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"All right people, let's keep this simple! You get two minutes to talk, then the bell rings and the gentlemen move to the next table to the right. No lying allowed; remember, you're here to make an honest connection. Aaaand go!"
The bell chimes. Dean rubs at his temples. Even from behind the bar, Becky's cheery voice rings in his ears. He can't understand how she can stay so peppy week after week. Or why she would even want to, it looks exhausting.
He grabs his rag and starts wiping down the counter, sneaking a glance at the newest crop of speed daters. Most of them are much older than Dean, a few around his age. There has never been an advertised age limit on the speed dating service at The Trickster but most of the people who show up are somewhere between thirty and forty-five years old. People who have gotten sick of waiting for a relationship to happen but aren't technologically savvy enough to sign up on a dating site.
Most of them will meet someone tonight, go on a date or two and then show back up at The Trickster next week. Those who don't meet anyone usually flock to the bar, looking for a liquid distraction from the disappointment. No one meets their future husband or wife speed dating, and most people give up after a while.
But then, there's an exception to every rule. In this case, the exception is Castiel Novak, and he is here tonight just as he's been every Tuesday night for the last three months. He has never, as far as Dean knows, met anyone he liked (sorry, 'made a connection with'). He ends up at the bar every time, orders a glass of whiskey, drinks it and leaves. Occasionally, Dean manages to strike up a conversation. So far, all the information he's gotten is Castiel's name and the fact that he has long since grown bored with the whole speed dating process. Why he still shows is a pure mystery. Not in the least because the guy is freaking gorgeous.
Hell, if Dean thought he had a shot, he would have offered to take Castiel home himself, but he'd rather not hit on what is most likely a straight dude at his place of work and risk making a scene. This is Kansas, not San Francisco.
Still, Castiel is easy on the eyes. He has no shortage of women who approach him at the bar after the speed dating is over, looking to get his number or even just his company for the night, but he turns all of them down.
The bell chimes three times, shaking Dean from his thoughts and signaling the end of the last date. People stand up and start circling each other, looking for whoever they liked best out of what were probably a series of sub-par dates. All of them, that is, except for Castiel, who heads straight for the bar.
"One whiskey, coming right up," Dean says before Castiel can even open his mouth.
"Thank you," Castiel mutters, sitting down on a bar stool and leaning against the counter.
Dean grabs a bottle of whiskey in the good but relatively cheap range. By now, he knows Castiel's tastes. "No luck tonight?"
"You could say that. At least no one threw a drink in my face."
This is actually a thing that has happened, no less than three times. It never stops being hilarious.
"Can I ask you a question?" The words pop out of Dean's mouth unbidden but Castiel just shrugs. "Why do you keep showing up here? Plenty of people ask you out but you never seem interested, so why even go?"
"Plenty of women have asked me out."
Dean puts the glass of whiskey on the counter with more force than intended, making both him and Castiel flinch at the noise of glass slamming on wood. "Uh, sorry."
Castiel takes his glass, eyeing Dean warily. Shit, this isn't good.
"I mean," Dean sputters, "that doesn't answer my first question. You know you're only here to meet women, right?"
"Yes, thank you, I had realized." At least Castiel's shoulders aren't as stiff. He doesn't look relaxed exactly, but neither does he look like he's about to bolt. He takes a sip of his whiskey, and says, "My mother promised that she wouldn't raise a fuss about me being gay if I came here every week. To see if my tastes will change, I suppose."
"Man, that sucks."
Castiel grins wryly. "At least she doesn't pretend I don't exist like my father does."
"No, she just wants to change you," Dean says, aiming for sarcastic but coming off more bitter. Maybe he shouldn't be playing psychiatrist here; it's not as if his issues with his own dad went away just because the old man croaked.
"Maybe she is right," Castiel muses, staring at the whiskey in his glass. "Maybe it would be easier if I took one of those women home."
"Or you could take me home." Again, the words slip out completely without Dean's permission. Looks like his brain to mouth filter is taking the night off.
Castiel is looking at him, eyes wide. Now would be the time to play this off as a joke, but Dean can't for the life of him find the right words. The last thing he wants is to come off as cruel, considering that Castiel basically just came out to him.
"Was that a flirtation?"
It's a perfect out but Dean doesn't really want to take it. It may just be his imagination but Castiel looks hopeful.
"Kind of," Dean admits. "But for your information, I'm usually a lot smoother."
Castiel's expression breaks out into a wide, beautiful smile. "I believe that."
"So what do you say? My shift ends at eleven."
"It's a date."
---
Castiel stops showing up at The Trickster on Tuesday nights after that. Some of the women notice and Dean overhears them wondering who finally snatched him up. He ignores them and keeps wiping down the counter, grateful that his job does not require sitting for any prolonged periods of time.
For the record, Castiel's mother hates him.