When they finally stopped again, it was at a pub in downstate New York, on the border of Pennsylvania and New York. There was a motel right next door, which was very convenient for the duo. They booked a room and placed their bags in the room on their respective beds- Dean's closest to the door, Castiel's furthest- and then headed next door to get food and a drink before turning in for the night.
They settled down at a table and Dean ordered a beer, flirting with the good looking waiter subtly. Castiel ordered a glass of whisky with a slight nervous look, which caught Dean's attention.
He didn't want Castiel to be nervous.
After the guy went away, he leaned back in his seat and caught Castiel's eye. "You okay, man?"
"What?" Cas frowned, tilting his head and squinting his baby blues like he did when he was confused. Frankly, Dean found it to be the most adorable expression he'd ever laid eyes on. "I'm fine."
"Fine isn't good in my book, Constantine."
A sigh deflated Castiel. "I'm perfectly okay, Dean."
"Okay, okay," Dean raised his hands by his shoulders in the universal sign of surrender. "I'll drop it."
His eyes scanned the pub's late night crowd, finding it similar to his own from home. The groups seemed to be similar. The popular, rich groups were the ones who usually drank too much and danced raunchily despite there being no dance floor. The depressed ones had their own seats, sulking and drowning their sorrows in booze. The alcoholics gathered around the bar, downing shot after shot, glass after glass, without a pause. Then the daters, who sat in couples, talking over the noise and laughing, kissing, drinking slowly.
Dean didn't connect himself and Castiel with the daters until after their food came and they were halfway through their meal and Castiel's commentary on the couple dancing on the floor made him laugh so hard he choked on a drink of beer. When he realized, he choked again, eyes closing as he hit his chest lightly and coughed. Once he stopped, his eyes stayed closed. He didn't want to face this, all he could see it as was a date now. He and Cas were road trip buddies! They weren't dating or anything, they were on the road together and it would be weird if they didn't talk or laugh or eat together or flirt or... Shit, Dean couldn't stop it now. Fuck this, he thought as he sighed, hearing the tone of Castiel's voice over the crowd, then a hand pressing to his arm.
When had Castiel moved to his side of the booth? Dean opened his eyes to meet bright blue ones that were filled with worry, making Dean smile slightly and shake his head. His eyes darted to the three beer bottles on the table and the fourth in his hand still before he looked back at Cas and laughed nervously, softly. "I'm fine," he choked out, "just- uh- made me laugh too hard, I guess. Choked on the beer."
Castiel grinned. "Well, I'm glad I made you laugh, but I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from the choking next time."
Dean laughed and looked off to the side for about half second before turning back and, unsure of what his brain was fucking thinking and acting on impulse, letting himself kiss Castiel.
***
The first thing Castiel thought when Dean's lips pressed against his was 'He tastes like salt and warmth, and I like that, that's comfortable and good.'
The second thing he thought was 'What the hell?'
He stood up, blinking slowly and opening his mouth. After a second he closed it. The action repeated twice more before he shook his head and mumbled a soft "Excuse me," and went to the dirty bathroom of the pub in confusion.
Oh, God. Oh, God, why, why, why? He leaned against the wall. He needed fresh air, not smoky, dusty, drunk-sex-sweat scented air. He could drop his wallet off with Dean and Dean could pay for the meal while Castiel took a walk.
If he could even look at Dean, that is. Good God, how could he look at Dean anymore without feeling that stupid, slightly unwanted, overwhelming desire? Fuck, this was all so fucked up.
"Fuck!" Castiel hissed to himself, hands clasping and pulling at his hair. He repeated the word and stomped, then again as his hands ran down his face. Years, years gone to waste. Years of hiding himself away and paying attention to his work and refusing anything else but easy, quick, well-paying jobs and fucking people for money. Shit, shit, shit! This was shit!
Castiel kicked his heel against the wall. He wanted out of this place right now... He wanted to drive, and he wanted to drive until he couldn't anymore, until he fell asleep. Maybe Dean would let him do that, let him gun it down the highway and abandon these thoughts in the pub's bathroom and at the motel.
He leaned his head back against the tiled wall and sighed, deciding he needed another drink and some sleep before he decided on anything else.
