Sam gawped at his brother, thinking that he must have shorted out a few vital synapses when he'd gone all Dead Zone with Castiel. "Excuse me?" he said, squinting at Dean like that might help clear things up.
"Don't really have time to explain; you'll just have to go with me on this, alright, Sammy?" Dean had on his dead-serious expression, but there was something buzzing just below the surface – a kind of crazed excitement that he'd never seen in his brother's eyes before. It had Sam majorly concerned.
"You're getting married? When? To who?"
Dean snatched the hose from his hands and took over spraying away the mud that continued to creep up on them. Sam hadn't even realised he'd dropped the ball, he was so blown away.
"We need to get Cas awake, and we need someone who can perform the ceremony," Dean replied, neatly avoiding Sam's questions.
"What, now?" asked Sam in disbelief.
"Yes, now," Dean ordered. "See if anyone's got smelling salts – maybe in a first aid kit or something."
"You could always try dumping a bucket of cold water on him," Sam suggested, still struggling to understand what the hell was going on.
"That's what I said!" Dean vehemently agreed. "But Cas didn't like that idea."
Sam gave Dean one last inquisitive frown before heading off to do as he'd been told. He was running on auto-pilot, following Dean's orders on blind faith, because he was too afraid to ask questions. He already had an inkling of what the answers might be, and right now denial was working well for him.
In between hosing off the dirt demons, Dean tried to wake Castiel up. The shoulder shake failed miserably, as did the arm pinch and the cheek slap. It's true, he was reluctant to use any real force, because the poor guy had already taken more abuse than he could handle, but Dean was running out of ideas. And meanwhile, more of the muddy bastards were dropping from the hole in the roof, rapidly beginning to outnumber them.
Sam trotted back up to him a few minutes later but he came empty-handed. "Sorry; no luck with the smelling salts," he said. "But it turns out the mayor can perform marriages."
"You mean that rickety old guy who was on stage last night?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, the old guy. What were you expecting, a priest? Even if there was one here, I doubt they'd agree to do it," Sam retorted with a smirk, making it clear that he'd figured out who Dean was planning to marry.
"Fine, he'll have to do," Dean replied, ignoring the teasing twinkle in his brother's eyes.
A chorus of shouts broke out from a spot near the front door, drawing their attention. The wall there was bowing and cracking from the pressure of the mud trying to get inside. Sam turned back to him, all mirth forgotten. "Seriously, Dean…do you really think this is a good time for this? If you haven't noticed, we're kind of in the middle of something here."
Dean held his brother's gaze steadily, letting him know just how serious he was. "I know it sounds crazy, but this could be our only shot at getting out of here alive."
If Sam had any more doubts, he hid them well. Without a word, he took off again, but he returned moments later carrying a bucket full of water. Dean didn't have time to protest before his brother had unceremoniously dumped the contents on top of the unconscious angel's head.
The effect was immediate: Castiel jerked awake, his eyes springing wide open as he spluttered and coughed out the water that had gone down his windpipe. The murderous glare he fixed on Sam would have been far scarier if he didn't look so much like a drowned kitten.
Sam smiled down at him apologetically. "Sorry – we were out of options."
The angry glare continued for a solid forty seconds during which time Dean stood transfixed by the glistening droplets of water dripping off Castiel's hair and eyelashes. Now that he'd allowed himself to admit his heretofore latent attraction to the angel, it was pretty much impossible to ignore.
"Were you able to find someone to recite the incantation?" Castiel asked at last, tearing his eyes away their task of boring holes into Sam's head to address Dean.
"Incantation?" asked Sam, earning him a fresh glare from the angel. "I thought this was a wedding."
Castiel grunted as he attempted to sit up. Dean was there in a heartbeat, helping him. "The incantation predates modern marriage rites, but the result will be much the same."
"We got a mayor here who'll do the honours," Dean said. "Think you'll be able to stand up, or should we bring the old fart over here?"
"I will stand," Castiel replied, and stubbornly tried to do just that, even though he was barely able to rise more than an inch from the bench.
"Give me a hand here, Sammy," Dean requested, and Sam bent down on the other side of Castiel to help lift him to his feet. All colour drained from the angel's face, and it was immediately evident that they needed to make it quick or they'd lose him again.
"Where to?" asked Dean.
"The stage," Sam replied as he slung his arm around Castiel's back to provide added support. The two of them book-ended the angel and half dragged him over to the stage, slogging through mud, puddles, and the wreckage of the ceiling as they went.
The Mayor of Red River was standing at the podium looking lost and confused. Somehow, through everything, the man had managed to hold onto his hat, and he had it tightly crammed down past his ears despite the fact that it was sopping wet and starting to wilt. The blonde waitress who'd guided him on stage the previous night was there for a repeat performance, standing next to the old man with her arm looped through his to keep him upright.
Dean was starting to think this was the most pathetic wedding ceremony in the history of wedding ceremonies, what with half the people present, including one of the grooms, barely capable of standing on their own two feet. A reluctant clutch of the surviving barflies had apparently agreed to stand guard and ward off the enemy during the nuptials, but it was clear that they thought the whole thing was absurd.
When Dean, Castiel and Sam lugged their sorry carcasses up onto the bar's stage, the tottery old mayor blinked at them with watery-eyed bafflement. "Where's the bride?" he asked, his voice whistling like a reed in the wind.
"Got him right here," Dean answered, patting Cas on the stomach, and then wiping his hand dry on his own jeans. Castiel gave him a dirty look, but didn't say anything; probably because he didn't have the energy for it.
"You can't marry him," the old guy said to Dean in a loud stage whisper. "He's a man."
"No, really? I hadn't noticed," Dean snarked back at him. "We're getting married. End of discussion."
"But-but-but…you can't," the mayor insisted. "It wouldn't be legal."
"The laws of man are inconsequential," Castiel spoke up.
Dean quickly added, "What he means is, we're not worried about making this legal. It's what's in our hearts that counts." Dean didn't have to look over at Sam to know the guy was making a face at him. As it was, Dean was finding it hard not to gag on the sugary sentiment himself.
The mayor shook his head and mumbled something along the lines of 'well, I guess now I've seen everything'. As if being confronted with an army of animated mud wasn't enough of a kicker for one day! "Well, get on over here, then," he voiced more loudly.
Dean nodded at Sam to let go of Cas, and the two of them approached the mayor alone. It turned out Castiel was far heavier than he looked, but Dean refused to show how much effort it was costing him to keep the angel vertical.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered…"
"Let's skip to the good part, okay Pops?" Dean interjected, shifting Cas against his side to get a better grip on him.
That seemed to shake Castiel out of the stupor he'd fallen into, and he began digging around in the front pocket of Dean's pants. That nearly made Dean lose it, and as it was, his face had probably just turned every shade of red imaginable, if the heat in his cheeks was anything to go by.
"Cas…what the hell?" Dean choked, squirming as the angel's fingers came dangerously close to skipping the wedding and going straight for the honeymoon.
With a satisfied smile, Castiel dug a piece of paper from some hidden crevice in Dean's pocket. Dean's eyebrows shot up at that, because he'd be damned if he knew how it had got there.
Handing the folded sheet of paper over to the mayor, Castiel said, "If you would be so kind as to read this out loud?"
The mayor blinked and squinted at the writing on the paper until he finally gave up. "Son," he said, "either I'm in need of a pair of heavy-duty reading glasses, or this thing ain't in English."
"It's Enochian," Castiel replied, like that was any help. "It's written phonetically. All you need to do is sound it out."
The old man tutted and sighed and studied the paper some more, and as Dean shifted from foot to foot impatiently, there was a deafening crack from the front of the building. The wooden slats by the door had finally snapped under the duress of holding back the rest of the mud army.
"Sooner would be better," Dean prompted urgently.
As the rest of their audience ran off to join the main battle, the mayor nodded his head and started hesitantly reading the strange language written out for him on the rumpled piece of paper. Enochian made as much sense to Dean as it did to the old man, so he had to watch Cas' face to tell if it was working or not – not that Castiel's expression gave much away.
With all the shouting and screaming, Dean didn't even notice the mayor had finished reading the incantation until Castiel subtly nudged him with his elbow. Dean's eyes went wide. This was it. Now or never. And the look in the angel's eyes made it clear that the final decision was up to him.
Heart pounding in his ears, Dean gave him a quick, decisive nod. They jostled with each other until they were face to face and plastered against each other in a tight hug. Dean was just leaning in to seal the deal when Cas shied away.
"Wait," the angel said and began fishing around beneath the collar of his borrowed and soaking wet lumber jacket until he dredged up the pendant that had been trapped within its folds. Then his impossibly blue eyes peered up at Dean and he tilted his head back, lips parted, just waiting to be kissed.
A flood of hot desire engulfed Dean, and he honestly couldn't care if the Pope himself was watching, because he loved Cas – felt it bone deep, like the best kind of ache. This time, their kiss was anything but timid. Dean brought their mouths together with nothing held back, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance, and it was perfect. Castiel rumbled out a broken moan that coursed through Dean like a raging brush fire, and for a second, he thought he might literally be burning. The sensation was so convincing that Dean was forced to break off the kiss and open his eyes to make sure he was still in one piece.
An eruption of pure white light – brighter than the sun itself – suddenly plumed out all around them. It was like a star had gone supernova on them right there in the little tavern. And the accompanying boom was what Dean imagined it would be like to be at ground zero during a nuclear explosion. The floor shook and buckled underfoot, and dust rained down from what remained of the ceiling. Every bottle and glass behind the bar shattered in an instant, and then, as quickly as it started, it was over.
In the residual light of the blast, Dean caught a fleeting glimpse of the shadows cast by Castiel's wings, spread wide and massive, and somehow proud. Yes, Dean would later have to admit his jaw was hanging open in a wholly undignified manner at the sight, but c'mon! How could a guy not be impressed?
Dean was vaguely aware that stuff was happening in his periphery, but at the moment, he couldn't take his eyes off of Castiel. There was a distinct glow about him – a raw energy that crackled in the air between them like electricity. He was no longer the drenched, barefoot, banged-up hobo that Dean had dragged into the bar. Now he was resplendent; pristine and unblemished, and…and the trench coat was back. Dammit, Dean thought, that thing made more comebacks than the Rolling Stones.
A not-so-subtle cough finally managed to get Dean's attention. Sam was standing a couple of feet away, desperately pretending he hadn't just watched them kiss. "Uh, Dean…please tell me you didn't just sell your soul or something stupid like that."
Dean scowled at him, but then he thought about it and the scowl turned into a warped grin, because really? He kind of had sold his soul; or given it away, as the case may be. And he was perfectly fine with it. Just for kicks, he thought he'd let Sam sweat it for a while, so instead of answering him, Dean took Cas by the hand and led the angel off the stage without a word.
"Uh…Dean?" Sam called out after him, making Dean's grin broaden.
Castiel looked at him in confusion, and he gave the angel's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Explanations can wait until tomorrow," he explained, getting a knowing nod in response.
They carefully picked their way through the muddy wreckage of the Red Barn Tavern, not in the least bit surprised to find that the mud army had been well and truly nuked and that their victims were alive and kicking again. After all, if God's Grace wasn't enough to produce a few well-deserved miracles, then nothing was.
Outside, the crisp night air was alive with the sound of crickets and the sky was bejewelled with a blanket of stars. Dean stood in the empty parking lot, holding the hand of the angel with whom he was now eternally joined, and took a deep, satisfying breath.
"Where do we go from here?" asked Dean, sliding his gaze over to Castiel who was watching him intently.
"Anywhere we want," Castiel answered, his bright eyes managing to express both shyness and exhilaration all at once. One thing Dean knew for sure, wherever they ended up, it was going to be one helluva ride.