Work Text:
“Alright,” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. He takes a quick scan of the bar. “Where the honeys at?”
Sam gives him a disgusted look before shaking his head and walking off to secure a table. Cas stays by Dean’s side. “I don’t believe they sell honey here, Dean,” he confides, leaning in like Dean might be embarrassed he made the mistake of thinking bars sell honey.
Dean opens his mouth to say something but seems to think better of it. He claps Cas on the arm. “Of course. My mistake.”
He follows Sam. Cas trails after him, frowning.
“It’s very smokey in here,” he complains, once they slide into the seats opposite Sam. The booth is tucked in a corner, and Dean’s eyes immediately slide into the crowd.
Sam sighs. “It was Dean’s turn to choose the place. Apparently this is where all the ‘honeys’ go on a Friday night.”
Cas tilts his head. “This is the second time that term has been used. What does it mean?”
Dean shakes his head, his gaze fixed at the bar. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. Doesn’t concern you.”
But Sam rolls his eyes at brother’s profile. “Honeys, Cas. Like. Women. Attractive ones.”
Cas looks like he’s been slapped. After a moment’s pause, he says, “…I see.”
An uncomfortable silence falls. Cas stares at the back of Dean’s head stonily, which gives Dean even more of a reason not to look away from the crowd at the bar. Sam, knowing he’s brought up An Issue, quickly excuses himself, muttering something about drinks.
When Sam retreats, Dean finally looks away from the bar and sighs. He looks down at his lap. “Cas.”
“Dean.”
“You’re upset.”
Cas feigns ignorance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, picking up a beat-up menu. “The ‘honeys’ ‘don’t concern me,’ according to you.”
Dean finally looks at him. His expression is incredulous. “Cas. Come on. You can’t be pissed at me. You’re the one who - who doesn’t want me.”
“I never said that,” Cas says, still affecting nonchalance. He flips over the menu and pretends to peruse it. “I merely said that I didn’t believe you knew what you were asking for.” He looks up at Dean through black eyelashes. “And your search for ‘honeys’ in a bar on a Friday night has just proven that to me. You do not want me in the same way that I want you.”
Dean’s mouth drops open. He laughs, humorlessly. “Your logic is bullshit, Cas. You have no idea how I want you. Also, what I do after you reject me is not your concern either.”
“Fine,” Cas snaps. “There’s Sam. Let’s ask him what he thinks of your search for honeys.”
“That’s not what I meant - “
“Uhm. Everything okay here?” Sam asks, standing by their booth and clutching three bottles of beer by the neck. He eyes Dean’s scowl and Cas’s sullen look. “Or should I get a preemptive round of shots for myself so I can sleep through the inevitable awkward car ride?”
“Sam. Why do you think Dean is searching for honeys?”
“Don’t answer that, Sam,” Dean warns.
Sam places the beers on the table, shaking his head. He runs a hand over his face as he slides back into the booth. “I assume he’s doing it to get over you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Sammy. Four words. In English. The fuck did that Stanford education get you?”
“To get over me?” Cas asks. “I don’t understand.”
Dean presses a hand over his eyes. Sam ignores his discomfort and leans in to talk to Cas.
“Humans, they - when they have their hearts broken, they look for comfort in - in other things. Dean here… he likes sex. And he wants to use sex to forget about the fact that you broke his heart.” He leans back, sighing heavily. He reaches for a bottle and takes a long pull. “He’s in love with you, Cas. Just put him out of his misery.” Then he takes another long drink.
Cas stares in awe at Dean, whose face is blatantly red despite the hand covering it. “Is that true, Dean?”
Dean removes his hand and looks at Cas sidelong. “Not the words I would have used.”
“But?” Sam prompts, already reaching for a second beer.
“But yeah,” Dean admits gruffly.
“In love. With - me?”
Dean reaches for the last beer on the table, sighing heavily. “Yeah, Cas,” he says tiredly. “With you.” He’s about to lift the bottle to his lips when Cas’s hand stops him. Dean looks unimpressed. “Dude, unless you’re gonna do something about what I just said, let my hand go and let me drink my beer. I think I’ve fucking earned it with you two jackasses ruining my Friday night.”
He tries to tug his hand away, but Cas holds fast to his wrist. A few silent moments pass. Cas raises his eyebrows.
Dean stares. “Uh.” He clears his throat. “Uh. Just to be sure. Are you - ?”
Cas’s responding smile is close-mouthed: soft and slow, completely at odds with the dingy, dirty booth they sit in. He doesn’t say anything; all he does is pry the bottle from Dean’s hands and set it back on the table. His eyes flick to Dean’s lips.
“Right,” Dean says. “Uh. Right. Sammy - keys.” He holds out his hand and snaps his fingers. “Take a cab home.” One hand is already reaching for Cas’s waist. “Later, though. Way later.”
Sam digs for the keys in his pocket and drops them in Dean’s hands. “Gladly.”
Dean slides out of the booth, grinning. Cas follows; Sam swears his eyes give Dean the once-over. They leave with Dean’s hand on the small of Cas’s back.
Sam gets up for another beer.