(( Author's Note: I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, and joined me on this journey so far! It's been a blast and a surprise and it may delight/horrify you (as it does me) to know I don't know where it's going with each passing chapter, but your reviews, favorites, and follows have me smiling for days and really keep me going. So hold on to your shiny pants, We're Goin' In! ))

"This is, uh—" Dean raised his voice over the thumping beat of the music. "—not what I expected."

Castiel merely smiled back at his expression of concern, clearly unperturbed with the circumstances. He looked around quickly, evaluating the room, and meeting Dean's wide eyes, yelling back simply, "Everyone is friendly."

"Yeah, they're…" Dean dropped his voice and his gaze as a man in rainbow shorts barely long enough to cover his buttcheeks pranced by. "…downright gay."

"What?" Castiel shouted back over the music.

"We need to find a phone and call Sammy!" Dean attempted to avert his eyes, but skin was everywhere. He looked helplessly back toward the doors they came through. When he turned back, he saw Castiel's lips moving, but was unable to make out the words they formed.

"What?!" Dean yelled as he grabbled Castiel by the collar, pulling him close in frustration to hear.

"…borrow one to use," he heard Castiel finish. His lips practically brushed against Dean's ear, which Dean became hyper-aware of as he glanced up and noticed two guys at the bar unwittingly mirroring their interaction, though the others appeared in a much more intimate conversation—hands on thighs, lips curved up amusement, whispering close.

Dean quickly shoved Castiel away with a little more force than he intended. Castiel's expression shifted to one of uncomprehending, and Dean felt a pang at the bruised reaction written clear across his blue eyes.

"I gotta piss," he yelled over the blaring music, and set off into the next room. Not knowing which direction the bathroom resided didn't stop his steady strides from carrying him hastily away from the angel that stared after him.

Dean rushed out of the bathroom, wiping his hands dry on his jeans and shaking his head to himself. He could count on one hand the amount of time's he'd ever relieved himself in what he could only describe as a trough.

"Freakin' zoo in here," he muttered to no one in particular, looking around in the flashing colored lights. The thick smoke from the fog machines billowed across the room, obscuring the large space and figures engulfed within it. He scanned the room as he stepped into the haze, shifting around figures moving to the hypnotic rhythm of the techno music. He startled at a bump or a body rubbing against his on more than one occasion, but at each encounter he turned toward the offender who was never more than vaguely aware of his presence. Dean pressed on in the disorienting fog, lights, and all-encompassing pulse of the beat, searching the crowd.

Few people were wearing white long-sleeved dress shirts, so when he caught sight of a man clad in just that, he made a B-line toward him. Dean slowed his steps before he reached the man, blinking. It looked like Castiel from behind—but Dean's eyes were fixated sharply on the man he was speaking to—or rather, the hand that was pressed cozily into the small of Castiel's back.

Dean's mouth set in a hard line and he approached the two, peering into the man's face he was sure was not—couldn't be—the uptight, cautious angel who barely knew how to even carry a smooth conversation.

"Hello, Dean."

It was him, after all.

Dean's mouth opened to form a question that failed to present itself, and he simply looked at Castiel, then at the stranger, at his arm placement around the angel, and back into his face. He struggled to piece together a clever quip—something light, joking—unlike the feeling rising at the back of his neck. But the noise, the flashing lights, the alcohol…

The hand slipped away from around Castiel's back, and the young man it belonged to raised his eyebrows at the newcomer.

"Cas, what…" Dean began, his voice fading into the rhythmic beat. He attempted to soften the sharp intensity in his eyes, noticing his jaw set harder than necessary. The other taller, but thinner man wore a sly smile that crept away at the intrusion of their conversation. Dean met his eye. The young man's gaze flicked between Castiel and Dean, and he pursed his lips in understanding, retreating into the smog with an easy-going shrug.

The moment had lasted the span of a few seconds, but Dean's mind clutched onto it like a bear trap, reddening his face deeper the instant he realized he was flushing at all. Castiel's attention was on him, and he only seemed to notice the other man's departure as he followed Dean's agitated stare into the fog.

"What the hell was that?"

Castiel turned back to Dean, seemingly oblivious to his gruff irritation. His lips barely moved as he spoke and Dean watched them closely, but he clenched his jaw and leaned in with frustration when he couldn't make out what was being said.

"I am trying to procure a cellphone, as you suggested," Castiel repeated into Dean's ear once it drew in close.

"Oh yeah?" Dean nodded into the fog. "I think Bieber there was trying to procure something else."

Castiel cocked his head questioningly. "That was our objective, correct?"

"Is getting felt up part of the transaction?" Dean tried to throw his voice into light joking territory, but the strain it in betrayed him. He uncrossed his arms as soon as he realized he had crossed them, not wanting to seem too defensive.

Castiel blinked as he realized Dean was referring to the interaction that had just transpired. His eyes lit up in earnest.

"Close proximity is required to communicate on…" Castiel looked about himself. "…the dance floor."

"What?"

"This is the dance floor!" Castiel gestured widely as if he was revealing something marvelous, raising his voice above the music. "It is suggested we 'shut up and dance.' "

"Did Handsy-Mcgee suggest that?"

"Who?"

"That guy—" Dean was mentally kicking himself for getting so worked up about the passing interaction, noting that it meant so little to Castiel that he didn't even follow Dean's comments. He looked off, frowning at himself. "Nevermind."

Castiel blinked, sensing his distress.

"These people…" Castiel's glazed eyes swept across the crowd that gyrated beyond the periphery of the fog, "…do not seem to concern themselves with that concept you so adamantly insist is a human intercommunicative device."

Dean squinted and opened his hands in confusion, barely hearing Castiel's words reaching him over the din. Castiel seemed to search for the phrase, and his eyes lit up once he found it.

"Personal space."

Dean nodded in understanding. "Well, yeah, it's—" he stuttered. "They're—…"

Dean looked around, at a loss to explain the particular behavior being exhibited all around them in this place. Castiel barely grasped the concept of drinking for fun, and Dean didn't quite feel up to the challenge of explaining, what, exactly? What gay people were, and why they would have need of their own club? What was he, raising a repressed child in the Midwest? Dean looked at the angel who was staring back at him with amusement subtly playing across the questioning squint of his eyes. He settled for explaining the inexplicable 'friendliness.'

"It's a…different kind of club."

"Club." Castiel rolled the world around his mouth, as if tasting it. "I've never been in a club."

"Well with any luck, we won't be in one much longer. I'm going to try the bar—"

A rambunctious cheer rang out behind Dean as a band of girls led by a blonde in a pink sash (proclaiming "Bride!") and giant, sparkly tiara pranced through the dance floor. A member of the group knocked into Dean's back as she twirled, causing him to stumble forward. Before his face collided against the angel, the motion was halted by strong hands on his biceps. He looked quickly up at Castiel, who held him in a surprisingly steady grip considering his intoxication.

Without his permission, images of the motel room flashed in Dean's mind like an assault, leaving him with instant dry mouth and an erratic heartbeat. He had managed to force the encounter from his mind, but the proximity of Castiel's face to his own sent his mind careening back into the act which now felt like years ago, and simultaneously mere minutes. Dean swallowed, his breath caught and his body seemingly unable to respond—at least, in a way he would sanction at this moment. He hung precariously between pushing Castiel away, and pulling him close in embrace. The result was what felt like a solid minute of motionlessness.

Castiel stared into Dean who felt transfixed there by those deep blue eyes so close to his own blinking green ones. Dean's mouth opened and closed once, soundlessly. As Castiel's lips broke into a sideways smile, Dean straightened stiffly, brushing off the strong hands that still gripped his arms. His eyes darted quickly around, as if daring anyone to catch his eye and claim that they saw. No one noticed, of course.

"Phone. Sam." Dean said resolutely, not meeting Castiel's eye. And a drink, he thought.

"And…personal space." Castiel gave a curt nod, acknowledging Dean's discomfort. The former smile was just a whisper across his eyes now as he, too, looked around. "I'll just, uh—"

"You just enjoy yourself." Dean busied his hands to straightening his shirt, avoiding the angel's gaze. He figured a little distance might help him clear his head.

Castiel blinked at the man, tipping his head, "In what way should I accomplish that?"

"I don't know," Dean shrugged, gesturing vaguely around the dance floor. "Have fun. Just…try to keep your pants on. I'm going to find a phone."

Have fun. Castiel nodded, watching as a couple holding hands lifted their drinks in the air with a jubilant "woo-hoo!" as they bounced lightly to the beat, weaving through the others on the dance floor. Fun.

Dean set off toward the bar, feeling the distance drawing between them with each step. Castiel obediently stayed. Dean stopped and turned to look back before the wall separating the dance floor from the bar space cut off his line of vision to the angel.

Castiel stood amidst the fog, looking around at the lights with an expression of awe. Dean watched him a moment, feeling an odd emotion he couldn't quite place. Castiel looked positively amused, albeit a little displaced. The angel's typical response to immersion in human phenomenon was one of studious examination, rarely resembling anything like entertainment. Sure, it was probably the alcohol rendering him utterly captivated by the situation, but Dean passively wondered how many times Castiel's been able to just…be. Or play. It wasn't ideal—hell, Dean didn't even know a place like this was even a thing. But the look of wonderment in Castiel's features made him look almost human, and imparted Dean with an odd feeling of satisfaction.

Dean's mouth twisted in a half-smile as the regret of ending up at "The Mixup" in the first place slipped its tight grip from around his shoulders, relaxing the tension slightly for the first time since they were transported from the motel room.

Dean started suddenly as he realized Castiel was looking back at him, tipping his head to the side like he did. It caught Dean in the throat, that expression of interest and curiosity. It was so…Castiel. And so…

Dean blinked and let the wall divide their visual connection as he continued on toward the bar.

Definitely could use a drink…