Counting Stars

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Hey, my name's Isabelle, and welcome to Counting Stars! I'm collaborating with my friend Hannah, and I'll be writing from Cas's POV. I can't wait to get started, and see how this all takes off!

Hi, I'm Hannah and I'll be writing as Dean! My normal Wattpad is @fandommuch . Oh, and I've never tried a collab before.

Bodies collide with bodies, skin on skin, sweat on sweat. It's a place everyone can loose themselves. With every song is a dance, with every drug there is sex, with every ounce of passion comes an ounce of satisfaction. The dancers move as one, young men in jackets and women in dresses coalesce into a fluid seeping through any and every gap. Vivacity radiates off everyone like a nuclear explosion. That's exactly what it is: an explosion. Lights and colours.

Costume or none, everyone fits. Nobody cares if your outfit comes from Gucci or Walmart. It's all about the music, the moment. Sometimes just the lights in time with the track will do, but other times... Other times more is needed. A good stage performance, a great bar, anything. Anything and this club will have it.

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CASTIEL (Isabelle)

"Come on, man! You're always cooped up in that shitty apartment of yours, and now that we've got you out, you're still being such a bore! Get up and have some fun!" Balthazar said exasperatedly.

Castiel shrugged and looked down, not meeting the eyes of the cluster of friends by the bar. "Guys, you've already forced me outside. See? I'm drinking, and I'm having a great time. Go and dance. I'll be over in a bit."

Balthazar, Bela, and Anna rolled their eyes and walked off, chattering loudly about how much of a prude Cas was.

Castiel didn't care what they said. For his entire life, people had walked over him... And honestly? He was used to being talked about behind his back, but he didn't complain nor speak up. His friends were just another example of how much of a tool he was.

Cas slowly sipped his beer, leaning against the bar. He had been drinking that night, more than he was used to. By this point, he was already well beyond tipsy. His vision was blurred a bit, and with the flashing lights and talking and clinking of bottles on the bar and the dancing and the people and the scent of smoke in the air and the stale perfume and the confusion and.... It was madness.

Castiel was done. He knew he shouldn't have left the house in the first place, but his girlfriend, Anna, insisted. God, Anna... Sure, he loved her, but... Let's say they weren't a perfect match. Castiel scanned over the club, trying to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend. After a while of searching, Cas realized that his "friends" had ditched him. He sighed and paid for his drinks, then stumbled to the door. If they had left, there was no reason to stay.

Just before he reached the door, Cas crashed into someone carrying a large guitar. They both muttered apologies and looked each other in the eyes.

Time seemed to stand still. Castiel looked at this man, this tall, gorgeous man. His eyes were a brilliant forest green, and his hair was a light honey color. He had a smirk on his face, making him look like he had a secret he was just dying to tell.

DEAN (Hannah)

Dean managed to take control of his muscles and he smiled at the man. Damn, he was beautiful. His eyes, the colour of the bluest oceans, perfectly contrasted his almost black, messy hair. His gravelly voice still rung in Dean's head.

Dean outstretched his hand for a shake, "I'm Dean." It casually rolled off his tongue, but he had to shout it because the song had changed to something heavy that Dean didn't recognise.

"Castiel," the boy replied, tightly wrapping his slender fingers around Dean's hand. Dean could feel a blush rising up in his cheeks, so he tried to cover it up with a smirk.

"So, what're you doing here tonight?" Dean asked, acting as innocent as his brain would allow. Castiel's face was pulled into a weak, half-hearted smile.

"My friends... They dragged me out here and ditched me," his face showed slight forlorn, but his body showed repose, like he'd been drinking. Dean glanced at his watch- it was only 9 pm and Cas didn't look like the type of person to have drunk loads this early. Actually, he didn't look like he ever drunk loads.

Stop thinking, Dean, his mind ordered him, so he began to fiddle with the guitar strap which was slipping off his shoulder. He looked up again at Castiel's face, who's eyebrows were furrowed.

"What's that for?"

"Oh, I'm playing tonight," Dean grinned, pulling a folded and scrappy bit of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolding it. "See?"

Castiel looked impressed; his eyebrows went from the previous corrugated frown, to raised and he blinked slowly, tilting his head at the same speed. Dean laughed subtly and asked Cas if he wanted to watch, to which he agreed.

Dean found two seats at the bar and ordered himself a beer and Castiel a water, considering he'd already drunk a bit too much. They sat, in silence, watching the crowd of dancers- how their bodies collided with little care. It was a completely different experience watching it from the sidelines. If you were thrown into the mixture of strobe lights and stale perfume, the atmosphere of the room whisked you away. Nobody cared what anyone else looked like when you were merged into the single entity that was the dancers. That is, unless you stopped and focused. If you wanted, you'd be able to see every makeup smudge, every unpolished shoe and every messy seam. But, who'd want that? Dean sighed, sitting at the bar, observing... It was like watching a film. Everything was flawless.

Not even 5 minutes later, and thump! Next to him, a tipsy Cas had fallen from his barstool. Dean could hear a material rip and when he looked down, Castiel was laying, semi-conscious, on the wooden floor. His trench coat was a state, nearly torn in two.

"Hey... buddy," Dean said, hopping off his own stool to help Castiel up. Crap, he couldn't just leave him here, he had to take him home. Wherever that was...

He hoisted Castiel up to standing, and immediately Cas began to slip toward the floor again, so Dean had to use most of his strength to keep him upright.

"Now, where's your phone, Cas?"

Castiel blubbered some inaudible words whilst fumbling through his pockets for the device. He pulled in out and over dramatically placed it in Dean's palm.

It took a couple of minutes and a lot of convincing for Cas to give up his password and even longer to find his address, but eventually he struck gold.

Still carrying his guitar (he daren't put it down) and half-carrying the other man, Dean made his way over to where he was meant to meet the manager.

"Hey, Chuck. I, um, can't perform tonight," Dean shouted over the music, rather awkwardly.

"WHAT! NO! WHY?" Chuck seemed rather worried and Dean didn't blame him. He'd been advertising this for just shy of a fortnight.

Dean sighed, "I've got to take this asshat home." He pointed to the dizzy-looking Castiel, who was leaning on him inattentively.

After a bit more arguing with Chuck, Dean had managed to get Cas outside. The humid air didn't help the fact that he was already tired and out of breath. Dean's shoulder had began to ache, but they were already standing by his car. It was a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and Dean absolutely adored her.

Luckily for both of them, Dean knew exactly where Castiel's street was. Growing up, his Uncle Bobby rented one of the apartments for one reason or another. It took longer than expected to get up to Cas' floor because the elevator was under maintenance. Sadly, that meant Dean had to heave the slightly less-conscious lump up three flights of stairs.

They had just about managed to get through the door together before Cas fell fast asleep. Dean tucked him in, in what he assumed was Castiel's bed. He thought it would be better if he stayed overnight, just to assure Cas didn't choke on his own vomit or something. Before Dean had got a chance to snoop around the apartment, like he had secretly planned (what? He was curious!), he slung his precious guitar off his shoulder and felt himself drifting off from pure exhaustion.