the closet (A Destiel AU)

Chapter One

I sat in the booth behind him. He was flagging the waiter again, probably for another bottle of whiskey. The waiter looked concerned too, though I wasn't sure why. I couldn't see his face, only the back of his neck.

I had just gotten back from work and I had my lucky trench coat on. I had left my blazer at home, but it didn't really matter to me. The trench coat was my number one accessory.

"Get me two more," I heard him say, his voice sounding unusually gravely and his speech slurred. "Same one. I like my liquor hard."

"Sir, I can't give you this much alcohol," the waiter responded nervously. It was the same thing he said last time he was flagged over. "This much is already exceeding the limit—"

"What did I say?" The man raised his voice and slammed his fist on the table, just like he did last time. "Get me two more bottles, I still have money left in these jean pockets and I only have one thing to spend it on."

"Your addiction," I said under my breath for the first time. I had been sitting behind him eating for the past 30 minutes and it was getting painful to watch him drown in liquor. "You're addicted to alcohol because it makes you forget about the wreck of a life you already live in. So you drown yourself in poison and hope you don't wake up the next day."

"You," the man pointed to me without looking back. "Come sit across from me."

"I didn't— Why do you— Pardon?" I didn't know what to say.

I left my food on the table but brought my glass of Sprite over to sit with him. I straightened my trench coat with my free hand before sitting down.

"Tell me your name," the man took a sip of his new whiskey bottle. "And don't tell me something fake, I know some sneaky people like that and those people annoy me."

"Castiel James Novak," I said slowly, unsure of whether he would approve. "But a lot of people call me Jim." He seemed like the 'shoot first, ask later' kind of guy. And those kind of guys chose friends by simple things like names and stuff; or at least I thought.

"Castiel James Novak?" He sounded as if he was trying to process my name.

Jim was generic, but Castiel sounds fake to most people. It's supposed to be Cassiel, the archangel in the Bible, but my two dads, Bob and Eric were all about originality. And apparently their parents weren't.

"Dean Winchester," The man put his hand in front of me so I could shake it. "Nice to meet you. I assume you don't make snarky comments often."

"You'd be correct," I tried to act normal, but I sound a bit sophisticated when I get anxious. "I'm normally an awfully quiet man." This conversation was going nowhere fast and seemed kind of pointless.

"What did you say about me being an addict?" Dean leaned forward and took a sip of his whiskey.

I could tell he had lost count by the way he was drinking. By talking to him, I'd think he's one of those drinks who don't want to die from alcohol poisoning, but instead want the pain of a hangover to remind them of how shitty their life is... Ok I'm not sure if alcoholics are that much of elaborate thinkers so maybe not.

"You feed your addiction by drinking," I stated, trying to hide the fact that I was scared he would right hook my teeth out. And I like my vessel's teeth. "You go to work... Maybe... Come to the bar every night and spend so much money on drinking hard liquor, you've forgotten there's rent and bills and loans and debts. Sooner or later, you'll be bankrupt and on the streets."

"Ok, you're not my shrink," Dean stopped me. "And it's a little late for that 'soon you'll be bankrupt' talk. I live outside the bar and my job is looking weak and getting sympathy coins and chewed up gum."

"I wouldn't take you for a homeless man," I was surprised, and I felt I didn't need to be.

"I prefer being called a comfortable nomad," Dean defended himself, even though he didn't need to. I assume he doesn't like to be called homeless or he just doesn't like being homeless...

"Nomads travel," I point out the flaw in his statement.

"I'm comfortable," Dean smirked.

"The biggest lie of the century," I scoff.

"Excuse me?" Dean's natural 'fuck boy' tone disappeared.

"You're not a great liar," I started to get more comfortable with Dean. I felt smart talking to him.

"I am a fantastic liar," Dean said matter-of-factly. "I lied to you about being homeless."

"Where do you live, then?" I asked Dean, hoping he'd tell me the truth.

"Lebanon, Kansas," Dean responded.

"We are in Lebanon, Kansas right now," I said, making it clear to Dean that his answer was extremely vague.

"Ok, Mr. Shrink," Dean crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Do you want my number, then?" I was getting a sense that Dean wasn't good at staying on one topic when making conversations.

"Umm..." Before I could respond, Dean had already pulled out a piece of paper and written his name and number on it. I gave him mine as well, writing it in his phone myself.

Dean took his phone back and looked at the time. He checked his watch as well. "Well, looks like that's my cue. 12 AM."

The two of us got up at the same time.

"Sure you can get home?" I asked, hoping he wasn't going to drive.

"I'm drunk, not stupid," Dean chuckled. "It's a walking distance, and I'm pretty good at looking sober."

"Yeah right," I scoffed once more. "Call me when you get home, I want to make sure you don't die on the way. I bet you'll walk into a moving car or something."

"I'm an adult,"

"Hardly,"

"Whatever,"

"Goodbye, Dean," I grabbed my briefcase and started out of the bar.

"See ya soon, Cas," Dean grabbed his jacket and followed me out.

I chuckled for the first time all day. "It's Cas, you illiterate spork."

A/N: I know, another Destiel story. I started this on vacation in my notes and I've had a few chapters done.

I may not update this often, but I will have chapters waiting to be published.

Hope you like it!

-Satan