Somehow he’s diving into the impala window, trying to get a decent radio station up to full volume.
Really, he didn’t think he was going to end up here tonight, but this beats the alternative, the image that his head keeps sending his way and he is trying so hard to ignore. Now, he’s doubting himself: how is teaching this angel in a trenchcoat how to slow dance any better than just doing the deed, knocking the boots, bumping the uglies, if you will. Still, Dean is determined: he got himself into this conundrum and, by God (wherever he may be) he will show Cas a good time.
Finally, he lands on something decent and climbs out of the car.
Cas is standing there, looking at him - expectantly, maybe scared? If he wasn’t an actual angel, Dean would break the ice by making small talk: “are you cold?”, “are you a dancer”, “is this station ok? what do you like to listen to?”. But Cas wouldn’t have an answer to any of these questions, so he settles on “Are you ready to be twirled and swirled by the best dancer the Winchester family has ever had?”. Dramatic, maybe, but that’s Dean when he’s - well, he won’t say what he’s doing actually, that’s for him to worry about in the morning.
He shakes his limbs a bit, both for show and for self-soothing necessity. Then, he gets close to Cas, guides the angel’s hands on his shoulder and places one of his own hands gently on Cas’ hips, his other hand clumsily locking each other’s fingers together.
Dean gives him a chuckle, Cas responds with a confused smile.
Cas’ body is warm. Still, chills appear on both their necks (has the other noticed?).
They are swaying, slowly. The air is tense, yes, but comfortable. Both are too afraid to speak, in case their voice unsettles something in the atmosphere.
But the stars are high, and so are the stakes, and they have this one night to ignore the literal apocalypse.
So what if Dean Winchester is dancing with an angel who’s slowly growing into his humanness, his being a man?
So what if Dean Winchester feels a familiar love growing within himself?
