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When Castiel is alone in the bunker, he does more than his fair share of exploring. He goes down to the dungeon, looks through kitchen cupboards, and spends the majority of his time sifting through old records and books on the supernatural. It’s interesting; the progression from beautifully inked parchment to fountain penned sheets to typewritten text. Castiel spends more time looking at the different scripts and personal notes in storage than he does truly reading the information the Men of Letters had gleaned.
It’s so easy to forget that this place was once a hub of human activity.
Pulling another dusty box to the floor, Cas sits cross-legged on tile. He coughs when dust flies up to meet his face, long since used to the phenomenon since Falling two months ago. He’s only alone now because he’s on research duty, but he relayed the proper information to the Winchesters a half hour ago.
Castiel opens the box.
Jackpot.
Pulling out a stack of old records, Cas can’t help smiling, eyes roving over old titles as he sifts through all ten of them. Reaching back into the box, the former angel finds a roll of film and handful of letters, each written in delicate, sloping calligraphy and all beginning with ‘my dearest love’.
Expression shifting to an all too-human grin, Castiel takes the box and heads to the library.
He spends the afternoon reading the letters, learning that they are written by a woman named Violet. She writes to William, the owner of the letters, every week. Sometimes, Violet talks about what she’s been doing at home, but mostly, she tells Will how much she loves him and misses him. One letter is so inappropriate in her declarations of love that Cas feels his ears burn in embarrassment, biting his lip and looking around to make sure he’s truly alone before, guiltily, reading on. Despite its sexual content, the letter is beautifully written and obviously filled with passion and adoration. It’s poetry.
Castiel can only assume that Will responded well to it from the way Violet’s words seem to glow on the next piece of parchment. They begin communicating twice a week.
Cas forgoes taking care of the discomfort in his pants to continue reading, but at some point, his hand moves to rest over his covered groin, every so often pressing down to try and gain some relief. Eventually, it goes away.
The film in the box is of people dancing.
It took Castiel a while to figure out how to work the film player, but he vaguely remembers the way Dean had set up the machine the last time they’d watched a roll. Presently, the former angel observes two people smiling; dancing properly and formerly with each other. He can recognize Violet from the pictures tucked into her letters, and assumes the man his Will. Cas knows he’s correct when the pair wave at the camera and state their names.
The film cuts and Will kisses Violet.
The touch is so chaste and so tender that Castiel has a hard time believing these are the same people who had written such sexually explicit things to one another. He checks the date on the film roll, convinced this had to have been before the two knew each other so intimately. Surely such innocence is lost with sex?
The letter is dated one month before the film.
Rewinding the roll, Cas watches the kiss again, eyes narrowing in thought as he observes the intimacy and abundant love in such a simple act. Because there is nothing complicated about their kiss. It’s chaste, and innocent, and when the pair pull away they smile softly at each other before hugging, their bodies entangled naïvely.
The film cuts again, and Will and Violet are dancing once more. This time, the music is jazzy and upbeat, and the pair spin and jump and smile, cheeks flushed. Will pushes and pulls at his partner while Violet throws her head back in a laugh, fingers gripping at the other’s biceps.
In a smaller black box, Castiel finds more letters.
This time, Violet writes and writes and writes, her tone more desperate and angry before becoming saddened. Eventually she is resigned. What Cas can understand from the one-sided account is that Will has stopped answering her letters. The last piece of parchment Castiel reads is accompanied by a picture of Violet and her new family. She has two beautiful baby girls and a handsome husband. She tells Will that she misses him, and she loves him, but she can’t wait forever.
Castiel is heartbroken.
He doesn’t understand why, but something dark and heavy rips through his chest, causing the former angel to frown when wetness springs to his eyes. Cas can understand crying because he is hurt; physically or mentally or emotionally… But he can’t understand this secondhand heartbreak.
He nearly tears the box apart looking for some sort of explanation as to Will’s whereabouts at the time. Because, Castiel thinks, it’s impossible. It’s impossible that two people love each other so deeply, so incredibly, so obviously, and then just stop. William would never have simply abandoned Violet.
When Cas finds a note detailing the death of one William Mason, he doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad. It's dated five days after the dance on film and though Castiel doesn’t like that Violet was never told, he supposes he can understand wanting to keep her away from danger. The former angel has an insane urge to search for the woman before he realizes that she’s probably already dead; her affair with Will ended when she was twenty-two, and at the time, the year was 1921. Though Violet could have survived until 93, Cas has a sinking feeling that she didn’t. He’ll ask Sam about tracking her down later.
Biting his lip, the blue-eyed man slumps against his chair, suddenly exhausted. He fingers the edges of old record sleeves thoughtfully before forcing himself up. Flipping the switch on the gramophone, Castiel gingerly puts a record on. A song from the film floods loudly through the phonograph.
Looking at the sleeve more closely, the former angel sees a small inscription on the back: ‘our record’. Cas feels his heart sink even further. The music is from the twenties, and he can remember the swing and stink from that time period; the dancing. These thoughts are more familiar and put him at ease. So at ease, in fact, that Castiel experimentally swings his hips in time with the music.
Nothing can be done for Violet and William; they are gone from this plane… But perhaps Cas can honour them in his own way.
So Castiel dances. He tries to mimic what he’s observed on film and what he remembers from the period, quickly shedding his trenchcoat and suit jacket when it becomes clear the extra material will hinder his movement. Cas slips off his socks as well, finding it easier to dance when he’s not sliding across the floor. When the former angel tries add his bare feet into the mix of movement, he almost trips.
It becomes abundantly clear that theoretically knowing how to dance does not translate into actually executing the steps properly.
The song changes to something fast-tempo, and it’s at this point that Castiel stops trying to remember and simply moves. He knows he looks uncoordinated and awkward, and every few steps he stumbles, still unused to fully and completely inhabiting this body, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s gasping for air and he’s having fun.
He doesn’t realize he has an audience until Dean clears his throat.
Whirling around, Cas almost trips again, catching himself on the edge of a bookshelf as his eyes widen to saucers, cheeks darkening in embarrassment. “Dean,” he greets. “You’re back.”
The hunter nods, smile barely contained and eyes full of mirth. “Seems that way.”
“It… went well, I’m assuming?”
“Yeah,” Dean shrugs. “Salt and burn went off without a hitch. Thanks for the intel.”
“You’re welcome.”
Despite the music playing, the entire room seems filled with a palpable silence.
“And Sam?” Cas asks, trying to fill the space with something. “He’s alright?”
“Yeah, he’s just getting stuff from the car.”
Castiel nods in understanding. “Good.. good.”
“Hey, don’t you need a partner or something to dance to this stuff?” Dean inquires casually. He’s calm and collected until he fumbles into his next sentence, cheeks heating adorably. “I mean, not that I’m sayin’ you were bad or anything. You were good. Just, y’know, maybe it’d be better with a partner. Not that I know. Sam’s the expert. I don’t dance. At all. But you were… yeah. Good.”
The corner of Cas’ mouth quirks up in a smile, and he feels some of the tension release from his shoulders. “I didn’t have a partner,” he states.
“Right,” Dean replies, suddenly looking mortified. “’Cause there was no one here. No, I-I knew that.”
Cas clears his throat delicately, steeling himself for the words about to come out of his mouth. His heart is pounding and he’s sure his face is red as a tomato, but he pushes on: “Would you like to dance? I know you said you don’t, but I am obviously less than the ideal partner…”
Dean’s eyes widen almost comically, and for one long, excruciating second Castiel is convinced he’ll laugh it off and say ‘no’. Not that that’s a bad thing; the ability to make light of more intimate situations and moments is one of Dean’s special talents, but for some reason, this time feels different. Perhaps it’s the fact that Cas is still thinking of Will and Violet, but it suddenly becomes of paramount importance that Dean says ‘yes’.
“Uh…” Dean hesitantly approaches the former angel, pursing his lips as his eyes dart around the room in embarrassment. “This usually isn’t two dudes.”
Nervously, Castiel places a hand on the small of Dean’s back, pulling him closer. “I’m aware.” His other hand moves to clasp his partner’s, and they’re almost raised in position when Dean suddenly steps back with indignant cry.
“Hell no! No way I’m gonna be the girl." Cas feels like a deer caught in headlights as Dean manhandles him into a different position, warm fingers splaying very low on the former angel’s back as Castiel instinctively rests his on Dean’s shoulder. “We do this, we do it right,” the hunter mutters gruffly, holding their clasped hands up in the appropriate position. “None of your pansy-ass dicking around.”
“Excuse me?” Cas asks incredulously.
“Dude, you can’t dance.”
It turns out that, for all his insistence to the contrary, Dean can.
The song that’s playing is some jazzy blues mix with a crooning female voice that takes Cas to New Orleans in the summer… Or it would, if the blue-eyed man wasn’t so pre-occupied with the warmth bleeding through his shirt. Castiel finds he can barely breathe in the space he and Dean are occupying, and tries to distract himself with counting the other man’s freckles. He gets to fifteen before Dean’s hand slips lower, fingers brushing over his belt. Immediately, Cas’ blue eyes snap to meet green, his lips parting of their own accord as Dean smiles bashfully. A pressure on his back coaxes Castiel to step forward until both men are pressed up against each other. At the new onslaught of heat, the former angel feels his posture melt, forcing Dean into a more relaxed position as their foreheads rest against one another’s, the hunter’s eyes closing with a sigh. Cas tries to memorize every eyelash and blemish on Dean’s skin; it’s amazing how different the human perspective is when simply observing a face.
Dean is so beautiful.
As if he can hear the thought, the man in question opens his eyes, another bashful smile on his face as he presses lightly on Castiel’s back again, tilting his head ever so slightly. They’re warm and bright and none of it makes any sense but simultaneously all the sense in the world. Castiel doesn’t know how, but he has the instinct to be aware that Dean is about to kiss him.
He never does.
Because suddenly, the track changes to something with a slightly faster tempo, and though the song sounds low and possibly even sensual, the moment is gone. Castiel finds himself incredibly disappointed. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, however, because Dean acts wildly out of character and doesn’t laugh it off or get angry or brush him off… He simply continues dancing.
Which is surprising and wonderful, especially because, though the hunter may have been good at the slow rhythm of the previous song, a faster tempo leaves him just as awkward as Castiel. Not that Dean isn’t graceful, or good at keeping time, but every movement has an underlying discomfort that gets increasingly hard to ignore. Cas closes his eyes to try and stop his heart from jumping out of his throat. He attempts to ignore the tension in the room by moving in a way that undoubtedly makes him look absurd.
It’s working really well for him… Until Dean’s full-bellied laugh rings out loudly, filling every single corner of the room with warmth.
Though Castiel knows the sound is directed at him, he isn’t upset. Embarrassed, yes. Stupidly happy. Cheery. A little self-conscious… but not distraught. The blue-eyed man stops dead, ears burning and goofy smile occupying his face. The tension shatters and suddenly Dean is pushing and pulling at him like Will with Violet. "Cas, Cas..." Dean gasps with a grin, leading him in a series of movements. Castiel follows without question, happy to oblige… especially when Dean laughs again. Dean doesn't laugh enough.
By the middle of the song they're moving together with only minor casualties, bodies pressing and brushing as they jump and slide and pull at each other. They dance individually, movements idiotic and for the sole purpose of making their companion laugh until one pulls the other in, legs slotted while gasping into non-existent space.
It's glorious.
Especially when Dean spins to be flush against Cas' back, their hips moving as one as they slow to the secondary beat of the song. The former angel's every nerve is on fire, blood pulsing heat through his veins as he reaches back for something—anything— to hold onto, and ends up gripping Dean's hip and resting a hand on the back of the hunter's neck. Castiel can feel Dean smile as the other buries his face into his neck, pressing soft lips to searing flesh in a kiss so light Cas is certain he imagines it.
Abruptly, the hunter spins out his partner, twirling the other man back in with a wide grin as they end up chest-to-chest. They're moving faster now, and Castiel thinks that if Violet were here, her head would be thrown back in a laugh. The knowledge of this makes Cas smile, but he doesn't mimic the absent woman. Instead, he honours her a different way.
Hands on Dean's hips, the former angel presses them together again, deliberately slowing their movements. Dean looks at his partner with a confused frown, evenly staring as Castiel tangles long fingers in his hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp in a way that makes the hunter close his eyes. They're almost offbeat at this point, and they still completely when Cas moves his other hand to brush against Dean’s jawline. Automatically, the hunter moves to grip Castiel's waist, leaning into soft touches.
The kiss is chaste.
Nothing more than the light press of chapped lips against impossibly soft and full ones, Cas pulls away after a handful of seconds. He stays in Dean’s space: close enough to feel the other man’s heat, but far enough for him to breathe. “Dean?” The hunter doesn’t speak for a long moment, and Castiel doubts that he has ever experienced anything so terrifying as waiting for Dean’s reply.
Instead, Dean drapes Cas’ arms lazily about his shoulders, as he himself embraces the dark-haired man in a hug, foreheads pushing against one another's as the hunter sways to the music. Dean both looks and feels nervous, and though Castiel isn’t faring any better, he wills himself to relax. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work because touching like this is not an answer to a kiss… Cas has no idea what this is.
He doesn’t think Dean knows, either.
At some point the song must have changed, because Castiel recognizes the tune as the slow number Violet and William had been dancing to. Dean sways them back and forth in a manner much less graceful, but it’s nice to be completely engulfed in hunter. In fact, with the warmth and the song and the smell that is so comfortingly Dean, Cas finds himself un-tensing, eyes closed. He can feel Dean staring.
He can also, a moment later, feel warm lips push onto his.
Castiel feels his toes curl onto the wooden floor and his eyes snap open, fluttering shut a moment later as his arms tighten around his companion. Something warm explodes in Cas’ chest and he pulls away ever so slightly to let a whoosh of air pass his lips, breathing in sharply as Dean follows, kissing him again and again and again. It’s loving and innocent and Castiel doesn’t have time to be confused at the tender touches that so contrast Dean’s outward demeanor to such intimate physical contact, because it feels so good. And then lips are parting and there’s tongue, but it’s nice and wet and lovely. Cas squeaks when Dean nibbles on his bottom lip, mouths still moving soft and steady together.
Their soft sighs and hums are barely heard over the music, and Castiel tries not to think about his obvious lack of skill as they continue. Because it is obvious; Cas is clumsy and always one step behind, trying his best to learn and kiss and feel at the same time. It’s exciting and nerve-wracking, and when they pull away with spit-slicked lips, Castiel can’t help but stare stupidly, mouth cracking into a grin when Dean buries his face into the former angel’s neck, breathing heavily against hot flesh. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” Dean mumbles. He kisses lightly up the column of Cas’ neck before pressing their mouths together again.
Neither notices Sam come and go for the third time that evening as they continue to dance and kiss, alternating between the two or doing both together. It’s nothing like Castiel has ever felt, and he soaks as much in as possible, every press of lips accompanied with the same thought:
My dearest love.
The music plays on.