A/N: Sorry, loyal story-followers. I really have been trying to write more. I just wasn't happy with what was coming out! I have actually written about 6,000 words (all dumped into an "outtakes" file), but these are the 1,600 or so words that made the grade!
Cas and Dean passed party-goers in the hallway, leaving in twos and threes. Dean was pretty sure the staring was because of his slime-plastered appearance, but it might have been the blood soaking Cas' jeans that was grabbing their attention.
He grabbed at one of the leggy female party-goers, who recoiled with a cry of "Hey! This is dry-clean only!"
"Sorry. Listen, can you tell me something? What is it Sam does exactly?"
She eyed him suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"
"I'm his brother, Dean… "
She looked him over. "Really? His brother? You don't look alike."
"He eats salads and tofu burgers, thinks new archaeological discoveries are orgasmic and believes clowns are the instrument of the devil."
"Okay. So you're his brother." She bit a polished nail and paused thoughtfully. "Well, he does a bit of this and a bit of that. He's kind of a problem-solver and handyman. He's real kind and polite to everyone. Sometimes he works security if one of the guys is away sick, and once he worked behind the bar when we had a two-for-one night and were crazy busy. I haven't caught him repairing any of the costumes yet, but I bet he could," she mused thoughtfully.
"So he's not a pimp." Dean grinned. Her laugh was musical and genuinely amused.
"Lord, no! We're dancers, not hookers! We've been trying to convince him for months that he should go on stage himself, but he won't even consider it. He's hot enough…" She trailed off with a glazed look.
It was Dean's turn to be genuinely be amused. "That's rich. Sam's as good a dancer as I am a diplomat."
"I don't think I'd care," she admitted. She winked at them, waved her fingers and continued down the stairs.
Dean turned to Cas. "Strippers. That son of a bitch," he said in admiration.
-oOo-
Sam opened his door, grinning in relief. "Dean!… What the hell happened to you?" He noticed the blood seeping through the slash in Cas' jeans. "Oh! Hey, in the bathroom. First aid kit."
"Thanks Sam. I got it." Dean patted Sam's shoulder grinning, as he helped Cas towards the bathroom. Sam watched him confused for a moment, but shrugged it off. He turned back to the others. "Hey, Laura." His eyes travelled over the slinky, red dress. "You look great. You okay?"
"Momma!" Sophie launched herself at her mother. Laura squeezed Sophie in a tight hug. "I am now. Thanks for coming through, Sam. Thank your friends for me."
"I will. And who is this?" Sam eyed the lanky teen warily.
"I'm Travis. Dean said I could come to the party…" Travis held out a bottle of red wine as a gift. Sam took it, looking uncertain. He felt a tap on his shoulder and his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he turned to find Gabriel had suddenly appeared, smiling lopsidedly at him and growling under his breath. "Leave him with me. He fits my profile: Douche-bag that needs a lesson."
Gabriel gave a predatory smile and lay his arm across the boy's shoulders. "Come with me kid. I'll teach you a thing or two." Travis raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Just so you know - I'm not into dudes." Gabriel's stride paused for only a fraction of a second. "Tell me, Travis, Travieso, Travmeister. Have you ever seen The Crying Game? No? Such a shame."
Sam watched them walk away. His life was weird. He stared at the room, full of such disparate people talking, eating and dancing and he felt … good. Everyone he wanted to spend Christmas with was here, and safe. Sure there were a few people here he didn't care too much about, one way or the other. For example, jerk-vibes had come off Travis like steam off a New York street, so Sam had let Gabriel take charge of him. He saw Bobby being surprisingly sociable with Gabriel and Travis. They began an animated conversation. Sam shook his head, smiling. You could never predict what was going to happen when Gabriel was involved. If anyone could talk sense into Travis, it was Bobby. Laura was in the kitchen alcove, finding food for Sophie, who was making a face of disgust at the olives she was being offered. Sam realised he loved living around normal people again.
He watched frowning, as Dean helped a limping Cas to the bathroom and felt some tension creep back into his shoulders. He knew that look. The one that used to lead Dean to irresponsible amounts of alcohol, followed by recriminations, based on barely missed close calls and the fear they left in their wake. Sam's instinct was to intervene, to smooth things over. He fought the instinct hard. Dean didn't need Sam looking out for him any more. Cas and Dean would work it out themselves. He headed to the kitchen to help Laura find something that Sophie might like better than olives.
-oOo-
After getting rid of his slimy shirt, Dean knelt down, held Cas' bare leg across his lap and examined the cut. "You're right. It's not too bad. It won't need stitches. I'll just clean it and patch it up. Don't worry - chicks dig scars."
Cas looked up at Dean from under a confused brow. Dean realised what he'd just said and snorted. He took a sterile plastic vial of saline solution from the first aid kit and snapped it open, pouring it on the cut to cleanse it. Cas breathed in sharply and clenched a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean placed a hand over Cas'. "You good?" Cas nodded.
Dean placed some gauze over the cut and stuck it down with a waterproof breathable bandage. Cas avoided his gaze and said "You're worried." Dean was silent while he stroked Cas' calf. "Cas," He kneeled in front of Cas and tangled his fingers into Cas' hair. Cas looked up with serious and vulnerable eyes when Dean gave his hair a gentle tug. "Be more careful. Please." Cas rested his forehead against Dean's and sighed quietly. "I'm just as careful as you are, Dean." Dean's mouth curved humourlessly at the corners. "I'm a terrible role model."
"Yes, you are," Cas agreed, and kissed him. He pulled away and smiled, cupping Dean's cheek in his hand.
-oOo-
Cas finally emerged from the bathroom in track pants and an old t-shirt, limping, while Dean stayed in the bathroom to shower off the goo.
Cas ended up alone on the couch, surrounded by Sam's remaining co-workers, grinding and gyrating enthusiastically against each other to some repetitive, percussive music, while he looked on, exhausted and confused. He gazed longingly at the bathroom door, in time to see Dean come out in clean jeans and a flannel shirt, rubbing a towel over his hair. He cast Dean a pleading look. Dean threw his towel back into the bathroom, leaving his hair a spiky mess. He navigated his way through the dancers and flopped onto the couch next to Cas. Cas leaned against him and closed his eyes, exhaling his relief loudly. "I never know what to do in social gatherings. I'm exhausted and my leg hurts," he complained tiredly.
Dean stretched an arm across the back of the couch and massaged the back of Cas' neck. His lips curved into a smile as he watched the pinched corners of Cas' mouth relax. He wasn't usually one for public displays, but when those naked eyes opened and looked right into him, it was too hard to resist.
The way they fitted together when they kissed always thrilled Dean. The way Cas' nose rubbed against his and Cas just fell into their kisses, like they had no separation. Dean started to forget where they were, who else was here. He felt Cas' leg overlap his, trying to get closer. Cas' tongue traced details in his mouth carefully. Dean cradled his head and chased the taste of him deeper. They should probably stop now, while they could still think straight. He gently pulled away from Cas' moist mouth. He could feel Cas ribs swell with each breath. He brushed a thumb over one of the dark smudges starting to appear under Cas' eyes. Cas seemed content to stare at him with a curl of a smile on his lips. "The way you respond to me is intoxicating," Cas said quietly. Dean rested his cheek against Cas, still and calm.
-oOo-
Sam turned down the music to try to encourage the last few revellers to go home. He lurked near the kitchen cleaning up while surreptitiously watching Cas and Dean. He admired their closeness and their relaxed intimacy. He was also intensely jealous. Not that he would ever begrudge Dean the one slice of happiness in his life. It wasn't like that. Sam just wished he had that in his own life again. It still stung to think he'd had it once and had it taken from him. He had the kind of heart that couldn't help hoping, and getting attached, even if he knew there were risks.
But not Dean. Dean had always been about staying apart, keeping clear, being detached. Seeing Dean with Cas was still a revelation, every time. He was still very 'Dean' with jokes and grins, but there was none of the evasiveness and defensive bravado he'd displayed when flirting in bars and clubs in the past. Instead there was the persistent non-verbal communication that Cas and Dean always had, only now it included a lot of understated, but decidedly intimate, touching.
He'd known Dean as a winking, whistling, smirking jerk. It was all part of the Dean Winchester Man-Whore Myth. But the hair-stroking, back-rubbing, endearment-murmuring Dean was a totally different person. It would have been weird, except Cas returned Dean's open smiles and wallowed in it all, like a puppy in clover, so they sort of fit. And it was Christmas, so why shouldn't they be happy?