inonebasket | (no subject)

"I'm not panicking, Cas, I just--" He curls his hands into fits, shaking his head. "I don't wanna be in this room with the remains of that thing any longer than I have to be, okay?"

Oh, right.

Cas glances at the stain on the floor, hefts his duffel and takes the keys from the table. "I'll return these to the desk." And they missed checkout time. Cas had to very quietly insist that a maid get the fuck out of the room when she tried to clean up.

Dean nods sharply, yanking on his boots and hauling his duffel out to the Impala. He'll wait for Cas in the car since he's not really in the mood to talk to strangers. For once.

Yeah so they need to leave immediately.

Cas throws his bag into the trunk, closes it, slides quickly into the front seat and turns to Dean. "We should go."

Dean tenses immediately.

"They know we're here, don't they."

"No. The desk clerk threatened to call the police when I suggested that they provide janitorial help that understands the words 'no' and 'get out.' Apparently my tone was hostile."

Pause.

"Also, I refused to pay for a second night's stay. The sun hasn't even set."

...And all the tension bleeds out of Dean's shoulders. He's quiet for a minute and then he just...starts...laughing. Laughing like he can't stop. Laughing until his cheeks hurt and he has tears streaming down his face.

Why are you laughing and not driving.

Because Cas finally did something 100% him, that's why, and Dean's so relieved he could cry. Is crying.

Do tears of laughter count as crying?

"Right. Right, okay." There, he's very nearly composed. Dean coughs, getting himself back under control and starts the car. Wow. Just. Wow. He's still half smiling when he merges onto the highway.

Cas isn't quite sure what just happened, but Dean is smiling and Cas thinks he might have played a part in that, so he's smiling just a little bit too. "Where are we going?"

"I don't have a damn clue." He takes one hand off the steering wheel, shakes it out, sets it back down. "We still don't know when or where those things are gonna show up, so...Sam bitched that he thinks we're on a honeymoon tour, so what the hell. Might as well enjoy ourselves. You ever been to Vegas?"

Because that is a damn good town to swindle some money in and Dean's funds are starting to get a bit low.

"I haven't." Cas tilts his head as he remembers his bird's-eye-view of Vegas, the same vague information all angels have about places they've never been. "The city filled with gambling locales and questionable dance clubs?" You're not taking Cas to a strip club, are you? Or bringing him somewhere to lose his virginity, or steep him in sin in some other way?

Edited 2011-11-26 09:45 (UTC)

"Vegas it is!" Note how he doesn't deny that it's full of questionable dance clubs and gambling locales. Nope, Dean just drives, pushing the Impala as hard as he dares, driving straight through until they see the Vegas lights brightening the sky.

"Okay. Important question. Do you know how to play poker?"

"No." He could find out in half a second if he had a little more mojo, but goodness he'd never watched the human race that closely.

"We're just gonna have to fix that, aren't we?" As if Dean's a decent poker player. Still, after they spend a couple hours in the hotel room with Dean running over the basics for Cas, he's pretty sure he's never seen a better player. He knows Cas like the back of his hand (okay, maybe not that well), and even he can't tell whether Cas has a good hand or a bad one.

Dean's lost his third hand in five minutes when he decides enough is enough.

"Here's the deal. We're running out of money. Poker and pool are as good a way to rake in the cash as any. So you run a few hands of poker while I shoot pool. We do this at a couple places, and we'll be set for a while." A couple weeks at least and god, Dean wishes he could still use his stolen credit cards.

Excellent, a way to contribute financially. Castiel does feel a little guilty over consuming so many resources and having nothing to give in return, so he's going to do his best. He heads straight over to the first open chair he sees after Dean shows him to the poker tables and sits. Granted, Cas doesn't know how to intimidate other players and openly bluff, but his face is so blank nobody can read him.

It's a hit-or-miss strategy, and Castiel manages to hit big. When Dean comes to check up on him, Castiel has managed to rack in over ten thousand dollars in chips.

Dean's up by a couple hundred bucks which is, in his opinion, pretty damn good. So when he sees how Cas is doing, well. It's a miracle his eyes don't bug clean out of his head. That is...more than enough to keep them going for. God. A long time.

On the downside, it means people are starting to look at them a little funny, so Dean leans over Castiel's shoulder, patting his back. "C'mon, genius, let's get out of here before you clean out the house."

This isn't just contributing financially. This is a downpayment on a freaking house.

See, the way it happened is Cas actually sat down at one of the big leaguer's tables, where the minimum bet was...every single chip he had. If he'd lost, it would all be gone...but it just kept doubling.

Cas glances up at Dean, feeling pretty proud of himself, but obediently scoops his chips into a bag provided by the house and hands them over to Dean. "This should cover my expenses for the past two weeks."

"Trust me, Cas, this more than covers it." Dean's not even trying to hide his grin on their way to cash out. The cashier grimaces at them--she must be new--but they're soon on their way, a pile of cash in hand. Outside, Dean slings his arm around Castiel's shoulders, dragging him closer for a sideways hug. "Good job."

"Thank you," Castiel says pleasantly, like they're exchanging mild compliments. He's just glad he was able to help for once. Dean still looks like hell in a hand basket, wrists bandaged and face bruised and his arm a sick yellow-brown color from the still-healing bone bruise from days ago. "Are we going somewhere else now?"

"We can if you want, but we don't need to." Dean looks like hell but at the moment he feels amazing. "We could always take some of our newfound wealth and spend a night on the town. Whole nine yards, wine, women and song!"

"Whatever you'd like to do, Dean." Cas isn't particularly fond of wine and women, and the human equivalent of song always leaves him feeling like he's missed something, but if that's what makes Dean happy then Cas will let him experience it.

"C'mon. I know a good place." He takes Cas' elbow, leading him through the complicated maze of streets.

Dean's 'good place' turns out to be a strip joint set a little bit away from the bustle of the rest of the city. This doesn't, however, make it any less loud, seeing as the DJ has the bass turned up high enough to rattle bones. But Dean seems to like it, flirting openly with the topless waitress who seems torn between flirting back and slapping him.

Cas stares around like the clueless thing he is, not quite understanding the rules of a place like this. He sees men tucking money into the strings of a dancing woman's thong underwear and tilts his head, puzzled. What are they paying her for?

"Dean," Cas shouts over the music, "I fail to understand the purpose of this entertainment." See, he gets the brothel, he gets it; that one is about the carnal act of copulation and the euphoria-inducing hormonal bursts that come along with the stimuli. Here, though, the only stimulus is visual, yet the viewers are still paying the dancers.

Is it art? Cas never gets art.

"What?" Sorry, Cas, he couldn't hear for a second. "Just enjoy it! We're here to get drunk and have fun!"

Dean's idea of fun is terrible. Really terrible. But hey, he's paying for the drinks and lots of them, intent on enjoying the hell out of getting sloshed.