It's hard not to think about Dean's sinuous body rubbing against his as Cas rides the bus home. The feel of their chests pressed against each other so tightly that Cas had been all but overwhelmed by Dean's raw powerful sexuality. Dean was wild, literally wild. Wild in every sense of the world. This tension building itself up between them, it was like a fiery tornado.

God, I sound like such a teenage girl, Cas thought. When did I start trafficing in such sad cliches like fiery tornado and raw sexuality. He sighed and pressed his forehead to the calm, cooling bus window. Cas hardly registered the grey cityscape rushing past him.

Now, Cas was desparately trying to play the distraction game. In an effort to avoid all catboy shaped thoughts, Cas was trying to anticipate the horror in store for him later this evening as a result of Gabriel's match making efforts. Would Gabriel attempt to match him with suitable potential suitors that Cas might actually be able to like and get along with? Or was Gabriel going to play the ridicule card and match him with the most obnoxious women he could find? Worse still, suppose Gabriel tried to pair Cas off with someone like himself, someone tricksy, mischievous and loud? What if Gabriel found a fellow fun enforcer to make sure Cas was always out and about, far from the soothing safety of his lab?

Cas shook his head. This despair was pretty useless. Not a constructive use of his time at all. I mean yes, it did take his mind off certain things for a while, but it was at the expensive of grief wallowing and paralyzing himself with possibilities.

Some small baby wailed near the back of the bus. It helped Castiel put things in perspective really. He could go out for one night with his fun-forcing brother and try to pretend to have a good time. It was just a simple acting gig, just for one night to make his brother happy. (Well, happier.) In any case there's no possible way it could be as bad an acting part as that one from high school.

Some teacher in his Catholic middle school had had the bright idea to write an original play. Yes, an amateur original play performed by resentful, reluctant middle schoolers. You can see where I'm going with this right? Well Ms. Something-or-other had drafted pretty much every student who accidentally walked past the gym after school that day when auditions were to have taken place. (There had been a low turnout, kids had known well enough that to participate would mean social suicide.) And then there had been the subject matter. It was about Angels, Angels with a capital A because all the characters were based on actual Biblical times Angels.

Oh how overjoyed, Ms. Whatever was to have forcibly drafted several angelically named Novaks into her cause, Castiel himself and Gabriel included. Naturally, the aspiring director had had little choice but to cast the Novaks epinomically. Castiel, Angel of Tuesday. Gabriel the important more well known Angel warrior/announcer of messiahs. Yes, this play did have that shining Razzie version of the Tonys vibe to it.

Of all the things that had gone wrong in the course of the play, if you could even call it that, Castiel had stood out. Fellow classmates had joked that he had delivered his angelic prose like a bored robot learning to pronounce words. Cas remembers freezing up there, under the lights on the stage to a chorus of hushed audience whispers no less than 5 times in the first act.

It had been the single worst moment of Castiel's life that play. It had ran for a full week before Cas could run back to hibernate in his corner of the school library in shame. It had been nearly a year before the teasing had died down.

When he froze on stage though, his brother Gabriel had been his saviour. Running onstage (if he wasn't on already) and cracking jokes at the audience and ad libbing bits designed to help lead Cas back to his lines. Gabriel had been the best. Gabriel still was the best.

Cas owed it to his bright, shiny, ostentantious brother who was totally a pain his buttoukus to go out tonight and fake the fun. He would smile, he would look blankly at his brother when trying to understand his jokes and he would dance with or talk to whatever women his brother pushed at him.

The Angel of Tuesday, would be there or be square. Cas sat up straighter on the bus and squared his shoulder. He would go home. He would drink a pot of tea and browse the news for some conversation topics and psyche himself up. He would do anything he could style wise to avoid being bedazzled in one of Gabe's hideous trainwrecks he called shirts.

As he pulled the dinger and strode off the bus when it stopped, Cas walked with his chin held high and his chest out. He was a biologist, he was invincible, he could use what he knew of body language and biological and social cues to survive this evening out. He was an Angel of Tuesday damnit and he knew how to rock it. Even without his trenchcoat billowing behind him on the dancefloor, he would bring it.