The next day, Dean decided he would drop by the studio to pay for the lessons since he hadn't had a chance after the instructor's make-out session the day before. He had just left work and the studio hadn't started evening lessons yet so he figured it was a good time. As he walked through the door, he heard music and noticed that there was no one at the front desk. He peeked around the door to the dance floor and noticed Castiel, dancing alone.

Dean was frozen as he watched the dancer create a work of art on the dance floor. This wasn't a ballroom dance, but expression through motion. Castiel had obviously not been expecting any clients as he wasn't dressed in the usual dress pants and white shirt, but he was shirtless, barefooted and dancing in just a pair of long shorts.

Dean watched as the finely-toned muscles of his body flexed and pulled as he moved with the music. The corner of Dean's mouth quirked up a bit when he realized the song that he was dancing to was "All Out of Love." REO Speedwagon, seriously? Oh well, at least it wasn't some new synthetic pop crap.

I wish I could carry your smile in my heart, for times when my life seems so low
It would make me believe what tomorrow can bring, when today doesn't really know

Castiel's dance was unrehearsed, raw, and pure passion. He danced with an unnamable weight, it was grounded and solid, all strength and grace. He leapt through the air, landing gracefully on his feet and continued the fluid movement into a roll onto his knees as he pulled his hands in, cupped over his heart. He stilled for a moment, just breathing with the music, head bowed, nothing moving but the slow rise and fall of his shoulders through heavy breaths. Dean held his breath.

I want you to come back and carry me home, away from these long, lonely nights
I'm reaching for you, are you feeling it too? Does the feeling seem oh, so right?

In the next movement, he looked up slowly, continuing to look up, stretching his long neck until he was facing the ceiling, as his hands left his chest and reached up, up, slowly the movement continued through the very tips of his fingers. Then, in one swift, fluid movement, an arm came down to the ground as his strong legs pushed off, cartwheeling him over and back onto his feet so that he could move around the floor, filling the room.

I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you, I know you were right, believing for so long
I'm all out of love, what am I without you? I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong.

Castiel let the chorus carry him around the room, stretching, leaping and clawing at some emotion, his pain written plainly on his face. With the last note of the song, he did a final pirouette, ending it abruptly on outstretched flat feet, a hard stance contrasting with the fluidity of the dance. Then he fell forward onto his knees, his hands coming up to cover his dipped face as he let out a thick sob.

Dean was frozen. He didn't know what to do. What he had just witnessed was not a dance routine but a soul crying out, it was love and anguish and pain. He felt like he should go and offer comfort but at the same time he felt like he was intruding on something very private and intimate. His caretaker instinct took over and he did an awkward clearing of his throat as he knocked on the studio door.

Castiel's head snapped up as he realized he wasn't alone. "Sorry," mumbled Dean, "you OK?"

"I… uh…" Castiel's eyes connected with Deans and were caught there for a long moment. Neither man moved or breathed. Dean could see tears in Castiel's eyes, threatening to spill over but Castiel took a deep breath and held them in.

"Uh, I just came by to drop off my payment," Dean managed, trying to think of something to break the awkwardness.

"Of course, apologies." Castiel seemed to gather his wits and got to his feet to come over to Dean, standing strangely close. "We aren't technically open today so I was just, uh, it's nice to have the dance floor to myself sometimes," he explained, shifting his eyes towards the floor.

"Sorry, didn't realize. Hey, you sure you're OK? You seem a little…off?"

"I'm sorry, Dean. This has been a difficult day for me. Sometimes dance is an outlet."

Dean lifted a hand to rub against the back of his neck, not knowing what to say to that. "If you say so." The next thing he knew, his mouth was speaking before his brain even registered it. "Hey, you know what else is great for a sucky day? An ice cold beer. How about it, Cas?"

Castiel was taken aback. He hadn't expected this man to be so endearing and so irresistible. He stared at him, tilting his head to the side a bit the way he always did when he was trying to figure out some unknowable mystery.

"I'm not suitably dressed for that. Would you mind giving me a few moments to get cleaned up?"

"Sure thing. We can swing by your place then head out?"

"We're already there. I live upstairs. Would you like to wait there?"

"You live here? Nice commute, man. Sure, lead the way."

They headed up a flight of stairs into a large mostly open space. About half of it was unlit and covered with hard wood floor with no furniture in sight. On the far side of the room, however, was a cozy looking living area and small kitchen, which they headed towards. "Please have a seat and make yourself at home. I will be as expedient as I can," said Castiel as he showed him to the living room then disappeared down a short hallway beside the kitchen. A few minutes later, Dean heard the sound of the shower running, which gave him a moment to look around.

The living room had a welcoming and comfortable feeling. It gave off a sense of home. Everything was warm colors of soft brushed greys and deep reds, with polished cherry wood accents. An antique traveling trunk with worn wood and old leather buckles sat along one wall. Dean smiled to himself as he noticed, too, that it was a bit messier than he had imagined Castiel's home would be. There were books laying casually on end tables one laying open and face down to save a page. A throw blanket was tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair, a pair of shoes had been kicked off onto the floor in front of the couch, and what was probably the morning's coffee mug was leaving a brown ring on a folded newspaper.

The space contained an eclectic collection of objects that made Dean feel like this was a home. One wall was covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves and lined with hundreds of well-worn books. There was probably a system to their organization, but Dean also loved the way they weren't all perfectly lined up. Some were stacked horizontally, or leaning casually on the other stacks. Still others slid in above a row of vertical editions. Several had bookmarks hanging over their edges and interspersed between the books were random objects: a few photographs, medals, a metronome, a small globe, a small Virgin Mary statuette, and one shelf held a random collection of little knickknacks that looked like they were collected from all over the world.

Dean moved to the bookshelf, running his hands along the spines, feeling the bumps as his fingers caressed each one. He had never been able to own many books growing up and he envied anyone who could have so many, it felt like holding onto a collection of adventures.

He decided to look closer at the photographs. There was one of Castiel with Pamela, she had her arm around his shoulder, grinning in that sexy casual way she had about her. Castiel was standing stiff as a soldier, but looking slightly sideways towards Pamela with a slight smile that reflected in his eyes and Dean could read in that glance nothing but love and respect between the couple.

He moved on to another photo of two soldiers in what was certainly the Middle East. They were standing next to one another in front of a Blackhawk helicopter with a large red cross on it, the shorter man casually leaning back against it's door, legs crossed at his ankles. The taller man had his elbow resting on the shorter man's shoulder and he was grinning widely. The shorter man wasn't quite smiling, but had a satisfied smirk on his face. Dean looked a little closer and realized that the shorter man was actually Castiel. He was in the service? He wondered how he went from that to dance teacher. He made a mental note to ask about this development.

A third photo was of a beautiful woman with a teenage boy, both smiling next to one another. The boy could only be Castiel. Those eyes were unmistakable, such a deep blue and so intense. He was in a black tuxedo with tails. In the picture he looked so young and carefree, different than the stoic man whom he had just watched pour his heart out into a dance. The woman standing next to him was lovely. She was dressed in a white evening gown and her black hair was pulled up into an elegant up do. Dean imagined this may be Castiel's mother. She had the same dark hair, warm smile and intense blue eyes.

"My mother and I," came from just behind Dean, making him jump. He hadn't heard Castiel coming at all. When he turned around he realized why. The man was standing clearly in Dean's personal space fully dressed except for his bare feet. He looked so relaxed and at home like that, it stirred something in Dean's chest, which he promptly tried to squelch. But as he took a moment to take in the rest of Castiel, he realized there was something about this man that he just couldn't ignore.

He was dressed in jeans that hung on his hips perfectly. On top he wore a cream colored Henley with the sleeves pushed up and had thrown a dark blue scarf around his neck which really brought out the color of his eyes. His hair was still damp and there was a bead of water trailing down a strand just under his temple. Dean was transfixed on it for too long before he caught himself and shook out of his trance.

He swallowed thickly before putting on a grin, "You and your mom, huh? Nice getup, Top Hat, what was that all about?"

"It was a dance competition. She was an amazing dancer, World Champion in Argentine Tango and several Latin dances. We would sometimes complete together. That was the day that I won Youth Ballroom Grand Champion. She was so proud. She taught me everything before…" his voice trailed off and his eyes shifted downwards. Dean could sense they had just approached a topic that verged on a chick flick moment and quickly changed the subject.

"So, were you in the service too? A pilot? I saw your picture."

"Um, yes, Army. 498th Medevac. I piloted Blackhawk medevacs."

"Wow, that's awesome. I was in too, nothing so fancy for me, though. Just a grunt, 13-Foxtrot. You know, those blunt instruments sent in first? Did recon in Afghanistan. So what made you rejoin the civilians?"

Castiel paused, something like regret flashing across his face, then looked away. "It's complicated. I would rather we defer that conversation for another time, if that is alright with you."

Dean knew there was a story there and was immensely intrigued, but didn't want to force the guy into anything. He knew that soldiers all had stories and most of them were not pretty. Hell, he was an expert at burying his own feelings about the war so why begrudge someone else for needing to do the same. "Well, you know what's a great cure for a complicated story you don't feel like dealing with? Beer and babes! C'mon, let's head out. I'll introduce you to the lady in my life."

Never say goodbye, never say goodbye
Holdin' on – we got to try
Holdin' on to never say goodbye
~Never Say Goodbye – Bon Jovi