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I Don't Know About You

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             14 hours. That’s how long Dean and his band were in the studio today recording and preparing for their new album, Laps Around the Sun. They finished the last track on the album around when the clock hit 9:30. Bobby Singer, their manager, decided it was time to call it quits for the night and send everyone home. Dean’s guitarist, Crowley MacLeod, suggested they all head over to the Roadhouse for some burgers and a few rounds before the night ends. That sounded like a pretty damn good idea to Dean, considering he hadn’t eaten in probably 12 hours.

            The Roadhouse is only a few blocks from the studio, so the guys decided to just walk. None of them planned on being sober enough to drive home anyway, so leaving their cars in the garage at the studio sounded like a better idea than leaving them in the open parking lot of the bar. They walked in at about a quarter to 10 and were greeted with loud music and even louder voices.

            “Well, I’ll be damned. What are you boys doing in here on a Thursday night?” A raspy voice asked from behind the bar.

            Ellen Harvelle is the owner of the bar. Dean has known Ellen and her daughter, Jo, since he was 13. He used to sneak over to their house with his little brother, Sammy, when their dad would come home soaked in alcohol and rage and start throwing shit. It was best to not be around John Winchester when he was drunk off his ass.

            “We just finished the last song on the album. Bobby sent us home for the night.” Dean replied. They’ve been working day and night on this album for almost a year. Dean had a handful of songs from the beginning that he wanted on this album, but he wants it to be perfect, so he took his time choosing the rest of the tracks.

            “What’re the specials tonight, El?” Benny Lafitte, Dean’s drummer, asked the bartender with a thick, Louisiana drawl.

            “Benny, you ask me that every time y’all come in here and it’s the same damn thing every time. Burgers, wings, and beer. That’s it, so you gonna order, or are you gonna keep acting like a dumbass?” The woman glared at him.

            “Just a round of whatever’s on tap, El. And I’ll take a bacon burger.” Dean cut in. Ellen may be small, but she’s a force to be reckoned with and he’s gotta protect his drummer from getting his ass handed to him.

            “One bacon burger coming up. Dean Winchester, I swear to you, you keep bringing that boy in here, I’m gonna be in a grave quicker than he can decide what to order,” Ellen warns. Dean laughs, he knows Benny does it just to pick on her.

            The rest of the band gives Ellen their orders and then they make their way over to the pool table for a couple games. Dean stays seated at the bar talking to Jo for a minute to catch up. He’s about to get up and join his bandmates when someone at the end of the bar catches his eye. A tall figure with dark hair and bright blue eyes.

            “Who’s that?” Dean asks Jo.

            “Dunno, first time in here far as I can tell,” Jo says as she wipes a ring of condensation off the bar in front of Dean.

            “Hm,” Dean gets up and walks over to the unfamiliar patron.

            “Haven’t seen you ‘round here before,” Dean says.

            “I’ve never been here before,” the dark-haired man returns.

            His voice is gravelly and warm. Dean wasn’t expecting the man to sound so enticing.

            “I—uh,” he clears his throat, “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester,” he says, proudly.

            “Castiel Novak,” the man replies, seeming to have no recognition of Dean’s name.

            “Castiel? That’s an interesting name. Where’d your folks come up with that?” Dean asks.

            “My father is a preacher, so I grew up in the church. Castiel is the name of an angel.”

            “You boys doing okay over here?” Ellen interrupts.

            “How ‘bout another round, El. On me,” Dean answers as he turns to ask Castiel, “Whatcha drinkin’?”

            “Bud Light, my favorite,” Castiel replies, matter of factly. Dean laughs and wiggles two of his fingers to signal to Ellen that he’ll have one as well.

            “Comin’ up!” Ellen says as she makes her way back towards the tap.

            “So, Cas, what brings you into a bar like this on a Thursday night?”

            “I would assume the same thing that brought you in here; alcohol” Castiel retorts, not taking his eyes off the tv above his head. It’s a recap of the Vols’ win last weekend.

            “Fair enough,” Dean laughs, “you been in Nashville long?”

            “Just moved here from Kansas.”

            “No shit, where about?”

            “Lebanon,” Castiel answers, flatly. Dean can tell he’s far more interested in the Vols’ game, but Dean continues.

            “Nice. I’m from Lawrence. Moved here almost 15 years ago with my dad and brother, then I started my music career. What brought you all the way out here?”

            “Work,” Castiel replies.

            “Mind if I ask what ya do?” Dean pries.

            Castiel takes his eyes off the tv as Ellen sets down another beer. He takes this opportunity to look at Dean for the first time since he sat down next to him. He hadn’t noticed how green Dean’s eyes are before now.

            “I’m uh— a uh— lawyer. I’m a lawyer,” Castiel manages to stumble out.

            “You sure about that?” Dean chuckles.

            “Yes, I’m sure.

            “Awesome,” Dean laughs, “My little brother Sammy’s a lawyer. Pretty damn good one, too. Best in Nashville if I do say so myself.”

            Castiel hasn’t looked away from Dean yet, studying him. Dean reaches up and brushes the back of his neck awkwardly.

            “So, uh,” Dean tries to find an excuse to keep talking to Castiel when he catches a glimpse of a tattoo on Castiel’s wrist.

            “What’s your tattoo say?” Dean asks as he points to Castiel’s arm.

            “Proverbs 3:5. It’s a verse about trust,” Castiel says, looking down and running his thumb over it.

            “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding,” Dean recites as Castiel looks up at him. His cheeks turn hot, “Or, something like that.”

            “Yes, something like that.” Castiel smiles.

            Dean got a smile out of him. This stone-faced human being who’s barely given Dean a second thought since he walked up just smiled at him.

            They talk for what feels like hours, through many songs and a lot more beers and Dean thinks they’re really starting to hit it off when Castiel stands up.

            “Gotta go now, first day of work’s tomorrow. G’bye, Dean,” Castiel slurs.

            “Woah, wait, hang on,” Dean says, catching Castiel’s arm as he turns to leave, “Can ya ‘least lemme walk ya to your car?”

            “I guess that’s fine. Lemme just, uh, pay my tab.”

            “S’on me, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

            “Dean, I can’t let you pay m’tab, I had a lot of drinks and dinner,” Castiel recants, emphasizing the word ‘and’.

            “Yeah, well, I’m the reason ya got most of ‘em so I got it. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

            Castiel huffs and surrenders, allowing Dean to walk with him out to his car. He stumbles a bit, but Dean steadies him.

            “Look, man, I can’t let ya drive like this. You can barely walk,” Dean says.

            “Oh, like you’re any better? M’fine,” Castiel says as he pulls his arm out of Dean’s grip, almost knocking himself over in the process.

            Dean grabs his arm again to make sure he doesn’t fall.

            “Hey,” Dean laughs, “Never said I was in any condition to drive, either. Lemme get you a cab,” Dean says, smiling at the cute little pout Castiel probably doesn’t even realize has adorned his face.

            Castiel agrees and stands with Dean for a few minutes before a cab rolls up. Dean helps Castiel get into the car and then climbs in after him.

            “What’re y’doing?” Castiel asks him.

            “Just makin’ sure you get home okay. What kinda date would I be if I let you get inna cab by yourself?” Dean replies.

            Castiel looks at him, confused, but then relaxes his face because he’s way too drunk to think right now. He scoots over so Dean has enough room and manages to give his new address to the driver.

            15 minutes and 22 dollars later, the cab pulls up to the curb outside his apartment building. Dean gets out and helps Castiel get out and up to the exterior door.

            “Have’ta put the code in,” Castiel slurs.

            “Fancy,” Dean replies.

            They manage their way to the elevator and up to Castiel’s apartment on the eighth floor. Castiel struggles with the key but manages to open the door after dropping it and cursing a few times as Dean laughs at him.

            “Well, Cas, guess that’s it. I’ma head— “

            Dean’s interrupted by Castiel’s lips smashing into his. It takes him a second to realize what’s happening as Castiel brings him inside and presses him up against the now closed apartment door.

            Dean pulls away and looks at Castiel, both of them panting.

            “You’re drunk, Cas. I don’t wanna take a’vantage a you like this.”

            “You’re drunk too. S’fine, m’fine,” Castiel pants as he presses his lips to Dean’s again.

            Dean gives in and allows his lips to part to let Castiel’s tongue enter his mouth. Dean laces his tongue around Castiel’s as he moves one hand down to hold onto Castiel’s waist and the other up to grip his hair. Castiel moans at the slight tug of his hair as Dean breaks free from his mouth and starts pressing wet kisses down Castiel’s neck.

            Dean presses his mouth against Castiel’s throat, his teeth scraping across his skin, causing Castiel to moan again. Dean moves back up to Castiel’s mouth and they make their way to Castiel’s bedroom without coming up for air.

            Castiel falls down onto the bed with Dean in tow, pulling him down on top of him.

            “Condoms,” Castiel breathes out, “drawer, ‘ver there.”

            Dean manages to figure out where Cas is pointing to and he reluctantly pulls himself away from Cas’ lips, so he can grab the condoms from the drawer.

            He tears one off the ribbon and rips open the package, but when he turns around to get back on the bed, Cas’ eyes are closed and he’s quietly snoring. He smiles, though, slightly disappointed.

            Dean walks back out into the kitchen and hunts for a pen and piece of scrap paper.

I had fun tonight.         
Call me 216-357-1967

            Dean leaves the note and the pen on Cas’ kitchen counter, grabs his jacket, and heads back down to the lobby. He pulls out his phone to call for a cab when he sees a missed call from Benny, so he decides to call him back first.

            “‘Lo?” Benny drawls into the phone when he picks up.

            “You call?” Dean asks.

            “Dean!” Benny screams into the phone. Benny’s loud when he’s sober, so drunk Benny is amplified by 10, “the hell’d you run off to? the boys and i was waitin’ on ya ta join us but ya walked out with some poor bastard hangin’ off yer shoulder and ya never came back!”

           “Yeah, man, m’sorry. Met a guy at the bar, brought ‘im home.”

           “Oh shit! Hell yeah! That’s my b— oh shit m’I interruptin’ y’all?”

           “Nah, man, s’cool. I’m leavin’.”

            “That bad in the sack, huh?”

            “Benny, shut the fuck— no, know what? Never mind. I’ll j‘st talk to you t’morrow.”

            “Aw man, Deano, I was just pickin’,” Benny laughs, “Have a good night!” He screams into the phone. Dean hears him yell ‘woohoo’ at someone before the phone cuts out.

            Dean sighs and dials the number for a cab.


            Dean gets back to his house around 3 o’clock in the morning. Stumbling into his room, he drops his clothes to the floor as he grabs the bottle of lube he keeps in the dresser by his bed. He closes his eyes and pretends Cas is the one getting him off. When he’s done, he reluctantly opens his eyes to see what he already knows, that Cas isn’t there. He cleans himself up and goes to sleep.