Most days by now, he didn’t bother. At the beginning of the loop, he’d shown up for a couple of shifts, certain that he’d just had some really freaky, vivid dreams. Then he’d spent countless days searching for ways to escape, talking to every person he came across, doing everything he could to get as far away from the Roadhouse as possible. He’d even taken a couple of flights but it didn’t matter how far away he got, he always woke up again in his bed the next morning.
The same morning. Whatever.
He’d gone through the whole ‘Bill Murphy in Groundhog Day’ routine, including the suicide attempts. He’d done whatever he could to help the people around him. He’d even saved a couple of lives but it didn’t matter how much he changed or how many personal revelations he reached. The loop was inescapable. He knew that now.
Nothing he did mattered, so Dean just did whatever he felt like. And today he felt like going to work.
The shift started the same as always. No one’s behavior changed unless Dean affected it in some way so he knew by heart what would happen. He’d used it to his advantage a few loops, hitting on every person in the bar and taking home whoever showed any interest. He’d stopped doing that after a while; it felt gross to have sex with people who wouldn’t remember it.
There were four people in the bar when Dean arrived, aside from Jo behind the counter. Of those four, three would remain until closing time. More customer would filter in as the evening wore on.
Dean kept an eye out for his favorites: Leslie, who he could always draw into a debate about beat poetry, her talking points changing wildly with just the slightest variation in response from Dean. Rufus Turner, who Dean had just learned how to draw into a proper conversation (he’d gotten punched in the face twice as he worked out the right mixture of confrontational and respectful). Castiel, an astrophysicist who Dean had talked to the science of time loops about but had never been able to offer advice that could actually help.
As if conjured by the mere thought of him, Castiel suddenly entered the Roadhouse, loudly slamming the door open. Dean froze. This was new. He wasn’t meant to be here for another hour.
This was new.
Castiel stood frozen in the doorway as well, eyes widening as he spotted Dean. Then he was stalking forward.
“You!” Castiel shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Dean. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
Jo said something but Dean ignored her. “You’re the one who’s not supposed to be here!”
“No. No, see, I’ve gone through this day thirty-eight times now. Everything stays the same. You weren’t here the last thirty-seven times, why are you here now?”
Dean stared at him. Then he started laughing. He tried to hold it back at first but it came bubbling forward, hysterical peels of laughter leaving him breathless. His eyes began to water and before he knew, someone was roughly tugging at his elbow, pulling him outside.
They leaned him against the wall and slowly, the laughter died down. Dean leaned forward, palms on his knees as he regained his breath. Castiel was standing next to him and Jo was in the doorway, staring at him worriedly.
“Go back inside,” he told her with a wave of his hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Jo gave him a dubious look and Dean couldn’t blame her; both he and Castiel had to look crazy from her point of view.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just gimme five, okay?”
She pursed her lips together but nodded, stepping back inside and closing the door behind her, leaving Dean and Castiel alone.
“Thirty-eight times, huh?” Dean asked, straightening. “That’s it?”
“That’s-” Castiel cut off his own indignant response, seeming to realize just what Dean wasn’t saying. He had to give it to him, he was quick on the uptake. “How many days has it been for you?”
Dean shrugged. “I’m not sure. Thousands.”
Castiel paled. “And you haven’t found a way out?”
“I tried everything I could think of,” Dean said. “Asked you for a bunch of advice. Did the whole Groundhog Day personal improvement thing, didn’t work.”
“Groundhog Day?” Castiel repeated quizzically.
“Oh, come on, you know Noether's theorem off the top of your head but you haven’t heard of Groundhog Day?”
“How do you know that?”
Dean shot him a flat look.
Castiel looked disconcerted. “Right. That’s - what else do you know about me?”
“You’re the youngest of five siblings. You and your father were close when you were younger but the relationship has gotten strained since you came out of the closet in college. Your first boyfriend was named Bartholomew and he was a total dick but you weren’t confident enough to break up with him until the second time you found out he cheated on you.
“Your favorite drink is whiskey, neat, and your favorite author is Jane Austen, but you prefer reading poetry over novels. You can quote William Carlos Williams’ ‘Spring Storm’ by heart. You have a mole on your chest here,” Dean pointed at the spot right next to Castiel’s left nipple, “and your gag reflex is practically nonexistent.”
Castiel stared.
Dean coughed, feeling awkward for the first time in forever. “Sorry. I’ve kinda forgotten how to talk to people without following a script.”
“Right,” Castiel repeated. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell me in detail what you’ve tried to break the loop so far?”
It was Dean’s turn to stare.
“I need all the available data,” Castiel said. “I have a couple of theories on how this loop happened and how to end it but it’s going to take time to test them. Weeks, most likely.”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” Dean said faintly. “You - you really think you can get us out of this?”
Something ached in his chest. Hope, he realized after a moment. He was feeling hopeful.
“I will get us out,” Castiel corrected. “Both of us.”
Both of them.
Dean laughed disbelievingly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Okay. What do you need to know?”
