Chapter Text
Castiel drove, and the lights of Kansas City grew dim in his rearview mirror. He was nervous as he drove towards the only place that ever felt like home.
It had been ten years since he was back in Lawrence. Ten years since he had made the worst mistake of his life—one that had haunted him every single day—when he ran away to New York; ten years of seeing the same face in every crowd, of hearing the same songs in every cafe and every club and feeling the same pain as if it were the first time, every time.
He had ten years to come up with a plan, yet he was rolling into town without one. But there was one thing that kept him up at night, one thing he thought about every day since he accepted the job to run the mathematics department at KU. It was that one thing he kept in mind when he signed for the loan on his new house—the house on the lake that brought back countless memories.
It was the one thing running in the back of his head as he packed his stuff and moved out of his brownstone in Brooklyn, where he lived for eight years and never once felt at home. Castiel had one thing that kept him going as he flew out of JFK, as he bought a truck, as he drove down that dark highway he could have driven with his eyes closed.
Castiel knew one thing: He was in love with Dean Winchester, just as he had been every day since their first day of Freshman year when he met his new roommate, the boy who turned his entire world upside down with his smile.
***
Castiel maneuvered the truck into one of the open parking spaces. The Roadhouse looked just as it did ten years ago aside from a fresh coat of paint. The sign was still the same, and if Castiel looked hard enough, he'd probably find some of the same people camped out front smoking cigarettes on the open porch.
Castiel rested his chin on the steering wheel, hands on each side. He sat there for what felt like hours staring at the door, and watched as a few people went in and came out. He thought about getting out of the truck, and tried not to be obvious when he looked around the parking lot, but it’s not like anyone was looking at him. He looked for the tell tale curve of the Impala’s roof, looked for her black paint shining and reflecting every light that hit her gleaming finish. Castiel must have checked that parking lot a hundred times before deciding she wasn't there, that he probably wasn't there, but never thinking for a second he might not be driving her anymore.
Castiel slipped out of the truck, and leaned against it, weighing his options. He could turn around and go home, start unpacking and try coming back another night. The bravado he felt on the highway slipped away, and he found himself trying to come up with one decent excuse after another to avoid going inside the bar. Castiel swallowed thickly. He had no good reason not to go inside. Dean probably wasn't even there, so fuck it. Castiel pushed himself off the truck and stalked towards the front door.
He stopped short at the door, a brightly colored sign catching his attention. It had the days of the week listed, each one advertising a different theme: Monday - Ladies Night! Tuesday - 80’s night! Wednesday - College Night! Thursday - Half price wings and beer! Friday - Open Mic Night! Saturday/Sunday - All Day Happy Hour!
Castiel hated them all. The only “theme night” that was halfway decent was the Open Mic night. What the hell happened to the bar to make Dean stoop to these ridiculous antics? He sighed and pushed the door open, not sure what he was walking into.
Castiel let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding when he stepped into the Roadhouse and found it relatively unchanged. The layout was the same; the big U-shaped bar still dominated the room, and booths still wrapped around the left and back sides. The new addition to the room was the stage that held—to Castiel’s great surprise—a baby grand piano. It was a Steinway, and Castiel’s fingers itched to tickle the keys, something he hadn't done in ten years.
His eyes drifted to the back corner of the room, to the booth he and Dean had shared countless numbers of nights in; studying, laughing, growing up, and falling in love. The table still had its familiar “Reserved” sign sitting on the edge of the tabletop. Who was occupying its worn leather seats these days? Out of everything familiar about the bar, that booth made him miss Dean the most.
Castiel took a seat at the bar running his hands along the smooth surface; it had been refinished in a gorgeous butterscotch maple wood. As Castiel looked closer, he noticed not only was the bar refinished, but the booths and small scattered tables had been done as well. Castiel smiled, he found Dean here after all. He scanned the bar and thought about the days they used to spend there. There had always been a Harvelle or two hanging around, Bobby and Rufus occupying a couple barstools, Ash sleeping on a pool table, Sam and Jo studying hard in a booth. It made Castiel sad to think they’d probably moved on in the last ten years.
Castiel saw the bartender leaning in to talk to another patron at the end of the bar, and waited for them to stop flirting before he cleared his throat, hoping to order a beer. The bartender straightened and headed in his direction, turning his charms toward Castiel.
“What can I get for ya, boss?” The bartender was young, maybe late 20’s, wide eyed and smiling.
“Whatever you’ve got on tap.” Castiel wasn't really thirsty but he's here, and he's wondering how much information he can get from this guy without sounding like a creep.
As the bartender, Aaron, if his name tag was to be believed, poured his beer, he proceeded to strike up a conversation. “So, business or pleasure?”
Castiel startled. He wasn't expecting anyone to ask him questions and he wasn't ready with an answer. Aaron seemed to take his silence for confusion.
“What brings you to Lawrence? Business or pleasure?” He slid Castiel's beer across the bar.
Castiel cleared his throat. “Uh, both actually. I just moved… here. For work.” He almost said he just moved back, but that would have provoked even more questions he didn’t feel like answering.
“Cool, man. Maybe we'll see you around more often. Check back next week, we're debuting our own beers. It's kind of a big deal. In fact” —Aaron grabbed a small glass from under the bar and waved it in Castiel’s direction— “care for a sneak peek?”
“Are you sure that's ok?” Castiel was curious to see where this was going.
“Hell yeah, man. Perks of dating the boss.” Aaron winked at him, and if he noticed the shock on Castiel’s face, he didn't react to it. He pulled out a growler filled with an amber beer and poured a taste for Castiel.
“This is our Sasquatch Brown Ale. Tell me what you think.”
Castiel smiled to himself, knowing exactly who this beer was named after. He took a sip and chocolate and caramel burst on his tongue. It was the best beer Castiel has had in years.
“It's excellent. Can't say I've had anything this good in a while, even in New York. Did you say this was your recipe?”
“Oh, hell no man. Dean is the brains behind this. He's been perfecting his beers for about a year now. They're finally ready and we're really excited about it.”
There it was again, we. Castiel felt sick, thinking of his Dean with this guy. He admonished himself; Dean wasn't his and hadn't been for a long time. And now, there was Aaron, comfortable in a place Castiel used to stand, a place that used to feel like home. Castiel was ready to leave.
“You should definitely come back next week. Like I said, we're revealing the whole line of beers on Friday. Catch our Open Mic night too.” Aaron hadn't lost his enthusiasm for a minute. It was getting exhausting.
“Yeah, I'll think about it, thanks. Tell your, uh, boss that the beer is good. Is he here tonight?” Castiel hoped he sounded casual.
“Nah, man. Dean teaches guitar lessons down at the Y on Wednesday nights, but you can come back next Friday and tell him yourself. He’ll be glad to hear it. Plus, if you’ll be living around here, you should meet him and our wayward family. We've got quite a group of regulars around here.”
We we we. Every single we was like a punch to Castiel's gut. He ached, thinking of all he had lost just within these walls alone. Castiel was a part of that family, long before Aaron . A real family that chose him, not one that was forced to put up with him, one that made sure he knew how much he disappointed them still, despite everything he had given up to please them.
Castiel needed to get the fuck out of there.
He dropped a ten on the bar and quickly turned toward the exit. Aaron called out a good night, but he just put his head down and walked faster. He felt like a fool for being upset, for feeling jealous over something he should have seen coming and he clenched his fists to keep them from shaking. Castiel climbed into his truck and started it up, peeling out of the parking lot before he lost it right then and there. He kept it together until he pulled into his new driveway and only then did he fall apart, the tears he was desperately trying to stop streaming down his face.
It was stupid coming back to Lawrence. It was really stupid going to The Roadhouse knowing Dean wasn't there and spying on his life. Castiel felt like a fool. Dean had moved on, he had Aaron now. He didn't need Castiel and his fucked up priorities, his callous decision making, and his lifelong track record of selfishness. Dean deserved better than what Castiel could offer.
Castiel walked into his new house, stared at his stacks of boxes, and wanted to burn it all to the ground. Deciding it would take more effort than he had at that moment, he found the box in the kitchen with all his alcohol and proceeded to get wasted.