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In the weeks after Dean had been purged of the mark of Cain, things don’t immediately fall back into an easy, familiar pattern as everyone had hoped. Dean, always willing to hold a grudge - even towards people who were trying to save him, was still smarting at Sam almost killing himself to save Dean yet again; and Castiel, unwilling to pick a side in that particular argument, found himself stuck in the middle. Now that he was human, from sacrificing his own grace to burn the mark away, it made for some awkward living arrangements.
Two months later, and Dean's ire was finally starting to thaw. In a bid to maintain the fragile peace, and still actively avoid each other, Sam had left to run errands while Dean was busy tinkering around in the garage, leaving Castiel to putter around with nothing to do and only himself and his imagination for entertainment.
He’d initially decided on going to the library and finding a book to read to pass the time. It turned out to be a fruitless endeavor once he found himself rereading the same paragraph three times and still unable to comprehend what he’d just read. His hands itch with the urge to do something – preferably something productive – so he decides to occupy himself re-shelving the books in the library and bring some semblance of order to them.
The bunker feels cavernously large and empty with no one around, so he turns on the old radio Dean had set up on one of the tables to banish the quiet of the library.
He goes about shelving peacefully, only half listening to the songs and the radio jockey talking in between songs. He’s barely listening when the strains of the newest song reaches his ears.
I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That’s what people say, mm-hmm
Castiel’s foot taps along to the beat as he keeps on re-shelving books, nodding along to the tune. The singer’s voice is quite pleasant and he finds he enjoys the song and its upbeat pace.
As it plays on, his fingers start tapping along to the rhythm onto whichever book is in his hand. When it gets to the chorus, his shoulders start twitching. It’s not exactly dancing but as the song goes on he finds he can’t stay still, feeling compelled to move to the rhythm.
He’s never danced before and doesn't know how, but he’s seen Dean dancing around sometimes, singing along to whatever song is playing. There was usually a lot of hip movement involved and some kind of coherence to his corresponding arm movements.
I'm dancing on my own (dancing on my own)
I make the moves up as I go (moves up as I go)
His shoulders start swaying to the tune, his entire upper body moving along to the song. He continues shelving the books without stopping his half-dance. By the time the chorus comes back around his hips have started slowly shimmying from side to side.
He feels pulled along with the music, socked feet sliding him across the room, book in hand. He deposits it on the shelf he stops in front of, turning back around with a smile playing on his lips.
'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
He dances along to the song best as he can, mouthing along with the chorus’s simple catchy lines as he moves around the room.
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off
He shakes his shoulders in accord, huffing a soft laugh to himself.
There’s no rhythm or order to his movements that he can discern, but it’s exhilarating. He never knew dancing could be so much fun.
He keeps dancing as the song goes on, somehow managing a smooth glide across the room while moving to the beat.
He stops dancing when the singer stops to speak, listening in amusement as he returns to shelving the books. He doesn't get to re-shelve more than a few books before the song’s upbeat, dance-y rhythm is back. He allows himself to be swept back up by the beat, dancing around the room once again.
The song is reaching its end when he turns around mid-dance and spots Dean standing by the side entrance to the library, watching on in amusement.
He falters, bumping into a chair as he feels the blood rush up to color his cheeks. He’s not sure why, but he feels embarrassed at being caught.
“That was Taylor Swift’s latest hit single, Shake It Off! Next up-” Castiel quickly moves over to the radio, switching it off. He doesn't look up at Dean, instead choosing to focus intently on the radio and wishing it could turn back time.
“Nice moves you got there, Elvis.”
Castiel looks up then, brows furrowed, confusion overshadowing his earlier embarrassment. “Who?”
“Elvis Presley?” Dean says, quirking a brow. “King of Rock and Roll?”
Castiel stares at him uncomprehendingly. Dean sighs.
"I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore." Dean shakes his head ruefully. “I swear, one day I’m gonna do something about the black hole of pop culture knowledge you have in that head of yours.”
“Alright.” Castiel says, still confused. There’s a bit of an awkward waiting silence for a few moments, but Dean decides to break it before it gets uncomfortable. He has enough awkward silences with his brother these days; he doesn't need that with his best friend too.
“So… Taylor Swift, huh?” Dean asks with an amused smile. Castiel cocks his head, confused. It’s cat-like and adorable, and not something Dean intends to admit to a single soul.
He inclines his head towards the radio.
“Oh. Yes. I found the song to be quite enjoyable.” Castiel replies. “Though I must say, the urge to dance was… unexpected.”
Dean chuckles. “Well hey, at least your moves aren't too shabby.”
“Thank you. I learned them from you.”
“W-what?” Oh, how the tables have turned. Dean can feel the tips of his ears burning, probably matching nicely with the hot blush on his cheeks. He can’t help the strained quality of his voice as he asks “You saw me? When?”
“I had no intention of spying, I assure you." Castiel says nervously, as if realizing he's misstepped somewhere. "I just happened to stumble upon you dancing once. Or twice.”
“I, uh-” Dean stutters, unsure of what to say.
“I apologize, I've made you uncomfortable.” Castiel says, looking down.
“No, no it’s not that.” Dean hurries to correct, moving closer to Cas as he does. At his doubtful look, Dean amends himself. “Ok, yes, its a little uncomfortable. But not because-" he breaks off with a huff. "Look, I'm just used to Sammy teasing the crap outta me if he ever catches me letting loose. Which is hilarious, considering him dancing is basically just flailing his gargantuan limbs.”
"Oh." Castiel says slowly. He stares at Dean for a moment, thoughtful. “Though I don’t have much to compare it to, I believe you dance quite well. You looked like you were having fun.”
Dean huffs a laugh. “What can I say, I’m just that awesome.”
“Yes, you are.” Castiel says, earnest in a way only he can be for such a stupid conversation. The blush that had been fading away comes back with a vengeance. Dean has no clue how to respond to that really; he could try telling Cas he isn't supposed to be saying stuff like that to other guys, but it wasn't exactly inappropriate, just stupidly genuine like he’s prone to being.
Of course, Cas doesn't seem to notice Dean’s momentary speechlessness – the guy either has vision impairment to not notice how red his cheeks must be or is actually smart enough to not point it out – and goes on.
“I was hoping you could maybe teach me some more dance moves, help me to do something with my ‘black hole of pop culture knowledge’.” Castiel says, air quotes and all.
“What do I look like to you, a dance teacher?” Dean asks, half-laughing. It’s not what he was expecting Cas to ask if he ever decided to take him up on his offer; he’d been thinking more along the lines of introducing him to good music and movies and shit. Unexpected turn of events aside, it kinda sounds like fun. Besides, how many people can claim to have taught an angel – former, but that’s just semantics – to dance?
“If you’d rather not, I could ask Sam.” Castiel says carefully, looking away. Dean doesn't miss the little twitch of his lips, like he's holding back a smile, as if absolutely certain Dean would take the bait - which he would, of course.
“Hell no, Sam can’t dance for shit.”
“I will defer to your knowledge on that.” Cas agrees, a small smile on his lips. “Does this mean you’re willing to teach me?”
“Well,” Dean hems, “it’s not like there’s anyone else around here to teach you, so why not."
“Shall we start now?” Cas asks, looking excited.
The main door groans noisily indicating Sam’s return before Dean has a chance to answer. He casts a quick side glance towards the door before turning back to Cas with an apologetic expression. “How ‘bout a rain check on that?”
“Very well, this weekend then.” Cas says, making it sound like a question and a statement at the same time. When Dean nods at that, he smiles widely. “It’s a… what’s the phrase? It’s a date.”
“I, that’s not-” Dean stutters for second before deciding, eh why not. “Yeah, alright. It’s a date.”