Road Angel

The bar he and Dean were in was no different from the other forty-nine he'd had the opportunity to visit during his friendship with Dean and Sam. It reeked of alcohol and nicotine, and almost every table was occupied by one or two people whose souls had a grayish, sometimes even purplish or blackish, hue. These were people who were on a path heading straight to Hell, and whose presence was frankly quite uncomfortable to Castiel, even if it meant just being in the same room with them. He felt it especially strongly since he had regained his own Grace and regained his wings in their near-original strength. Sometimes he had to force himself to leave the safety of the Bunker, where he could stretch them to their full length without encountering any soul other than the Winchester brothers.

Here he had to have them pulled very close to his human vessel and twisted almost uncomfortably. And just now he must have pulled them a little closer, when a greyish vibrating man in the next cubicle rose and headed for the bar at the exact points where Castiel's wings fluttered low over the floor. It was very uncomfortable, and more than at any time in the last three hours when he'd been sitting here alone at a table, he longed to just walk out into the night.

He didn't have that option because he couldn't leave Dean behind and he was having a very good time with a glass of alcohol and a nearby pool table. And as he'd come to observe over the years, leaving Dean alone in a bar wasn't a good idea. The last time he and Sam had done it, he'd ended up having to treat Dean's split lip because he'd gotten into a fight, the reasons for which he hadn't been very willing to explain, and had only grumbled something about how 'dicks' should be banned from bars.

"You're cheating, asshole!" came from the pool table.

Castiel turned quickly to follow the voice and saw a muscular, tattooed man with a soul the shade of muddy water towering over Dean, who was leaning over the pool table in an overly casual manner, glass in hand, looking up at his opponent with complete lack of fear.

"Yeah. Or maybe you just can't hit the right ball," Dean replied in a hushed voice as he turned his drink around, "I'll go get another one and we'll finish this," he promised before staggering off towards the bar.

He probably wouldn't even need months of being human to immediately realize that Dean really was drunk. What he didn't understand was how he'd taken his eyes off Dean long enough to get so intoxicated with alcohol. It was probably due to the way he was trying to knock them down for the sake of all the souls around him, or looking up through them at the harmless clouds above the roof of the bar. Whether or not that was the case was no longer important, all that mattered was that it was time to leave here. For the good of them both.

Rising from his seat, he pulled his wings tightly together and quickly weaved his way between the tables, making sure not to even touch the tip of one of them to any of the people nearby.

"Dean," he addressed his friend, stealthily getting between him and the pool table. Purely just to be safe.

"Not now, Cas. I'm teaching this moron how to play pool properly," Dean brushed him off, tapping his hand on the bar, "One more whiskey!" He called towards the bartender, waving his empty glass.

The bartender shot Dean a look of displeasure enough to make even Castiel realize that he hated to see him at the bar again, but said nothing. He just started pouring another glass really slowly.

"I think now would be the best time to leave," Castiel didn't just let his voice trail off.

"What did I say? I'm winning and... er... it would be rude not to finish that last round."

"Sure, Dean," he agreed with a shake of his head, "but I really want to go. I... honestly... I don't feel comfortable here," adding to his reasoning for leaving something that was more or less true. He was willing to stay if Dean wanted him to and if it was safe for him to do so, but since it wasn't, he was determined to get him to leave by any means necessary.