Chapter Text
DEAN
Until recently, I hated the cold and everything that came with it: the snow piling on heavy atop my car, the heating bill, the layers upon layers of clothing I needed to wear just to walk a few feet outdoors, the like. Winter was always such a pain in the ass to me and I counted the days and weeks until it was over, rejoiced at the sight of green grass underneath the troublesome layers of white, and I wasn’t even that big of a fan of Christmas, partly because my family had never been very keen on celebrating it, but that was besides the point. Overall, the month of November all the way through the tail end of March were torturous for me, always had been.
Except nowadays.
No, I still don’t like the cold, chilly weather and I don’t particularly like going outside. The bland and bare trees outside aren’t magical to me, nor are they any kind of beautiful, and I still went just about mad hearing the same damn three Christmas songs play over and over again on every radio station the moment Thanksgiving had passed, but there had been additions to my life that made the treacherous season exponentially more enjoyable, and now there wasn’t a day throughout the entire year that I didn’t appreciate them. It was hard not to, if I’d ever bothered to try otherwise, since I saw them each and every day without fail.
That day in particular was sure to be a good one. I could tell by the shimmering light bouncing off the snow blanketing the window sill and into the room, touching down on my face and waking me up in a way I thought was only possible in the movies: nicely. It couldn’t be any later than eight in the morning, and with one blurry glance towards the clock perched on my nightstand, I saw the sun had woken me up a whole two minutes before my alarm, and I frowned. Then, groaning in annoyance and stretching my arms into the air, pushing my body deepers into the covers as I did so, I felt the form of another press further against me, legs entangled with mine, arm wrapped haphazardly around my middle, and grinned sleepily, clumsily. The old expression of grumpiness had vacated my face, and it was definitely going to be a good day.
I did need someone to start it with, though, and even though the sleeping figure next me had only arrived there a good six hours prior, I was lonely and still a little irritated over the my lost two minutes of rest, so I was selfish and leaned in closer, kissing the sleeping pout off their face for it only to be replaced by a more intense, conscious one.
“Dean...what’re you…”
Their legs rubbed against mine, just now noting the awkward and very much inconvenient position we’d fallen into the night before, and tried to draw away from my grasp in a fit of mumbles and moans of disruption. I should’ve felt guilty for being such an asshole, for they needed the rest far more than I did, but it was so warm in the heap of flannel sheets and skin and foggy memories of whatever we’d done in the earlier morning hours that I held them still and planted another press of my lips just below their ear. It didn’t do much to ease the aggravation.
“...what time is it...too early...”
Finally, abandoning my efforts and pulling away from my sleep-deprived partner and rolling my eyes in defeat, I answered, glumly,
“Jesus, good morning to you, too, Cas…”
My whining was half-heartedly remedied by a weak frown into my bottom lip, and despite my false attempt at sounding at all vexatious, I couldn’t help but relish in the light grind of stubble against my lower cheek and chin and the beginnings of consciousness fading back into my partner’s eyes. The same sunlight that had woken me earlier had even more magical effects on those eyes, and just like that the day was destined to not only be good, but maybe even great.
Everyday that I got to wake up with Castiel beside me had the potential to be great, of course.
“I got home at two in the morning, Dean,” He reprimanded me, his peevish tone of voice not enough to distract me from his shifting, until he was nearly on top of me, hands against my wrists with a smile struggling to appear along his pale face, an expression contrary to the mood he was trying to convince me he was in.
“That’s not my fault,” I retorted, pursing my lips and just waiting to see what he’d say.
“It’s not mine either. It’s entirely not my fault that Charlie Bradbury spilled one massive tub of blue cheese dressing all over the kitchen floor and that she demanded Kevin and I help her clean it up, just as I was leaving.”
Cas sighed after his piece, and had it been any other time of day I would’ve felt concern over his aggravation, because usually he was “employee of the century” at all times and wouldn’t have complained about the salad dressing fiasco much at all, but he hated mornings like I hated the cold, and they brought out the worst in him. It was funny to me, though, because the worst wasn’t even that bad, and while he helped me stay warm in the winter I only proceeded to intentionally piss him off during his least favorite couple of hours.
“And it certainly is not my fault that you decided to keep me up even later than usual, you know,” he added with a devilish twinge to his tone that I only heard during the most compromising of times, and it earned a hearty laugh from within my chest, a laugh that was free of all traces of guilt.
“Don’t act like you’re actually pissed about it, man,” I sneered, a little meanly, but Cas got the point and rolled his sparkling eyes and I fought hard not to get lost in them, in their embodiment of all things warm and safe and gentle. Besides, there was a dull beep ringing from the opposite corner of the bed, my assigned corner, and it was officially eight o’clock. Cas was the first to remark about the time, as usual.
“You woke up earlier than usual today.” It was said with innocence and observation and I couldn’t help but giggle, the sound moving Cas’s figure up and down slightly, since he was still perched lightly atop my middle, and he waited for my response.
“Just by two minutes, I’m not dying or anything.”
“That’s good to hear,” Cas answered, with a level of sweetness and honesty that only he could achieve, before lowering himself down to press his lips against the corners of my own, breath warm and smile large, and he released his grip on my wrists as he spoke once more into my cheek,
“This does mean that you have to go to work though...unfortunately.”
Judging by the way he was teasing me, he wouldn’t be mourning the loss much and would probably be spending the hours of my absence in pajamas and in and out of naps. Soon my free hand found its way into his hair, but he knew better. I was distracted too easily, got carried away at the drop of a pin, at the brief press of lips, and he was right: work existed and needed me there at the top of the next hour.
“N’ugh…” was my choice of grumbles as I pried myself out of the soothing solace of sheets and the familiar grasp of Cas’s arms and legs. In a few painful moments I’d emerged in full and was stretching my arms upward once more, causing my back to give a loud crack and creak of bones being dislodged from the night’s position, when I heard a snicker from behind me and turned around on a shaky heel.
“What?” I mumbled, rubbing sleep from my eyes and distorting the sight of Cas’s cheeks rising high into his face, intruding on the bags under his eyes, as he plain old laughed at me, and I was at a complete loss for what he found so amusing after being so grumpy seconds before. He would have to enlighten me, and he did so by holding up a finger-I wasn’t keen on waiting for his explanation; why the hell was he laughing?- and bending over the mattress to retrieve something. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t watch, and that there weren’t rather distinct red marks lining the skin around his spine and shoulders, remnants of the events that had transpired in the hours before, and I realized that he did have every right to be tired.
Thankfully, the blush that accumulated along my cheeks and the bridge of my nose had mostly dissipated by the time Cas had reached whatever it was he’d been looking for and had turned around.
“You probably need to put these on before you go out anywhere,” he informed me, the sadistic humor in his voice mixing with his general helpfulness until I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not, and just shook my head no with exasperation. Yes, I hadn’t noticed my lack of under or outer garments until seeing my work drawn out across Cas’s back, but it didn’t serve as much of an issue to me.
“Nah, I’m changing into ‘fresher’ clothes, thank you very much-”
“Well then I at least suggest drawing the blinds. While the light is nice, I highly doubt you want the outside seeing you in such a state.”
There was surely a snide edge to his words, sharp and sarcastic, a trait that he’d picked upon only recently and while I knew I was the sole suspect to blame, it still drove me crazy, and in a rush of muttered curse words and flushed faces and extremities, I snatched the blinds in both hands and pulled them tightly closed. My urgency and out of character embarrassment did little to stop Cas’s laughter of course, and he proceeded to mock me and my idiocy all while I threw on clean boxers and my usual uniform when traveling off to work: my “company-issued” pale blue button down, dark jeans, and the socks I found at the bottom of my drawer. I made an effort to ignore the deep, ocean eyes I knew were staring me down at that very moment, pretend as though their owner wasn’t in the same state of bareness I’d been in as I revealed myself to the world outside, but was failing miserably.
“Will you be able to stop by today?” Cas eventually asked once he’d ceased chuckling and his amusement was reduced to nothing more than a small grin.
“Yeah, probably. Bobby said he doesn’t need me for very long today, just until around 4 o’clock I think.”
Cas’s smile deepened as his gaze softened, stretching as he spoke,
“I’ll look forward to it then,” he replied and stretched forward, showing a little more of his not-so-clothed figure than I believed he’d intended to, and it was my turn to laugh a little. Though whether it was at his state or the genuine happiness he still felt over the idea of me visiting him at work, I didn’t know.
“Gotta keep up that Thursday tradition, right?” I suggested with a raise of my eyebrows. I’d made my way over to his side of the bed after buttoning the last of my shirt and stuffed it as neatly as I could into my pants, feeling satisfied enough with my appearance and knowing Bobby, basically my family member made boss, wouldn’t even notice the degree of orderliness in which my shirt was tucked.
“You came at least every three days, Dean. It was only a tradition for the first two weeks or so…”
I smirked, looking down to my feet as I laced up on my shoes while knowing my expression was driving Cas up a wall, so I decided to top it off with the most smart-aleck statement I could possibly think of on the spot like that.
“But I was your favorite regular, right?”
Cas faces sunk just as my spirits lifted even higher than they’d been all that morning, the horror and defeat in his expression oddly rewarding,
“Goodness, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop bringing that up,” he groaned, the articulateness of his sentence a great contrast to how much I was bugging him. “I’d made Charlie swear not to tell you about that.”
I clamped Cas hard on his back, the sound echoing throughout the room, dismissing his troubles and silently thanking Charlie for letting me in on Cas’s little description of me so many months back. It served as a great bargaining chip and annoyance to hang over my rather poetic companion’s head, though it didn’t seem to be quite as effective that morning since he was still willing to pull me in closer one last time and lock lips, deeper than I’d expected, with his top lip slotting between both of mine and threatening to pry them open, and I began to doubt my previous statement about him being the one to pull me from such distractions like the one we were presently caught in the middle. That would have to be my job then, but I let it continue a little longer than my counterpart would’ve had it been any other, more typical day.
And I had been able to tell that the day was not typical from the moment the sun had gleamed through the window, so I suppose Cas’s general mood and willingness to go a little too far for eight in the morning shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me, but no one would’ve been able to completely handle his hands snaking their way around my waist, his brute force in prying my lips open, and I felt lost and engulfed in a way only Castiel could make feel safe and okay.
I guess, in the end, my shirt-tucking job didn’t mean much, since I would have to redo it anyways momentarily, and my mind was very far from its state as a few shameful sighs were pushed from somewhere deep within my throat, a place that wasn’t supposed to make noise in the first place, as familiar fingers snaked their way underneath my button down’s fabric. They latched onto whatever skin they could find, sending goosebumps up my chest and back down my arms, and Cas’s breath still was reminiscent of the alcohol from the previous night, sharp and overwhelming to not only the taste but to the touch, and I wondered if it was still affecting his train of thought and logic.
The grind of his stubble increased from soft to rough as the amount of pressure put in the lack of space between our lips grew until Cas himself uttered an exhale of breath so uncharacteristically dirty that my damn hips bucked. This surely wasn’t good; this was not the best of ways to make a day productive, but not a single ounce of me planned on protesting. And as the ridges of his lips rubbed up and down against my own, tongue entering and exiting my agape mouth as it pleased, I thought perhaps work could wait. Like I said, Bobby wouldn’t notice whatever state of neatness I arrived in, and he surely wouldn’t be bothered if I showed up a little late then, correct? All I had to make sure of was that he couldn’t see the pinkened skin Cas was beginning to suck on, furiously, like he was the one on a time limit, and damn did my hips fucking roll-
Ring!
“What the hell-”
Ring!
“I believe something is vibrating in the pocket of your jeans, Dean,” Cas explained to me, instantly pulling away from his favored spot on my neck just above my collarbone, acting as though we’d done nothing but pass by in the hall, complete strangers. He had a knack for immediately shutting down whatever kind of energy he accumulated during such exchanges.
“Damn it...yeah, I know…” I muttered angrily and I arched my arm backwards to reach into my pants’ back pocket where my phone was ringing profusely and at the most inconvenient of times. Without reading the number displayed across its screen I answered the call, breathing my introduction heavily and awkwardly into the speaker until I was sure whoever was on the other end would be entirely convinced that I’d just been running some sort of marathon.
“Hello?”
“Ay, Dean, it’s Bobby. Just callin’ to ask a favor of ya.”
I held in my groan and Cas, noticing my aggravation, began busying himself with re-buttoning the first few buttons at the top of my shirt, adjusting my collar as he did so.
“Yeah...yeah Bobby, what’s up?” I replied.
“Well, first off, have ya been runnin’ for yer life recently? Sounds like you’re about to cough up a damn lung, son.”
Bobby was not a soft-talker, did not have an inside-voice, so Cas heard the length of his comment and chuckled proudly to himself as his fingers danced along the back of my neck, flicking my collar down. I gave him a rather dubious look but it did little to dampen his spirits, and I went back to the quickly failing conversation.
“No...no...just got in a run this morning, that’s all.” It seemed believable until I said it and I was immediately wincing at my diminished lying skills. I blamed Cas and his forever innocent ways for corrupting me, and yes I realize how little sense that makes.
“When the hell didja pick up running?” Bobby exclaimed, but then seemed to think differently about the question, and continued,
“No, whatever, I don’t really care. I’m just callin’ to ask if you can close up shop today. Ellen says she needs some help down at the Roadhouse ‘n all, and I thought you’d be willin’ to pitch in an extra couple ‘a hours. I’d pay ya!”
I grimaced and bit my lower lip, a way much less sensual than what had been done in the minutes earlier, and immediately my eyes flicked down to Cas. Predictably, he’d heard the proposed favor and while he didn’t look entirely happy about it, he nodded his head as an “okay,” and I mouthed a silent,
“You sure?”
He nodded once more, mouthed nothing and spoke not a word, and I pretended like my guilt had diminished for the time-being.
“Uh, sure, Bobby. I can do that,”I agreed, solemnly. “What time were you thinking?”
“Eight o’clock okay? I got an appointment at quarter to eight, shouldn’t take much longer than that, and I’m sure you can handle it.”
Eight o’clock was better than never. The pub didn’t close until one in the morning, this I knew for a fact, so I could easily carve out some time to see Cas. It would be even more similar to the old Thursdays.
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks Dean,” Bobby said, and while I would’ve been far more reluctant to agree to his slightly painful request, the things Bobby had done for me over the years far outweighed four extra hours of work, so I held my tongue, much like Cas was holding my hips loosely in both of his hands, staring blankly at the very uninteresting ceiling.
“Not a problem,” was my answer, and I was about to say my goodbyes when Bobby beat me to the punch, adding one last remark that made me want to reach through the phone and physically detract my acceptance of his favor.
“Tell Castiel I said hello, will ya? Hope he’s keepin’ ya busy.”
“Hello, Mr. Singer!”
I was too busy gazing at Cas with betrayal and utter disbelief and I hardly heard Bobby’s chorus of hearty laughs and chortles as he said his true goodbye and hung up, the line going dead.
“Thanks. You’ve just given him three months worth of material to bug the hell outta me with.”
Cas beamed, and it was moments like then where I realized that while he might’ve corrupted me with his innocence, I’d infested him with my rudeness and my sarcasm, and sometimes it really did catch me off guard.
“I was merely returning the hello, Dean. Nothing more than common courtesy.”
And I would’ve socked him right there, given him a piece of my mind, but I happened to care very deeply for the blue-eyed, slim-toned, eternally awkward yet now slightly more socially able, gentle, and simply kind bartender and goddamn angel lying pretty underneath me, so I settled on ruffling his hair and releasing him from my death grip. It was ten minutes past eight now, and I needed to get going.
“I’ll stop by later tonight, I promise,” I said, grabbing my coat that was hung near the bed, because upon purchasing my first apartment for two, one has to give up the luxury of having a door more than ten feet from your bed, and getting ready to leave for good that time, no more surprises or distractions or dangerously intoxicating hands along my waist to keep me from going to work. I did intend on keeping my promise though, since I hadn’t paid a visit to the pub in a long while and it just so happened to be a place of rather large worth to Castiel and I.
“I know. I’ll see you then,” he answered, sitting up fully in bed and unintentionally showing off the front of him and all the places I’d left my fingerprints a few hours prior. I didn’t dare look for very long though in fear of succumbing once more.
“Get some sleep, m’kay?”
He nodded, and then added once I was halfway out the door and almost successful in my departure,
“I love you, Dean.”
The heat erupting along my face stung, such that it restricted my ability to speak, and all I could croak out was a weak yet overwhelmingly sincere and meaningful
“I know.”
and I knew that Cas knew what I meant. I loved him more than I’d ever known how, and I closed the door behind me quietly and with as much care as I could muster, as though the volume of the door slam would make the prospect of a long day ahead of both Castiel and I any easier to swallow. I had just about twelve hours to go and I could already feel the subconscious tug of the pub pulling me out of the lengthy hallway that lead to the lobby of our apartment building and away from the route to my car.
I had to get through that day though, and upon reaching my favorite method of transportation, her surface shining and freshly cleaned after I’d given her the usual hand-cleaning at Bobby’s, I concluded that it wasn’t so bad. Driving to Bobby’s to work on cars all day wasn’t too bad, eating lunch with the best father figure I’d ever had wasn’t too bad, and driving no more than fifteen miles to Castiel’s place of work as often as possible wasn’t too bad either. In fact, when I thought about it, as I drived out of the parking garage, waving to a few familiar faces as I went, probably halfway recognizing their features from the pub, this life was exponentially not as bad as it had been just over a year ago, and that was a thought that could get me through the next twenty five years, let alone the upcoming few hours.
I knew it was cheesy, something straight out of all those damned chick-flick movies Cas’s partner-in-bartending-crime Charlie Bradbury had gotten him temporarily hooked on, but I couldn’t help but routinely think back to that fateful Sunday night and reminisce over how sheerly crazy and revolutionary it had been. The expected outcome of what was such a dreadfully anticipated day had been thrown out the window, balled up into an unrecognizable mass and forgotten, all because I’d come crawling back to the one person in my life who seemed to be willing to hear me out, let me lean on them, and all because that person had been feeling a bit more daring than usual.
I could still pick out the very streets we’d driven down, while my hand had been cringingly, yet delicately, glued to the top of his thigh as he transported me back home. The cheesy and probably intrusive act had been done out of my complete state of “wastedness,” of course, and for twelve torturous hours during the following day I went over each element of the exchange over and over again in my blotched and scattered memory, horrified over whether Cas had really wanted to do what he’d done. My anxieties and fears, however, were eased the next evening when I got a brief phone call from the recipient of what I knew was probably my worst kiss to date asking if I was feeling okay and, as a side note, making sure I would be coming back to visit him again once I was feeling up to speed and willing to consume significantly less alcohol.
“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy our time yesterday, I just think it would be more beneficial to you if there was less alcohol in your system,” is how I believe it was phrased.
I’d agreed wholeheartedly and with the stupidest of grins on my face.
More milestones had come to pass in my life since gaining my best friend within those strange, strange circumstances: I’d gotten a job at Bobby’s, a real one this time. To bring in some extra cash, Bobby had begun advertising his mechanic skills throughout town and, shockingly, people flooded his near-hut of a garage, plowing through the overgrown plant life surrounding the structure because apparently his prices were significantly lower than the average mechanic’s, but he didn’t bother finding a basis for comparison. We both enjoyed the chance to do something with our hands and I had money in my pockets and something solid to stand on underneath my feet. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of reassurance it supplied.
That reassurance didn’t stop there though. Two weeks after he’d arrived back home, Sam returned back to Stanford, but we’d departed on better terms than the previous separation. After Dad and I’s episode, I believe it was Bobby who’d filled my younger brother on the extent of what had transpired throughout my childhood, behind the closed doors of Sam’s own ignorance, and he’d begged me to let him help me help Dad. So the two of us entered John Winchester into rehabilitation after earning some sort of half-coherent agreement to try, “for his annoying as all hell boys,” something I never pictured happening outside of the dreams I kept private, let alone with my once-estranged brother, and it lasted ten days. A record, I tried to boast, but just like Bobby’s tire-rotation prices, we didn’t have any baseline for comparison.
Sam left two days after Dad dropped out, saying he wasn’t in the mood to be trapped in another episode of “Family Feud: Drunk Edition,” and while I couldn’t blame him, it felt as though he was tearing open a wound that had just begun to heal upon his arrival. He promised me to stay in better touch nowadays though, and he delivered, after giving me his younger brother advice. According to Sammy, Dad did nothing for me, and if he was still at home he would physically force me away from his very entity. I didn’t doubt his ability to achieve this, because even though Sam was a bit lanky, he had a good two and a half inches of height on me, but I pushed his suggestion away as far as I could once he was gone on the jetplane, into the sky, and into his future success.
It only took about another month to realize my less aged yet painfully more logical brother was right, and only another week after that to take his advice in full and build that wall of separation between father and son. I suppose a key piece in realizing there wasn’t much left to salvage between the two of us was his utter disgust and appallment at the fact that I was seeing someone, someone that he did not approve of in the least, and, much like Sam had given his ultimatum, my father gave me his. It consisted of many slurs and phrases I dare not repeat, and the stench of liquor rumbling deep within his throat. And, for the first time in my life, I truly got sick off the smell and decided to not put myself through it anymore.
I walked out.
It had been months since I’d seen my father in person, going on a year, actually, and while I sent him monthly checks to make sure he had some sort of roof over his head, and while I still thought about what exactly it was that I was leaving behind (before I met Cas, the definition of family was something that I ashamedly held onto, and it was a hard thing to have torn from one’s grasp.), it didn’t hurt quite as bad as I’d expected it to. It was liberating at times, especially when those times were spent with elbow grease and a mix of oil and sweat running down my forehead, or hearing of all the wild campus stories Sam had to tell me, usually only consisting of something a professor told him, because he was never truly able to shake the “teachers’ pet “ title since at least the fourth grade, or leaning against the bar I’d come to know so well in my signature spot, chatting up the redhead waitress in a way that was entirely casual and friendly while I snuck every chance I could get to talk to the dark-haired, blue-eyed bartender,
or, when those times were spent in my favorite way, wrapped up in the sheets I had to so sadly leave earlier with legs intertwined in the way they had been that morning with that same bartender I’d come to know and love so much. Those occasions were still mind-blowing, over a year later, and I just couldn’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that he was mine, and vice versa, and that I was happy in a way that I still cannot even begin to describe.
It’s not an excited kind of happy. My blood didn’t pump swiftly through my veins and arteries and there isn’t some life-changing event waiting to happen at the end of each day. It wasn’t the kind of happy I felt during those compromising situations I’d mentioned earlier, though that sort was definitely new and very much appreciated. It wasn’t even the calm sort of happy, like the time Cas and I traveled to Virginia to see the beaches because apparently he’d never gotten the chance to touch ocean water and nothing could beat the look in his equally as oceanic eyes when he stepped barefoot into the soggy sand along the shore. No, it wasn’t any of those kinds of happiness specifically, it was some kind of inexplicable mix of all of them together.
It was the simple joy of assurance, of safety, of just be able to be and live in peace and enjoy all the little things that came with that. Sometimes it was a Hallmark kind of life, like our beach adventures and all the meals Cas liked to have outside, perched on a sheet under a tree, sometimes it was something far more racy and intense than that, and sometimes just the chance to look at Castiel at work was enough to turn my insides to mush and my head go blank with love that 13 months, two weeks, six days, and a good twenty minutes past seven hours ago I would’ve told you didn’t exist. That’s what Castiel Novak could do to a person, I suppose.
I pulled into Bobby’s with a smile that day, still enjoying the particularly bright sun that was seeping through my windshield and warming my car’s interior, and probably looked a little odd, seeing as though I was working an extra four hours that day, but the whole “appreciating the little things in life that you have” thing was new to me and still hadn’t lost its magic. It was another way in which Cas had corrupted me with his innocence, but the after effects were so positive and heartwarming, literally, that I doubted I would have any trouble learning how to deal. If he managed to live with me and my impure ways, as it had been phrased before, I could handle a little bit of good influence in my life. Hell, I looked forward to it each day that my eyes opened.
And there is so much to look forward to now, all because of that one person giving me the necessary edge to get up and make something of myself. All because the soft around the edges, light-speaking, gentle, sometimes gauche yet always inexplicably intuitive man behind the bar had taken an interest in me. All because seeing his smiling, easy going, and forever soothing face was expected, normal, and I could look forward to it at end of each day without fail, without any screaming matches or nerves or anxieties of any sort. No strings attached; he was a different kind of family.
And so, at the end of it all, I do love Castiel Novak. I truly can’t deny how good it feels to be someone’s favorite, and I’ll never get over how fortunate I am to be able to say that out of all the crazy, screwed up people with the equally as destructive problems begging to be dealt with, out of all the middle-aged suburban woman, drunk nuns and other men and women of vocation, rowdy college frat boys, and all the typical bar creeps and possible criminals Cas deals with on a daily basis, I am his favorite regular.
He sure as hell is mine, of course.