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Dean was pleasantly buzzed.
They'd come back from a successful hunt—it was pretty simple in the end, really, the violent spirit of an underhand CEO seeking revenge on his conniving business rivals. A good ol' salt and burn.
And now he, Sammy, and Cas were letting loose in the town's lively bar.
Or, at least, Dean was, savouring his beer and trying not to glance too often or too obviously at the pretty blonde who was eyeing him up from a nearby booth. Sam had his nose stuck in some book, his brow furrowed, and Castiel was staring with a mixture of interest and consternation at the local band setting up in the corner.
"Dean," Cas' voice was low. "Why are those musicians dressed so unorthodox? They don't appear to match each other, and some of their attire looks rather…impractical."
Dean swallowed his beer. "They're impersonating famous singers, Cas." He replied, and gestured to a banner hanging above the bar's little stage, which declared: MUSIC IDOLS NIGHT!
"I see," Was Castiel's gravelly response.
"That one's impersonating Micheal Jackson." Dean subtly pointed towards a dude who was tuning his guitar and laughing at something Marilyn Monroe was saying. "That one there, Marilyn. Oh, and look, Elvis and Freddie are getting drinks."
"What is the point of this?" Cas studied Fake Freddie Mercury, who was adjusting a mic and wearing the biggest false moustache Dean had ever seen.
"Just having fun, Cas. Uh, nostalgia. Humans can become very attached to celebrities even if we don't know them personally."
Dean stopped talking just as Freddie Mercury spoke into the mic, and the room fell into a hush.
"Welcome to our music idols night, ladies and gents! We've got several classics lined up, but if you have a particular request ask Marilyn here." Marilyn smiled and waved, narrowly missing whacking her own massive blonde wig. Freddie continued, "We'll start with the King of Rock 'n' Roll himself: Elvis Presley!"
The room erupted into cheers as Elvis stepped up and the opening bars of Burning Love filled the air. Even Sam spared a glance up from his book.
Dean leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer and content to watch as the foot of the stage was soon filled with tipsy dancers jostling one another and laughing.
The blonde woman who had been making eyes with him earlier got up to dance with her friend, glancing back at Dean over her shoulder and winking when their eyes met. Dean drained his beer.
"Getting another round." He muttered.
By the time he got back, Burning Love had ended and Billie Jean replaced it. "Oh, keep an eye on that one." He told Cas, nodding towards a drunken twenty-something who was looking a little green around the gills from twirling his girlfriend around.
Sure enough, not even a minute later the guy was running to the bathroom to puke, his girlfriend following. Dean sniggered when he re-emerged, sweaty and pale, but the guy began to dance again, more uncoordinated but no less enthusiastic.
"Why is he back? Won't it make him vomit again?" Cas questioned.
Dean barked a laugh. "Hell yes. But people love to dance."
Cas nodded in understanding. "I see. I've never danced before, so the appeal is lost on me."
Dean sat up straight. Cas had never danced? With anyone, ever? He's an angel of the Lord, Dean, he reminded himself. He couldn't really imagine Castiel living it up on the dance floor, if he was being honest.
Huh.
Now that would be a sight. He chugged the last of his beer, and abruptly stood. "Come on,"
Cas stood, but frowned. "We're leaving? Already?"
"No. We're dancing." Dean grabbed Cas's wrist and tugged him towards the crowd as the opening bars of Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough started up.
Out the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam had looked up from his book and was smirking at them. Whatever. What was he supposed to do? Cas deserved a good dance, and Dean wasn't a half bad partner.
Dean turned to face Cas, who was standing all awkward and silent, and still wearing that damn beige trenchcoat. "Okay, buddy, let's do this." He talked loud enough to be heard over Not Michael Jackson's warbling.
Dean wasn't the smoothest dancer by any means, but he wasn't bad. He moved with the beat, trying hard not to laugh at Castiel's attempts to copy him, his movements stiff and robotic.
He leaned in close and spoke in Cas's ear. "Loosen up a little. You're all stiff."
Cas levelled him with a stare. "I don't know how to loosen up, Dean. And what do I do with my arms?"
Dean caught Castiel's wrists again, this time guiding them up over his own shoulders so Cas had his hands looped round the back of Dean's neck. He put his own hands on Cas's hips and moved with the beat, nodding his head and messing up the lyrics. If he made a fool of himself he could always blame it on the several units of alcohol pumping in his veins.
Cas's shoulders relaxed minutely, and Dean thought he saw the ghost of a smile play across his lips.
Not that he was staring at Cas's lips, or anything.
The further the song progressed, the more Cas relaxed, until he seemed almost normal. Dean grinned proudly. "There ya go! You're a natural!" He yelled.
"I have an excellent teacher." Cas replied, to which Dean barked a surprised laugh—and, no, he was not blushing from Cas's joking compliment. It was just the alcohol causing the heat that had risen in his face.
Definitely.
Three Michael Jackson songs later and his set was finished to rousing cheers and claps from the crowd around him, and Elvis took to the front. "Bit of a slower type now, for all the couples in the room."
They should probably sit down. He and Cas weren't a couple—but he found he didn't really want to. Cas seemed to be having fun, and gave no inclination he wanted to stop.
Dean should sit down.
He didn't.
It was only when the opening arpeggios of Can't Help Falling In Love were over he remembered he should maybe explain to Cas this kind of dance was a bit different.
He cleared his throat. "It's a slower tempo, Cas, so it's gonna be more relaxed. Just follow my lead."
Cas nodded.
"Wise men say," Elvis sang.
If Dean'd thought what they'd been doing before had been pushing it, slow dancing was another level of intimate.
"Only fools rush in,"
But Cas had never experienced this with anyone, so Dean was going to do it with him, even if they weren't a real romantic item like all the other couples swaying around them.
"But I can't help, falling in love with you,"
It was the beer talking, but Dean found himself a little mesmerised by the strong blue of Cas's eyes, the dark frame of each individual eyelash.
"Shall I stay, would it be a sin?"
It was the beer talking. Right?
"If I can't help, falling in love with you,"
Dean wanted to crack a joke, anything to dispell the atmosphere that had built.
"Like a river flows,"
His mind came up blank.
"Surely to the sea,"
Their eyes met. Dean couldn't look away.
"Darling, so it goes,"
He tried to ignore how romantic the lyrics were, and the soppy way Fake Elvis was crooning them. Things had got a little out of his control.
"Some things are meant to be,"
He was slow dancing to Elvis in a bar with a dude, a dude that was an angel no less, and that angel was Cas. If someone had told him this would happen only hours beforehand, he would have laughed in their face.
"Take my hand,"
At this, Cas took one of Dean's hands and raised it, entwining their fingers together, shifting his other hand so it was resting on Dean's shoulder.
It was only natural for Dean to slip his free hand from Cas's hips to his lower back, and to pull him closer.
So close. Too close. But he found he was past caring, really.
"Take my whole life, too,"
He didn't want this to end. He wanted Cas here, in his arms forever, looking at him the way he was, the way Cas always did, and Dean wasn't sure exactly what the hell he'd done to deserve being looked at that way, and by an angel no less; but he wouldn't give it up for anything.
"Dean."
"Cas."
"For I can't help, falling in love with you,"
The final bars faded into the air. Dean felt the exact moment the music stopped, and things…changed. During those few minutes, his world had slimmed down to just him and Cas and the music, but now, now the rest of the world crept back in, slowly at first but then bigger and louder, and Dean was suddenly aware of the other couples surrounding them, and the band introducing then next song, and Sammy sitting at the bar with a teasing, dorky grin on his face, and it all became too much.
"I—sorry, I just gotta—" he dropped Cas's hand like it burned him, and left before he could see whatever expression adorned Cas's face, 'cause even though Cas wasn't the most expressive guy, Dean could always tell to some extent, whether it was a tightness in Cas's eyes or a quirk of his eyebrow or a tilt of his mouth. He was scared what he would see.
Outside the bar was dark and cold but it sobered him quickly, which brought clarity and made things a little worse. Because he knew now, with absolute certainty, and had no more room to deny it: he was in love with Cas.
He dropped his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes closed like that would shut out this whole mess. He'd fucked things up. All it had taken was a sappy love song and some physical contact for him to make gooey eyes at Cas and forget himself completely.
"Dean." His head snapped up. Cas had followed him outside, and was standing on the pavement beside him. Always next to him, Cas was. His angel. He quelled the thought, ashamed of it having occurred in the first place.
Next to him, Cas was gazing up into the sky, the few stars that shone through the light pollution reflecting in his eyes. And oh, right, Cas was like a kabillion years old and had probably helped create some of those stars. What chance did Dean have with him? An actual celestial being? Dean was just a person, and he wasn't sure he was a particularly great one, either.
"I'm sorry." It choked out of him, quiet and pathetic, but Cas's eyes snapped to his and for once Dean couldn't read the emotion in them.
"Dean."
"I'm sorry, Cas."
But Cas wasn't backing away. He was edging closer, closer until he was holding Dean's arms and pushing him backwards gently, until Dean's back hit the brick wall of the bar, and Cas was coming closer still.
"Cas." He breathed, for Cas was all he could see.
"Dean."
There was only a hair's breadth between them, until there was nothing at all, and Cas's lips were pressed against Dean's, and they were warm, and Dean could hear, no, feel Cas's heartbeat from where their chests were touching, and he lifted a hand to cradle Cas's cheek, feeling the stubble there.
Cas groaned and deepened the kiss, nipping at Dean's lips 'til he opened them and Cas was pressing his tongue inside, and holy shit, Dean didn't know where Cas had learned to kiss this way but he was grateful.
It was like a thread had been cut loose, as Dean was grabbing Cas's messy hair and Cas was pushing him more firmly against the wall, pressing their bodies together tighter, tighter, and it was better than anything Dean had felt before, different, but he knew damn well he wanted to feel it again and again and again.
He wasn't sure how much time passed before they came to their senses, with Dean's breath ghosting over Cas's lips, and it was a cry and a prayer and everything in between.
Cas laid his forehead on Dean's, eyes fluttered closed, hands still gripping the material of Dean's jacket, before he stepped back, and offered his hand which Dean took.
"Dean."
"Yeah, buddy." His voice was not much more than a croak.
"I would like to dance with you again."
He couldn't help but laugh. "I would like that too. A lot."
Cas smiled at him, and it was a confession, wordless but undeniable, the way he was looking at him.
It made Dean's breath catch in his chest.
"Good."
Sam looked up as Cas and Dean walked back through the bar entrance, looking thoroughly debauched, hands clasped and making a direct line towards the dance floor again. He grinned.
Dean had this awed look on his face when Cas guided him into a loose Waltz hold again, like he couldn't believe it was really happening.
Sam was so going to take the piss later.
But for now, he gathered his things and left the lovebirds to it, aware he probably needed to book a second room back at the motel if he didn't want to be scarred for life.
That was fine. It had been a long time coming, after all.