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English
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Published:
2014-06-16
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1,439
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1/1
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Dean and Castiel Meet Offline

Summary:

A ficlet based on a tumblr gifset where Dean and Castiel develop a friendship online.

Notes:

Based on/inspired by a tumblr gifset by jennycockles (deactivated), and originally posted on tumblr here.

Work Text:

Dean told Cas that he’d meet him at the Roadhouse at one, but he didn’t say he’d only get there at one. This is Dean’s story and he’s sticking to it, for despite all his protests to Sam that he knows what he’s doing and that this is an awesome idea and that Dean’s friendship with Cas has lasted longer than some relationships he’s had in meatspace, Dean is… well, he’s kinda nervous.

Of course he’s nervous, he’s human. Three years (three and a half, Cas’ deadpan voice supplies in his head) since that first epic thread at the Dr. Sexy forum where they’d spent days arguing over the season finale, to exchanging IMs, to following each other across three freaking platforms while bitching about how things just ain’t as good as in the old days, and Dean still doesn’t know what Cas looks like.

At first it’d made sense – both of them came from that school of thought where their online selves should be self-contained – and it was only after months of emails that the outer world started leaking in: Dean’s going back to school to study, Cas’ changing job, Dean’s decision to open his own business, Cas’ advice on funding schemes. When Dean found out Sam was graduating summa cum laude, he’d immediately taken out his phone to send a message to Cas because holy shit he’s gonna be stoked, only to realize how his priority had been to share the occasion with someone he doesn’t even know the last name of.

That kicked off the chain of events of the most recent couple of months (“Hey, so here’s a thought,” “I think I might be coming through that part of that country,” “It’s cool, but only if you wanna”) and here Dean is, sitting in a booth and trying to stop himself from jiggling his feet on the floor because this has about an even chance of being the most amazing idea in the universe or the disaster that’ll close the door on the three years (three and a half years) of a friendship that’s carried Dean through some really shitty times.

Dean has his phone on the table in front of him, the screen open to Cas’ latest message. It says that Cas should be checking in to his hotel around now, and will be coming out to lunch in a while. He has dark hair, will be wearing a blue shirt, and is looking forward to meeting Dean. Until a few hours ago, Dean didn’t even know that Cas has dark hair. Like, whoa, dark hair. Dean is ruminating over dark hair — this is what he’s reduced to. He is not going to puke. Mainly because Ellen is in today and will yell at him if he ruins the upholstery.

Dean is here early because he knows he will not be able to do anything else today. An hour or so is enough time to kill his nerves, right? Right.

Except there’s a dude with dark hair entering the Roadhouse right now. Well, yeah, there are a couple other dudes with dark hair here already but this new guy is a new guy, and Dean feels goosebumps rise along his arm when said dude cautiously walks up to the bar, clearly in an unfamiliar place and trying not to look like it is. He’s wearing a tan overcoat instead of a blue shirt, but that might be a blue shirt underneath. Maybe? Or maybe Dean’s just projecting his hopes because this dude does not look like the creepy pervert Sam suggested Cas might be (and is the other reason Dean is here early, in case he needs to make a quick exit and then drown his sorrows in something).

Tan overcoat pauses near the bar, head tilted up as he reads the menu. (Dean once told Cas about how he and Sammy helped Ellen name the burgers. You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Mouth is Sam’s crowning moment of genius.) Tan overcoat smiles, eyes lighting up with surprised delight.

Dean’s mouth is dry and his fingers shaky when he flicks at his phone, pulling up a message box.Hey so u settlin in ok hows the room? He taps send.

Tan overcoat jumps a little, and then reaches into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. The light of the screen illuminates his face a little, outlining cheekbones and a strong nose. Dean does not scream into his fist. (He doesn’t mean to be shallow, he swears.)

Cas – because that has to be Cas, it has to be – taps his phone and then turns away a little to read the screen. Dean cannot see his face, but he can see the way his shoulders tense, the way he tugs at his collar restlessly. Cas types something in his phone, stares at it for a moment, and then quickly jabs at what is presumably the send button. Then he shoves his phone in his pocket and starts walking quickly to the exit.

Dean’s phone vibrates, and he just manages to skim the reply – The room is nice, thank you. FYI, my schedule has turned out to be quite hectic, I might not be able to see you. I will let you know. Dean takes a second to process and then he’s fumbling out of his seat and almost knocking down a table as he rushes for the door.

Cas is chickening out? Cas is chickening out. What the fuck, really? Only Dean is allowed to chicken out goddammit, and what the hell is Cas thinking getting to the Roadhouse a whole hour ahead of time, that’s cheating.

Dean’s heart is racing as he follows Cas down the sidewalk, irritation and self-righteousness propelling him forward. He only realizes that he doesn’t have a plan when Cas suddenly stops and does a 180 – and Dean almost runs right into him.

Cas’ brows come together angrily. In the sunlight, his eyes are a shade of blue that has Dean briefly panicking, like what if this really isn’t Cas? But then the dude opens his mouth and says, “Do you want something?”

“What?” Dean says. “No. Plenty of room to walk here, man.”

Cas doesn’t seem to buy this, and slowly looks Dean up and down. Dean wonders if he’s ended up sabotaging today anyway by acting like a freaking dumbass, but then Cas’ hand darts out, grabbing Dean’s wrist.

“Hey, personal space!” Dean yelps.

Cas squints at Dean’s watch, his leather bracelets, his rings. His eyes then drift to Dean’s leather jacket and down to his boots.

After a moment, Cas says, “Fake cowboy boots.”

“Quit saying they’re fake! You don’t even get to…” Dean trails off when Cas’ expression clears. “They’re not fake,” he mutters.

It takes a second or two, but then Cas seems to remember the reason he’d fled the scene of the crime and freezes. He drops his Dean’s hand and snaps, “You said one o’clock.”

“I did.” Dean glances pointedly at his watch. “What’s your time say?”

“You came early!” Cas says accusingly. “How could you?”

"Me? How could you?”

"You have home ground advantage."

“You were gonna leave me high and dry!”

“No, I wasn’t.” Cas raises his chin defiantly. “I was… mentally regrouping.”

“Why, ‘cause you’re scared I’d be…” Dean spreads his arms out. “Not as awesome as this?”

“Ah, yes, there you are,” Cas says, nodding. “Nice to see some things remain constant even in person.”

Dean’s heard that voice only a handful of times through his earphones, and it’s a whole other world to be having a true blue live performance. Dean almost stumbles from the sudden sensory override – every single snarky, thoughtful, sneaky, insightful word he’s only ever heard in his head now has a proper voice and face to go with it. Cas isn’t ‘just’ blobs on a screen, a number in his inbox, a message on his IM. He is a person, he is here, he’s just been upgraded to surround sound and 3D.

Dean doesn’t want to say that he knew Cas would have a grade A glare, but he knew. Just like he knew that Cas would be just as nervous as he is and trying to hide it in his own way. Three years, man. Those three years definitely counted for something.

Dean feels himself break into a grin, and Cas immediately ducks his head to hide his own. This isn’t the first time they’re both being jerks for the same reason, after all.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says.

Cas clears his throat. Jesus, he has a nice smile. “Hello to you, too, Dean.”