"Winchester!" Coach Henriksen yelled across the court. "Get your butt over here!"

Dean rolled his eyes, but threw his basketball at Benny and jogged across the court. "What's up, Coach?" he asked, stopping with his hands on his hips.

"Listen, Winchester," Henriksen started, "you're our best player, but every time you get out on the court, you look like an overgrown puppy chasing its tail around in circles. You have absolutely no balance and frankly, I would have benched you had you not been able to make a three point shot every time you didn't trip over your own feet."

"Coach, I don't get what you're saying," Dean said, running a hand through his hair. "Do you want me to stay after and do laps again? Because I have to pick up Sammy."

"Nah, Winchester," Henriksen said with a laugh. "Laps do absolutely nothing for you. No, you're going to be starting with the dance team next week."

"What the heck, coach?" Dean asked, suddenly feeling mutinous. "The dance team?"

"More specifically the ballet dancers," Henriksen explained. "There's one student who is your best bet at improving your balance. Maybe he can help you outgrow your puppy feet."

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, deciding that he was completely against going and parading around with a bunch of weirdoes in tights and buns and tutus. "I ain't doing it, coach," he said confidently. "I don't have the time and I can work on my balance here on the court."

Henriksen sighed and looked Dean directly in the eye. "If you don't go at least twice a week, I'm benching you. I don't care if you're LeBron James, you need to get the rest of your game up to snuff before I put you back in the game."

Dean glared, but reluctantly agreed. Nothing was worth getting benched, not right before playoffs anyway.

Castiel had been part of the dance team since his freshman year here at Lawrence High. It had been a huge change for him, but private lessons could only get him so far. He wanted a chance to compete and perform and put himself out there, so when Meg Masters had told him that there was an open audition, he didn't hesitate.

Now he was the only male dancer on the team, and frankly the best out of all of them.

"Novak!" Miss Milton called over the sound of the stereo. "Can I please speak to you for a moment?"

Castiel quickly finished his stretch, nodding to his instructor. As he walked over to her, he noticed that she looked slightly annoyed and he hoped that it wasn't his doing.

"What can I do for you, Miss Milton?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.

"For the last time, Cas, you can call me Anna," she said with a smile. "You've been my student for four years now, I think we can drop the formalities."

"Of course, Anna," he said seriously, his lips twitching into a grin. "What's going on?"

"Do you know anything about Dean Winchester?" she asked, running a hand over her long, red hair.

Did Castiel know anything about Dean Winchester? If course he did. He had been avoiding Dean's posse of basket-heads since he came to this school. Everything he did, from his perfect grades to the fact that he was a male ballet dancer, was ammunition for the basket-heads to attack him verbally. He was just hoping that this wasn't what this talk was about.

"I've dealt with his friends before," Cas said slowly, "and know that he is a basketball player, but not much other than that. Why?"

"Well," Anna said with a sigh, "we have been recruited to teach Dean Winchester the basics of dance so that he doesn't keep tripping over his own two feet during their games."

"Are you serious?" Castiel exclaimed, looking slightly outraged. "Why on earth do we have to do that?"

"By us, I really meant you," Anna admitted sheepishly. "And Coach Henriksen agreed to give us a chunk of the booster money they get from the next three games if you are willing to help Dean."

Cas sighed, knowing that it was no use trying to argue with Anna about this. The dance team needed the money to go to State, and the booster club was not a big fan of funding them with what they needed.

"Okay," he sighed. "Bring it on."

Dean had made sure to tell Sam that he had to walk to the high school and kill time in the library after school on Tuesdays and Fridays, but he didn't tell him that he needed to take remedial balance lessons with the dance team. In fact, no one but Henriksen and the dude teaching him knows why he's skipping basketball practice two times a week.

After his last class was over, he went to the studio and changed into some light sweat pants and a tank top. There was no way in hell he was going to be forced into a leotard. He didn't know if he was supposed to bring shoes, so he just slipped into his stocking feet and sat his belongings down on the bench across the room from the wall of mirrors. Frankly, he was feeling a little self-conscious about seeing himself repeated in the mirror no matter how he moved. He had to give the dancers some credit.

Dean didn't hear the door open behind him, but he did see the boy that walked into the room. If this is what he had to look forward to every day, he might not mind giving up his basketball practices once a week.

"Winchester," the boy behind him said curtly, in a low voice. Dean sure as hell wasn't expecting that out of someone that looked like they could be folded in half and stored in a drawer for winter.

"You can call me Dean, you know," he finally said, turning around to offer the other by his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

The boy ignored the proffered hand in favor of dropping his gear to the bench and sitting down to lace his satin shoes.

"My name is Castiel, and I take this very seriously, Dean," Cas started, still lacing his shoes. When he looked up, Dean looked directly into pools of blue that seemed to go one forever. "If you don't come on time, ready to work and sweat, I will tell your coach that you are a lost cause and that you're not worth my time."

Wow, this guy was harsh, Dean thought. "Well, you don't have to worry about that Castiel," Dean said with a smirk. "If I'm not here, I get benched. I really don't want the miss the championships of my senior year, you know."

It came as a surprise to Castiel that Dean was being completely serious when he said that was going to listen to what Cas had to say. Every day, Dean would show up on time (if not a few minutes early), he would be dressed, and he would be stretching against the barre.

Today, they were working on jumps.

"No, Dean," Castiel scolded, shaking his head at the other boy's form. "I can see why your coach made you come to the dance team for help. That was atrocious."

"Gee, thanks Cas," Dean said sarcastically. "How the hell can I be jumping wrong?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "For one, you're trying to jump straight up instead of up and out, which is making the jump choppy and is probably why you're shit at getting a dunk shot in."

Dean glared, but deep down he knew that Cas had a point. He could make a three point shot with nearly one hundred percent accuracy but if he went to dunk, he would end up missing. And most likely falling.

"What you need to do," Cas instructed, moving away from Dean to get a running start, "is jump up and out. When you do that, you should be able to get close enough to the basket from a distance to make the shot you need."

Castiel took off from his spot in a light jog, pretending to dribble the ball in front of him and Dean snorted at his antics, until Cas pressed down with his right foot and launched himself into the air, still moving forward.

"Do you understand?" Cas asked when his feet touched back down.

Dean nodded, moving to the place where Cas took his start from. He started moving, fake dribbling just like Cas did, but when he went to jump, he foot lost grip and he face planted.

It was all Castiel could do to keep from laughing.

"Very funny, Cas," Dean scowled from his place on the floor, pushing himself up.

"It was very amusing," Cas said with a sly grin, "but I can tell you where you messed up." Walking to Dean's side, Cas crouched down and placed Dean's feet where they needed to be. "Instead of trying to put all of your weight on your toes like it looked like I was doing, you need to use the entire ball of your foot and press from back to front."

Cas stood up and met Dean's eyes. This was going to be a long couple of weeks.

Playoffs were getting closer, and the more Dean realized that he didn't want his balance lessons to be over. However, it was crunch time and his team was starting to question why he was missing so many practices.

"C'mon, brotha'," Benny drawled. "You've been skippin' at least twice a week since you had ta have that talk with Coach. What's the deal?"

"It's nothing, Benny. God, would you lay off for once in your life?" Dean snapped irritably, pulling Benny's slice of pizza off of his tray and shoving half of it in his mouth. "Jus' wan' eat mah lunch."

Benny rolled his eyes and pulled Dean's burger off of his tray. "Anyway, I heard that you were hangin' around in the dance studio when you're s'posed to be practicin'. Is that true?"

Dean glanced nervously around the table, even though it was just him and Benny. "Yeah, so?"

"How has Coach not been riding your ass about that, brotha'?" Benny asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Because he's the one that told me to be there," Dean retorted, laughing at the surprise on Benny's face. "Apparently before I started working in the studio, I was like an overgrown puppy chasing his tail. At least, that's what Henriksen told me."

Benny nodded in agreement. "Well, I have noticed that you're makin' somethin' other than three pointers lately," he said with a smug smile as Dean punched his arm. "That's not all I heard, though."

"What else did you hear?" Dean asked, slightly distracted because he had caught Castiel's eye as he was walking past their table, a small smile on his face.

"That you were takin' it up the ass from the faggot on the dance team," Benny said bluntly.

Dean whipped his head around to face his friend, shock and anger dancing across his face. "What the hell, man?" he shouted, suddenly furious. "What gives you the right to talk about Cas that way?"

"Oh, so he's 'Cas' now?" Benny's face was guarded as he defended himself.

"He's the one that's helping me with my balance, jackass," Dean shot out. "And never let me hear you calling anyone that again. Or consequences be damned, I'll kick your ass."

Dean then grabbed his bag and pushed away from the table, turning his back on Benny's surprised face as he headed up to the one place he knew no one would go looking for him.

Cas had heard the comment that Dean's friend made before he decided to flee to the studio and find some peace. He had known that the popular kids felt that way about him, but he had no idea that Dean would just sit there and let his friend bad mouth him.

Cas thought that they had something special, but maybe it was just a delusion after all.

To work out his frustration, he put on his favorite station on Pandora and decided to work on some of his more contemporary dance routines. It was easy to get lost in the music, to get lost in the movement of his body to the beat of the drums and the thrum of the bass guitar. When he danced, Castiel lost everything but the feel of the music.

Which is precisely why he didn't notice Dean come flying into the studio until he was right in front of him.

"What the hell, Dean?" Cas yelled, clutching at his heart in surprise. "Could it kill you to give a guy some warning before you sneak up behind them and give them a heart attack?"

"Well, it would help if you didn't have those damn headphones in," Dean said sarcastically. "I tried to get your attention three times when I came in here."

"Which brings up another question, Dean," Cas said, the hurt he was feeling coming back to him and coloring his expression. "Why are you even here? Don't you want to be away from the 'faggot that's giving it to you up the ass'?"

"I was hoping that you didn't hear that," Dean mumbled.

"Well I did," Cas snapped, wrapping his headphones around his phone so they wouldn't tangle. "If that's how you and your team felt, then why do you even bother coming to rehearsals with me?"

"Who ever said that it was the way that I felt about it, Cas?" Dean yelled back. "Did it ever occur to you that I come to these damn rehearsals because I have a freaking crush on you?"

Cas froze, running Dean's words over and over again in his mind, trying to comprehend what he had just said.

"So what, now you're going to tell me to get the hell away from you?" Dean asked sadly. "Because I don't think I can do that, Cas. These past few weeks have been the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I can't just cut you out and let you go."

"Dean," Cas said softly, moving closer to grasp Dean's hands in his own. "Please tell me that this isn't some sick joke that you and Benny decided to play on me. Please tell me that if I kiss you right now, everything is going to be perfect."

Instead of answering, Dean decided that he owed it to Cas to press his lips gently to Cas's, drinking in his scent and the taste of him.

When they pulled away from each other, Cas met Dean's eyes and smiled shyly.

"So how was that?" Dean asked, a smirk forming on his lips.

"Perfect," Cas sighed, drawing Dean in for another kiss.

The championship was there before Dean and Cas knew it, and suddenly Dean's availability dropped to almost no time for dance lessons, which Cas had insisted they keep professional.

He was always on the court, running laps and working on his plays. It was clear that Dena was the best player on the team, and everyone else knew it. They followed his lead blindly, and because of this, Lawrence High went undefeated for the first time in over twenty-five years.

It helped that Dean didn't fall every time he went to take a shot.

The only thing that bothered Dean was that Cas was avoiding his games. He understood that Cas didn't want to get harassed by his team, but Dean had a serious talk with them right after he and Cas made things official. Everyone was seemingly okay with Dean dating another guy, and because of this they didn't say anything when Cas started showing up at their lunch table.

Dean didn't understand why Cas wouldn't come watch him play, so on their Saturday pie and movie fest over at Dean's house, Dean confronted him about it.

"Hey Cas?" Dean asked while running his hand through the tangled black mess on top of the other boy's head. "Why don't you ever come and watch me play? It's because of you that I'm actually good, you know. I want you to see it."

Cas hesitated, not knowing how to answer without sounding rude. "Honestly," he began, "I just don't understand the mechanics of basketball. The only things I know about are what you and your coach told me you needed to work on."

"Seriously, Cas?" Dean asked, turning Cas's head to face him. "Is that it? Why didn't you say something to me sooner?"

"I don't…" Cas started, getting cut off by Dean dragging him from the couch and towards the door headed outside. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to teach you how to play basketball, just like you taught me how to dance," Dean replied with a grin.

This was it, Cas thought as he sat on the hard bleachers, watching his boyfriend run up and down the court, weaving in and out of the other team to assist his teammates in scoring again and again.

It was a close game, the Topeka Sunbeams within a nine point margin of the Lawrence Golden Eagles. Cas could see Dean sweating as he made as many three point shots that he could when his team passed the ball his way.

There were thirty seconds left in the fourth quarter, and the Eagles were struggling. Benny was just pulled out of the game due to unfortunately placed foot during a jump that ended with Benny on the ground in pain, clutching his groin. The rest of the team was exhausted, running on pure adrenaline alone.

Ten seconds left, and Dean has the ball.

Five seconds left, and Dean is to the basket, jumping just like Cas had taught him, energy flowing from the ball of his foot and forcing him up to the basket.

Swish. Buzzzz.

It was over, Dean had won the game for Lawrence, earning them the championship title.

Cas could have never been more proud of his boyfriend than the moment when Dean caught his eye and winked, hoisting the trophy over his head.