Originally posted on Tumblr as a one-shot, this is slowly expanding into something. Rating may go up in future chapters.

Dean scowls at his phone.

45 minutes. 45 goddamn minutes waiting at an Olive Garden and his date decides to cancel on him by text.

For once, he'd actually been excited about going on a date. The girl from the coffee shop, Bela, was hot and smart. Apparently though, she thought it was acceptable to cancel a date, 30 minutes late, with an enigmatic text that only read can't make it tonight.

Dean sighs and looks down at the pager in his hands. Maybe he can pass it off to someone else and decrease their wait; it'll be his good deed for the month. He glances around the doorway where groups of different sizes are gathered. Friday night and of course the restaurant is packed. He doesn't see any party or group smaller than four people, none of which could take his spot for two.

He notices a single man sitting on the bench across from him. He seems oblivious to the noise around him, deeply concentrated on the book (an actual ink-and-paper-book) he's reading. Dean sees that it's "A Feast for Crows" and smiles to himself, knowing what the man has coming before the end.

"Uh, hey," Dean says. The man doesn't notice that Dean is speaking to him, "uh ,Sir?" Dean speaks up over the noise of the hallway. The man raises his head and looks at Dean, who is caught off-guard by the disarming blue-eyed stare.

"Yes?" he answers tentatively, voice unnaturally deep.

"You, uh, waiting for many more people?" Dean asks. The man tilts his head curiously to the side.

"No," he replies, shaking his head. Dean extends his hand out across the way, offering the pager in his direction.

"If you want, you can take my place in line," Dean says. "It's only for two, but I bet they would make an exception if you need more." The man stares at the proffered item.

"Don't you need it?" He asks, furrowing his brow and staring at Dean. Dean huffs a unhappy laugh and runs a hand through his short, light brown hair.

"My date actually cancelled on me," he admits. "You and your friends might as well take my spot."

"I'm on my own, actually," the man says. It's Dean's turn to give him a curious stare.

"You're here alone?" he asks, incredulous.

"Yes."

"You're going out to eat alone?"

"Yes." Dean looks at the man for a long moment.

"Why?" he asks.

"I felt like pasta tonight," he replies with a small shrug.

"Yeah, but why not just take it to-go?" Dean suggests. "Why sit alone in a crowded restaurant," he gestures to the book sitting at the man's side, "reading?" The man glances down at the book and shrugs.

"I like getting out of the house," he replies, "and I like the atmosphere of a crowded restaurant." Dean just stares at the man, baffled by his answer. Who is this guy?, he thinks.

"Don't… Don't you feel uncomfortable? I mean, people have to stare, right?" Dean can't imagine just sitting alone in a crowded restaurant looking like… well, looking like a guy whose date stood him up, actually.

"They might, but I don't let it bother me," the man says with a small shrug. "Their discomfort with me is their problem, not mine." Dean leans back and considers this, impressed with his line of reason.

The buzzer abruptly begins to flash and vibrate in Dean's hand. Frantically he once again passes it over the aisle toward the man.

"Here, you might as well have your dinner 30 minutes sooner," he says. This time, the man takes the pager, quietly thanking him. Dean stands to leave and just as he's pushing open the door, there's a voice calls out behind him.

"Why don't you join me?" the man says. Dean turns to face him, the pager still flashing in his hands.

"I thought you wanted to eat alone?" Dean asks, hands dropping absently into the pockets of his jacket.

"I don't mind eating alone, but I do prefer having company at a meal," he clarifies. Dean's eyes drop to the floor and he thinks for a moment. He was been planning on clearing out the backlog of Top Chef episodes from his DVR with his newly-free night, but the thought of breadsticks has been driving him crazy all day. He glances at the pager in the man's hand, no doubt on its last call.

"Alright," Dean says, "why not?" The man smiles brightly and Dean can't help but smile back. He stands off the bench and they make their way to the hostess station.

Dinner is… interesting, to say the least. The man, Castiel, ("That's a helluva name." "I got off lucky compared to my brother Balthazar. Most people just call me Cas.") is 32, he has a cat and a guinea pig ("Aren't you afraid of the cat attacking it?" "Believe me, she is much more scared of him than he is of her. With good reason."), he is fascinated with honey bees, and is a segment producer for the local news station.

"It's really not as cool as it sounds," Cas says, cleaning his salad plate with the last bite of a breadstick. Dean looks at him doubtfully.

"Have you ever gotten to ride in Chopper 4?" Dean asks, referring to their infamous traffic helicopter. Cas' sheepish silence is answer enough. "Then yes, it is as cool as it sounds."

"It pays the bills," Cas shrugs. "Besides, your jobs sounds wonderful, too." Dean huffs a laughs and lightly rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, being ignored by 10th graders while I try to teach them Vonnegut. Never ending excitement there," he snarks.

"But you're making a difference," Cas presses. "Expanding young minds, training the future, promoting the growth of culture." Dean looks at him ruefully, shaking his head fondly.

"You know you sound like my mom?" He chides.

"You're mom sounds like she knows her shit," Cas offers, popping a crouton into his mouth. Dean laughs loudly at the unexpected response.

"You want to get dessert?" Cas asks, stacking their empty plates and pushing them to the end of the table ("You were a waiter once, weren't you?" "It's that obvious, huh?"). Dean pats his stomach and exhales.

"I'd love to, but they'd have to roll me out of here if I ate much more," he says.

"We could share something?" Cas offers, raising a curious eyebrow. This gives Dean pause.

"I don't know, man," he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Wouldn't that give, um, the wrong impression." It's Cas turn to look perturbed.

"What kind of impression?" He asks. Dean grimaces, wishing he didn't have to spell it out for him.

"You know, like you're on a date. With a guy." Castiel's confused expression doesn't change. "Doesn't that bother you?" Cas thinks about this for a moment, before frowning slightly and shaking his head.

"Well, considering that my preferences are open and you are a, um… well, I mean, you know you're an attractive man, there's no question there. So to answer your question, no, I'm not bothered." Castiel's expression quickly shifts to one of concern. "Why? Does it bother you?" Dean is taken aback by the question. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't batted for the other team on occasion, but he doesn't know how willing he is to admit it to someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. Yet, Castiel is looking at him so sincerely and Dean doesn't want to lie to the guy.

"No, no, of course not," he stammers quietly. "My, uh, preferences are, um… the same." He smiles, hoping he can salvage this conversation from a pit of awkwardness. Thankfully, Castiel smiles back and continues to examine the dessert menu.

When the waitress returns, they both order cappuccinos and a tiramisu to share. Dean finds himself relaxing, less worried about the attitude of the customers around him and more focused on clear blue eyes and a pair of chapped pink lips wrapping around a forkful of tiramisu.

They continue talking long after they've finished dessert and paid. They are only aware of how much time has passed when Dean glances at his phone and gapes.

"It's 10:30!?" he gasps. "We've been here 3 hours?" Castiel looks down at his watch and hums.

"I suppose we have," he murmurs. "We should probably go." Dean is surprised by the sudden resistance he feels to leaving the restaurant, especially if it means ending one of the best evenings he's had in months.

"Yeah, I guess we should," Dean agrees reluctantly, looking away. He reaches for his wallet and drops an extra five dollar bill on the table. He hopes that will make it up to the waitress for camping at her table all night.

They walk out together into the parking lot. They stand in silence for a long moment, enjoying the cool night air.

"I had a fun tonight," Dean says, finally breaking the quiet tension. "Um, thank you for inviting me to join you." Cas looks at him and smiles, bright eyes reflecting the nearby lights of the parking lot.

"It was my pleasure, Dean," he replies. "You're a fascinating person." Dean laughs lightly at this and scrubs a hand over his reddening face.

"Well, you're not so bad yourself," he adds, glancing back up at Castiel. They stare at each other for a long moment. Dean want to ask for his number. He want to ask to see him again. He wants to know how he takes his coffee in the morning.

He wants to ask a million things of Castiel but he can't, because the next thing he knows, soft lips are pressed to his in a chaste but urgent kiss.

Dean is frozen for a moment before he realizes what's going on and quickly kisses Cas back. It's not an earth-shaking kiss, but as far as first date kisses go, it's definitely in Dean's top five. Cas pulls back first and Dean chases his lips for a brief moment, eyes closed and relaxed. His eyelids flutter open and he sees Cas in front of him once more, but this time it's like he's seeing him for the first time.

"Um, that was nice," Castiel says quietly. Dean can only nod, not sure he has the ability to coordinate his lips, tongue and voice at the moment. "Can I… Can I get your number?" Dean nods again and takes Castiel's proffered phone from him. He mechanically types in his number, his brain still struggling to catch up with the rest of him.

"Can I get yours?" he finally croaks out. Castiel grins and taps on his phone, Dean's phone coming to life in response with the familiar opening chords of "Thunderstruck."

"Now you've got it," Cas says coyly. He's grinning again and Dean wants to kiss him again so damn bad. Instead, he reaches out for Cas' fingers, brushing a thumb over the top of his knuckles.

"I'll call you, ok?" he says. Cas nods and bids a soft goodbye. Dean walks toward the Impala, grinning from ear to ear and dying to call Sam or Charlie and tell them about everything.

"Hey Dean!" Cas' voice rings out across the parking lot. Dean turns to see him standing about 20 feet away next to a a little Volkswagen. "For our second date, what do you think about burgers?"