"Jo this is a bad idea. Like really bad." Dean's head was pounding. He could already hear the pounding beats of auto tuned electronic crap pouring out the dingy door to the exclusive Club, Purgatory. Jo ignored Dean, striding right inside, guns blazing, metaphorically of course. Her guns were safely hidden under the baggy shirt in special holsters so they wouldn't show, yet be easily accessible. Dean jogged to catch up, smiling apologetically at the miffed looking bouncer.
Inside, it was worse than Dean could have imagined. The air was foggy, it was hot, overcrowded, and to top it off, Jo had abandoned him already. Dean felt a bit lost, and a bit angry. It had been a few months since he had gone out, but surely he wasn't this out of his element? He was Dean Fucking Winchester, and he could party anywhere anytime. Or he used to be able to. Cassie had mostly broken him out of that habit. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing at this point.
Dean practically ran to the bar. He shouldn't be thinking about her right now. That defeated the point of going out tonight. He was here to move on, flirt a little, and maybe get lucky. Dean pulled up the metaphorical mask, smirking confidently at the attractive bartender. He ordered a beer, pulled up a chair and took a look around the dance floor.
The song changed, some indie crap this time, auto tuned acoustic guitar and whiny vocals that made Dean's ears hurt. Dean spotted Jo, deep in the throng of bodies. She was tangled around some redhead already. Dean was impressed. That had to be some kind of record.
The people thrashed, sweat pouring, seductive smiles, predators and prey. It was primitive, how the people responded to the music, letting go of their inhibitions, obviously with the help of alcohol and anonymity. Dean watched the different dances taking place; a group of college girls dancing the stress away, a middle aged man eyeing a younger woman across the room, slowly snaking his way closer, a bachelor party in full swing, a fresh line of shots being laid at their table, while the waitress flirting excessively for her tip.
Above the swirling bodies in the pit, a stage held the DJ and turntables. The song changed again, a shitty synthesized pop song this time. Well, at least he was going for a variety of bad music, not just limiting it all to one type of ear splitting atrocity. The DJ was on the opposite side of the crowded dance floor, so Dean couldn't see him very clearly, but the man was clearly bored. Or really, he should say the kid. The guy looked to be about 18 at best, dressed in dark skinny jeans and a tribal patterned tee. He looked like any typical hipster college student, and Dean wouldn't have spared him more than three seconds of attention, except...what caught Dean's attention was his dark unruly hair, dripping, probably with sweat, since the room was hotter than hell.
The bartender pushed over another whiskey, adding to his tab. Dean gave her a wink, before hopping down, and elbowing his way across the room. It was time for a change in the music.
"Hey!" He shouted, which was useless since he was next to one of the huge speakers. The man didn't even turn, tapping his foot and looking bored. Dean considered yelling again, but didn't want to look even more like a fool than he already did. So he hid, just next to the speaker, contemplating jumping up onto the stage. He wondered if this would be allowed, or if security would drag him off.
Why was he acting like such a coward? He needed to man up, before his man card got revoked. He knew Jo would smack him over the head, Sam would give him sad puppy dog eyes, Bobby would tell him what an idjit he was being, so he just needed to ignore these nerves or whatever and talk to the guy. Besides, Dean Winchester did not get butterflies over some guy in a club. Especially not over a possible informant or suspect. He needed to get on this guy's good side, not just for selfish reasons. You're not interested that way, Dean. You can't be. It could jeopardize everything. No getting attached now. Stop it. Man up.
He jumped up, nearly losing his whiskey in the process, but managing to somehow not spill a drop. Sure enough, a security guard from the other end of the stage spotted him, and began to walk over, arms crossed. Dean quickly hopped over the cords and amps littering the stage. The guy looked up, but before even making eye contact, Dean shouted,
"Hey, I'm Dean, you look bored. Can I stay up here with you? I won't bother you much." He gestured over to the security guard, now only a few feet away. The man seemed frozen, not expecting anyone to be there, or talking to him, but he recovered and thought it over for a second. He looked Dean over, appraising. Apparently deciding Dean didn't look too drunk yet, he waved the guard off. The burly man looked shocked, and a bit angry, but he backed off.
Dean relaxed, shifting to lean against the unused amp behind him. He sipped his whiskey and tried not to disrupt the busy DJ. The man mostly ignored him, although he no longer looked quite so bored. Every few songs he would look back toward Dean, only to frown and look away. He seemed almost... confused. Dean only smirked. It was cute. Woah, woah, what the hell Winchester? Since when are dudes cute? No. Stop that. He studied the back of his scruffy head, imagined threading his fingers through the overgrown, damp hair. STOP IT, DEAN. He averted his gaze, feeling awkward and unsettled.
Around one a.m. the guy, set the track on a two-hour playlist, and signed off from the crowd. After almost two hours, the crowd had not thinned at all, the air growing heavier with the smell sweat and beer and drunken people. Dean had caught Jo's eye and saluted her as she was dragged out the back door by the red head. She smirked, clearly about to get laid. Dean knew she would call tomorrow when she got home so he wouldn't worry.
Now the DJ pulled up the microphone, saying,
"Last song from me tonight. I will be here again tomorrow night, and next weekend as well. Thank you, and good morning." His voice sounded deep, broken up over the crackling microphone. Dean shivered slightly. He hadn't been expecting that from the young man.
It wasn't that Dean was old, he was only 26, but this guy had to be barely 18, maybe 20 at most. Dean was worried for a split second, but he wouldn't be here at this kind of job if he weren't legal. Dean downed the last of his drink, only his fourth of the night, barely feeling any effects. He approached the man, but he was already headed off the stage. Dean wondered if he should follow, unsure if the guy was just leaving him now, not really interested like he'd thought.
He shifted uncertainly until the man reached the curtain, and turned. He looked around like he expected Dean to be right there, and then spotting Dean waved him over impatiently. Relieved, he jogged over, dodging the cords and amps again. He followed the man out into the back, to a little room. The guy grabbed his jacket, a tan trench coat, which was pretty weird considering the weather outside called for much lighter wear. It was barely September, and autumn hadn't even begun to set in.
The man moved brusquely, efficiently. He didn't speak or look at Dean. Dean was getting a little freaked out by now, but he followed the man out the back door anyway. He didn't seem like a total creep anyway. He just didn't give off that kind of vibe.
Finally, once they were free of the pounding music of the club, the guy addressed Dean.
"So what was your name again? It was very loud in there, I didn't quite catch it." His voice was gavel on a summer day, deep and rough, but in a warm kind of way. Dean kept his gaze trained on the ground.
"Dean. Dean Winchester. You are?" They stopped under the flashing neon sign for the club, and Dean faced the mystery man.
"Castiel. Castiel Novak. Why did you want to just sit there with me?" Dean grinned at Castiel, still missing eye contact. Boy was that some name. He'd have to think of a nickname sometime. Maybe when they were better friends he could come up with one.
"Well, you looked really bored, and I was really bored too. This isn't my usual... kind of place. All that equipment looks pretty interesting." He leaned in slightly, "And so do you." He smiled, adding, "I don't have many friends anymore, and I dunno, you seem nice." He didn't want it to seem like he was interested quite yet. Maybe if he got to know Cas a bit. Ooh, hey that would work for a nickname.
"Oh. Just friends? You're sure? I was hoping you were going to ask me on a date."
Dean's head snapped up, away from the ground and he looked right at Castiel. Blue. A blue of biblical proportions. Maybe the whiskey had affected him a little more than he thought; he wasn't able to think anything else. Round and round his mind, one thought, barely coherent; they were just so fucking blue. They were overwhelmingly blue, and he was drowning in them. If heaven was any specific color, it was this precise shade of blue. Dean tore his eyes away, returning to his inspection of the ground, and then the lamppost.
Castiel tilted his head curiously, like a baby bird leaving its nest for the first time; its wonder at the world it discovered knowing no bounds even if it were only looking at a plain and simple birdbath surrounded by some mediocre flowers. Dean had remained silent far too long, not sure what to say. His mind blanked out, he was so out of his depth here. Castiel's stare felt weighted. Dean could feel his azure gaze prickle over his skin.
"... Uh, well, I'd like that too I guess." Dean whispered eventually.
"So are you?" Cas's head tilted the other way and he swung back and forth slightly, swishing his jacket like a five year old. His voice was blunt, but curious.
"Am I what? Oh, oh. Yeah sure." Dean looked back up tentatively, meeting Castiel's eyes again. He saw amusement twinkling back, despite the neutral look on Castiel's face. It didn't seem like Castiel was toying with him or found his bashfulness laughable. It was more like he thought Dean was adorable or cute or some other adjective that was decidedly unmanly and not Dean-like at all. Dean blushed, not helping his case for manliness. He wasn't usually this unsure of himself, but something about this guy threw him off his game.
"Well, you're clearly struggling with it, so I'll help you out. Here's my cell number. Text me, okay? I won't answer, no matter who's calling. I go to the University here, so I'm very busy on weekdays. You can choose what to do first."
He pulled out a business card and gave it to Dean. Dean nodded and put it into his pocket.
"Yeah, okay. I'm actually a grad student here. I'm teaching a few classes, too. Maybe I'll see you around." Dean's gut twisted into knots, churning, as he lied outright, looking right into Castiel's big blue orbs. Man, he must've eaten thousands of blueberries as a baby or somethin'.
There was an air of innocence about Castiel. He couldn't possibly know anything that would help the investigation. He was too young. Way too adorable. Naive. Dean really hoped Castiel wasn't involved. He could not imagine arresting such a helpless, curious creature. Dean felt his oversensitive way overprotective instincts kicking in. He couldn't call. He wouldn't call. Castiel didn't need to be involved in his shitstorm of a life. It was too dangerous. He prayed to a god he didn't believe in that he could keep the little hipster in a trench coat out of this somehow.
Castiel had nodded and backed away, heading to his dorm most likely. Oh god, his dorm. He's just a kid. I can't do it. I can't play him, too. Dean went home, and didn't sleep one bit.