Word count: 300-ish
Genre: Humor
Rating: worksafe
Prompt: Destiel, Eurovision
"And you're sure it's gonna go for one of the artists? Why not one of the staff, wouldn't that make it easier to blend in?"
Castiel shook his head, all while his eyes flickered across the many faces of the artists and song-writers seated in the Green Room. "I'm certain the shape shifter will imitate one of the main figures of the evening; it "gets off" on attention, so to speak."
Dean nodded. "Makes sense," he agreed. "But there are like, around fifty artists here, and security's way too tight for us to be able to access any of the monitoring rooms - why the hell does this freaking thing need so much safety anyway?"
Castiel's eyes still did not drift away from the numerous artists. "It's one of the biggest festivals in Europe, Dean," he stated in a serious tone. "I am actually surprised you had not heard of it before, even if you do live in the United States."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, because that's what I like to do with my time, listen to pansy ass music and look at guys in capes dressing up as boats. I'm telling you, man, there ain't a straight dude in this arena."
Castiel finally shifted his eyes to Dean, giving him a knowing look. "Except you, naturally."
Dean blinked, realising what he'd just said, and cleared his throat.
"Yeah, of course. Except me." He didn't look at Castiel.
"There," Cas suddenly announced, pointing towards the back of the Green Room. Dean followed his gaze, eyes widening comically as he caught sight of who Castiel was referring to.
"The grandmas?" he exclaimed. "Really?"
Castiel nodded, expression serious. "The smallest one, yes."
"Damn. I liked them. They were baking. Made me think of pie."