#let's be honest what does cas even like we don't know!!! enough with the movie nights let my man fo something else

[castieldelamancha]

Dean looks down at his lap and notices the little mountain of paper pieces that he has created there, his hands nervously tearing up into small pieces the brochure the bubbly young girl that welcomed them at the door gave him when they got to the bar.

Castiel, who was apparently talking to Dean, he doesn't know what about, because he wasn't paying attention, follows his gaze down and, slowly, pries the last remnants of what is left of the bright yellow brochure from Dean's hands.

"Dean, is everything okay?" Dean nods giving Cas a smile that he hopes is convincing enough, and judging by the way Castiel stares at him it probably isn't.

Get a grip man, he tells himself, what are you, fifteen?

Nervous, he is nervous, because he thought this whole night out for Cas and Cas is important and he refuses to let this be anything but perfect. Like he can control every little thing, like he can't accept he actually can't do that.

He takes Cas out on dates now, because they are part of the human experience, because secretly he had always yearned for the chance to do normal things like that with someone he loved, even tough he never thought he could love so much, so fiercely, so openly as he loves his Cas. They spend so much time together nowadays and Dean loves it, but he felt every activity was too much Dean and not enough Castiel. Even if they enjoy similar things and Castiel doesn't seem to mind what they do that much, Dean put all his energy into finding something that they could share but that could mean something more for Cas.

He found this amateur poetry reading night, and he thought, why not? He convinced himself, and then his brain went and gave him a list of why not's while he drove them here.

"I just want this to be good, that's all, okay?" He finally confesses, because Cas is still staring, tone light, as if he wasn't that worried, not at all.

Castiel's eyes soften at that, he puts away the ruined brochure and reaches for one of Dean's hands, interlacing their fingers together, the movement almost causing the pieces of paper mountain to crumble down.

"If it isn't," he says, apparently reading Dean like the open book he is to him these days, "it won't be your fault, I will still appreciate your thoughtfulness, and I will still appreciate the time we spend together."

Dean doesn't even know what he was worrying about, this is Castiel, he reminds himself. He made his way throughout Hell just to get him, to help him, to protect him, to be by his side, over and over again. He can survive two hours of shitty poetry, if it's even shitty. Maybe Dean is judging these strangers too harshly. He squeezes Castiel's hands, unable to say anything since the lights are turning off and people are clapping around them for the first person taking the stage.

Half an hour later Dean decides it isn't boring, nor is it awful, his brain can suck it up. He hasn't let go of Castiel's hand yet, and it isn't in his plans to do so any time soon either.

Struck me like a bolt of lightning,

brought my heart back back to life

The man on stage reads out loud, and Dean, Dean simply turns to look at Cas, watching his focused profile,

the brightness of this light of yours,

fighting off the gloom of this shadow of mine.

Castiel turns to look at him then, mouthing an I love you at him that Dean leans in to whisper right back at him.