Chapter Text
Castiel Novak hates driving. The tin walls of the car pressing down on him, the stale recycled air, the unpredictability of his fellow drivers. Having the windows down helps, but most Uber passengers prefer a ride that won’t ruffle their hair. He glances in the rear view mirror at his most recent patron; a young woman in her twenties with a mass of tight, brunette curls and immaculately manicured nails meets his gaze and narrows her eyes.
Great. Now he looked like a creep.
He had picked her up at the local dive bar, the Roadhouse, which was one of exactly 3 establishments in the small town open past 8:30pm. Since the other two late night destinations were the local Walmart and McDonalds, rides to and from the Roadhouse were quickly becoming his main source of late-night income.
The woman had burst into his car the moment he pulled into the crumbling parking lot, simply grunting her assent when he confirmed her name before promptly crossing her arms and directing her steely gaze out the window. Castiel may be new to Uber, but he was an avid people watcher, and it was clear that this woman wanted the shut-up-and-drive experience.
Luckily, that was about all Castiel was prepared to do at this point in the night. He had exhausted his social battery on a kind old man who needed a ride from a doctor’s appointment, and had ended up sharing his life story with Castiel in the parking lot of his condo. Once they were both misty eyed and well acquainted, the man desperately clasped Castiel’s hand between his warm, crepey palms and made him promise to come over for Sunday dinner at 6. Castiel just didn’t have it in him to refuse. The man was clearly lonely, something Castiel could relate to.
The human connection was his favorite part about being an Uber driver. In fact, it was the only thing that made it tolerable. Despite being an introvert, Castiel’s recent complete seclusion in his new home town was starting to get to him. He missed the casual, consistent interactions with coworkers, awkward smiles shared with fellow commuters as he stuffed himself into overflowing train cars, and pleasantries exchanged with the baristas at his favorite coffee shop. As much as it pained him to remember, he especially missed the casual intimacy and routine domesticity of living with a partner.
Unfortunately, the time spent with the old man, Joshua, had cost him the income of dinner-time food deliveries, and now he was paying the price by playing vomit roulette with the late night crowd from the Roadhouse. Luckily, his current passenger seemed irritable but mostly sober, so it seems like his backseat upholstery will live to see another day.
The passenger in question was absorbed in her phone now, pale pink nails clicking furiously as she typed away with an intense scowl on her face. Castiel felt bad for whoever was on the receiving end of that message.
He pulls into a quaint neighborhood with charming, coordinating houses spaced evenly along a well-paved street and sidewalks for people to walk their dogs. Idly, he wonders what the HOA fees must cost for every single home to have matching landscaping like this. He stops the car in front of a pale blue colonial with crisp, white trim.
“Here okay?” He asks, but the woman is already unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding out of the SUV door.
“Yup. Thanks.” The door slams behind her, and she all but runs to the garage to get inside.
Castiel yawns and checks his phone. 12:07am, way past his bedtime. Or rather, what used to be his bedtime, when he was working in the office.
Manicure left him a 20% tip, so he decides that despite the tense atmosphere of the ride, the lack of vomit and decent income are enough signs to call it a night. He rolls down his windows and begins the short drive home. Rain begins to patter onto the pavement, collecting in shiny pools that reflect the glare of his headlights.
Unfortunately, he greatly overestimated the job market in his new home of Welsh, Maine, and his unplanned departure from Boston had left his savings account in shambles. While he had been able to find a modest house to rent, he had very little disposable income and found himself quickly reliant on a series of side jobs. His newfound freedom and flexible schedule were welcome changes, but the absence of the financial security he was accustomed to left a perpetual knot in his stomach. His phone buzzes from its stand on his dashboard, lighting up with another ride request. He scrubs at his jaw while he considers it, then sighs and turns back towards the Roadhouse without even looking at the details of the ride. If he made enough tonight, he would have time to sleep in a little tomorrow.
When he pulls up to the bar, he scans the lot for the typical hallmarks of a rider, usually a gaggle of giggling girls huddled around a phone, or a confused middle-aged patron squinting at every passing license plate, but he finds no one. Puzzled, he reaches for his phone to double-check the address when he sees a figure unfolding from the side of the side of the building, a tall man seemingly wiping his mouth.
Great, Castiel thinks. So much for winning vomit-roulette. He leans into the basket he keeps on the passenger side to throw a doggy bag and a water bottle onto the seat, suddenly questioning whether the extra few dollars from this ride are worth it. He takes a glance at the name and destination as the man approaches the car and quirks an eyebrow at the familiar address. He hears the jostling of the door handle and speaks without looking up from the app.
“Uber for Dean?”
“Yeah, man. The one and only.”
The deep voice has a flirtatious lilt to it that pulls Castiel’s gaze up to the rear view mirror, where he is faced with a surprisingly handsome man. He looks to be around Castiel’s age, with strong cheekbones, pouty lips and round eyes that peek up through full lashes to meet his gaze in the mirror. Castiel’s lips part and whatever thought he was having dissipates into thin air. The man, Dean, must have realized the effect he was having, and leans forward towards the driver’s seat.
“And you must be Cas-ti-el” he drawls with a self-assured smirk.
Castiel tamps down the flare of interest in his gut and narrows his eyes. Clearly, the man knows he’s attractive and is used to flaunting it. Castiel knows the type, and is instantly disinterested in being this man’s plaything that he flirts with just to feed his ego.
“Please put on your seatbelt before we go,” he says with a tight expression as he begins to maneuver the car out of the parking lot. Dean huffs and flops back into his seat.
“Don’t worry princess, I know how to play by the rules,” Dean says as he clicks the seatbelt into place with a playful roll of his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to worry about gettin’ pulled over though, since I’m pretty sure every cop in a 10 mile radius was in there gettin’ smashed with me.”
Castiel says nothing and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Typical townie, getting blitzed at the local bar and bragging about it to anyone who will listen. At least Dean wasn’t a drunk driver. Castiel had a suspicion that the full parking lot at the only bar in town would be empty by morning, and there was no way that there were that many sober people in there just enjoying the music. He focuses his eyes on the road, taking in the growing puddles gathering in the potholes in the pavement and the dark trees looming over the streets. He suddenly feels a cool gust and is hit with the smell of rain as Dean opens his window and leans his head against the car's frame.
For a moment, the facade drops, and a look of sadness falls over his face as he reads an impressively long message on his phone. The lines between his brows deepen, and glassy, unfocused eyes gaze pensively out the window as he lets the phone fall into his lap. Trailers and old farm houses with chipping paint whizz past. As if he can sense Castiel’s stare, Dean’s expression abruptly changes, and the drunken flirt snaps back into place.
“I know you like what you see, but you’d better keep your eyes on the road, buddy. Lotta deer in these woods this time of year and I’d hate for us to have a run in with Bambi. Plus, I bet you’d get less tips if you marked up that pretty face of yours. I know my pretty face gets me a whole lotta tips,” he says with a hiccup, snorting at his own crude joke. “Although, the ladies do always like a man of mystery, and you got that whole brooding thing down pat. Quiet guy, huh? New to Maine? I’ve never seen your perky little ass at any of the local haunts.”
Dean swaying a bit in his seat as he rambled on, hopefully missing the blush that spread across Castiel’s cheeks. The comments about Castiel’s appearance were wildly inappropriate, why was he blushing?
“No, I’m not from here. Just moved in a few weeks ago. And you’ve never seen my butt, I’ve been sitting the entire time we’ve known each other.” Castiel says curtly, counting down the miles until he can get this confusing drunk man out of his car and return to the solace of his little rented oasis on the lake.
“I knew it! A transplant! You got that city-slicker smell” Dean laughs, unbuckling his seatbelt to lean right next to Castiel’s face, his hot whiskey breath ghosting along the shell of his ear. “What brings you to sleepy-town USA? Family? Job? Breakup? Tree hugger? Bear enthusiast? Chasing the American dream?”
“Seatbelt. On.” Castiel grits out, refusing to admit how close to home one of Dean’s guesses hit.
“Alright, alright Cas, don’t get your knickers in a twist” Dean says, mercifully flopping back into the seat. “We’re almost there, anyway.”
Ignoring the nickname, Castiel turns into the same neighborhood from earlier and pulls up to the stately blue colonial from his last ride. He recalls the pretty girl with the nice nails from earlier and feels a surge of protectiveness towards her. She had clearly been agitated when she left the bar, could this man be why? Although, Dean didn’t feel dangerous. He was drunk, rude, and overly familiar, sure, but he had a hard time imagining that he had insidious intentions with his past rider. It was hardly Castiel’s job to interrogate his riders about their destinations, but it was a little too much of a coincidence that his last two patrons were going to the same address a half an hour apart from each other. Castiel was pulled from his internal debate with a warm, strong hand on his shoulder from the backseat.
“Thanks for the ride man, 5 stars, would ride again.” With that, and a sloppy wink, Dean stumbles out of the car and begins his wobbly saunter to the front door. Castiel’s hackles raise, Manicure had gone in through the garage earlier. For her sake, Castiel idles out front to make sure that Dean’s not about to break in through a window. He pulls a cluster of keys out of his pocket and fumbles with the front door before it’s pulled open by Manicure, wrapped in a bathrobe with her brown curls piled into a messy ponytail. She rolls her eyes using her whole head as she stalks away from the door, leaving it open for Dean to follow.
Well, at least he’s not a home invader, Castiel thinks. Maybe she’s his girlfriend? Dean had been flirting shamelessly with him for almost the entire ride, so Castiel can only imagine how he had been acting in the bar, surrounded by fellow inebriated degenerates. If he was Castiel’s boyfriend, he would be pissed off too.
Boyfriend? What was he thinking? He had known Dean for all of 20 minutes, and he was already imagining him, looking up through those dark lashes, cheeks flushed, pressed against some stranger in a quiet corner booth, warm strong hands settling at their hips, teasing at the hem of their shirt as his husky voice whispered in their ear, asking if—
A buzz from his phone snaps Castiel out of his embarrassing reverie. He drags a hand down his face to ground himself willing the flare of heat in his gut to go away. What is wrong with me?
He looks down at the notification from Uber, Dean has left him a tip. He glances up to see Dean watching him from the still open door, phone in hand. Dean throws him a wave and another exaggerated wink as he finally stumbles into the house, pushing the white painted door closed behind him. Castiel opens the app to check the amount.
$0.03.
What a dick.