The restaurant was definitely nothing like the Roadhouse. It screamed 'Castiel' and Dean was shocked to realize Cas had actually gotten them a reservation. He was reservation worthy, and the thought alone made Dean's heart stutter just a little. They sat in a secluded table in the back and ordered red wine and beer. Of course Cas was the red wine type. When they fell into a soft silence, unsure what two strangers should say to each other, Dean reached across the table and thumbed the soft fabric of the blazer Cas hadn't yet taken off.

"This...is nice. It brings out your eyes." Cas blushed faintly before swatting his hand away.

"Well, I'm only wearing it because someone  stained my favourite coat. Which I'll be sure to send you the dry cleaning bill for." the hint of humour in his voice kept Dean off the edge. They both laughed softly and Dean apologized, take a small sip of beer before the waiter came back. 

      Dinner had gone by smoothly, and they'd shared dessert, which Dean was sure only happened in movies, but he was more than happy to share with Cas. As they slid into the Lincoln, Dean kept questioning Castiel. The more he learned, the more he liked Castiel and saw the softer side of the man he'd assumed was nothing but an arrogant stiff neck. He learned that Cas had a big family, several siblings and a dad much like Dean's own, one who wasn't quite in the picture anymore. Castiel was an English professor at the near by university, and he knew nothing about cars, but was deeply revered by Dean's skills. He liked wine, and burgers, and staying up too late watching television. He had favourites in his classes, and often showed up closer to the late side. He drank his coffee black, and always ate toast for breakfast. Dean loved these little things, the things that made the man sitting so close to him so real, so tangible that it could've made Dean soar. What was this professor doing to him?

      Castiel had enjoyed the date even more than he'd care to admit. Over dinner, he'd quizzed Dean, determined to learn as much as possible about him. He ran the pub on main, the Roadhouse with some close friends and family. He had a younger brother Sammy, who Cas was sure he'd read about on multiple occasions. Dean's father was a dead beat drunk who'd ditched the boys early on, and their father figure Bobby was gruff but had a warm, gentle heart. Dean drank his coffee with too much sugar, and on most days ate pancakes or Eggo's for breakfast. He loved cars more than almost anything, but not more than Sammy, and not more than pie. And most of all, Dean was secretly the most selfless, compassionate person Castiel had ever come across. The way his apple-green eyes softened and melted when he spoke of his brother, the trials life had put him through to ensure that boy got the best, the way his lips tugged up at the corners when he spoke of the auto shop, or Bobby, or the people at the Roadhouse who'd always been family to Dean, the way Castiel could feel the gentle, sheer humanity rolling off of Dean and hanging in the car between them. He was sure he was falling in love, and he couldn't have been any more content than he was in that old Lincoln, driving aimlessly while they spoke. And when a calloused, shy hand reached over to take his own, Castiel intertwined their fingers and hoped to God he'd never have to let go.