Chopsticks

Author's Note: Ni hao! Been a long time again. I'm posting this just for the hell of it and to see if I remember how. As always, please do drop your reviews: good, bad or ugly.

Warning: The narrator of this story has a bit of a filthy mouth and some of her thoughts and observations could be construed as racist against the Chinese. If this is going to bother you, please turn away… but just remember, she isn't real and she can't hurt you.

Summary: What is this guy's deal? Maybe it's just a language barrier thing. Maybe he's from, like, Croatia or something. Outside POV of Castiel, set early S5. No spoilers. Told 2nd person.

Shit.

Shit. Shit! Shit!

Where the fuck is the damned hostel? Where the hell are you?

You're trudging your way through another Chinese city in the freezing cold night. A four hour bus ride to get to the city… and two and a half hours and counting trying to get to the hostel after getting kicked off at some random assed bus station somewhere in the ridiculous huge-ness of what passes as a small city in China. Cheyah. Twelve million people small…

You've been on three jarring city buses, almost got hit by a motorbike on a pedestrian overpass, and have been wandering lost, hauling all your shit and cursing at the fucking weather since it's starting to rain again. And it's not even rain – it's so damn cold that it's more like ice stabbing at your face and numbing your fingers and ears despite gloves and fleece hat.

People are staring at you – they're always staring at you… You're used to it; it usually doesn't bother you… but, seriously, if all these people are going to ogle, couldn't one of them at least help you out?

You don't know how to say the address, but the crappy business card you have has it written in Chinese – or Mandarin or whatever the hell you're supposed to call the language. But three people so far have just laughed at you when you tried to show them the card to ask for directions. A fourth guy shouted at you.

So now, here you are again hauling a million pounds of backpack through a million miles of strange streets. In the dark. In the cold. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

You've put on a front of 'I'm a badass bitch and you don't want to mess with me,' which is such a farce, especially right now, that it would be hilarious if you weren't so close to losing the plot. But you really don't want anyone to try anything. China's supposed to be safer than a lot of the places you've been, but someone trying to rob you right now… Icing on the fucked cake.

Yeah… you're about to start freaking right out.

"Excuse me."

Startled, you whirl around fast, the voice coming from right beside you. There are people everywhere – there are always people everywhere – but you didn't think anyone had gotten that close.

"What?" you choke out, grabbing tight to the daypack strapped across your chest.

There's a guy standing on the sidewalk. A white guy – holy crap; you haven't even seen another Caucasian in five days. And he spoke to you in English!

"I am sorry if I startled you." He sounds a little stiff and maybe… nervous, but polite.

"It's fine," you assure quickly. Shit you really missed just being able to speak to someone. To communicate.

You know better than to drop your guard completely, though. Random dude on the street? Come on.

You kind of doubt he's going to mug you, though. He's wearing a pretty nice suit: tie, the whole lot. Probably a businessman working here. The trench coat looks a little cheap, but not trashy… though how he isn't freezing to death you have no idea.

"Are you all right?" He asks. "You seemed distraught."

You really hope you didn't. What happened to your 'badass bitch' air? "Um… I'm just... looking for this hostel."

He frowns slightly, seeming to consider your words. "You seek an inn?"

What? Weird as way to phrase that. Speaking of, who uses the word 'distraught'?

Maybe it's a language barrier thing. Just 'cause he's white it doesn't mean English is his first language. Maybe he's from, like, Croatia or something. What language do they speak in Croatia anyway? You have no idea.

"Um…" You bite back a shiver. "Not an inn. I can't really afford a hotel or anything like that. But this hostel…" You pull out the card. "It should be pretty close, but…"

He takes the card from you, squinting at the Chinese characters and easily reading out the address. This guys speaks Chinese! Or, you know, Mandarin, or whatever. Sweet.

And if he's a businessman working here and is out in the night he might even live close by and know where the damn hostel actually is!

He looks back to you. "I am sorry, but I am unfamiliar with this city."

Your heart plummets. So much for that. "Oh. Yeah. That's okay."

"If you would permit, I may be able to aid you in learning the location."

You blink twice. "Yeah… That'd be awesome!"

He gestures one of the little hole-in-the-wall restaurants that are everywhere in China and seem to continuously spew steam out into the cold streets from huge pots of bubbling broth. "The proprietor will likely know the address."

"Great." You're so relieved it's kind of embarrassing. This guy asking someone where your hostel is, is probably the nicest thing anyone's done for you in weeks. "Thank you so much!"

The guy steps toward the little eatery, but pauses. "May I assist you with your luggage?"
Wow. That's good of him. You're pretty weighed down with your big pack on your back and your daypack over your chest. Still… you don't really want to give this random dude your bag. You're pretty paranoid – but it's served you well before.

"No thanks." You dismiss the offer. "It kind of balances me out, you know."

"All right."

You follow him across the street. The guy doesn't seem to pay any attention to the cars and motorbikes and scooters that all go whizzing past. You nearly piss yourself.

An elderly woman comes out to the front of the restaurant as you approach. She immediately goes off in a flurry of Chinese. Yeah… you have no idea.

The guy answers easily. He shows her the card from the hostel and the two of them seem to discuss it while you just stand there like a moron.

You really miss just being able to ask people things. Simple little nothings of things that anyone who doesn't travel wouldn't even consider. You can get by with gestures – and that can be a lot of fun… But sometimes, you know, when you're lost in the freezing, raining night, it's just nice to be able to converse.

The guy nods and turns to you. "She says the… hostel is very near; not more than two blocks."

You sag in relief. Thank shit for that.

The woman goes off again. You can't understand a word, so you go ahead and survey the little eatery. There're two men at one of the plastic tables and –surprise! – they're staring at you.

"The directions are fairly simple." The guy pulls your attention back.

"Great." You mean it. You really, really mean it. You shiver pretty sharply. "Thank you again."

He's kind of… studying you with this look of pretty intense concentration. "You are cold."

He doesn't really ask it, but it's pretty obvious. "Yeah. Aren't you?"

He purses his lips, not answering. "You are hungry as well."

And yeah, you're actually starving, but you're pretty intent on just getting to the hostel and having a place to sleep tonight.

The guy speaks to the woman again, exchanging a rapid Mandarin. He nods, almost smiles and asks you. "Would you like some…" He seems to think through the translation. "I believe it is noodle soup?"

Noodle soup. Of course it's noodles! Seriously; how does this guy speak perfect Chinese, but not know about China?

"Um," you hesitate. You are hungry, but you really want to get to the hostel… And you shouldn't spend the money…

"Please," the guy gestures the restaurant. "She insists your inn is near. And I would very much like to… treat you to something hot."

Yeah? "You want to treat me?"

He looks thrown. "Is the expression incorrect?"

Okay, so you were probably right about the non-native English speaker thing. "No. It's fine."

"May I then?"

You still hesitate. Random strangers just offering you things make you a little nervous. People don't usually just do things to be kind. They tend to want something in return.

This guy though… He gives you little half smile, almost looking shy. And you just really think he's genuine.

You cave. "I'd like that very much. Thank you."

"Excellent." He says something to the woman again.

You don't understand the reply, but you get what she wants when she ushers you both inside, bustling you toward a little table.

The guy sits, the woman still yammering at him. You tuck your daypack beside your chair, happily sloughing your backpack onto the floor. Your shoulders seem to lift all on their own, decompressing. Shit, and you're travelling light too.

You sag onto the plastic chair, letting out a breath. It's warmer out of the wind, but still cold, the restaurant front open to the frigid air. Stupid set up. Been the same everywhere you've gone.

The guy turns to you as the woman scurries away. "She says the soup will be ready shortly. And she is going to bring some tea."

"Great." There's an awkward moment of quiet. Come on, girl. You're used to meeting new people. Say something. "So…" You stick out your gloved hand across the table. "I'm Sandra, by the way."

He looks at your palm for a minute, as if trying to place the gesture. He clasps your hand almost cautiously as if he's worried he's incorrectly guessed what he was supposed to do. "Castiel."

You quirk a brow. "Interesting name." And by 'interesting' you mean 'weird.'

"Is it?"

You smirk. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Castiel."

"You as well, Sandra."

"I really appreciate you helping me out."

"It is nothing." He gets an almost distant look. "It is nice to be able to actually help…"

You frown a little, wanting to ask for some kind of elaboration, 'cause that? That was a weird thing to say. The woman comes back over right then though, shoving a tea pot and two tiny cups onto the table, still yammering away in Chinese.

Castiel nods politely then turns to you. "She wants to know if you speak Mandarin."

You can't help a little snort. "Not a word. I can try for 'hello' and 'thank you,' but I usually can't even get those right."

He simpers, translating your answer for the lady.

She turns to you, flashing a huge, toothy grin. " 'Sank you." She laughs deeply then babbles away to Castiel.

The guy shakes his head, seeming to argue calmly. The woman goes off again. You're starting to feel kinda awkward…

"Sorry," Castiel apologizes to you. "She… um… She is saying how I am lucky to have such a beautiful wife."

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes.

"I am trying to correct her presumptions."

"Meh," you shrug. You've been a lot of people's 'wife.' Pretty much anytime you travel with a guy, or are on the same train or bus or whatever that a white man is, locals assume you're married. It actually makes things easier a lot of the time. You're past caring. "Don't bother."

He frowns. "But… I am not your husband."

Your turn to laugh. "As far as I'm concerned, these people can think whatever they want. What's the harm?"

"I suppose. But is that not deceitful?"

You're spared having to answer – thank shit too, 'cause what do you say to something like that? – by some guy in the back shouting to the woman and her going off again before walking away.

Castiel fills in, "I believe the food is ready."

"Ah. Right. Of course." You pour tea into both cups, tugging off your gloves to wrap numb fingers around the mug. Castiel basically ignores his and you have to ask, "Aren't you freezing?"

"No." Just like that. 'No.' Right. Okay.

He glances off behind you, the two guys in the back getting loud, and frowns slightly.

"Problem?"

Castiel answers a little slower this time. "No… I think they are just… interested in us."

"Well… we do kind of stand out."

"Do you know what it is that they are drinking?"

You go ahead and look over your shoulder, not caring how obvious you are – those guys are probably staring at you two, you can stare at them. They've got several bottles of Tsingtao on their table, which doesn't surprise you at all.

"Beer."

Castiel perks up. "I am fond of beer." He turns back to you. "Would you care for one?"

And, come on, you're a backpacker, you're not going to say 'no' to a free beer anymore than a free meal. "Sure."

"Wonderful." He seems genuinely pleased. Castiel turns in his seat, but doesn't have to hail the woman since she's already coming over to your table, balancing two huge, steaming bowls.

The bowls clunk down and you take a deep breath of spiced steam. There's a big mound of noodles topped by a small portion of greasy meat. It's a very, very typical cheap Chinese meal – you aren't going to eat noodles or pasta or rice for the next ten years after you get home, but right now it looks like paradise.

The woman asks… something. Castiel answers and watches while the woman goes over to fridge in the corner and takes out a couple bottles. She brings them over and pops the tops.

Man, the first time you tried to get a beer in China, you'd spent ten minutes miming and acting and making an idiot of yourself before you finally just walked around the counter and got one for yourself…

You recognize 'thank you' when Castiel says it. The woman rambles something else then strolls away.

You take your Tsingtao and hold it up. "Cheers."

This gesture Castiel recognizes. Guess it's universal. He taps his bottle against yours, "Cheers."

You take a long pull. Ahh… Awesome. Who says beer isn't good on a cold night?

Castiel gulps from the beer. "I like the size of this bottle."

"Hmm… Me too." You gotta love a place where beers are about the twice the size that they are back in the States and cost less than a dollar.

Smiling a little, you find the obligatory dish of chili on the table and slide it over, scooping some into the noodles. You still figure the chili should kill anything lurking in the soup that might be out to churn your guts.

Starving now, you slick a pair of chopsticks out of the container on the table and dig into the gloppy noodles. You shovel in three big mouthfuls before you even notice that Castiel is just staring at his.

"It okay?"

He looks up at you, a little surprised. "I am not really…" He takes a long breath. "I had only intended on the one meal for you."

"Ah." You glance over your shoulder to where the woman is not so inconspicuously watching you. "You might have to eat it anyway."

He sighs softly. "Do you think she will be offended if I leave it?"

You really don't know how that would work in China. "Maybe."

"Very well." He moves as if to take a bite then frowns. "There is no spoon."

Seriously? "Chopsticks." You point to the little holder.

His eyebrow lifts almost comically. "Oh." He reaches over and lifts a single chopstick. Awkwardly he prods at the noodles with it.

You snort a laugh. Can't help it. He gives you a look that's almost hurt. "Sorry." How can he speak Mandarin, but have no idea about chopsticks. What is this guy's deal?

"I have never employed this utensil before."

"How do you survive in China?" Which is a really bitchy thing for you to say considering you're the idiot who can't speak a word of the language. "Okay. No worries. It's easy. I'll show you."

He gives you a soft simper and nods.

"You need two of them." You hand him a second chopstick. "And then hold them in one hand, okay? Like this." You demonstrate.

He mimics your grip clumsily. "Like this?"

"Uh… yeah." You grip a noodle between your chopsticks. "Then just kind of grab it like this."

He makes a move for the noodles, but they slip out. Huffing a breath, he tries again, getting a noodle halfway out of the bowl.

"You're getting the hang of it." You encourage. "And hey, go ahead and all but stick your face in it." You lean way over your bowl and basically just scoop a bite into your mouth.

"This is not rude?"

"Not here."

"Very well." Castiel stoops over the little table, coming way closer than he probably realizes to dunking his tie into the soup. It's a pretty funny, uncoordinated show, but he manages to get a greasy noodle into his mouth.

"Yay." You give a little clap.

Sitting straight again, Castiel is smiling. There's a smudge of meat sauce on his chin and he looks, frankly, adorable. "I find a fork to be much simpler."

You smirk. "You get used to it pretty quick."

"You have been in China long?"

"Uh… About three weeks now." Wow. Has it been that long already?

"What is your purpose here?"

Jeeze, seriously, the way this guy talks… the weird ass way he phrases things? It's screwing with your head. "Just traveling."

He nods, toying with the chopsticks, trying to find a better grip.

"And you? Are you working here?" 'Cause with the suit and tie and the whole speaking Mandarin thing, he's gotta be. Why he can't use chopsticks you have no idea…

He tips his head, as if the question caught him completely off guard. "No."

"Oh. What are you doing in Wuhan then?"

For a minute he almost seems to hesitate, eyes going a little distant. "I am… looking for someone."

Huh? Wandering around, looking for someone in a city of twelve million… in a country with more than a billion people doesn't seem super logical. Maybe the dude should start with, like, a phonebook or something? "Someone who?" you ask, folding noodles between your teeth.

He seems uncomfortable and he reaches to touch something in his pocket. "Um… my Father."

Oh. Your eyebrows shoot up. "Is he Chinese?"

A little laugh stirs in his throat. "No."

"Why would he be in Wuhan then?"

"I do not know if He is." Castiel pokes at his noodles, saying the 'He' in just such a manner that it seems to demand a really bizarre capital 'H'. "But the first hint I've had in a long time indicated this area."

Weird. You wonder what kind of messed up family situation would lead to someone globetrotting in search of a parent. Huh… is he globetrotting? How the hell does he afford it?

He takes a drink from the beer then changes the subject. "You are travelling?"

"Yeah."

"Where are you from?"

You wash down a bit of meat that you really don't need to ever identify. "The US. Minnesota."

His face brightens. "I have friends in the United States!"

The joy is contagious and you're smiling too. You notice he said 'friends in the States' – so he's probably not from there. You'd shit yourself if he was actually from Croatia. "Cool. Where in the States?"

He shakes his head slightly. "They move around a lot."

"Awesome. I'd just travel forever if I could."

A little frown creases his brow. "You are fond of such?"

"Definitely."

"But… you were so distressed when we met…"

You wave it off, embarrassed, feeling like an idiot. "It's just been a really rough week. And China… China's hard."

He surveys you for a minute and the intensity in his eyes kind of freaks you out – it's like he trying to see straight through you, or like he has x-ray vision or something… At length he nods, "You travel much."

You can't quite tell if it was a question or a statement. "I guess so. I try."

"Have you been to Africa?"

It's your turn to light up. "It's an amazing place."

"That is a rather large generalization for an entire continent, is it not?"

Is he teasing you? Holy crap. You hadn't expected that.

You don't get a chance to answer though, Castiel continuing, his tone nostalgic and almost sad. "I am partial to Mauritania. On the dunes at night… with the stars so near you could reach and scatter them."

You can't help but smile. "I didn't know you were a poet."

A frown trips his expression. "I am not."

You smirk. "I was only in East Africa." All you know about Mauritania is where it is on the map – you remember spotting it and thinking 'what the hell is that?' You take a drink from the beer. "I loved Rwanda."

Castiel stills his chopsticks in the bowl. "There was much suffering and death in Rwanda."

"Yeah… I know, but now? The people are all so friendly. So welcoming. They're all working so hard to move past that and get on with their lives and be happy." You look away, feeling like a twit. "It was… you know, it was inspiring…"

He doesn't let you hide behind the bottle, seeking out your gaze and offering a small grin. "I was in Ruhengeri for but a short time, but I felt the same sense of welcome as you describe."

"You've been everywhere, huh?"

For some reason, he looks uncomfortable again. "I have been many places…"

"Looking for your dad, or…" Wow, you are such a bitch. His eyes drop and you hate yourself a little. You can't imagine what it would be like not knowing where your family is. You're on Skype with your parents every couple weeks and e-mailing in between. Your brother calls whenever he can.

Castiel doesn't say anything, covering by sipping from his beer and pretending to be fascinated by something on his shoes.

"Uh…" You need to recover. "Where's the rest of your family at? You got brothers or sisters or…"

It shocks you, 'cause he almost looks sad. "Um…" He puts the bottle down, stroking his thumb up the side of it distractedly. "I had brothers and sisters…"

Had? Past tense. Oh great. Fucking great. And you aren't nearly a big enough bitch to pry into that one. There are way too many awful ways for people to die and leave scars on those they leave behind. Car accidents, drunk driving, cancer, shootings. You need to just shut the hell up right now. "Sorry."

He's quiet for awhile and you're quiet for awhile. You concentrate on scarfing down the slowly congealing noodles while Castiel just stares at the table top.

You try again to fix things. If this one bites you on the ass you're giving up. "So… where's your favorite place?"

He looks up. "What?"

"Of all the places you've been; where was your favorite?"

"On Earth?"

Well… duh. "Yeah." And maybe you sound a little snarky. "On Earth."

He almost smiles, that kinda vacant, distant look slipping back across his countenance. He swirls his chopsticks absently, before answering, "South Dakota."

You snuffle a little laugh, 'cause really? "South Dakota? You go from Mauritania to South Dakota?" You shake your head, lifting the beer to your lips. "Man… you got a love of Mount Rushmore, or something?"

"I have never been." He sets the chopsticks down. "No… There is a house there. It is… nothing special. Old. Outdated."

You wait. There's this strangely fond look in his eye that tells you he's not finished.

"You recall my friends… who travel much in the United States?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"This house is owned by a friend of theirs… Though, really he is family. A surrogate uncle or father. They all seem to know it, but no one voices it."

"Uh huh…"

"And they… are always welcome there. I have been told I am welcome as well. And I… am beginning to believe that."

A smile slips across your lips all on its own. "It's home."

He nods almost imperceptibly. And you get that.

You wonder if maybe you understand this guy a lot more than you thought you did. He's alone, a long ass way from home and friends, with his family missing or… gone. He's lonely.

And maybe he's also a nice guy who just wanted to help you out… but, shit, you were going nuts just wanting to have someone to talk to…

Huh. You're lonely too, aren't you? Didn't think it was possible when surrounded by so many people… But it's true. You are. And Castiel is too…

"Do you not miss your home?"

"Huh?" You start. Must have zoned out a bit more than you realized. "Oh. Uh, no. Not really. I mean, I miss things about home, but Minnesota's not the place for me. It's really only home because my family and friends are all still there. But if I could, like, magically transport them someplace else, then that would be home."

Castiel nods like he understands, and you figure he probably really does. He gives his bottle a little swirl, then tilts it back, polishing it off.

You realize your bottle is basically empty too. The noodles are gone, just a skim of greasy broth left in the bottom of the bowl. You feel a hell of a lot better; aren't so close to a break down; aren't freaking out.

"You are finished?"

It's almost Yoda-speak the way he asks that question, but it doesn't bother you at all. "Yeah. I'm good to go if you are."

"Yes." He pauses for a moment. "We must… pay, correct?"

Zuh? "Um, yeah."

"Very good." He waves to the woman – who never completely stopped staring at the two of you.

She comes over, speaking rapidly. Castiel nods, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat. You're kind of surprised when he just pulls out a folded bill instead of a fancy ass wallet. He offers the money to the woman, who gives it one look then launches into a tirade.

Castiel's brow creases when he replies. The woman goes off and when Castiel tries again, he's starting to sound a little flustered.

You lean forward just a bit. "What's wrong?"

He turns to you, "She is saying that I cannot pay with this. She is insisting on… Yuan."

"Yuan is Chinese money!" Now you're a little flustered too. What is up with this guy? You see the money in his hand – it's US dollars; a fifty.

"But… Dean assured me I could trade this currency for products and services…"

"Wha… Yeah, in the States!" Or, like, Ecuador. Maybe some parts of Cambodia. Not here!

"But… but this is all that I have."

Son of a bitch. Did he just screw you? He's staring at you imploringly, like he's waiting for instruction or something. Fuck. "Fine. Whatever. I'll pay it. How much is it?"

He still looks a distressed, but asks. "The total is three hundred Yuan."

Three hundred! "Is she crazy?" You know the woman can't understand you, but the tone and the gesture is universal. "Are you crazy?"

Castiel scowls. "This is incorrect?"

"This is us getting fucked 'cause we're foreigners." You glare at the woman, shaking your head. "Look, the soup should be five, on the high end. And if she's charging ten for each of the beers we're still getting ripped. That's thirty. Max."

The woman babbles something else… well, it's not actually babbling, of course, but it might as well be.

You ignore it. "Ask those guys back there how much they paid for their beers."

Castiel moves as if to do just that, but the woman steps purposefully between him and them, speaking quickly.

He nods, turning back to you. "She apologizes. Says there was a mistake."

Mistake your ass.

"She now requests twenty five."

Three hundred to twenty five. All the damn time... It's still too much, really, but it's acceptable.

"Yeah. Fine." You peel some money out of the zippered pocket in your cargo pants. Unfortunately it's Y100. You really wish you had something smaller, but you've already burned through all your little money with the stupid city buses tonight. You give the woman the cash… and if she doesn't bring you back the right change you're going to snap.

Castiel is watching you. "You are very good at that."

"Lots of practice." And how the shit isn't he good at it too with all the travelling it seems he's done?

He stares at the fifty still in his hand. Abruptly, he thrusts it out toward you. "Can you utilize this?"

"Wha…" You're completely thrown. "Uh… Can change it at a bank tomorrow… Sure."

"Excellent. Take this then."

Is… is he serious? "What?"

"I did not wish for you to have to pay. This is all I have and if it can be of use to you, I want you to have it."

"Dude, that is way more than this meal costs!" Way, way, way more.

"That does not matter." He lifts his eyebrows, pushing the bill toward you again. "Please."

You want to take it, you do. But it doesn't seem right. You aren't that low. "Um, look…"

"I insist." He pushes it toward you again. "Please."

And there's just something in his tone, his expression… You cave. "Okay." You take the money from his hand and he gives you a real smile. "Thanks."

"It is very much my pleasure." And he really seems to mean it.

The woman comes back, handing you the change. You count it. Twice. And you're very pleased that it's correct.

You toss your best Mandarin 'thank you' and she drifts away again. You hold the bills, worrying your lip. "Here." You offer them to Castiel.

"I do not want your money."

"You said you didn't have anything else." You're actually a good person, even if no one believes it. "This'll get you a bus or something."

"I do not require it."

"Well… you're gonna need money eventually. I mean… how are you gonna get home tonight?"

He smiles kind of secretively. "Do not concern yourself. I assure you, I am fine."

You hesitate, still offering the bills. "You sure?"

"Absolutely." He reaches out, pressing the money back toward you. His hand is ridiculously warm, especially with the cold weather.

"Okay." You put it away. "Well, thank you."

He nods pointedly, his countenance serene. "Shall we find your hostel?"

"Yes," you grin. "Let's."

He rises fluidly then motions toward your backpack. "May I assist you this time?"

You really do think this guy is on the level; isn't going to rob you. "Sure. Thanks again."

"Good." He steps around the table and lifts your pack onto his shoulder like it's full of feathers. Holy shit. It's not light, not by any description. And he's not exactly a big guy…

You strap on your daypack, following Castiel to the door, pausing before you leave to shout a "xie xie" – thank you – over your shoulder.

Castiel walks through the dark streets like he owns them. You're happy to walk with him, enjoying the company as well as it being him who got the directions; who knows where to go.

The hostel turns out to actually only be a couple blocks – you have to admit, you had your doubts. You almost want to cry at the sight of it.

Castiel comes in with you, insisting on making sure you can secure a bed and that everything is all right.

"Okay," you turn from the receptionist, key in hand. "I'm set."

"Wonderful." He means it too. "Would you like me to carry your bag to the room?"

"Nah. It's fine. You've done more than enough."

"This was nothing."

You shuffle uncomfortably. "Look, um… You in a hurry, or…" You shake your head. "You wanna grab a beer? There's a bar here and… On me." You usually wouldn't buy beers from the hostel – they're always way overpriced and you'd rather pick up three at a supermarket then get one at the hostel, but hey…

Castiel tips his head, expression clouded. You just wait, smiling. Finally he gives a nod. "Yes. I would like that."

And your smile splits even wider. "Cool. I'll just drop this stuff off and we…"

A phone's ring splits though your statement. You don't have a cell and it isn't coming from the reception desk.

"Excuse me." Castiel reaches into his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. He holds it kind of awkwardly, like it's unfamiliar or new or something. He studies the little display then flips the phone open. "Hello, Dean."

'Dean' again. He said that before, right? At the restaurant with the money thing. You wonder if he's that friend of his. Hell, could be his boyfriend for all you know… not that it'd bother you one way or the other.

"Yes." Castiel rubs his face. "I understand. No, don't do that. I'll…" He looks up at you. "I'll be there shortly." He pauses, listening. "Yes, shortly. No, not immediately. What is funny?" He lifts his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "Good bye, Dean." He closes the phone and turns back to you.

You give him a knowing look. "You need to go."

"I am very sorry. This… it is an emergency."

You wonder what kind of emergency comes without a 'What happened?' or a 'Shit! Are you okay?' But it isn't your business. You just give a regretful nod and say, "Yeah. Okay." You shuffle on your feet again. "Uh… Well, look, I'll be in town for a couple days. If you have a chance and you want to swing by, my offer still stands."

His expression is gentle. "Thank you. I can make no promises."

You shrug like it doesn't matter, though in truth you're bummed he has to take off. "It's a small world. Maybe we'll bump into each other again."

"I wish you good fortune with your travels."

You nod tightly. You don't know how to say 'good bye' here. A handshake feels wrong, but you don't think you really know him well enough for a hug. "Good luck finding your dad."

His eyes kind of half slant away. "Thank you for teaching me how to use chopsticks."

You laugh. "Hell. Thanks for everything."

Castiel meets your gaze with those eyes that are so fuckin' intense you kind of feel like they could melt you. "Good night, Sandra."

And then he saves you all concern about a farewell gesture by just turning on his heel and walking toward the door.

"Night!" You call to his back, but he's already stepping out into the cold.

Okay… You shake it off, reaching to heft your pack onto your shoulder. You glance toward the courtyard as you stand, but already there's no sign of him. Shit, he must have walked away awfully damn fast. Oh well.

You consider getting a beer anyway – you are up fifty bucks… but decide against it. It's been a long ass day and you're wiped.

Finding the dorm, you get settled quickly. Someone's already snoring away in there. Typical.

But for once the noise doesn't keep you awake and you spend the night drifting through dreams of sand dunes and stars that you've never seen and a hand reaching clumsily to scatter them with chopsticks.