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Castiel had finally talked himself into asking Dean to prom. However, for his own sanity, it probably hadn’t been a good idea to tell Gabriel that.
Castiel definitely should have realized that clueing his brother in on his crush for his best friend since the playpen was already a bad idea. Since then, he hadn’t been able to walk through the door without Gabriel making up some idiotic song about Castiel’s crush or trying to engage him in a discussion of what his preferred “ship name” would be. It became the primary (perhaps a little secondary) reason why Castiel had begun to frequent the Winchester house with increasing regularity, not having even needed to knock on the front door since kindergarten, making his way up the stairs with casual greetings to whoever he passed until he made it to Dean’s room. It was there, on Dean’s floor, that he had been appearing quite often lately, laying on his back like he was now and staring up at the ceiling that he and Dean had decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars when they were six.
This was one of the things that could go wrong. Asking the wrong questions would mean that this would end. Castiel would have nowhere to go, no best friend he could always turn to, no fond memories to look back on his childhood. He may only be eighteen, but there were a fine number of existential crises turning over in his head over one question, which had the potential to make or break Castiel’s biggest hopes.
That biggest hope appeared hovering above his head, leaning off of his bed and staring down at him with narrowed green eyes. Dean raised his eyebrows at Castiel once he had his attention. “Okay, spill. Why are you so Debbie Downer lately?”
“It’s nothing,” Castiel tried to tell him but, if anyone could ever see straight through Castiel like he was a panoramic window, it was Dean Winchester.
“Right,” Dean replied skeptically. “So there’s no reason why you’ve practically moved into my room the last week and a half?”
“I have not,” he objected.
Dean’s eyebrows inched higher and, without speaking, he pointed to the cage sitting on his desk, housing three guinea pigs snuggled together happily. Castiel was the only one out of the two of them to even like guinea pigs.
He sighed heavily, considering his next words carefully before figuring he would have to at least give Dean an inch, or he would sit there and demand a mile until Castiel grew old. “Gabriel won’t leave me alone.”
“What else is new,” Dean snorted, but his tone was more sympathetic. “What about?”
“I want to ask someone to prom, like the walking cliché I am,” Castiel told him miserably, “and I made the mistake of telling him that.”
Something flashed across Dean’s eyes that Castiel wished was jealousy but, in the next second, Dean was clicking his tongue disappointedly at Castiel, shaking his head like he should have taught him better. Castiel nodded back solemnly.
“I know,” he admitted. “It was my folly. I just—I had this strange hope that he would at least help me.”
Castiel’s parents weren’t ever really around; when they were, they were typically too busy for Castiel to feel like he could ask them something such as how to woo the neighbor boy. They were widely known scholars of religion, traveling all around the world to teach and to give speeches at conferences or whatever the hell else they did. Castiel stopped paying attention a long time ago. And, well, he had other siblings—there was Michael, ten years his senior working in corporate America, and Balthazar, who was probably doing something unspeakable. Anna was a plausible option, but she would tease him mercilessly, just as bad as Gabriel, and he wanted to get out of it without someone laughing him to the moon. He didn’t know what the hell had possessed him to talk to Gabriel, in that case, but Gabriel was very compelling when he wanted to be.
Dean’s expression softened at that, knowing as well as Castiel did what his family dynamic was like. Dean’s head disappeared only so he could get off the bed and walk around Castiel, laying down on his other side. They were so close the skin of their arms kept brushing together. Castiel hoped he still held a semblance of casual in his posture.
“You could always ask me, you know,” Dean reminded him, turning to look at him. Castiel turned to meet bright green eyes, wide and trusting. “I won’t tease you. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not Gabriel level. Not so bad you have to temporarily move out.”
Castiel offered Dean a small smile before looking away, back up at the ceiling. “I know. I just—I don’t know. Perhaps I should deal with it on my own.”
Dean didn’t respond for a moment.
“Do I know them?” Dean finally asked, voice cautious, almost like he didn’t actually want to know. Castiel felt a sharp pain in his chest, his feelings hurt even though he wasn’t sure why. Castiel considered lying for a moment, coming up with something outrageous and just telling Dean next week at the dance that they’d said no, but he didn’t.
“Yes,” Castiel told him, and Dean nodded slowly, his expression guarded. Castiel felt like he should say more. “He goes to our school.”
“He,” Dean said slowly. Castiel might’ve even thought Dean’s tone had turned a little bitter, a little sad. He turned his head back to Castiel. “When are you gonna ask him?”
“Soon,” Castiel said, chewing on his lip in indecision, before he finally went with the worst idea he ever could have had in this moment, and asked before he lost his nerve, “Dean, do you know how to dance?”
Dean nearly choked on air. He turned to look at Castiel, eyes wide. “You mean slow dance?”
Castiel nodded.
“Uh,” Dean replied, flushing pink. He really was beautiful, Castiel couldn’t help but to think. Dean in his ripped jeans and his pop culture t-shirt and flannel, with hair cut short and spiked at the top, with his beautiful green eyes and his pink lips and his freckled skin. He was a work of art, and Castiel could sit and admire him for days. Dean licked his lips nervously before saying, “Yeah, kinda. Mom taught me a few years ago, for freshman homecoming. Why?”
This was it. Castiel either had to stick to his horrible cliché idea, or abandon it completely.
“I don’t know how to dance,” Castiel announced, and then turned red, because he hadn’t exactly meant for it to come out so violently. Dean just kept staring at him like he was a little alarmed. “I was—I don’t know—I—” Castiel suddenly understood why Gabriel had laughed at him when Castiel had asked him about the idea. Castiel looked away sharply, back up at the ceiling, vowing to boil himself in oil or something else torturous if the embarrassment alone wasn’t enough to kill him. Castiel shook his head, hard, feeling lightheaded with how much blood was in his face. “Never mind. Forget it.”
But, of course, those were two suggestions not in Dean Winchester’s vocabulary. He felt his best friend’s eyes on him like hot pokers.
“Cas,” Dean said slowly, voice guarded, “are you asking me to teach you to dance?”
Castiel winced. Yes, this was bad. He should have listened to Gabriel. For the first time in his life, it would have been for the best, and Castiel could have lived the rest of his life pining for his best friend and watching Dean grow old and happy with someone else, all so he wouldn’t have to lay there avoiding Dean’s eyes and hoping the world would open up and swallow him whole. Of course, the universe was rarely so kind, so, eventually, Castiel had to swallow the anxiety like a ball in his throat and turn to look at Dean.
Castiel knew every single one of Dean’s expressions, but he’d never quite seen this one before. It was a mixture of things—of caution and consideration and that look Dean gets when he’s about to do something he thinks might be a bad idea, even though it never usually is. Castiel shouldn’t have been nearly as surprised as he was when Dean got to his feet and announced, “Then I’ll teach you.”
Castiel was pretty sure he was either going to die of embarrassment, or a heart attack. He blinked at Dean owlishly, staring at the boy standing in the middle of the room and waiting for Castiel to get with the program, and barely managed to demand, “What?”
“What, what?” Dean replied, narrowing his eyes. “Gabe’s sure as hell not going to teach you. My mom would gush and make you prefer death—trust me on that one, been there done that. And unless Anna is willing to drive three states back here to teach you, you’re not going to be able to show this potential date some sick moves.”
“Dean,” Castiel told him slowly, sitting up, “I doubt my moves would be ‘sick’.”
Castiel framed the word in air quotes, a habit that he had picked up in middle school when he took everything even more literally than he did now (something that Gabriel called nearly unbelievable). Castiel had been told more than once by people entirely unamused that he used them too often, and often incorrectly. Dean was the only one who had never mocked him for it, always smiling when the old habit came back into play the same way he did even now, a fond smile tugging up at the corners of his mouth.
“Do you trust me?” Dean demanded, and it was practically a rhetorical question.
“Of course I do,” Castiel replied instantly, pushing himself nervously off of the floor and dusting off his shirt and pants self-consciously. Dean turned and started pressing at the screen of his iPod, a present from his parents at Christmas. It was pink, and Castiel had expected Dean to whine and complain about it, always one to make a show even if it wasn’t what he believed, but he had just happily grinned and practically bounced up and down, begging Castiel to use his computer to put some music on it. Castiel watched the way Dean’s shirts pulled over his shoulders, the way his neck sloped. He swallowed hard, looking away abruptly the second Dean moved, not wanting to get caught staring.
Dean, blissfully oblivious, queued up the music before turning back to face Castiel, wearing one of his easy smiles. The music started, a soft melody of the Beatles, as Dean held out his hand for Castiel to take, even going so far as to dip into a little bow. He gazed up at Castiel through his lashes, grinning. Castiel briefly wondered if he was hallucinating, or perhaps fever dreaming.
“You’re unbelievable,” Castiel remarked as he took Dean’s hand, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, and Dean grinned up at him with an air as easy as it ever had been. Castiel was too aware of the warmth of Dean’s hand as his fingers curled around the other boy’s, feeling his heart rate pick up and his brain firing off a whole bunch of responses that Castiel didn’t have the sanity to deal with. Dean tugged him without warning, causing Castiel to stumble forward and into Dean’s chest, and it was then that Dean’s arm came up around him, holding him there, the grin on his face growing ever so wider.
“I think the word you’re looking for is charming,” Dean corrected him with a wink, and then repositioned his other hand on Castiel’s waist, his fingers spreading. Castiel paused there for a second, his stomach flipping in anxiety and the best kind of joy at the feeling of Dean touching him, his hand warm, before he took a deep breath and moved his hand to lay just under Dean’s shoulder, on his upper arm, and Dean smiled in encouragement.
“This is going to be hopeless,” Castiel despaired, but he was secretly pleased that he at least had a rather non-creepy excuse to touch Dean. Dean snorted and rolled his eyes.
“It’s not the apocalypse, Cas, it’s a freakin’ slow dance,” Dean chastised him, glancing down at their feet. “Alright, you’re gonna wanna have your feet a little further from mine—that’s good, right there. And then just listen to the music, and follow my lead.”
Castiel was pretty sure that no words would happen if he tried to speak, so he just nodded dumbly, moving with Dean as he started to sway. For a long time, there was no sound in the room other than the soft music and the sound of their own soft breathing, Castiel unable to think of anything else other than the feel of Dean so close, and how nice this was. Castiel found himself leaning a little closer into his best friend and hoping he didn’t notice, letting his eyes slide shut for a moment as he pretended to check his footwork, his heart feeling like it was in knots in his chest.
This was the best idea, and the worst. The best because it was so nice, being in Dean’s arms like this, letting it all go for a minute and just enjoying this. But it was the worst because Castiel wanted so badly for it to be real, for it to be everything he could have and more. Castiel would never be able to look at Dean without thinking about that time they danced and he let himself believe that he could have it all. He would look at his best friend and think about how nice it would be if Castiel crossed that line and Dean didn’t mind, but he knew he never could. He didn’t want to risk that. He was already risking enough, asking Dean to do this.
Dean shook Castiel from his internal suffering by saying, “Hey Cas, just go with this, alright?”
And Castiel nodded, because when the hell had he ever said no to Dean, and Dean surprised him—he moved their arms away and let go of Castiel’s waist, and Castiel moved into the movement and into a spin, laughing despite himself as he did, allowing Dean to gracefully tug him back to his body. Dean was grinning like he’d won the lottery as Castiel laughed, shaking his head incredulously. Castiel settled back into Dean’s embrace, feeling like he could fly.
“Impressive,” Castiel remarked a little sarcastically, and Dean’s grin turned into a smirk.
“Only the best moves for you, Cas,” Dean murmured, tone teasing and oddly . . . wistful? Castiel blinked, expelling that thought from his mind, and let them fall back into a calm silence, nothing but warm hands and kind eyes and beautiful smiles.
They danced for the rest of the second song, the first having been more or less an instructional tutorial, this one the maiden voyage, and Castiel couldn’t help to feel a little sad when he knew the music was winding down, his precious minutes gone. He almost opened his mouth to make some excuse about the dance, anything in order to have a third, but he was interrupted before he could by Dean’s hand squeezing his waist, calling for his attention.
Castiel turned to find Dean already looking at him, a smile in his eyes, his expression warm. He grinned down at Castiel a little shyly, a little like he had a plan, and he looked like he had decided the fate of the world when he murmured, “Ready for the best part, Cas?”
And Castiel just nodded.
Dean smiled, just a little, before his arm guided Castiel into another spin, making a soft smile pull onto his lips without Castiel feeling the need to control it. Dean pulled him back closer to him and, in the same momentum of Castiel spinning back to meet him, reached up with his free hand to hold Castiel’s jaw and, the next thing Castiel knew, they were kissing.
Castiel gasped against Dean’s mouth at the chaste press, his eyes wide as Dean ducked back an inch or so, his cheeks and ears turning bright red, bringing out the freckles. Nervous green eyes looked into Castiel’s, searching for something. Dean’s hand on Castiel’s face was soft, like Castiel was something precious.
“I had to do that at least once,” Dean murmured a little sadly, slowly breathing in and then out. Castiel felt like his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest and into the solar system. Dean’s eyes flickered away nervously before bouncing back as he cleared his throat, looking sheepish but not moving away more than a couple of inches, their noses still brushing together. “I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, “if I just—if that—if it was something you didn’t want. If that ruined everything.”
“Dean,” Castiel murmured, half in admonishment and half in wonder, and then did what he had only dared dreamed—he pressed up into Dean, and he kissed him, moving his hands to cup Dean’s face in his hands, holding him there softly because he was something wonderful. Dean mumbled something unintelligible against Castiel’s lips and moved his arms to his back, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush, closer then they were when they were dancing. Castiel let his hands drift to Dean’s hair, fingers curling softly against the soft strands, and he half expected to pull away and realize he had died and gone to Heaven.
But Dean was still standing there when he pulled away, his lips a little swollen and in one of the brightest smiles Castiel had ever seen him wear. Castiel smiled back a little bashfully, ducking his head to hide the warmth he could feel spreading in his cheeks. Dean brought his head back up to look at him with two fingers softly coaxing under his chin, smiling even wider when their eyes met. Castiel’s hands drifted down to Dean’s neck, holding him reverently, like he was as holy as the deity his parents restlessly studied. Dean smiled at him a little dazedly like he, too, wasn’t entirely sure he was awake.
Castiel dipped forward to kiss Dean’s bottom lip. Dean’s hands tightened on his waist.
“This is why Gabriel was laughing at me,” Castiel heard himself say, quickly turning embarrassed when Dean’s expression shifted to shock. “He was making fun of me because it was you. Always has been.”
Castiel almost expected Dean to be a little startled, maybe even a little uncomfortable—but, instead, like a blooming flower to the sun, Dean smiled like he couldn’t help it, swaying forward until their foreheads touched, and he didn’t move away.
“And prom?” Dean murmured. Castiel smiled guiltily.
“You,” Castiel confirmed, glancing down so Dean couldn’t see his eyes. “I had this plan, and Gabriel thought it was stupid, but, I mean—I guess it worked out in the end.”
Dean was quiet for the moment it took for that to sink in. And then he was moving away from Castiel, just enough that he could narrow his eyes into a suspicious gaze. Castiel laughed, shrugging.
“I’d chickened out of making a move, if it makes you feel better,” Castiel confessed. “I was a little more than humiliated.”
“It was cute,” Dean confessed. “You’re always so serious but, sometimes, you’re almost—naïve, I guess. It’s adorable.”
Castiel ducked his head again, hiding it in Dean’s shoulder. Dean laughed softly against him, reaching his hands up until they were carding through Castiel’s hair.
“Hey, Cas?” Dean murmured.
“Hmm?” Castiel replied, relaxing further into Dean, letting the warm and calming smell slow his heartbeat. Dean held him there, just a little bit tighter, his head tipping forward until it was lying against Castiel’s.
“Thanks for the dance,” Dean whispered, and Castiel didn’t have to look to know that he was smirking.