(This video will be important later. Trust me, it'll be good. I know you can't watch it here cuz "copyrights" or something, but I want you to watch it anyway so you have a visualization of what's to come. I think it'll say that you can watch it on YouTube and it'll have a link or something. You just need to watch it. Okay continue reading.)

Dean woke me up a little while later for some reason. It kinda pissed me off.

"What?" I groaned, not bothering to open my eyes.

"Look out the window." He said bluntly.

I reluctantly looked out the window as he said and saw we were outside this new bar night club sort of thing. It opened a few months ago, and from what I heard, it was doing pretty well.

"What're we doing here?" I looked back at Dean.

"Didn't you say we should have some fun? Shake things up? I figured this would be a good way of doing that."

"A club, Dean? Really? You, clubbing?"

"I can club. What's wrong with that? I can club if I damn well want to."

"Not really, no."

"Just because I don't doesn't mean I can't."

"I think you have that backwards. I sincerely doubt you can actually, physically club."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Gimpy Leg."

I sighed and looked away from him. "It's not just a... gimpy leg."

"Then what is it, Cas?"

I couldn't let him see. I couldn't let him see my pain. The things I had to go through in my everyday life. I didn't need his fucking sympathy.

"Cas?"

His voice shook me from my thoughts. I looked back at him. "It... it's nothing, Dean."

"Yet you have a cane sitting in the backseat."

"Let's just go in, okay?"

I didn't wait for a response before exiting his stupid car. Ugh, Mustang.

We went inside, and I had to say, the place wasn't too shabby. So far. There was a little bar at the far end of the building, a dance floor on the right of that; my right, that is; and there were tables set up around the front. Nice little place.

"Oh yeah. Cozy." I muttered.

"It's nice, Cas. Better than most bars, I'm sure. I mean, look how busy they are tonight."

There were quite a few people dancing on the dance floor to what nowadays were pretty old tunes. At the moment, an old Taylor Swift song was blaring out of the speakers.

"I swear to god, if I get this song stuck in my head because you dragged me here without my consent-"

"Only because you were snoring in the passenger seat."

I blushed immensely. He knows how much I hate my snoring. The fucker.

"Whatever," I mumbled. "Shithead."

"C'mon, Cas, let's get a drink or something."

"Good. You've mastered the art of clubbing."

I walked up to the bar, cane in hand, and sat down at a stool. Dean sat down beside me.

The bartender looked at us and was about to speak, until I interrupted. "Scotch. On the rocks. He'll have a beer. Make it snappy."

As the bartender poured our drinks, Dean tried talking. "I take it you're used to the whole bar thing."

"However did you infer that, Sherlock?"

We got our drinks, and I practically chugged my scotch. When I heard the sound of drunken cheering I became intrigued. I swiveled around in my seat and saw what appeared to be a dance off. Further inspection suggested that it was just a group of guys trying to dance to an old Mark Ronson tune.

"These guys are just embarrassing themselves." I smirked, getting my scotch refilled.

"What, you think you can do better?" Dean asked.

I looked over at him and grinned. "Challenge accepted, Mr. Too Good For A Chevy."

He chuckled. "Ha... ha... ha. I am not too good for a Chevy. I just happen to like my car."

"Oh, yes, the Mustang."

"What's wrong with a Mustang?"

I shrugged. "Nothing. Except the one driving it."

"Okay, if you're gonna show those guys up, go do it now, ya gimp."

I downed my scotch and handed Dean my cane. I headed over to the dance floor, grabbing a fedora someone left on one of the tables. I started feeling a little kink in my knee but I just shrugged it off and kept walking. I needed to prove a point.

I learned the moves to this one a long time ago. These bitches think they can dance? I'll show them dancing.

(Just a side note here, in case you watched the video, Cas would be the fourth guy that showed up right around the middle if the video. Like near the end. With the black fedora and beard. You know who I'm talking about. I think. I hope. Oh well just look up the Mark Ronson Uptown Funk Official Dance Music Video or something like that. Okay continue reading.)

I hadn't danced to this song in years, yet the moves were surprisingly natural. I felt like Michael Jackson in the Thriller video. I must admit, the moves were kinda like MJ.

I let myself get lost in the music, and I was dancing like nobody's business. It's a bit difficult to describe the moves, but I owned the dance floor. Even with my prosthetics leg, which I thought would get in the way of everything.

Once my little dance number ended, I just walked back to my seat, where Dean was looking at me like I just won the lottery.

"What?" I asked, taking my cane back.

"Cas... how did you... that was... awesome!"

I sighed. "Dean, don't fangirl over me. It's embarrassing."

"I don't care, man, that was fuckin' awesome!"

"Dean, I don't think you get it. It's embarrassing for me to be seen with you at the moment. Shut the fuck up."

"But your leg-"

"Is fine right now," I interrupted. "It just acts up every now and then, that's all."

"Are you sure it isn't some... psychosomatic thing? Like John Watson?"

I sighed. "Dean, trust me, I'm not like John Watson."

"Well you did call me Sherlock, didn't you?"

"Dean, we are nothing like the good ship Johnlock."

"Cas... why won't you tell me what happened?"

I sighed heavily. "Dean-"

"I know, I know, you don't wanna talk about it. I get that. But... was it so bad that you can't talk about it?"

"If I say yes, will you shut the fuck up?"

He sighed and gave me a bitchface. "Cas, we need to talk. Y'know, that new thing called communication? It's big nowadays."

I rolled my eyes. "Dean, the reason we're even in this situation is because of communication," He didn't seem to understand, so I decided to elaborate. "When we communicated all those years ago, you... to be frank, you broke my heart. And... communication is one thing that I can really live without. Forever and ever."

"Cas... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. If I could turn back time, if I could find a way, I'd take back those words that'll hurt you-"

"And you'd stay. Don't try to make this better by quoting Cher, you asshat."

He sighed. "Caught that, huh?"

"That's my favorite Cher song, Dean."

"Is that your... favorite song altogether?"

I scoffed. "Please. It's good, but it's not that good. Not better than Led Zeppelin's Ramble On, Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead Or Alive, or Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas."

"Wow. Supernatural has a serious influence on you."

"You have no fucking clue."

We sat there in silence for a while, drinking our booze. Dean was a serious lightweight. He wasn't even halfway done with his beer and he was getting buzzed.

"So... in all seriousness," He began, a slight slur to his speech. "What happened? Your leg? Was it like... some kind of surgery? Or... an injury? Or... are you getting old?"

I chuckled at his buzzed demeanor. "It's nothing. Nothing at all."

"Well it's clearly something. You've got a cane, man. A cane. Is it... is it serious? Like... fatal or some shit?"

"Not that serious, you lightweight. Seriously, how long has it been since your last drink? Oh, wait, I know the answer to that one! When you were stalking me in Iowa!"

"I didn't stalk you. I just happened to be in the same bar as you. C'mon, what happened?"

"Why is it so fucking important?"

"'Cause... I care about you."

I looked over at him. "What?"

"I don't wanna see you get hurt. I care about you, Cas. I only broke up with you 'cause I wasn't ready for a serious relationship. I'm sorry this shit happened to you, Cas. I really am. But... I wasn't ready."

"You are so full of shit, you know that?"

"But it's true. I care about you, but I don't love you. And I'm sorry about that. I just hope that you can forgive me."

I didn't like what I was hearing. I hated him. But I loved him. I knew I loved him. But... I hated him. Aw fuck. Love and hate. Late.

"You really wanna know about my leg?"

"I really do."

I sighed and reluctantly led him outside the bar, as I didn't want to show him this inside.

"Cas, what-" I interrupted him when I rolled up my pant leg, revealing my denim wrapped secret. He seemed genuinely shocked, but I expected nothing less.

"Happy now?" I asked, covering my leg again.

"Cas... what happened to you?" He looked back up at me with now sober eyes. Funny what a little shock can do.

"That is something I haven't told anybody else. Not ever. Don't expect that to change anytime soon."

"Cas, I'm sorry you went through all this shit. But I can't change the past. I wish I could, but I can't."

"I didn't ask you to," I sneered. I got my last cigarette out of my jacket and a match. "I don't care what you say, Dean. I'm gonna smoke this cigarette. And then I'm gonna go get laid. 'Cause I can!"

I lit up and started smoking, something I hadn't done in a few days. It felt amazing.

"Seriously, don't you have asthma?"

"So?"

"So, those things can kill you! And when you have asthma, you've got a better chance of dying!"

"Chill out, man. I know what I'm doing." I took another puff, my tension beginning to wither.

"You're nine kinds of crazy, Cas. You know that?"

"I had a feeling I was, Dean."

I realized my cigarette was getting smaller, and I started to slow down. I wanted to savor this one, since it would be my last one for a while. I knew Dean wouldn't let me stop for smokes once we got back on the road. Since he's such a stick in the mud.

"Cas, I hope you realize how unhealthy this is."

"Mm-hm."

"Cas, let's just get out of here. Get back on the road to Canada, right? That is what we're doing here, isn't it?"

"Yup."

"Then let's hit the road."

"Dean, you've had a bit to drink, and so have I. I mean, I can hold my liquor a lot better than you, but you refuse to let me drive."

"If I let you drive, can we get the fuck out of here?"

"Well I'm gonna have to sleep with someone first. Little Z is rarin' to go."

He must've still been a bit buzzed, because he shrugged and said, "Okay, if you insist."

"Shut the fuck up! I'm talking about one of the bimbos in the bar!"

"What, like a... girl bimbo?"

"Yes, a girl bimbo."

"But... you're gay."

"Not anymore, fucker."

"Wait... so... you went back in the closet?"

"It would seem so."

"What the hell?"

"What? I realized that men are nothing but heartbreakers. Besides, the thought of having sex with a guy, it just doesn't make sense."

"Why not?"

"Well, how does that even work, y'know?"

"It's not that hard."

"Y'know what, since you're so drunk, I'm gonna completely forget about the joke I'm really tempted to make."

"I'm not drunk! Just a little buzzed, that's all."

I finished my cigarette and flicked it on the ground, crushing it with the heel of my boot. "Alright. I'm ready to get laid."

"Alright, you know what, I'm gonna just say it; I'm surprised you don't have herpes."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. How is it possible that your dick is so well guarded against STDs?"

"Well you know what, at least I'm using mine for something!"

"How have you not gotten a visit from an angry blonde ordering child support? Jesus, Cas, do you even use protection?"

"I don't need protection, you ass!"

"Well better safe than sorry!"

"Dean, trust me, I don't need a fucking condom!"

"And how can you be so sure, Cas?"

"Because!"

"No, Cas, you tell me right fucking now! What makes you think you won't knock up some slut because you're too good for a condom?"

"I CAN'T HAVE KIDS! OKAY?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR?!"

There was a long pause as we both tried to get our bearings. It's true. My infertility. I couldn't have kids. Which should've been a blessing, but in all honesty, it hurt me every day of my life.

"Cas... you're-"

"Yeah. I'm not talking about it, Dean. I never will."

"Cas-"

"No! No. I... I don't wanna talk about it. I just... I need to get laid." And with that, I walked back inside in search of a good lay.