Castiel was a familiar sort of thing to pop up into Dean's dreams. It wasn't always like this, though. Lately, before coming to Preya, he'd shown up in a wide variety of scenarios, all little tweaks that Dean's brain played out in an attempt to stop all the shit from happening but it had never worked. At least, he could say that since that night out in the middle of nowhere, those had gotten less brutal, less often, just from seeing Castiel again, probably knowing he was alive. Sure, his mom still popped up, but even that was somehow calmed. Sam had been a bit more upset by her being gone, or maybe just the idea of what she could have been.
Leaning back against the counter, the angel's words man something in him seem to stir. His dream. This was all in his head. He wasn't really the type who was able to think too much about the dreams when he was in them, they mostly played out like a bad larping experience. Having the knowledge meant he could change things, even if the first test of that was the soft music from no where coming back. "Not historically accurate..." It probably wasn't, though. One too many old westerns on cheap motel cable meant the style there outweighed any sort of real life experience.
He gave a huff, like he was offended, even if he was smiling a little bit. He turned a little, taking his drink again and sipping, because even knowing it was a dream didn't make that any less satisfying. Hell, even Crowley got to witness one of his bar dreams before.
Deciding to give the whole my dream, my rules, thing a bit of a push, he was stupidly excited to turn back around and see Cas looking totally different. Sure, he could probably change himself back from the hat, vest and faded, practically pinkish, button up combo, to the slacks and boots getup. Dean, at least, got to admire it a little while. "You look good." He smirked, taking a moment to really look a bit more at some of the details, the buttons, the shirt fit him really nicely in a not too tight not too loose kind of way, Cas's new belt buckle, which was amusing in itself for the little silver bull on it, before his eyes dropped a bit lower and he paused.
While it wasn't exactly surprising that Castiel's pants were tight given the genre he was working with, it was that Dean found himself somewhat stuck on that fact. The pale khaki material seemed to do little to hide anything and some part of Dean's subconscious was both glad and horrified that he'd seen Cas even a little bit to be able to conjure it all up so well. Or maybe it was just Cas somehow making every little outline more clear and less dreamy and fuzzy. Either way, he could feel the change, the bit of extra warmth pooling where it was absolutely not supposed to be. It had maybe started out as that kind of dream, but it wasn't supposed to stay that way.
He swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away and shifting himself on the barstool, a hand grabbing his own pants to give them a tug, readjusting the fabric so it was a bit more comfortable. Nothing to see or do there. He cleared his throat, pushing a hand back through his hair before taking the bottle and refilling his own glass since the barkeep was still missing in action.
"Come on, Huckleberry. Might as well drink...unless you want to go hunt a chupacabra." He smiled a little to himself, not looking at Cas meant the whole feeling was fading a little bit, and he half expected Cas to slide up beside him back in the big coat. That would probably be for the better.