravel driveway. When he was a safe ways away, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Castiel's name.
"I'm here," he said, voice shaky. "I shared my location with you, it should be a ten minute drive but I would very much appreciate it if you took that as a light suggestion," he said.
"Noted," Dean said as he slipped into the driver's seat of the impala, the chill of the leather seeping through the thin material of his pajama pants. The engine started with a whine and he rattled in his seat as he drove away, rocking over uneven dirt. He put the phone on speaker and clicked on the location Castiel had texted to him. It appeared in Google maps as nothing but coordinates in the middle of nothing but dirt. Dean wanted to question it, but he decided to focus on driving and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales of Castiel's breathing through the phone.
