“Cas? I think Dean’s got the fever again,” Jack said as he passed Castiel in the kitchen.
Castiel sighed. “You sure?”
Jack shrugged. “That’s what he says. I tried to heal him, but he’s dancing on the table.”
Oh, so that kind of fever.
I’m hot blooded, check it and see, was echoing through the bunker halls. Castiel found Dean actually dancing on the table of the war room, a bottle of whiskey in his hands.
“I’ve got a fever of a hundred and three.”
When Dean noticed Cas a smile began to cover his face. But he was dead pale and sweating and in fact feverish. He needed to go to bed immediately.
“Come on baby, do you do more than dance? I'm hot blooded, I′m hot blooded.”
“Dean, you need to go to bed! You are sick. And you shouldn’t be drinking.”
But Dean ignored him. “You don't have to read my mind to know what I have in mind. Honey you oughta know” Now he was winking at Cas. Clearly he was delirious.
“Alright.” Cas also climbed the table, to coax Dean into bed. But Dean only took his hands to dance with him.
“Now you move so fine, let me lay it on the line. I just wanna know what you're doin′ after the show.”
“There is no show, Dean. You need to sleep.” But it was hopeless.
“Well it′s up to you, we can make a secret rendezvous. Just me and you, I'll show you lovin′ like you never knew.” His eyes still fixed on Cas, smirking.
“You know what?” Cas was giving in. “Let’s make a rendezvous. I’ll meet you in your bedroom in two minutes. Alright?” Instead of continuing the song, Dean stopped.
“Yes. I desperately want to get you into bed,” Castiel said, not without sarcasm.
“Okay sure.” Dean was jumping down the table, walking straight to his bedroom.
“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Cas wondered.
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