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Twelve hours.
Twelve fucking hours he was going to drive to see this guy, twelve hours of ignoring his phone and blasting his music. Twelve hours of trying not to freak out, because holy shit Cas had called him, had asked him for help, and even if he’d told Sam otherwise, he was going to see Cas if it killed him.
Hour one went quick enough, the music was loud and the drive was comfortable.
Hour two flew by, Dean opting for drive-thru rather than an actual meal, and ate quickly, careful to keep Baby’s interior clean.
Hours three and four were hell. Dean kept glancing at his phone, hoping for something, anything from Cas. A missed call, a text message, hell, even an e-mail. Just something. Something to show that this long-ass drive wasn’t for nothing. But nothing arrived.
Hour five and six dragged, but Dean was too stubborn to look at his phone more than one every ten minutes. He wasn’t a girl, and Cas had made it abundantly clear he was too busy to talk, so Dean didn’t know why he was acting so needy.
Halfway through hour seven, Dean pulled over to take a break. He leaned on Baby’s hood and slid a pack of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket, something Sammy would probably pitch a bitch fit over, but you know what, Dean deserved a little something to soothe his nerves. He’d dealt with a lot in his life, and sometimes all that would help settle him down was chain-smoking his way through a pack of menthols. He didn’t go that far this time, only smoked two before putting the pack away and getting back behind the wheel, but it was enough. There weren’t very many left, he’d probably have to stop before investigating to pick up a new pack.
Hour eight, and Dean had officially switched into autopilot, singing along to his tapes and paying next to no attention to the road. It was straight and fast though, so Dean wasn’t too concerned.
Ninth hour, and even Dean was starting to get annoyed with his music. And his music was awesome, so clearly the hours on the road were just going to his head. He couldn’t drive anymore. It was dark, he was beat, and he needed his four hours.
Stopping for the night, be there tomorrow afternoon. –Dean He shot the text off to Cas without thinking how stupid it was to update Cas on his progress. Like Cas was interested. He checked into some seedy motel, parking Baby and collapsing on the mattress fully dressed, boots still on. His phone buzzed, and Dean managed to pry open his eyes long enough to read the text.
Sleep well, Dean.
And Dean most certainly did not fall asleep with a smile on his face.
*
Hour ten, and yes Dean was combining his time from yesterday with his current time. Dean was starving, but he was so close to Cas, he couldn’t stop now, not even for burgers and fries. He just turned his music up louder, and maybe was a little heavy on the accelerator.
Eleventh hour, and no Dean didn’t mean it in a foreboding way, because he didn’t go in for that dramatic shit, but if he did, it’d be apt. Cas was an hour away, and Dean had exactly no idea what he was going to say when he saw him. If he saw him. Which he wasn’t. Because Dean Winchester did not chase after a dude like some lost puppy, no way. Especially not Cas.
Hour twelve, and Dean was not nervous at all. And he did not pull over to smoke the rest of his cigarettes in a vain attempt to calm down. And if he pulled over to stop at a gas station, he didn’t do it so he could get more menthols. He just wanted some beef jerky. And menthols.
His heart almost stopped when he parked Baby and caught a glimpse of Cas through the window. Dean was so close to not going in, but seeing Cas woke something up in him. He had to go in, had to talk to him, even when Cas’s face fell the moment he recognized Dean. Even if with every sentence Dean seemed to put his foot deeper and deeper in his mouth.
*
Of course Cas had a date. Who wouldn’t want to date him? But Cas was broke; there was no way he could get to this girl’s house. And Dean wasn’t about to stand in the way of what was clearly and epic romance in the making.
“Cas, wait,” Dean said. Okay maybe he was about to stand in the way. “I can’t let you do this.”
Cas raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Dean took a deep breath, suddenly jonesing for a cigarette, for something in his hands to keep him distracted. He was vibrating out of his skin, leg jiggling and fingers twitching. “I can’t let you go on a date with some chick who doesn’t even know your real name. You deserve someone better, you shouldn’t be with her,” he said.
“Then who should I be with, Dean?” Cas asked, eyes rolling skyward.
“Me!” Dean burst out, biting down on his lip a second later to try and bring the words back.
Cas froze, eyes wide and watching Dean in the same they had before the angels fell, like Dean was somehow the brightest thing he’d ever seen. He leaned forward a bit, bringing their faces closer together until their lips were just a hairsbreadth apart. “If you say personal space –” Cas warned, and Dean chuckled, some of the tension in the car melting away.
Dean shook his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” he said. Cas gave a small smile and nodded his head like he was deciding something. Then their lips were pressed together, a little dry, the angle a little odd, but it was perfect. Everything Dean could’ve dreamed, but hadn’t dreamt, because he didn’t think that way, but it was still perfect.
Cas’s lips were a little chapped, a bit thin, but God, did Cas know what he was doing. He was dominating without being harsh, gentle without being timid; it was exactly what Dean wanted. They pulled back for a moment, Dean breathing heavily into the warm space between them.
“So,” Dean sighed, “No date?”
“I wouldn’t say no date,” Cas began, and Dean’s heart sank. “But no date with Nora, no.”
Dean sighed in relief. “Thank God,” he said. “But– if not with Nora, who with?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed a moment later.
“You, of course,” Cas said, settling back into his seat. “Now drive.”
Dean grinned. Twelve hours on the road: totally worth it.