Everything just seemed so.. tainted these days. And these days, Dean Winchester wasn’t sure what he was doing at 11 o’clock at night, sitting alone in a bar, a whiskey in one hand. He sipped the drink slowly while taking an occasional lurk around the dim building, scouting for other patrons. No one was of his interest, at this point, he would even settle down for both men and women.
It’s fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, he thought. Ironically, he was alone. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Normally Sam would be in this position, right? Of course, he isn’t right now, seeing as the boy was all the way across the country having fun in Stanford. It was relieving to see his baby brother in such a happy state, being in college where he belonged. But sometimes Dean felt like it was a mistake- letting Sam go and leaving him here all alone.
He forced those thoughts out of his mind, however, seeing as the never helped him with his current mental state. After his second shot, the wooden door creaked open. The figure that walked along the entrance was barely identifiable in the almost darkness of the quiet bar. Dean was unamused, just turned around and continued contemplating life, however it was deemed impossible when the man he ignored walked over to him and sat right next to him.
Dean wasn’t sure what was so intimating about the man. His piercing blue eyes, the large trench coat he wore, or the serious expression he had on his face- staring dead right at him.
“I’d suggest you speak now or I’ll put a bullet in that mouth of yours,” Dean threatened, although internally he wished his statement wouldn’t have to be carried out.
“You don’t have a gun,” The stranger shot back.
“Yes I-“ Dean interrupted himself, “You know what? Nevermind, what do you want?”
“Just a watermelon magarita please,” The stranger’s back was turned, speaking to a Bartender, clearly distracted , ignoring Dean’s demands. He turned around to make eye contact with Dean again, “Sorry, what were we discussing?”
“I asked you what you wanted. You were staring at me uncomfortably and I want to know why,” Dean growled, so close to punching the man.
“Coincidentally I’m your neighbor. Apartment B, room 201. You’re occupying room 202, yes? Well, I reckoned you were alone and I come here every Friday. I was hoping we could have a mutual friendship,” He rambled, offering Dean his hand, “Castiel.”
“Dean. Dean Winchester,” Dean replied cooly, accepting Castiel’s hand, shaking it loosely, “I don’t understand why you’d want to talk to me,” He said suspiciously. It was unnerving that someone actually interacted with Dean. He wasn’t sure the last time he spoke to a woman, possibly two months ago, before Sammy ditched him for college, “I’m not used to people staring at me and saying nothing,” He teased.
“I didn’t know what to say,” Castiel rebutted, “Tell me about yourself? I don’t know. I can’t make conversation with one that I have no basic knowledge of.”
Dean shrugged, promptly offering information that all his friends knew, “I love pie, I love it more than anything besides Baby, my Impala and my baby brother. I like Led Zeppelin’s music. Err, I’m a loner, used to be cool as fuck in high school but that all ended as soon as we all parted ways, and I think supernatural creatures aren’t real regardless of what anyone says.” He said the last part firmly.
Castiel frowned as soon as he heard the last detail Dean spit out, “You don’t believe in beings such as ghosts and witches?”
“No. They’re not real nor will anyone convince me they are.”
The black haired man supposed that telling his new friend his belief was false wasn’t going to improve their relationship, so instead of discussing it he changed the subject, “I like pie too,” He said blankly, “Especially blueberry pie.”
“My mother used to make apple pies for us when me and my brother were younger, but she’s passed away,” He grimaced at the reminder of Mary, “I guess my favorite is apple pie, but I’d settle down for any kind, really,” He looked up expectantly at Castiel, “So, uh, Cas? Anything I should know about you?”
“There’s nothing interesting about me, other than my liking for trench coats,” He said jokingly, “So if I told you the supernatural was real and proved it you still wouldn’t believe me?”
“Well I would need physical proof,” Dean folded his arms, “Otherwise you’re a liar.”
Cas ran a hand through his thick black hair, “I’ll think about it.” He said blankly, “It’s going to rain soon, you should go home.”
“Yeah I checked the weather this morning, it might drown the roads,” Dean smirked.
“Roads are not living creatures, they can’t drown,” Cas replied.
Dean’s expression twisted into a confused one as soon as he heard Castiel take his statement literally. Was his guy actually an idiot? Or did he not take jokes very well. He wouldn’t say it out loud though, why would he risk losing someone he just met? “I meant they might get flooded. The rain might be bad.”
Cas nodded before walking out the door and disappearing into sight.
Dean looked around to scout for the mysterious man, only to find nothing, leaning on the doorframe as he felt droplets of rain fall on his nicely combed hair. “Damnit,” He mumbled, “If I had stayed home...”
He felt miserable, the rain already soaking his hair, water invading the grey carpets of his apartment because of it. His brown boots were soaked in water, only adding more destruction to his home. Broken down pieces of the autumn leaves stuck to the bottom of them. Dean took them off, placing them on the dirty carpet besides the door.
He dug down his right pocket for his phone, struggling slightly but eventually finding the Samsung he barely managed to buy (and it left him a few dollars short for groceries). In addition with the success of finding his device, he discovered a small, tiny yellow sticky note attached to the back of it. Dean half smiled and was creeped out, the note simply had Cas’s phone number on it, or what he hoped was his phone number. Otherwise, he had some other weirdo’s phone number and calling them without notice certainly wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.
Sighing, he let his back plunge into the soft sheets of his bed, eyes shutting as he did so, uncaring when his phone rang.