"Listen, kid. I know you like hangin' around here a lot, and it's not really my place to kick you out or nothin', but can you answer me a question real quick?"

Dean's eyes widened as he stuttered out a low "Sure." The older man walked closer, leaning in and placing his hand on the wall beside Dean's head. Dean couldn't even hold his stare, Those eyes were too intense. Too blue.

"You like me, kid?" Dean's head snapped up, and he swallowed once. How the hell did you answer that kind of question? It was 1956, for God's sakes. If he said yes, he faced a beating, and if he said no he might hurt the guy's feelings. Why'd he have to be so damn forward?

"You heard me, small fry. Do. You. Like me?" Dean tried to respond, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He blushed bright red and looked down at his shoes, nodding. He braced himself for a fist on his face, or maybe in his gut, but recieved neither.

Cas pulled the younger man's face up by his chin and looked at him, grinning as Dean's blush deepened. "Well that's good. I thought you might be out to kill me or somethin' if you didn't like me."

Dean smiled hesitantly. This couldn't possibly be happening. His luck was never that good. He tugged on his overalls, fiddling with the button, trying to think of something clever to say. Cas grinned at him, running a thumb over his chin before turning back to his station. "So when do you wanna go out, little guy? I get off at 4."

Something hitched itself in Dean's throat, and he couldn't reply. There were people everywhere, anyone could hear...but Cas didn't care. He could get his brains beat out when he got off at four, some big jock smash his head into the wall and calling him queer. Cas looked at him again, his too-blue eyes pushing through whatever shyness had lodged itself in Dean's mouth, and smiled. "How about dinner over at Petey's? My treat."

Dean beamed and nodded, turning to walk out. He had to restrain from skipping in glee as he left the old diner, still tugging on his old overall button.

"So, what, like you have a date or somethin'?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jo, like a date. Or at least I think that's what he meant. He was sorta quick about it."
Jo grabbed his hands and squared herself in front of him, a hint of a squeal coming from the back of her throat. "Y'all are adorable! I bet he likes you a lot, Dean, I bet you he does."

"He barely even knows me, Jo. I just eat at his diner every day. He probably thinks I'm really weird." Dean wanted to believe that Castiel liked him, because that would let such a weight off his shoulders, but his annual good luck had alreaDY come and gone again, so this made no sense at all. "Plus, he's older, so y'know...he's more..experienced."

Jo scoffed, dropping Dean's hands. "Like you're not plenty experienced yourself, Dean. Remember Joey Wydell in junior year? You said he was nice."

"You know that's not what I mean. He's older, and stronger, and.." he drifted off, not-so-willingly letting his mind drift into the gutter. He WAS bigger, and stronger, and much more confident. God knows what that could mean for Dean. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, trying to turn his thoughts away from that. He'd worry about that when he got to it. IF he got to it.

"He's better than those guys, too, Jo. He really is." Dean smiled, feeling a blush creep up his face when he saw Jo's smirk.

"You cornball," she laughed, "Weren't you just saying how you barely know the guy? Go on the stupid date tonight, talk to him some. See what he's like. Then tell me about how swell he is." She laughed, patting his hands, and bounced off the bed. "Now go on, you goof, and get ready for your date."