Chapter Text
Dean and Cas were meant for each other. They had known it immediately upon first laying eyes on the other, though Cas was the only one that admitted it in the beginning.
The story they told everyone about how they met went a little something like this:
Dean was drinking in a bar one night. Cas just happened to be there, although he rarely went to such places. He saw Dean at the bar and went up and offered to buy him a drink. (Now, this is all true so far, but the rest of the story is a bit of a fabrication.) Dean accepted the drink and the two of them talked all night long until the bar closed, at which point they found an all-night diner and shared a pie. The flavor of the pie varied with the telling, but no one ever commented, chalking it up to Dean and Cas being too infatuated with each other to remember such an extraneous detail. (Dean would never forget a pie. Nor would he ever categorize it as an extraneous detail. As far as he was concerned, pie was the star of any story no matter how small a role it actually played.) After the pie they left the diner and watched the sunrise.
That’s usually where they stop the story, their audience thoroughly convinced that Dean and Cas were very much in love by that point and not needing to hear any more.
In reality, their first meeting went a little differently.
--
Dean was sitting at the bar. Had been for the past couple of hours and the bartender he was ordering from was getting more and more blurry by the minute. He thinks he remembers her being hot, but now she was just a spinning mixture of blonde hair, bright lips, and the cheesy bar logo of a leprechaun on her shirt. She was probably new because he should have been cut off at least three drinks ago. Then again, he wasn’t acting rowdy or anything. He was just sitting there quietly, slowly poisoning his liver and wishing it would hurry up and kill him. Maybe. Not really. He didn’t want to die, he just didn’t want the life he had. Well, he wouldn’t mind the life he had yesterday. That life had been alright. Not great, but alright.
The world got a little fuzzier and he refused to admit it was because his eyes were now shining with unshed tears. He just chalked it up to being the drunkest he had ever been in his life. Which was true.
He was so drunk he didn’t even notice his soul reaching out and finding another, not that he would have really known what was happening. He may, however, have been slightly more amenable to the dark haired man walking with purpose towards the empty stool next to him.
--
Honestly, Castiel had given up hope that this would ever happen. Most of his family had already made connections and passed on long ago, and those that were left were unwilling to do so. His cousin, Balthazar, for example, had had the opportunity at least three times now and refused each one. Castiel had always been somewhat bitterly jealous about that, but all of those thoughts and feelings were banished from his mind as he took a seat next to the young man nursing a whiskey.
Castiel tugged on the bond he already felt forming between them, but the young man remained stationary, staring down into his drink. Human, then. It wasn’t unusual for his kind to find their mates in humanity, but Castiel had hoped that his mate would have been the type to recognize a bond when it formed. But now Castiel had to rely on his rather lackluster “people skills.”
He cleared his throat, but the man made no indication that he had heard. Castiel sighed and tapped his fingers along the bar, trying to think of what to do next. He shuddered as he thought the phrase what would Balthazar do? Because surely that’s a concept he never suspected he’d take seriously, but the fact was that Balthazar definitely knew how to attract people.
“May I buy you a drink?” he finally asked, his voice even lower than its usual timber from his nerves.
The man seemed to flinch at Castiel’s words before looking over at him and squinting. “Huh? You talkin’ t’ me?” he slurred.
“Oh, um, yes,” Castiel replied. “I was wondering if you would allow me to buy your next drink…” Castiel rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he acquired only in the most stressful of situations.
The man blinked a few times, as if trying to adequately judge Castiel’s appearance. Apparently he didn’t like what he saw because he shook his head and went back to staring into his glass.
Castiel felt his heart drop to the soles of his shoes. What was he supposed to do now? Couldn’t the man feel their connection? Perhaps… perhaps Castiel was mistaken? Maybe he wanted a connection so badly that he convinced himself to feel one? Although, even the thought of that sounded insane. He couldn’t just will his soul into finding its mate and connecting to it. The bond was still very much there. The man’s soul was willing, even if he himself was not. But he had been slurring his speech, so perhaps it was just alcohol that was barring their connection.
Castiel ruminated on his thoughts until the man next to him, his mate, began shaking in what Castiel was horrified to realize were suppressed sobs.
“Are you alright?” he asked, realizing as the words came out how stupid they sounded. Of course he wasn’t alright.
The man slumped forward and covered his face with one of his hands, small whimpering sounds now coming from him, albeit muffled.
“Please,” Castiel said. “Please don’t…” He put a hand out and attempted to comfort the man physically, but the man flinched away so hard he nearly fell off of his stool. Castiel immediately put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
The man shifted and Castiel realized that he had one arm in a makeshift sling that looked like it was made from a torn shirt. Castiel had been so preoccupied with the state of their newly formed bond he hadn’t even bothered to look at the physical attributes of his mate. And although he was gorgeous, Castiel felt himself unable to look away from the dark purple bruising covering one of his eyes.
Castiel wanted to demand to know what happened, a fierce protectiveness he never knew he possessed flaring up inside of himself. He wanted to find the perpetrator and—he cut off that line of thinking quickly. It would do nothing to remedy the situation at hand.
But he still didn’t know what to do.
--
Oh god, Dean was pathetic. He was crying in the middle of a bar. Actual tears were coming out of his eyes. Sounds he would never admit to making were coming out of his mouth in front of a hot guy. (Well, he thinks he’s hot. Dean can’t really see straight, but the dark haired dude sitting next to him had a sexy as fuck voice, so he had to be hot, too, right?) And the hot guy was interested in him. At least, he’s pretty sure that the dude asked to buy him a drink. If Dean wasn’t so pathetic he may have accepted. It’s not like his dad was here to judge. Maybe he should have said yes. There was something oddly comforting about the complete stranger that was probably hot sitting next to him. He should have said yes and then they could have had a drink and then maybe they could have had the apple pie life together like he never let himself dream about. He could still hunt, but he wouldn’t have to, and things could have been okay. He would have been so happy, probably, and maybe if he proved he could have a life like that then Sammy would come back and they could live an apple pie life together. Not like together together, but like next door neighbors together and it all could have happened except he turned down the perfectly nice stranger sitting next to him and there was no possible way to salvage this situation because now Dean was crying harder and oh god, why couldn’t he stop crying?
The hot guy sitting next to him raised a hand and Dean flinched automatically, almost unseating himself. Dean felt unbearably stupid when the man stuck his hands up in surrender. The guy was probably just trying to signal the bartender.
“I’m sorry,” the man apologized. “I didn’t mean to do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
Dean shifted in embarrassment. Of course this dude was like the nicest, most conscientious guy ever. “S’alright,” he slurred. “S’okay.”
“How about we start over?” the man asked. “My name is Castiel.”
Dean’s alcohol addled brain didn’t even attempt to process that mouthful in its entirety. “’M Dean,” he replied.
“Dean,” the man—Cas as Dean was now referring to him in his head since he’d already forgotten the rest—said. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you.”
Dean didn’t know why Cas would think that, Dean was hardly good company right now, but he couldn’t help but to agree with the sentiment since a warmth was spreading through him just from Cas’ shy smile.