It's Just a Watermelon Kind of Life!

Dean smiled fondly at his phone before typing out a quick [Love you, too.] and then hitting send, and when Cas didn’t respond again, he just dropped his phone on the nightstand and went to park himself in front of the television for a while.

It was kind of unfair this time, really: Cas was on a twenty-eight-hour bus ride from Tallahassee and Dean had only been coming from Salt Lake City, but they had decided on Loveland (for what reason Dean had no real clue) and once they had decided, there was no changing Cas’s mind—because he had never been to Loveland before—so Loveland it was. His own bus trip from Salt Lake had only taken about eight hours, though, so Dean felt mildly guilty that his boyfriend was spending almost a day-and-a-half on a Greyhound instead. He would have to make it up to Cas when he got there. He had some ideas how.

The main problem was that Dean had arrived in Loveland and checked into the motel the day before, and he was going absolutely sir-crazy waiting for Cas to arrive. All the… hearts. Didn’t help. When he had picked the Heartlights Inn it had been because it had low stars when it came to reviews, and they could probably fly under the radar there. He, his dad and Sam had stayed at some real shitholes over the years for that exact reason.

He hadn’t expected that every day was apparently freaking Valentine’s Day at the Heartlights Inn, though given the name he should probably have had at least a little clue. Everything was decorated in shades of eyebleed red and pink (and a little white), and all the lights and decorations were heart shaped. Even the bathtub was in the shape of a heart—though it was large, deep, and appeared to have whirlpool jets—and that part Dean had plans for later on in the weekend. In general, it was gaudy as hell and he knew Cas was going to laugh, but he had already paid for the room before he’d discovered his mistake so there was no going back now.

After a moment’s consideration, he went to grab his phone again and sent another brief text to Cas:

[Brace yourself, this place is… eccentric.]

Cas’s response was quick:

[How eccentric can it be? I mean really, it’s just a MOTEL.]

Dean grinned.

[You’ll see.]

-- --

Three hours and twenty-five minutes later when the knock finally came on the motel room door, Dean practically scrambled to his feet to answer it. He had been sprawled out on the (surprisingly comfortable) bed, enjoying the Magic Fingers, working his way through probably too many quarters and munching on a pack of liquorice, but Cas definitely took priority over all of that. To be fair, Cas took priority over most things.

When he got to the door, Dean looked through the peephole briefly—just to be sure, it had been drilled into him by his dad—before quickly unlocking both the bolt-lock and the chain-lock and yanking the door open as fast as he possibly could. Cas was standing on the doorstep with his trench coat on and his backpack hiked up on one shoulder and gave him a beaming smile as soon as their eyes met.

“Hey.” The younger man greeted.

“Hey.” Dean echoed back, almost breathlessly, before just reaching out and grabbing hold of Cas’s shirt, dragging him into the room and swinging the door closed behind him, then pulling him into a messy, heated kiss, all tongues and teeth and grinning against each other’s mouths, little tipples of laughter between them.

When they parted a moment later, Cas let his backpack drop to the ground and pressed one more, little kiss to Dean’s lips, then stepped back slightly and peered around his boyfriend into the room proper. He was silent for a moment before clearing his throat and telling Dean; “yeah, wow, you really weren’t kidding. That’s a lot of hearts.” Then; “…Dean, why is the bed vibrating?”

Even as he asked the question, the Magic Fingers box clicked off and the bed stopped vibrating. Dean pursed his lips at a wasted quarter, then quickly dismissed it and turned his attention back to Cas. “Magic Fingers on the bed here. You’re gonna love it, trust me.”

“If you say so.” Cas sounded a little skeptical, to be fair (and, also to be fair, not many people had as much love for the Magic Fingers as Dean did.) Now, Cas just stopped peering around the room to return his attention to Dean—and couldn’t help smiling widely again, bright and happy. “I missed you. So much. Even with the calls and video chats and everything, it’s just not the same…”

Dean returned his smile, expression turning fond, and lifted one hand up to grasp at the side of Cas’s neck, squeezing there gently and pulling him in to bump their foreheads together. “I know, Cas. You know I feel the same way. At least it wasn’t seven months this time, right?”

Cas relaxed into Dean’s touch and echoed his fondness with another smile, this time soft. “Almost three months is still a long time, though.”

“Never said it wasn’t.” Dean agreed, “but you still can’t come on the road with us, so it’ll have to do.”

“Can you imagine what your Dad would do if you showed up with me in tow? He’d explode.” Cas chuckled and ducked in for another quick kiss, then took a step back and lifted his arms above his head, stretching his entire body out until his spine popped loudly. That many hours on a bus was murder on the back. When he dropped his arms again, he let one come around to rub at the small of his back absently with a wince. “Sorry, my back is killing me from being scrunched up in a bus seat for a day-and-a-half. My shoulders, too. And I didn’t think to pack muscle relaxants…”

Dean grinned. “I have muscle relaxants in my first-aid kit, but I think I can do you one better.”

When Cas just tilted his head curiously, Dean grabbed his hand and ushered him over to the bed (not for the Magic Fingers—this time, at least) and got him to strip out of his coat and his t-shirt, which just made Cas smile wryly and shake his head a little. “Dean, I’ve been here less than ten minutes, and you already want my clothes off? You must think I’m easy or something.” But even as he was saying it, he was shrugging out of his trench coat and pulling his t-shirt over his head, tossing them onto the floor. Dean had disappeared into the bathroom, meanwhile, and Cas called after him, “what are you doing in there?”

“Sorry, one sec, I just saw it last time I was in here—ah! There we go!” Dean’s voice called from the bathroom, and when the other man came back into the main room, he was holding a small bottle in one hand. He held it up with a smile. “When I got here yesterday, I checked the place out, obviously, and they had this in the bathroom.”

“What’s this?” Cas questioned with a little head tilt.

“Hand lotion.” Dean clarified, “a lot of motels have it, along with shampoo and conditioner, part of the welcome package.” He lowered the bottle to inspect it briefly. “Usually smaller bottles than this, though. Don’t know why this place gets such shitty reviews, they’re actually kind of great, the… décor aside.”

Cas laughed softly and dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed. “What do we need the lotion for, Dean?”

Dean was in the process of opening the bottle and bringing it up to sniff at it curiously. “Cinnamon. Figures. At least it’s a nice cinnamon.” He recapped the bottle, then turned his attention to crossing the room and waving his free hand toward Cas. “Lay down on your stomach, Cas.”

The younger man gave him a look because Dean really wasn’t answering any of his questions, here, but then simply sighed and did as he was told, kicking off his shoes and then stretching out on the bed with his arms crossed under his head and his neck craned (despite the crick in it) so he could watch as Dean climbed up onto the bed next to him and settled sitting there with the bottle of lotion still in his hands.

Once Dean was settled as well, he gestured for Cas to lay his head down with a smile and then uncapped the bottle of lotion again, squeezing some out onto one palm before setting the bottle aside and rubbing the lotion between his hands. Once it was warmed up a little, he reached to smooth his palms along Cas’s shoulders, then began kneading, massaging gently. Cas sucked in a breath—and then sighed it out and closed his eyes with a little, murmured, “oh, that’s nice…”

“Thought you might like it. And I’m hoping it’ll help your back, at least a little.” Dean told him, sounding amused as he continued massaging along Cas’s shoulders and upper back; “I’ve given a grand total of two massages in my lifetime, so if something feels off just say so, okay?”

“Mmhm…” Cas hummed out, already totally relaxed under Dean’s touch. He was exhausted and sore from the long bus ride to Loveland, and Dean’s hands kneading the kinks out of his muscles felt fantastic, though a little painful here-and-there when he hit particularly sore spots. After a couple of minutes of silence, broken only by Cas’s pleased-sounding sighs, Cas cracked his eyes open and asked with a little quirk of his lips, “…who did you give the other two massages to?”

Dean had been working at Cas’s mid-back with his thumbs, but his hands faltered at the question, and he shot a look at his boyfriend. Cas could be a real shit disturber when he wanted to. “Girls.” Dean replied after a brief pause, trying not to sound rattled. “Both times after sex.” He slid his hands down to the small of Cas’s back, then, carefully working at the knots there as he continued; “I can be a considerate partner, you know.”

“I know you can be. You’re doing it right n—ah! Ow, ow, ow—” Cas’s back bowed as he instinctively arched away from the pain of Dean digging at a particularly tender knot, but then he forced himself to settle again just as quickly—even as Dean was pulling his hands away, making a worried noise. Cas shook his head. “Just… just a knot. Keep going. That’s the worst spot, it’s where I need it the most…”

Dean still hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“You won’t hurt me.” The younger man insisted, glancing back at Dean with a little smile. “You’d never hurt me. Not on purpose. I trust you. So please.”

Another brief hesitation from Dean, but then he got back to work, placing his hands on the small of Cas’s back and beginning to massage—gently at first, but firmer as the seconds passed and Cas didn’t yelp or jerk in pain. Eventually, he was back to massaging firmly, pressing his thumbs deep into Cas’s back to work out the knots there, though he paid very close attention to Cas’s careful shifting and faint wincing, his little sighs and soft hisses.

A few minutes later, Dean eased off and smoothed his hands up Cas’s back to rub at the nape of his neck with a smile. “Feel better?”

“Mmmmm…” Cas gave an agreeing hum and began to carefully roll over, first onto his side and then onto his back, then stretched his arms above his head and arched his back slightly—when it didn’t pop painfully this time he gave Dean a grin. “Much. Thank you for being such a good boyfriend.”

Dean chuckled and capped the lotion, then reached to set it on the bedside table before propping himself up to look down at Cas fondly. “Do good boyfriends get rewards?” He asked with a cheeky lilt to his voice.

Cas rolled his eyes but reached up to sift his fingers into Dean’s hair and gave a tug downward anyway. “Come here.”

There were no complaints when the older man leaned down over him, a smile on his face as Cas pulled him into a grateful kiss, soft and warm. Dean kissed back in kind as he settled comfortably half-over Cas. The kissing continued, gentle and loving, for a little while, until Dean broke off to kiss back to Cas’s jaw and down his throat to the crook of his neck—and then stopped there, burying his face in Cas’s vaguely cinnamon-scented skin to murmur, muffled, “God… I missed you so much, Cas. So much. I know I played it down when you first got here, but…”

Cas smiled up at the ceiling and drifted one hand against Dean’s side gently. “I know. You’re the one that always pouts when we have to end video chats, I know you miss me. Either that or you’re always just really hoping I’ll take my clothes off for you over the computer.”

Dean didn’t lift his head, just buried his face deeper, but asked, “is that an option?”

A gentle smack against his boyfriend’s side and Cas gave a laugh, “no, it’s not an option. I live in a dorm now; I have a roommate. Nice try, though.”

“I’m sure Alfie wouldn’t mind. He seems like a cool guy.” The other man finally eased back to look down at Cas again, amusement in his eyes—and then ducked in for a quick kiss before offering; “I really did miss you, you know.”

“I would’ve been worried if you didn’t.” Cas chuckled softly, but then added, voice soft and fond, “I missed you, too, Dean. Just as much as you missed me.”

“You sure about that, Cas? That’s a lot of longing you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Cas slid one hand up to sift through Dean’s hair affectionately again—then perked slightly and gave him a bright smile. “Oh, right, I almost forgot with the whole massage situation and everything…” He tugged at Dean’s hair gently. “I brought my camera.”

“So I can see your prom pictures??” Dean sounded positively delighted, “I know we talked about it, but I didn’t think you’d actually bring it!”

“Yeah, well, I know you said you’d really like to see my stupid embarrassing prom photos for some reason, so…” The younger man shifted, even as Dean eased back to sit cross-legged beside him, then patted at his stomach gently with both hands until Cas squawked and flailed his own hands to stop the abuse. “Okay, okay, I’ll go get it, jeez!”

Shoving at Dean playfully, Cas rolled sideways and sat up, then stood and headed over to where his backpack had been left by the door—paused long enough to actually lock the door, he couldn’t believe neither of them had thought of that even in the enthusiasm of their greeting—then grabbed his bag and hauled it back to the bed, sitting down to open it up and root through it while Dean eased up behind him and began massaging at his shoulders gently once more.

Cas hummed out an appreciative noise as he continued searching before producing the little, red digital camera that his father had insisted he use on prom night (instead of just using his cell phone) because “you’ll be less likely to lose the pictures this way”—whatever that meant. Cas was pretty sure if he’d used his cell he would have come home and immediately downloaded the photos to his laptop anyway, but his father had been insistent, so alright. He supposed it hadn’t been that much of an inconvenience.

“Okay, so,” He began as he turned the camera on and dug through his bag some more to make sure he’d brought the charger just in case. When he found the cord, he set it on the bedside table next to the cinnamon-scented lotion he was becoming so fond of. “Our theme for prom was Under The Sea, which I personally think is pretty derivative, but Charlie saw it another way and…”

He flipped through pictures swiftly until he got to the first “prom” photo: one of him and Charlie at his house when Charlie had picked him up, both of them in suits—Cas’s black and Charlie’s blue—Cas clearly facepalming and Charlie’s outfit covered in trash that was glued—or possibly stapled—onto the fabric itself. He glanced over his shoulder. “See?”

Dean actually snickered under his breath. “Because the ocean is full of garbage.”

“Basically. The teachers were not amused.” Cas sighed. He slowly scrolled through the next few pictures of him and Charlie that his father had taken and explained, “Charlie was my date since you weren’t there and there were no girls at Caspar that she was interested in going with. So, it became a best friends thing. She met me at my place, and we walked to the school for the dance, it was actually really nice.” Then a pause and he added; “not as nice as if you’d been there, but still nice.”

Dean smiled at that and dropped a kiss against one of his shoulders, his massaging pausing for a brief moment. “Cas, you know…”

“I know, prom wouldn’t have been your scene anyway, but it’s nice to dream.” Cas’s lips quirked into a little, fond smile of his own as he continued flipping through photos absently.

“No, I was going to say ‘you know I would have been there with you if I could have, but we were in Louisiana at that point’.” Dean nipped at his shoulder reprovingly, “you think I wouldn’t have gone to prom just for you? I absolutely would have. And I would have loved it, too, just because I was there with you.”

The finger pushing the next button on the camera paused, then, and the younger man turned his head to look back at Dean, vague surprise on his face. “Really?”

“Really. I’d’ve even had fun with your friends, they seem like a good bunch.”

“Mm. I especially think you’d get along with Jo.”

“She the one wearing the leather jacket over her prom dress?”

“Yes.”

“Seems like my kind of person, then, yeah. But mostly I would’ve been there with you, that’s the important thing.” Dean chuckled and reached with one hand to tip Cas’s head toward him, drawing him into a warm kiss. Cas hummed again, pleased, and forgot about sharing (embarrassing) prom photos in lieu of kissing his boyfriend increasingly deeply and heatedly until he was fumbling to set the camera, still turned on, safely on the beside table and dump his backpack unceremoniously on the floor, shifting around to face Dean and wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck, pulling him closer. And Dean just laughed softly and commented against his lips, “someone’s eager.”

“You say sappy stuff like that, and it pushes all my buttons, you know that.” Cas replied, even as Dean was maneuvering them down, so Cas was on his back and Dean was leaning over him, grinning down at him amusedly. “Besides, it’s been three months, Dean…”

“Better than seven.” Dean reminded him again, but then just leaned in for another kiss, even as he eased one hand between them to fumble with the button and zip on Cas’s jeans. When he managed to get them undone one-handed, he made a little victory noise against Cas’s lips that made the younger man chuckle and roll his eyes.

A few long minutes later they had managed to strip each other down to their boxers, clothes strewn every which way, and were making out like their lives depended on it, rutting against each other even through their underwear until Dean finally sat back to strip out of his all together and then made quick work of pulling Cas’s down and off as well. And God, his boyfriend was gorgeous. Perfect. Dean sank back over him, diving in for another kiss even as Cas began rolling their hips together with a little, muffled groan at the friction.

And then, after only a brief moment or two of that, Dean pulled back. Levered himself up so he was straddling Cas’s upper legs, his own chest heaving. Cas made a protesting noise and tried to drag him back down, but Dean pushed his hands away and reached to the side for the camera—and Cas stopped. Dropped his arms back down, one to his side and the other hand splayed across his own stomach, and pleaded weakly, “Dean, come on, don’t.”

But Dean just swallowed thickly and flipped the camera from View Mode to Photo Mode before grinning down at him. “Something to think about when we’re not together like this.”

Cas groaned and let his head fall back. “I don’t want naked picture of myself, dummy…”

“You can take some of me, too. I just want to…” Trailing off a little, the older man let green eyes flit up and down the length of Cas’s body and licked his lips absently before finishing; “I just want to see how these would turn out, that’s all. And you can always delete them later.”

Cas supposed that was true. A couple of pictures on a digital camera that could easily be erased probably wasn’t that big of a deal. “It’s just… embarrassing. That’s all.”

“Embarrassing?” Dean echoed incredulously and lowered the camera to give Cas a look that conveyed all the love, affection and lust in the world; “Cas, you have nothing to be embarrassed over. We’ve been over this. You are fucking gorgeous. The world would be lucky to get to see you like I do.”

“Yeah, no, not looking to be a porn star, thanks.”

“But you could if you wanted to, is my point.”

Cas cracked a smile at that, then sighed and settled himself. “Okay, how do you want me?”

“Really?” Dean seemed genuinely surprised.

“Really.” Cas assured him. “Like you said, I can always delete them later, if I want to.”

The first shot that Dean took had his own abdomen and pelvis just barely in the foreground, his cock jutting out, and showed Cas splayed out below him, his own dick hard and red against his stomach, just begging for attention, Cas’s eyes intense blue in the camera’s view. He wished he could have a copy of it, but it just wasn’t advisable, not with living in such close quarters with his dad and Sam as he did.

He honestly wasn’t sure where he was going with the second one, but eventually he slid to the side the took a snap of Cas side-on, jerking himself off, now, a look of intense pleasure on his face while he moaned softly for Dean to drop the damn camera and get back over to him. Dean decided that was sage advice and did just that, depositing the camera on the bed next to them and climbing back over Cas, settling and leaning in to kiss him deeply, rolling their hips together once more.

When Cas gasped out that there was lube in the front pouch of his backpack, it took Dean a moment to remember that the bag was on the floor next to the bed and not all the way over by the door. Cas patted his side urgently until the older man’s brain caught up and he leaned over to fumble with the zipper on the pouch in question before coming up with a tube of lube—and a couple of condoms.

Dean actually laughed at that as he dropped them back into the backpack. “You brought condoms?”

“Just in case, ah…” Cas shrugged and levered himself up onto one elbow, licking his lips absently. “Last time we were together we forgot, and it was an accident, I just wanted to make sure in case you changed your mind.”

“Cas, we went bareback almost that entire trip, not just the one time.” Dean reminded him as he settled over his boyfriend and leaned to give him an affectionate kiss, “a little late to back out now, don’t you think?”

“That’s what I thought, but… I dunno. Like I said, just in case. I just always want you to be comfortable with what we do.” Cas shrugged with one shoulder and wiggled under him, trying to get him moving again, “and it’s not like they take up a lot of room to pack. It’s no big deal.”

Dean kissed him again. “You’re adorable.” —and then angled his head for another kiss, this time deeper, hotter and longer, before breaking off a moment later to begin kissing his way down Cas’s body; along his throat and over his collarbone to his chest to lick at one nipple, then nipping gently, making Cas arch and sigh, before moving on, over Cas’s ribs and along his abdomen—he paused to lick into Cas’s bellybutton just to make the younger man squirm before sucking a stinging little bruise into the strip of skin between there and his groin. (Cas just arched and made little “mm, mm” sounds in the back of his throat the entire time he was doing it.)

When Dean reached his boyfriend’s straining cock he gave the head one cursory lick, but then just patted against Cas’s hip with one hand. Cas swallowed and parted his legs easily, even as Dean was slicking up his fingers and then capping the lube to discard it on the mattress beside them along with the camera.

As much as they had done this many times in the past, really, Cas thought, he was still relatively new to it. And it had been three months. So, it wasn’t a surprise when Dean slid the first finger into him, and it was uncomfortable. Not painful, really, and certainly not enough to make him want to stop, but definitely enough that he took notice. Still, he just licked his lips and pushed his hips down into the feeling, even as Dean began fucking him on just that one digit for a long couple of minutes.

When he introduced the second finger, he did it at the same time as he leaned up and licked a hot stripe up the underside of Cas’s cock—and Cas bucked slightly, then fell into a moan when Dean followed that up by easing his dick into his mouth and starting to suck gently. Even as he did that, Dean was pushing his fingers deeper, twisting them and searching around until he found—

“A-ah! Dean, yes, there!” Cas threw his head back, hips jerking, and one hand flew down to tangle in Dean’s hair.

A muffled noise of victory from Dean, who still had his mouth stuffed full of Cas’s weeping cock, and he proceeded to absolutely take advantage of his lover’s prostate now that he had located it, pressing on it and rubbing at it until Cas was next thing to writhing under him, blowjob practically forgotten. Dean pulled off of Cas’s dick with a wet sound and ducked to kiss along his abdomen as he pushed the third finger into the younger man, easing deep and quickly, immediately going back to his assault on Cas’s sweet spot—and parting and stretching with his fingers in between.

Eventually, though, Cas’s hand tightened in his hair, and he pulled, drawing Dean up into a heated, if a bit sloppy, kiss, and managed, “oh God, please, please, I’m ready… Dean, I’m ready.”

Dean quickly pulled his fingers away, then ran his slick hand over his own throbbing cock and settled in between Cas’s legs.

The third picture Dean took, despite Cas’s admittedly weak protests, was of their hips pressed together; him balls deep in the other man, Cas’s legs spread wide to accommodate him and Cas’s cock straining and red against his abdomen. It was close-up and so very intimate. Just the thought made Cas’s face flush a flaming red—but he could write it off as a sex-flush, so at least there was that. (Not that Dean would buy that excuse, Dean knew all his various blushes by heart at this point.)

“You do, ah…” Cas began as Dean set the camera aside again, “you do plan to take some photos that aren’t porn this weekend… r-right?”

Dean chuckled as he settled over his boyfriend properly and began rolling his hips, fucking into Cas deeply and firmly. He buried his face in the crook of Cas’s neck even as the other man moaned and brought his arms up around him. “I—ah—I guess we’ll see.” He replied, muffled into Cas’s skin.

Cas tried to say ‘that’s not very reassuring’ in response, but it came out rather garbled as he threw his head back against the pillows and just felt Dean with all of himself, with longing, like they had been apart for ages, when in fact, it had only been a little less than three months (and they had talked most days in between.)

But for Cas, every day without Dean by his side felt like an eternity. His love for the other man was so vast, so endless, it was like being without a part of himself, even though they’d only actually met around ten months before. It didn’t make any sense, and he knew it didn’t, but it felt like he had known Dean forever, it felt like he had loved Dean forever—and so these times when they did manage to get together, to eke out a little time just the two of them, they meant everything to Cas.

He could never say any of that to Dean, though. It was too much. It was too intense. It might drive him away, and that was obviously the last thing Cas wanted. So, he kept those thoughts to himself, clung to their clandestine meetings and prayed they wouldn’t end any time soon. That he could keep having Dean for as long as possible.

Now, he just focused on feeling Dean; overtop himself, around himself, inside himself, and dragged his hands down the older man’s spine to the small of his back to feel out the tensing and bunching of muscles there—a small thing but one of his favorites—as Dean continued to move inside him, bringing him the utmost pleasure, as always.

When their lovemaking eventually drew close to its’ inevitable conclusion, Dean slid a hand in between them to start stroking Cas off and Cas gave a little, desperate cry at that because he didn’t want it to end yet, but Dean’s thrusts were already starting to go jerky and off-rhythm so the older man could only last so much longer.

Cas came first, his body arching up against Dean’s and spurting pearly come between them—and Dean braced himself for another few, sharp thrusts before coming hard and deep inside Cas’s slick body. The way Cas secretly liked it.

Then Dean slumped down over him, and Cas laughed breathlessly as he rubbed his hands up and down his boyfriend’s back soothingly, both of them taking a moment to catch their breath. Once he wasn’t breathing so hard anymore, Dean pressed a kiss into the crook of Cas’s neck, then up against his jaw before drawing him into a proper kiss that Cas just hummed into happily before murmuring, “you need to get out of me, Dean.”

Dean snorted a laugh and kissed him once more, briefly, before easing back and pulling his mostly-limp cock out of his boyfriend, then rolling to the side—and cursing softly when he landed on the camera and the lube. He quickly fished them out from under himself and shoved them out of the way, then rolled onto his back and blew out a little, wondering breath. “Wow.”

“Wow?” Cas asked, turning onto his side to face Dean and tucking one arm up under his head.

“Yeah, I—” Dean looked sideways at him, then smiled and grabbed for the camera. “Just stay like that one sec.” Bringing the camera up, he let it autofocus on Cas and then snapped a quick photo before setting it aside again. “Sometimes it’s unbelievable how beautiful you are… do you know that?”

“I don’t see myself the same way you see me.” Cas pointed out. “Now what about the ‘wow’?”

“Right. I just…” Dean lifted one hand and made an abstract gesture in the air; “sex with you is so incredibly amazing. At least for me. I hope for you, too. Sometimes it takes my breath away. I mean. Like, not literally, it always takes my breath away literally, but… I dunno. It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it just blows my mind. That the two of us fit so well together… because sex with you is so much more than just the physical stuff, you know? So much more.”

Cas smiled, just soft and fond, and finally eased the few inches over to tuck himself into Dean’s side, tossing an arm across him with a hum. “I get it. I feel the same way. Sex with you is like… it’s like coming home. You’re my person, Dean. You’re my home. Definitely not Tallahassee and not even Jacksonville. You. It’s why I hate the time we’re apart so much, it feels… it feels like being lost, almost.” Tipping his head, he pressed a kiss against Dean’s shoulder and finally just murmured, “I love you so much. I always will.”

“Cas…” Dean sighed out a soft laugh and brought one arm up around his boyfriend to hug him close. “You’re such a sap sometimes.” Then he paused before admitting; “but I agree with you. I mean, things between us are… intense. I guess they always have been, right since the start.” Tipping his head, he kissed into Cas’s hair affectionately and murmured there, “I love you, too. More than I can even say. But then, you know I’m not as good with words as you are.”

Cas gave a quiet sound, almost a giggle, at that and lifted his head to smile up at Dean. “You’re better with words than you think you are.”

“Am I?” Dean grinned down at him, then squeezed his arm around him and asked, “do you think we should have a shower? We’re kind of gross.”

“Sex is messy.” Cas agreed and moved his arm from across Dean’s chest to trail his fingers through the mess of drying come that was smeared along his abdomen. He hummed. “Is there any point in showering, though? We’re just going to be a mess again in no time.”

The older man laughed at that. “Well, we can’t just stay like this, all covered in sweat and…” He waved his hand to generally encompass the both of them. “Right?”

“Come, Dean, the word is ‘come.’” Cas made an amused sound and began extracting himself from Dean’s arms, making the other man pout even though it had been his idea to begin with. Once he was no longer wrapped up in Dean’s arms, Cas propped himself up over his boyfriend and ducked in for a kiss with a smile before easing over to the side of the bed and swinging his legs over. “I’ll go get the shower started.” Standing, he stretched with a pleased noise when his back didn’t complain, then glanced over his shoulder to add, “bring the lube with you.”

And just like that, Dean was back on board.

-- --

Two-and-a-half hours later, long after their very satisfying shared shower, the two of them were seated together on the bed, amidst the dishevelled, dirty covers, with a box of pizza sitting next to them. While they ate their dinner, they actually looked through the prom photos on Cas’s camera properly, without Dean getting distracted this time, and it was as humiliating as Cas has expected it to be—though Dean assured him he had nothing to be embarrassed over, he looked fantastic, as always.

“Why are there no pictures of you dancing?” Dean asked after they’d gotten through the entire series of photos and made it around to the less appropriate ones that Dean had been taking earlier. Even as he waited for an answer, now, he flipped the camera into photo mode and snapped a quick picture of Cas, just sitting around eating pizza mostly naked.

Cas sighed at the photo, but this time didn’t protest. “Because I didn’t dance. I don’t, uh… yeah. I don’t dance. I have… ah, what’s the saying? Two left feet.” He shrugged; “it was okay, though, I still…” Trailing off, he smiled just a little, almost embarrassed; “it was still pretty fun. I’m glad I went, I guess.”

“You just wish I’d been there?”

“Well, yeah, obviously. But we already went over all that earlier.”

“We did.” Dean agreed and reached with one hand to grasp at the side of Cas’s neck, leaning in for a warm kiss. “How’s this? I promise next time you have a school event like prom, I’ll make it there come hell or high water.”

Cas smiled and lifted one of his own hands to take hold of Dean’s wrist. “You can’t promise that.”

“I absolutely can.” Dean insisted, squeezing at the side of Cas’s neck gently. He smiled fondly in return—then let go and reached for another slice of pizza. “I’ll tell my Dad to go to hell, you know? He can survive without me for a couple of days. It’s just like our weekends together; he manages with me away. And it’d be worth it to get to go to a dance with you.” He paused there to finish chewing and swallow before taking another bite and continuing; “I mean… admittedly, I’ve never really been a School Dance kind of guy, but…” Trailing off, he swallowed the bite of pizza in his mouth and gave Cas a lopsided grin, “I could be that kind of guy for one night for you.”

At that point, Cas lifted up the camera and took a photo of his own: Dean sitting in just his boxers on the bed, a partially eaten slice of pizza in one hand and a lopsided grin on his face. When he looked down at the camera screen, Cas smiled to himself. That was quintessential Dean, right there. It was the Dean he knew so very well. It was perfect. He would be keeping that one.

“That’s my job.” Dean protested around another mouthful of pizza.

“It’s my camera.” Cas pointed out, “and earlier you said I could take some pictures, too.”

“Yeah, but I meant naughty pictures.” Dean grinned. He gestured for Cas to hand the camera back over, and once it was in his hand he scrolled through to the photo he had taken running down his own body and across Cas’s, both of their cocks hard and obviously throbbing, a pretty blush all across Cas’s face, down his neck to his chest. Dean licked his lips absently. “God, I wish I could have these.”

“Can’t you have them on your phone or something? I could send them to you.” Cas peered at him curiously.

“Nah, no way.” Dean sighed and flipped to the next photo, swallowing slightly before continuing, “Dad doesn’t go through my phone and stuff, or at least he never has before to my knowledge, but I wouldn’t put it past Sammy to borrow my phone or my computer without asking. And if he found pics like these on them? Yeah.”

Cas could see his point. Not only was Sam way too young to see pictures of his brother like that—was there ever a good age to see pictures of your sibling having sex? Cas didn’t think so—but he might rat Dean out to their dad just to be a brat, too. And Cas didn’t want Dean to get in trouble like that over him. He knew John Winchester already regularly lectured his son over his relationship with Cas. No need to potentially give him even more ammunition.

“Too bad.” Cas sighed, even as Dean flipped to a picture of Cas, totally naked and standing under the shower in the bathroom, head back and eyes closed. Cas caught a glimpse of it and squawked, snatching the camera from Dean to look at the photo properly. “You didn’t tell me you took this!”

Dean laughed softly and dropped a piece of pizza crust back into the box, done for now. “I forgot, what with the shower activities that followed. Why do you think I brought the camera into the bathroom, anyway?”

“For the towel shots after we were done.” Cas grumbled, though he wasn’t really angry, more annoyed with himself for being so oblivious. He flipped to the photos in question, an entire series of himself with wet hair and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. Then a couple of Dean in much the same state, his wet hair adorably tousled and a little smile on his face, looking positively gorgeous. A smile quirked at Cas’s own lips, and he handed the camera back. “You’re forgiven.”

“Why am I forgiven?” Dean asked with a grin, glancing down at the picture of himself on the camera screen.

“Because I have that photo of you to take home with me, thanks to the camera being in the bathroom.” Cas’s mouth tilted into a lopsided smile. “I should make an album when I get home, of all these pictures.”

Dean laughed at that and set the camera aside finally. “With your roommate and everything?”

“Alfie keeps to his side of the room. He doesn’t snoop.” When Dean reached to pull him closer, the younger man went willingly, easing up against him and lifting his arms to wrap around Dean’s neck. “The problem isn’t hiding the photos from him; the problem is printing them without him seeing. We share a printer and he’s rarely out of the room, at least as far as I can tell, except for a couple of classes we share.”

Dean gave another little chortle and leaned in to kiss Cas’s cheek, then his chin, then his nose, affectionately. “Good luck with that one, then.”

Cas scrunched his nose slightly but still smiled and angled his head, ducking in for a proper kiss. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Mmhm,” Dean hummed out a pleased noise and kissed back before easing off enough to murmur against Cas’s lips: “hey, Cas?” And then, after another warm kiss; “I love you.”

Cas laughed softly and gave him an amused look. “Because I let you take naked pictures of me?”

“Wh—! No, of course not!” The older man sputtered, then amended, “I mean. That helps, not gonna lie, but you… you know how it is. How I feel. Everything about you is just so incredible, and I…” Trailing off slightly, Dean glanced down, almost embarrassed; “I love you with everything I have, Cas, everything in me. You know that.”

Cas’s expression softened at that, and he lifted a hand to touch along Dean’s jaw gently, drawing him up into another kiss. “I do know. And I consider myself privileged to have so much of Dean Winchester’s heart for myself. You know you have all of mine, too, right?”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean bumped their foreheads together, then leaned into Cas for a moment, green eyes closing over. When he opened them again, he smiled fondly and ducked in for another kiss, easy and warm.

Cas leaned into it with a pleased noise in the back of his throat, already shifting around to climb into Dean’s lap properly, arms still around the other man’s neck and now straddling his hips, their kissing growing increasingly heated as time slowly passed by. One of Cas’s hands slid up to tangle in Dean’s hair and Dean’s hands were holding firm at Cas’s hips, kneading there restlessly—until they slid around the cup his boyfriend’s ass and squeeze.

Cas broke away with a little laugh and tugged at Dean’s hair gently. “You’re always so handsy.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Dean grinned and kissed Cas again, then hiked him closer against himself with a sigh. “Besides, I can’t help it if you always feel fucking… perfect… against me. In my arms. In my hands.”

The younger man paused at that for just a second, then smiled to himself and rolled his hips into Dean’s, slow and hot, before lifting up onto his knees and pulling the other man into another kiss. “Of course I like it. I tell you every time how good you feel, I’m sure I do.” He murmured when they parted a moment later; “but do you want to hear it again? How much pleasure you bring me, when we’re together like this?”

Looking up at his boyfriend, now, Dean swallowed slightly and managed, voice coming out a touch rough, “yeah… tell me.”

Cas looked down at Dean with heat and fondness combined and stroked his fingers through the other man’s hair, tugging gently and ducking in for another kiss, all tongues and passion, before pulling back again, licking his lips absently. “When you kiss me, it’s like everything else falls away… you’re all-encompassing, warm and passionate and delicious.” Leaning down slightly, Cas pressed their foreheads together one more and closed his eyes, a tiny smile on his face as he continued; “it’s so hot when you touch me it’s like your hands are branding my skin, marking me as yours…”

Now he started carefully pushing Dean down onto his back—Dean let go of Cas briefly with one hand to sweep his arm out and knock the mostly empty pizza box to the floor. Cas chuckled softly at the sound of it hitting the carpet. It wasn’t like Dean to waste food. He supposed a slice or two of pizza must have been acceptable, though, in Dean’s mind, considering the circumstances. And Dean’s hand returned to Cas’s ass the instant his task was accomplished, squeezing firmly.

Once Dean was firmly on his back and Cas was settled over him, Cas leaned in to kiss along the older man’s jaw and back to his ear before continuing in a whisper: “when you push yourself into me, so deep, all the way to the hilt… God, it feels… it feels so unbelievably good to be connected to you like that… it feels perfect, like a revelation, like I was made just to have you inside me…” Another little pause, and a smile, and he nuzzled down into the crook of Dean’s neck before adding; “it’s always felt like that, right since the very first time…”

There was a little groan from Dean at that. He was starting to breathe heavily and was very obviously hard in his boxers—but then so was Cas, so it wasn’t like he could judge. Now, Dean lifted one arm to fist his own hand in Cas’s hair and pulled the other man up and into a searing kiss.

When they broke apart a moment later, he just muttered “fuck, Cas” and then dragged Cas into another series of hot kisses. Cas went along willingly, giving as good as he got, until he finally broke away again and sat up, straddling Dean’s hips and hands braced against his boyfriend’s abdomen.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” He informed Dean, licking his lips absently, “we need to rectify that situation.”

Dean had the gall to laugh, albeit breathlessly. “All I’m wearing are my boxers, Cas.”

“Mmhm.” Cas was already sliding to the side and slinging his leg back over Dean so the other man could get out of his shorts—and at the same time set to work stripping out of his own. “Yes, the boxers are definitely the problem.”

Undressing this time was quick, at least, and as soon and Dean was nude again Cas was pushing him down onto his back, crawling over him for a deep kiss and then trailing kisses downward, over the curve of Dean’s throat and across one collar bone, nipping there lightly—then onward to his chest, where he took his time licking and sucking at both nipples until they were perked and pebbled and absolutely perfect and Dean was gasping and arching against his mouth. When he was done there, he dragged his lips down over Dean’s ribs and along his abdomen before finally ducking in to lick a hot stripe up the underside of his boyfriend’s straining cock.

“Fuck, Cas!” The older man was watching him under half-lidded eyes—but then seemed to blink slightly and made a grab for the camera, flipping it to picture taking mode and snapping a photo—just as Cas was licking over the head of his weeping dick. That was a keeper for sure. When Cas slid the tip of his cock into his mouth and made a soft protesting noise at the same time, Dean just grinned and dropped the camera beside himself. “Sorry, I—ah—I just had to…”

Cas pulled off of him long enough to raise an eyebrow and ask, “just had to take a photo of me sucking your dick?”

“It’s fucking hot.” Dean defended.

Cas just scoffed and ducked back down, sucking Dean back into his mouth and sliding deep this time, humming to himself as he began to bob his head, slurping his way up and down Dean’s cock slow and steady in a heated but unhurried blowjob.

The truth was that he couldn’t exactly argue with Dean that it was hot, because when Dean went down on him it was definitely hot as hell, so it wasn’t a surprise that his lover felt the same way when their positions were reversed. He was definitely deleting that photo, though… well. Maybe. Dean would probably pout if he did, and that was the last thing Cas wanted. (Although Dean was adorable when he pouted.)

Now, though, when Cas chanced a glance upward, Dean had let his head fall back and was moaning breathily in the back of his throat. He fumbled one hand down to tangle his fingers in Cas’s hair and pushed gently, urging him to go deeper—so Cas did exactly that, plunging Dean’s cock deep into his throat and swallowing thickly around him until his moans increased in volume and frequency and urgency. Cas smiled around the dick in his mouth, just a little, as much as he could, because Dean was the most beautiful person he had ever met—even sounded gorgeous.

With Cas deep throating him on every downward bob of his head, it didn’t take long for Dean to reach the edge, even though he was trying to ground himself with the hand in Cas’s hair, fisting in the soft strands, tugging and pushing in tandem with Cas’s movements. Still, only a moment or two later Dean bucked upward, just once, coming hard down his boyfriend’s throat with a hoarse cry. Then he sank back against the bed, breathing harshly, and pulled at Cas’s hair again.

Cas was still swallowing down the slippery feeling of come in the back of his throat but got the message immediately and crawled up the length of Dean’s body, licking his lips the entire way, to settle overtop of him, arms crossed over his chest. He smiled at Dean and leaned down for a brief kiss.

Dean hummed and chuckled, still a little breathless. “You’re the absolute best.”

“Just because you like it when I suck your dick?” Cas asked, sounding bemused.

Dean frowned slightly and lifted his head to give a disapproving nip against Cas’s lower lip. “You know the answer to that.”

“I know.” Cas placated him with another proper kiss. “I’m just teasing.” Then he adjusted slightly: his own erection was digging into Dean’s hip, probably uncomfortably. “Besides, you know I like giving you blowjobs as much as you like getting them. It’s a win-win situation.”

“That’s true.” Dean admitted, before shifting a little himself and asking with clear amusement, “you, uh… want some help taking care of that hard-on?”

Cas pretended to think about that, even as he tilted his head to kiss along Dean’s jaw gently and not-so-subtly rubbed himself into the other man’s hip with a little, sighing sort of groan. “You could if you wanted to, I guess…”

“You guess?” Dean repeated, swallowing slightly, and Cas could feel Dean’s cock twitch where it was trapped under him. The younger man stifled a snort of laughter and continued kissing along Dean’s jaw and down his neck—until Dean grabbed at him and flipped them over, settling in and leaning down for a kiss. “What’s with all the teasing today?”

Cas just grinned up at him. “I’m in a good mood. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“No, it’s just… I’m not used to it, that’s all.”

“Me being in a good mood?”

“The teasing, Cas.”

“I know, I know.” Cas’s grin faded into a fond smile, and he reached up to toy with the edges of Dean’s hair gently before carefully pulling him down into a kiss—a real one, this time, long and deep and drawn-out. When they parted to catch their breath a moment later, he told Dean; “you’re the absolute best, too, you know. And not just because of blowjobs or anything else sex related.”

Dean laughed at that and leaned down for another kiss before asking, “but you wouldn’t turn down a blowjob, right?”

“Hmm…”

His boyfriend pretended to think about it, still absently playing with his hair, and finally Dean gave a snort of laughter and pulled out of Cas’s grip to duck down and lap his tongue across one of the younger man’s nipples, then nibble at it until it hardened in his mouth, one hand coming up to toy with the other one until it was in much the same state before he moved on, making his way downward, kissing and sucking and licking until he reached Cas’s navel—where he licked into it just to make the other man shiver. That was followed up by sucking another dark, stinging bruise just under it, until Cas was squirming and back to grabbing at his hair.

“Always… gotta leave marks…!” Cas managed to gasp out.

“So everyone knows you’re mine.” Dean replied in a murmur. “If they ever get that far to undressing you. They’d better not.” Then a brief tick of a pause and he added, “I really should leave marks in more obvious places.”

Cas gave a breathless laugh at that and resisted the urge to pull his lover back up for another deep, possessive kiss. “I’m yours and only yours.” He reminded Dean instead. “Never anyone else for me but you.”

Dean echoed his words in a murmur but was already ducking his head to lick up the underside of Cas’s hereto-neglected cock, humming to himself as he trailed his tongue over the head and into the little puddle of precome that was forming where it was resting, now against his belly. Cas jerked slightly, and sighed out a little moan, and Dean just took that as a “please continue” and gave another lingering lick before sucking the head of Cas’s cock into his mouth and quickly sliding it deeper, beginning to suck firmly.

It was funny, considering neither of them had ever even considered giving a blowjob before they’d met each other—not really, anyway, maybe in passing—how good they had each gotten at it, in their own way, over such a relatively short span of time. It helped that they both very much enjoyed the act—giving and receiving—but… maybe it was just a matter of practice. And the fact that Cas, at least, had nothing to compare it to. For him, Dean giving him head was positively fantastic. Dean on the other hand, had experienced his fair share of blowjobs before meeting Cas—though he still seemed to thoroughly enjoy when Cas went down on him. He certainly came every time, and Cas counted that for a win at the very least.

For now, Cas just watched Dean sucking up and down his cock with somewhat hazy blue eyes, one hand down and properly tangled in Dean’s hair, now, and breathing heavily. “God, Dean… a-ah…”

Dean acknowledged his words with a soft agreeing noise that vibrated down his dick, but didn’t stop what he was doing—though he did fumble to the side for the lube and, still sucking Cas’s dick the entire time, quickly slick up his fingers before tossing the little tube to the side again. Then he was nudging Cas’s legs father apart and reaching to ease first one finger, then two, then three into his boyfriend, until Dean was fucking him on them firmly, pushing up against his prostate as much as possible even as he continued sucking him off.

But there was only so much Cas could take. By that point his head was thrown back and he was moaning loudly, one hand still tangled in Dean’s hair and the other arm up and flung over his eyes… until he finally yanked it away and flung it down t grab at Dean’s shoulder desperately. “Dean…! Dean, Dean…! You have to stop—oh God, I’m gonna—please—”

Dean pulled off his cock to look up at him, licking his lips, and tilted his head slightly. “Pretty sure that was the point, Cas…”

“No, I… I mean, yes, ultimately, but…” Cas closed his eyes and let his head fall back again, tugging at Dean’s hair pleadingly. “I want you, I want—I want all of you... please…”

Green eyes blinked—and then Dean smiled and gently pulled his fingers out of the other man, making Cas whine softly at the loss, then carefully reached to tug Cas’s fingers out of their death grip on his hair before climbing up overtop of him and leaning down to kiss him.

Cas returned the kiss to the best of his ability as he attempted to clear his head—but before Dean could settle between his legs, he grabbed the older man and shoved, pushing him down onto his back, then climbed up on top of him. He licked his lips absently. They hadn’t done it like this very often.

“Is this okay?” Cas asked almost hesitantly.

Dean licked his lips and slid his hands up Cas’s thighs warmly. “More that okay, Cas.”

Okay then. Cas swallowed slightly and lifted up onto his knees, reaching down to steady Dean’s cock—which was, predictably, rock hard again—before lining himself up and sinking down over it, taking his lover deeply and in a single slick thrust. Once he was firmly seated over Dean’s lap, he took a moment, eyes closed, to just feel the deliciously full sensation of having Dead stuffed to the hilt inside of him—

And then he heard the camera click.

Cas’s eyes blinked open again, then narrowed as he watched his boyfriend set the camera back to the side again. “Dean.” He warned, not really meaning it and Dean could easily tell as much.

The older man just gave him a lopsided grin. “A lot of your new album is going to be sex pictures of you.” He pointed out unnecessarily, voice just the slightest bit strained.

Cas made a noise that started out as a sigh and became a soft groan at the end and just shifted his hips slightly, then carefully began rocking over Dean, deliberate, slow movements as he worked up to something more. “Just… ah… as long as there are sex pictures of you in it, too…!”

“There will be if you ever… fuck… if you ever take any.” Dean retorted. His hand had moved, sliding from Cas’s thighs up to hold at his hips to help guide his movements, and Cas supposed that made sense. Dean had more experience with different kinds of sex positions than he did, still. Probably always would.

In response to Dean’s comment, Cas swallowed thickly and leaned over, moaning when Dean’s cock pulled halfway out of him, grabbing the camera off of the bed and bringing it up to take a picture of Dean, hair mussed and eyes glazed, an obvious sex-flush all across his skin. Dean just laughed while Cas tossed the camera aside once more and settled back over him with a breathy moan.

Dean shifted under him, hips twitching upward slightly and making Cas make a strangled sort of noise even as he started rolling his own hips again, fucking himself on Dean’s cock with Dean still guiding him, hands on his hips. “You’d better, ah… hide that camera from everyone.” Dean told him with a low chuckle, “Especially Chuck…!”

But Cas just made a soft negative noise, letting his head drop back as he began moving a little faster, a bit harder. “No one… mmh… no one would look on my camera without—ah!—asking, not even my F-Father…” But then he paused to grind his hips before amending; “maybe Charlie, but she’s in, ah, fuck—in Thailand right now, I think—ah, Dean—!”

At that, Dean started thrusting his hips upward to meet Cas’s movements, and Cas gave a choked wail at that, fingers digging into Dean’s abdomen, nails leaving little crescent marks in his skin. They continued moving together like that hotly, kinetically, until Dean finally reached up to drag Cas down into a series of heated kisses—and with his own cock caught, rubbing between his own abdomen and Dean’s? Cas was done for. He came with a shout muffled into Dean’s mouth, then gave soft little “ah! ah!” noises when Dean began fucking into him harder, until the older man reached the edge himself and fell over, coming with a grunt deep inside his boyfriend.

They both slumped after that, Cas burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck for a couple of minutes while they caught their breath before sliding sideways off of the other man and tucking himself into his side, an arm tossed over his ribs comfortably. Dean shuffled around the accommodate him, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and bringing the opposite hand up to toy with Cas’s fingers gently.

“You knocked the pizza right off the bed.” Was how Cas broke the silence a moment later, sounding amused.

“It was in the way.” Came Dean’s reply. “You take priority over pizza.”

“You mean sex takes priority over pizza?” Cas asked.

“Well… that, too.” Dean agreed. Then; “so, Charlie’s in Thailand, huh?”

“Mm. Or at least that’s where the last postcard I got from her came from.” Cas considered for a minute before releasing Dean’s hand and stretching for the camera, picking it up and turning it around to take a picture of both of them. When he flipped it back around to look at it, he smiled. They were both still sex-rumpled and a little flushed, but it was a nice photo. He held it up for Dean to see.

“That’s a good one.” Dean murmured, “we should take more like that.”

Cas made an agreeing noise while he reached to set the camera safely on the bedside table before cuddling back into Dean’s side once more with a happy hum. “We can do that later. It’s only Saturday. We’ve still got until tomorrow night.” The words were yawned more than spoken. “Today was a long day…”

“For you, yeah, between the bus and everything after.” Dean’s tone was soft and fond, and he dropped a kiss against Cas’s hair. Cas made a quiet pleased noise, his eyes closing, and Dean rubbed one hand along his side. “It’s getting late. Get some sleep, Cas. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Mmm.” Was Cas’s oh-so-articulate reply, already half asleep.

Dean just smiled to himself, reached across his sleeping boyfriend, and turned off the bedside lamp, then pulled the still-dirty sheets up around them before settling in for the night comfortably with Cas in his arms. (The pizza on the floor could be picked up in the morning.)

-- --

When Cas woke up the next morning it was to Dean’s arm draped over his waist, his boyfriend’s breath warm against the back of his neck, and dried come pinching and pulling annoyingly at the skin of his abdomen. He imagined Dean was in much the same boat, at least come-wise.

Still, he didn’t let that bother him, instead just rolling over carefully to face his boyfriend and smiling to himself at the sight of Dean’s sleeping face—totally relaxed and at peace. He was gorgeous. (Then again, he was pretty much always gorgeous.) Cas considered for a minute before reaching for the camera and bringing it around to snap a quick picture. The kind of picture he was treasure forever, he thought vaguely.

He was just stretching to set the camera on the bedside table when Dean inhaled deeply, then sighed that breath out, and green eyes fluttered open. Cas offered him a smile. “Hey. Good morning.”

“Mmm g’mornin’.” Dean tightened his arm around Cas, pulling the younger man against his chest, and Cas went along willingly with a little laugh. Once Cas was securely in his arms, Dean sighed out a little pleased noise, buried his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, and settled in again, closing his eyes.

Cas chuckled and brought one hand up to pat against Dean’s side gently. “Not ready to get up yet?”

A quiet negative noise and Dean mumbled “m’comfy” muffled into Cas’s throat. Cas just smiled fondly and stroked his hand down Dean’s side to his hip. Dean nuzzled deeper into his neck, seeming pleased—and definitely feeling pleased, if the way he was jabbing Cas in the thigh was any indication. Cas was familiar with Dean’s morning wood, though, waking erections were a routine thing for both of them, and now he just slid his hand down and inward to palm at Dean’s cock.

Dean groaned against his neck and muttered, “you’re making it very hard to go back to sleep right now.”

Cas made a soft, amused noise, and slid his hand away, back up to rest by Dean’s hip again. “Sorry.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause before Dean added; “…I didn’t say stop.”

Cas gave an absolutely amused little chortle, but even as he did so he was stretching to grab the lotion that had been left on the beside table, squeezing some into his palm and returning the bottle to the table—then trailing his hand back around to curl his fingers around Dean’s dick. Dean sighed into his neck, obviously pleased. Cas just hummed and asked, “do you ever get tired of the endless sex between us?”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder and pressed a kiss into his throat. “Do you?”

That was a good point. Cas was basically as insatiable as Dean when it came to his boyfriend, and he knew it. It was just that, very occasionally, he wondered if their preoccupation with sex was healthy. There had to be such a thing as too much sex, right? Then again, they were separated for months at a time… so maybe, for them, for their relationship, it was healthy and normal. When they were together, they were trying to make up for all the time they were apart. It made sense.

For now, Cas just dismissed the entire chain of thought and focused on jerking Dean off, slow and steady, while Dean nuzzled and kissed at his neck in return, sighing out little moans in-between kisses, his hips rocking lightly into Cas’s touch every now-and-then, the scent of sweet cinnamon beginning to permeate the room.

A sleepy, early-morning handjob wasn’t unknown between them. Cas, himself, had woken up hard—though his erection had long since fled the room. It was just biology that virile men, especially young ones, got morning wood. Normally it didn’t last very long, but then again typically a person didn’t have someone right there to immediately grab their dick, either, as had happened in this case.

“I can feel you thinking too hard.” When Dean’s voice broke through his thoughts it was a touch rough and a little breathless, and he tilted his head to bite gently against Cas’s jaw.

Cas gave an amused noise and sped up his stroking, rubbing his palm over the slick head of Dean’s cock just to give him a different sort of feeling with the lines and ridges there. Deam groaned in response and bit down again, this time at the crook of Cas’s neck. “I feel like even if I am overthinking something, right now you probably shouldn’t care, Dean.”

Dean gave a breathy little laugh. “That’s true, ah… why are you so fucking good at this, Cas…?”

“Am I?” A smile quirked at Cas’s lips. He let go of Dean’s cock just briefly—long enough to tug Dean’s head up and drag him into a proper kiss, leaving a little smear of lotion behind on his jaw. Dean whined a little in the back of his throat but kissed back regardless, warm and loving, even as he rocked his hips against Cas’s to get him back on task. With Dean kissing him, now, Cas gladly dropped his hand back down to fist Dean’s cock again, going back to jerking him off—a little faster, now, a little harder.

And it wasn’t much longer before Dean was breaking off from kissing his boyfriend to bury his face in Cas’s shoulder, hips jerking into the younger man’s touch as he reached his climax, coming over Cas’s hand and the blankets under them with a muffled groan. Cas just continued stroking him through it until the last bit of come dribbled out of him, then released Dean’s swiftly softening dick and brought his hand up to lick at the edges of his fingers with a pleased hum.

Dean just stayed where he was for a long moment, taking deep, shuddering breaths against Cas’s shoulder before he finally eased back, licking his lips absently, to look at his boyfriend, a little, quirk of a smile on his face. “Good morning to you, too.”

Cas laughed and paused licking at his hand to lean in and give Dean a kiss. “Good mornings happen a lot when we’re together, don’t they?”

“Every morning that I wake up with you is good.” Dean replied, and tilted his head, angling for another kiss. “I miss it when we’re not together.”

“You miss the morning sex, hm?”

“I just miss waking up with you next to me.” Dean corrected with a soft smile. “Do you remember the first time we woke up together?”

Cas returned his smile fondly. “Of course I do, it was only a few months ago.” Finished with his hand—the rest was mostly lotion anyway—he wiped the remaining mess on the sheets (still dirty from the day before anyway) and commented, “we need to get fresh bedding from housekeeping.” Then he just tucked himself into Dean’s chest and added, “the first morning we woke up together was that time when my Father was out of town and I invited you over for the night.”

“Mm.” Dean made a quiet agreeing noise, “and we had sex for the first time. We’ve come a long way since then, technique-wise, I think.”

“We have.” Cas nuzzled in under Dean’s chin, rubbing his nose along one of his boyfriend’s collar bones lightly. “But even the first time it was great. And then you stayed for the rest of the night, and I didn’t even have any nightmares while you were there… I still don’t, when you’re with me. You’re still my dreamcatcher.”

“And I’m glad for it.” The older man told him softly; “I hate that you have those nightmares every night when I’m not around. It sounds horrible.”

“It’s not the best.” Cas agreed, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Dean’s throat and then shifting back to look at him properly, “anyway, we should probably have a shower. The sun’s barely up and we’re both already a mess.”

Dean looked at him for a moment before his lips quirked and his mouth tilted into a grin. “How ‘bout a bath instead?”

-- --

Cas only gave a token protest at the idea of actually using that heart-shaped monstrosity of a bathtub that took up a huge amount of real estate in the bathroom because in the end, the idea of having a bath with Dean was actually kind of a nice one and he figured he could overlook the cosmetic… issues… if it meant getting to cuddle up with Dean in an actual bath. They’d never had access to an actual bathtub before, it had always just been showers. Not that there was anything wrong with showers, showers could be lots of fun, very intimate, but…

“I checked it out before you got here, made sure it worked and everything.” Dean was saying as they climbed out of bed, leaving the filthy sheets behind and stepping around the pizza that was still on the floor waiting to be picked up; “it’s got whirlpool jets and the whole shebang. Like a mini hot tub.”

“And it’s clean?” Cas asked teasingly, though it looked like it wouldn’t be for long because he absolutely spotted when Dean nicked the lube and the camera to bring in with them on the way past. “You’d better not drop my camera in the tub, Dean, I mean it, if I lose all my pictures—”

“I promise I won’t.” Dean swore with a grin as they made their way to the bathroom. Once there he set both items by the sink and started fiddling with the taps on the tub to get the water running while Cas watched him with an only-slightly-dubious expression on his face. Finally, Dean made a little victory noise and straightened up, “there, that should be a good temperature. Now just…” He turned to the counter and the lineup of little bottles there (where the cinnamon lotion had come from earlier), inspecting them before plucking one up and opening it, pouring a little into the tub. “Too much and you drown in the bubbles.” He explained to Cas offhandedly.

Cas just shook his head. “Why do you even know that?”

Dean sighed as he replaced the bottle and then eased up to Cas’s side while the water continued to run, filling the tub. “Sadly, this is not the first tub like this that I’ve encountered in my family’s travels.” He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and propped his chin on Cas’s shoulder as he amended; “I mean. It’s the first heart-shaped one, I’ll admit. But we stay in some pretty weird places.”

“And you experiment with the bathtubs.” Cas’s lips quirked in amusement, and he turned his head to press a kiss against Dean’s cheek. “You still have to show me the Magic Fingers thing, too. But probably after we get clean bedding would be best for that…”

“Yeah, we really made a mess of that bed, didn’t we? But definitely Magic Fingers later.” Dean laughed and angled his head for a proper kiss before shifting away and going over to turn the water off so when they got in it wouldn’t overflow. Then he held out a hand for Cas to help him step in, as if Cas had never encountered a bathtub before.

Cas took his hand anyway and eased his way into the tub and down to sit, shuffling around until he was in one of the rounded corners of the heart-shaped tub—and when he looked back at Dean, the older man had the camera up and was taking a picture. Cas made a face but was a split-second too late and Dean chuckled to himself as he set the camera aside, grabbed the lube and placed it carefully in one of the nooks on the side of the bathtub, and then climbed into the tub himself.

He settled in the other rounded corner before reaching to pull Cas over and into his lap, back to his chest, and wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. Cas went along willingly and sank back into Dean’s chest with a sigh; the water was the perfect temperature, and the bubbles were actually kind of nice (if predictably cinnamon scented) and he was relaxing already.

“Mmm.” Dean pressed little kisses along the side of Cas’s neck with a smile. “See? It’s nice, right?”

Cas lifted up a handful of bubbles and blew at them absently but then leaned his head back and craned his neck to look at Dean with a smile. “Yes. Nicer than I thought it would be.” Then he just brought one hand up to thread wet fingers into Dean’s hair and tugged his boyfriend into a kiss. “After this a shower to get rid of the cinnamon.”

Dean laughed against his lips but didn’t reply—because that was kind of a given—instead just focusing on kissing Cas, starting off soft and slow and, over the next couple minutes, ending up deeper, hungrier, until Cas was wiggling around in his lap to face him, straddling his hips, and they were both hard again for what felt like the hundredth time already that weekend.

But that was why Dean had brought the lube into the bathroom with them, because he’d been sure this would happen, and he wanted to be prepared. And anyway, he owed one to Cas for jerking him off earlier and expecting nothing in return. Sometimes it worked that way, but it never really sat right with Dean when it did. It didn’t seem… fair. (It was worse when the other party—always Cas—was hard, though, at least this time that hadn’t been the case.)

“Dean…” Cas had both hands buried in Dean’s hair now and was pressed tight against the other man, rolling his hips to grind their erections together underwater and an expression of pinched pleasure on his face. “Dean… ah… where did you put the lube?”

“It’s, mmh…” Dean’s hands were holding by Cas’s hips, but he released one to fumble for the tube of lubricant where it was waiting for them in the little alcove he had stashed it in. Once it was in his grasp, he let go of Cas’s other hip and brought both hands up to uncap the lube and smear it across the fingers of his right hand. Then he dumped the tube and lid back in the alcove with no preamble and dropped his hand below the water to feel around for Cas’s entrance. “D-dammit Cas, stop moving…!”

Cas whined out a protesting noise at that but still halted his rocking, then pushed his hips out and back to make things easier for Dean. A short moment later Dean found his target and—hard as it was to quell the urge—didn’t shove two fingers into Cas immediately, instead starting with one, the same as always, and rather impatiently (on both their parts) working up to two, and finally three. Until he was fucking Cas hard and deep on all three fingers, mercilessly abusing his prostate the entire time, and Cas’s face was buried in his shoulder to muffle too-loud moans and shouts that Dean didn’t care if anyone else heard, anyway.

When Dean finally deemed Cas stretched enough—Cas was no help with that this time around, just panting and groaning and occasionally biting into Dean’s shoulder—he finally pulled his hand back, then began manhandling Cas up straighter. “Cas, you’re on top, you’re kind of… oh, fuck me… you’re kind of in charge of this part…!”

Cas gave a little nod and a breathless agreeing noise, then began lifting up onto his knees. He admittedly slipped a little in the water, against the bottom of the tub, once, but after that he managed to get himself positioned properly and reached down to grasp Dean’s throbbing cock, holding it steady as he sank down over it—all the way to the base in one smooth motion.

Gasping, Cas let his head fall back for a moment as he adjusted, and Dean did much the same, back to grabbing at Cas’s hips under the water, holding tight. Then Cas brought his arm back up and wrapped it around Dean’s neck, the opposite hand still fisted in his hair, and started moving, slow at first but steadily faster, harder, until he was fucking himself firmly, heatedly on Dean’s cock, the water sloshing around them with his movements.

And Dean loved this. When Cas rode him, in basically any position including this one. Because he could so easily see every expression that flitted across his lover’s face like this, and God, Cas was beautiful in the throes of passion.

Until Cas gave up biting his own lip and ducked to bury his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, anyway. Oh well. His hips were still rolling hotly, and he was still pulling at the older man’s hair, and now he was panting and muttering soft, breathless oaths against Dean’s skin—and Dean figured he couldn’t really complain, all things considered. Especially not with how fucking fantastic it felt to be buried to the hilt inside Cas’s slick body.

But in the end, this was a quick fuck, really an extension of their encounter earlier that morning, and it wasn’t meant to last long. Cas worked himself to completion quickly, tensing up and clamping down around Dean as he came into the now thoroughly dirtied bath water—and then sagging against his chest for the briefest of moments before pushing back and starting to roll his hips again.

And that was the thing about Cas; he was never anything but a generous lover. No matter how done he was, he always made sure Dean got there too. So, Dean, in turn, tried to do the same for him, when their positions were reversed (figuratively speaking.) For now, though, he just leaned back into the corner of the tub and watched Cas move over him with hazy green eyes—and it was that, the image of Cas fucking himself on Dean’s cock, that got him off more than anything else. When he came a moment later, it was with Cas’s name on his lips and his hands digging into the younger man’s hips just slightly.

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean let his head fall back, even as Cas finally released his hair and settled against his chest with a satisfied murmur. “That was intense.”

“It was meant to be.” Cas replied. He was placing little kisses along Dean’s shoulder now, affectionate. “I feel like there’s no making love in a giant, red, heart-shaped whirlpool tub.”

Dean gave a snort of laughter at that. “Fair enough.”

“It’s like something you’d find in a brothel, Dean.”

“Been to a lot of brothels, have you?”

A little nip against his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Dean agreed with a chuckle, and finally slid his hands away from Cas’s hips, drifting them up his back warmly right about the time his sated cock slipped out of Cas’s body. He made a soft sound in his throat but didn’t say anything about it. “Wanna try the water jets?”

Cas ducked in to press a kiss at the crook of his neck before sitting back to look at his boyfriend properly again. “Dean… what I really, really want is to get out of this tub and into the shower. This thing is a cesspool, especially now.” Leaning in, he kissed Dean gently—then grinned against his lips. “And I want you to screw me in that shower, and then I want to get cleaned up and dressed and go for breakfast somewhere, then come back here again, after which we need to get clean sheets and everything so we can make love properly, in the bed. Possibly with the Magic Fingers going at the same time.”

Dean’s smile widened into a grin of his own. “You had me at shower sex. And breakfast. And Magic Fingers sex.”

Cas snorted softly and gave him a fond look. “Dean, you know I still don’t even know what ‘Magic Fingers’ is—are?—is, right?”

“Is.” Dean assured him, still rubbing his hands up and down Cas’s back gently, “you saw the little box attached to the nightstand, right? You feed it quarters and it makes the bed vibrate. Like a massage feature, almost. Feels awesome.”

Cas paused for a moment, considering. Having the bed vibrating under them while they were having sex actually didn’t sound terrible. He could see where it might add to the pleasure, in fact, depending on what position they were in. Finally, he leaned in for another kiss with a smile. “Then we’ll definitely try that. Assuming you have enough quarters.”

“I’ll hit up the change machine in the lobby.” Dean returned the kiss with one of his own before sliding his hands back down to hold at Cas’s hips again, just lightly this time. “So, lets’ get out of this hideous tub and into the shower.”

The younger man laughed and pushed to his feet, water and suds streaming off of him. When Dean’s hands remained holding onto his hips and his boyfriend looked up at him with a heated gaze and clearly swallowed thickly, though, Cas brushed him off and climbed out of the tub anyway:

“We already agreed you could have me again in the shower.”

-- --

After their shower shenanigans, during which Cas got thoroughly fucked (again), they actually did clean up and get dressed to go out to a nearby diner for breakfast. Dean was unsure if the Magic Fingers sex thing was really going to happen or not, but for now he was just happy to spend time out-and-about with his boyfriend. They didn’t get to do that often, especially now that he was back on the road with his dad and Sam. Not that he and Cas had exactly traditionally dated back in Jacksonville, either…

Dean had found this diner a couple of days prior when he’d first blown in to Loveland and been waiting for Cas to arrive. It was your typical roadside joint; questionable décor and a little run-down but with decent food and friendly waitstaff so he had deemed it The Place To Go for the rest of the trip—not that it mattered because they were spending most of their time locked up in the motel room anyway. Last night they had even ordered in. (He wondered if the diner had a delivery option, despite it being only a literal seven-minute walk from the motel’s front door.)

“Pancakes.”

“Sorry, pancakes?” Dean had been so distracted by his own thoughts that he wasn’t reading the menu in front of him and only half-heard Cas speak up. Now, he lifted his head and blinked at the younger man questioningly.

“That’s it. Just pancakes.” Cas blinked right back at him, blue eyes bright and clear, and then paused and glanced back down at his menu before adding; “and sausages. Definitely sausages. It’s still early enough that’s not weird, right?”

Dean gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t think there’s any particular time that you have to eat pancakes and sausages, Cas.”

“No, come on, it’s like a breakfast thing, right?” Cas looked back up at him again and smiled, “let me guess, you’re going to get a burger.”

“Actually,” Dean stuck his tongue out childishly before glancing back down at the menu again, “I was going to get bacon and eggs. And toast. Breakfast just like you.” And then; “lots of protein to replace the energy we’ve already used up this morning.”

“And the energy we’re going to use up when we get back to our room?” Cas asked archly.

A laugh from Dean and he grinned across the table at the other man. “Yeah, that too.”

When the waitress came around to their booth, she came bearing coffee which they both welcomed with open arms. She took their orders and disappeared, and the two of them talked quietly amongst themselves until she reappeared with their food and set it down in front of them, at which point they both seemed to realize exactly how hungry they actually were, so they tucked into their food, both of them eating with enthusiasm—Cas even matching Dean’s gusto for once.

When they were finished and both pleasantly full, they sat around and enjoyed another cup of surprisingly good coffee before Dean paid the bill and they left to make the short walk back to the motel. The walk was calm and relaxed, the two of them holding hands the entire way—and the instant they reached their motel room, unlocked the door and stepped inside, they were at each other again.

Dean started it off, grabbing Cas as soon as they crossed the threshold of the room and spinning him around to push him up against the door—the door slamming closed behind them on that momentum alone. Cas fumbled up with one hand to flip over the bolt-lock (the very least he could do) and then threw his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him in for a hungry kiss, one hand sliding up to tangle his fingers in Dean’s hair.

“Fucking… can’t keep my hands off you…” Dean muttered against Cas’s lips before diving in for another kiss. When he pulled back again a moment later it was to add; “always been like that with you… always wanted to touch you, even before we were sleeping together…”

That was an admission Dean had never made out loud before, not that Cas hadn’t already known it. He and Dean had always had that between them—physicality had always come easily to them, even just little kisses and casual touches before they had graduated to the more serious stuff. And Dean wasn’t the only one who had longed for more, more touches, more intimacy, until they had finally found it. Even now, even with the nature of their relationship the way it was, they still craved it more than anything else either of them could think of. (The distance between them most of the time didn’t help matters.)

“Take your pants off.”

“We—we haven’t even got clean sheets yet.”

“What’s the point? We’re just gonna get them dirty again right away anyway…”

“You, ah… you have a point, there…”

“Mmhm, and you taste like pancakes.”

“Is that a bad thing…?”

“Not at all.” Dean grinned against Cas’s mouth and then slid his hands down to grab at his ass, hiking him up—and Cas wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist even as his boyfriend pulled him away from the door and walked them both over to the bed to deposit Cas on the mattress and follow him down a breath later, ducking in to kiss along Cas’s throat, biting lightly at his jaw.

“Do you have enough quarters for the Magic Fingers?” Cas asked, the slightest bit breathless as he arched his body up against Dean’s and unhooked his legs from around the older man’s waist so he could roll his hips up, grinding into Dean heatedly. “Ah… Dean… we really need… we need to be naked right now… mm, yeah, that’s definitely what we need…”

Dean ignored the Magic Fingers question entirely because there was a literal pile of quarters sitting on the bedside table from before Cas had arrived the day before, and instead focused on rucking up Cas’s shirt, pushing until Cas let go of him long enough to lift his arms over his head and let his shirt be pulled off before grabbing hold once more. (They were both privately glad he hadn’t worn his trench coat to breakfast, just another layer to try to get out of in their haste.) Then Dean was back to kissing along his bare skin heatedly, nipping at one collar bone with the softest of moans.

“I don’t think… I mean, I think I’m going to have to stand up to get my clothes off.” The older man was already breathing hard. He paused to suck a bruise into the side of Cas’s neck—a legitimate hickey that made Cas make little whining noises—before shifting back as far as he could with Cas still latched onto him. “Cas, c’mon…”

Cas made a soft protesting noise but carefully unwound his arms from around Dean’s neck and settled back on the bed, waiting for Dean to move. When his boyfriend pushed away and straightened up to get out of his clothes, Cas took the opportunity to kick off his shoes and then work his way out of his own jeans and boxers, already rock-hard underneath. Once he was stripped, he drifted one hand down to start stroking at his cock, arching and moaning softly. Next to the bed, Dean cursed at the sight and hurried to get out of his clothes faster.

A moment later when Dean was nude as well, he urgently climbed back on the bed with Cas and Cas grabbed for him—they practically collided, all hard, hot kisses and searing touches and rocking hips.

And then Dean reached to grab for the lube on the bedside table… only to realize they had forgotten it in the bathroom earlier that morning. He swore under his breath and let his head fall forward until his forehead was pressed against Cas’s, eyes closed and breathing hard. “I have to, ah… go get the lube from the bathroom. I’m so sorry.”

There was a long pause before Cas abruptly began to grin—and then laugh. He let his head slump back against the mattress and rubbed his hands along Dean’s back before sliding one to pat against his side gently. “Just go.”

Dean dropped an apologetic kiss against Cas’s chin, then climbed off of the bed and hurried off to the bathroom, where he quickly located the lube at the side of the tub—and also grabbed the camera from the counter on the way out. When he got back into the main room, Cas was jerking himself off again, head still back, and Dean took the time to take a quick photo before dropping the camera on the bedside table and crawling back onto the mattress with his lover.

Cas immediately parted his legs, still stroking at his own cock and breathing unsteadily, and lifted his head to watch Dean slick up his fingers and start prepping him.

Dean didn’t draw the preparation out this time, it was quick and messy and that was more than fine with Cas and his throbbing, leaking dick. It was a relief when Dean finished up—then reached over to feed a handful of quarters into the Magic Fingers box, getting the bed started up—and then climbed over him, sliding in-between his legs and pushing up into him in one smooth thrust.

When the bed began vibrating out of nowhere, Cas actually started a little, but nothing about it was a turn-off once he got used to the sensation; it made his entire body hum, made Dean’s cock almost vibrate inside him. The feeling made him arch his hips and moan loudly—and Dean lifted his head to blink at him slightly, surprised, but didn’t question it, and a moment later just ducked his head against Cas’s shoulder again as he began to move, thrusting into the younger man with firmness and surety.

But even though he’d been surprised by Cas’s reaction didn’t mean that Dean wasn’t experiencing extreme pleasure, too: between the vibrations up and down his own dick and being inside Cas’s tight, hot, slick body, well… Dean had never felt anything like it. Thank God for Magic Fingers.

Cas, meanwhile, lifted his legs to wrap them around Dean’s hips, his arms to wrap around Dean’s back, holding him close and tight, fingers digging in and dragging along his lover’s skin as the older man fucked him so completely and thoroughly. Not making love like he had originally requested, earlier in the bathroom, but still earth-shattering, nonetheless. And it was all he could do to cling to Dean, head back and moaning breathlessly while Dean pounded into him, holding on for dear life.

Until a few minutes later when the Magic Fingers ran out of time and the bed stopped vibrating.

They both paused briefly, and then Cas laughed, tightening his legs around Dean’s hips and trailing one hand around to draw his boyfriend into a kiss. Dean was shooting unsubtle Looks over at the Magic Fingers box on the bedside table, but Cas just nipped at his lip and shook his head. “Don’t, ah… don’t worry about it.”

“Are you… mmh… sure? I could just…” Dean eased back—but only a little.

“Mm-mm.” Cas shook his head and dragged Dean into another kiss before muttering against his lips, “if you even think about pulling out to reach the freaking Magic Fingers box, Dean, a-ah… I swear I’ll kill you…! J-just fuck me already…!”

Dean whined softly but angled his head for another kiss—Cas didn’t often use the word “fuck” and when he did, Dean tended to take notice—and then just started moving again, thrusting into Cas just as fiercely as before (but not with the aid of the Magic Fingers, sadly); for Cas it was perfect, though, would always be perfect, as long as it was with Dean. So, he kissed back with abandon and began muffling little moans and cries of pleasure against the other man’s lips, hands dragging down Dean’s spine to dig his fingers into the small of his back.

The next few, long minutes were spent enjoying each other’s bodies and the energy of youth to their fullest—energetic, full-bodied sex that left them both panting for air and damp with sweat—until Cas finally tossed his head back with a sharp cry and came hard, come smearing between them. Then he continued working his hips until Dean reached his own climax a moment later, his thrusts going jerky before shoving in firmly and coming deep and hot inside Cas’s body.

“Mmph…” Dean muttered something inarticulate and collapsed forward, his entire weight coming to rest over Cas, who just accepted that weight willingly, hands dragging up and down the other man’s back before drifting one up and around so he could thread his fingers into Dean’s sweat-damp hair and tug affectionately.

“Yeah,” He agreed breathlessly, “I agree.”

“The Magic Fingers, though…” Dean mumbled into his shoulder.

Cas gave a breathy laugh. “I, ah... I agree with that, too.”

Then he carefully unwrapped his legs from around Dean’s hips and patted his free hand at the older man’s side. Dean took the hint and shifted back, pulling his now-limp cock out of Cas and easing off and to the side where he fell onto his back with a huff, one hand coming up to run through his own hair. Cas followed him over, rolling to tuck into Dean’s side with a content hum, throwing an arm over his boyfriend’s chest and nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Seriously, if you had actually pulled out to go do the Magic Fingers…”

“Yeah, I, ah, got the idea when you threatened my life. Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. Just… more quarters before we start next time, right?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Dean grinned up at the ceiling, one hand drifting up to toy with the edges of Cas’s hair gently. “Lesson learned on that one.”

Cas made a soft pleased sound at the hand in his hair and leaned into the touch a little. “I think you gave me an actual hickey this time.”

A laugh. “I, ah, yeah. I absolutely did that. I told you I needed to start leaving marks in more obvious places.”

“Didn’t think you were serious.” Cas sounded amused. One hand came up to rub at the side of his neck absently. “What am I going to tell people?”

“That your astonishingly hot boyfriend can be possessive sometimes?” Dean suggested, half-serious.

Cas gave a little snort and looked up at him, a small smile on his face. “It’s a good thing Charlie’s in Thailand or she would never let me hear the end of it.”

Dean leaned down for a brief kiss. “Do you hear from Charlie often?”

“Once in a while.” The younger man settled again, head coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder and arm slung across his chest once more. “We don’t get to video call often, I guess the reception is spotty in a lot of the places she’s been. But she sends me postcards. I’ve gotten three since she left just after graduation.”

“Where from?”

“Two from South Korea and one from Thailand. The Thailand one was about a month ago, so I figure I’m due another one any time now.”

“That’s one hell of a gap year.”

“She seems like she’s having fun. And the one or two video calls we have managed she looks really good, so I’m not worried.”

“Mm.”

They were both quiet for a while, then, just breathing each other in. When Cas spoke next his tone was more serious, though, more subdued: “…Dean, you know I have to leave tonight, right?”

The last time he had arrived at their destination city and the motel of Dean’s choice on a Friday night and left again the following Monday. This time, because of the day-and-a-half travel time each way, he had arrived on Saturday and had to leave Sunday night. They had discussed it when they were deciding the itinerary, but now the time seemed even shorter than what they’d talked about.

Dean’s arm tightened around him and the fingers in Cas’s hair paused. “I know.” He said softly, the levity gone from his voice. “I wish you didn’t have to.”

“Me, too.” Cas replied, his own voice quiet. “Next time lets’ pick a better city. One closer to in-between. Closer to Tallahassee.”

“We will.” Dean promised, and his hand started moving in Cas’s hair again, petting gently. “You know, ideally, the two of us would just run away together.”

“Just… be together all the time?” Cas agreed, “that’d be nice, but it’s not realistic.”

“Sadly, no. My Dad would track us down no matter where we went to drag me back in. Plus, all the bad things in the dark… I don’t want that for you.” The older man’s tone was almost grim—but then he hummed softly and tilted his head to smile down at Cas and leaned in for a brief kiss; “so, we’ll just have to make the most of the rest of today. Memories to last until next time, right?”

Cas’s lips quirked into a smile, and he returned the kiss with one of his own. “Right.”

“Starting,” Dean reached over Cas to the bedside table and grabbed the camera that was still sitting there. “With this.”

Cas’s smile grew into a grin. “Absolutely.”

He slipped a little in the buildup of slushy snow, cursed as he got his footing again and continued onward.

The winter weather wasn’t the only thing making him grouchy: it had been months since he had last seen Cas and it was killing him, he thought. When Cas had left, he had said he would only be gone a couple of months, and it had been almost six, now. And Dean didn’t know if that was because Cas was exceedingly busy upstairs (possible) or because his superiors had slammed the gates and locked him in for being disrespectful, rebellious and insubordinate (also possible.)

If it was the first option, Dean was a little miffed at Cas for breaking his promise to come back sooner than this—but if it was the second option? Well. He might never see Cas again, and he had already lost him once before, he didn’t think he could go through that heartache twice.

He rounded the next corner and Retro Rocks came into sight finally, and Dean gave a little internal sigh of relief as he hurried over to it and ducked inside, stomping his boots by the door. Then he paused to take a quick look around and—ah. Sam was at a table in the back corner with his laptop out and, for some reason, both a cup of coffee and a half-finished glass of beer in front of him.

Dean made his way over and eased into the seat across from Sam. “Dude, why are you double-fisting coffee and beer at the same time?”

“Ordered the coffee and changed my mind.” Sam replied distractedly. He glanced up, then, and added, “you can have it if you want, you look like you could use something to warm you up. You practically have icicles growing off your nose.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Dean told his brother, but reached for the coffee anyway and downed it in a couple of gulps. It was only lukewarm at best. Then he grabbed the menu from the side of the table where Sam had pushed it out of the way and gave it a brief perusal. “I’m ordering food. You want anything?”

“A salad, if they’ve got one.” Came Sam’s reply.

“Boo.” Dean jeered, already waving down a waitress. When she came over, he gave her a winning smile. “Hey, can I order the bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries and a beer, and… a house salad.” Then a pause, and he added, because he knew Sam would bitch if he didn’t; “light on the dressing.”

She jotted everything down, then whisked away, taking the empty coffee cup with her. Sam glanced up at him again. “Thanks.”

“Rabbit food.” Dean complained, as he had countless times in the past and likely would countless times in the future, “honestly, Sam, we’re Hunters, we need to eat real food.”

“Vegetables are real food.” Sam turned his attention back to his computer. He was tracking demon omens in the area, and there were scads of them. The program he was using was one Ash had developed for them at The Roadhouse—and it worked exceedingly well, for the most part.

It was weird being at the The Roadhouse, sometimes, though, even though it was a Hunter’s bar. Not because of Ash (though he was a weird dude) but because of Jo, the daughter of Ellen, the woman who ran the place.

When they had first stumbled upon The Roadhouse, Jo hadn’t known Dean very well, of course. He had left Caspar High before she had started hanging out with Cas, and he had only met her once afterward—when Cas had disappeared a few years later. Dean had tracked down all of Cas’s friends in his frantic search for his fiancée and Jo Harvelle had been one of them. She hadn’t been able to help at all at the time but had promised to keep an ear out for him.

This last time when they had stopped by the bar, Jo had asked about Cas, if there was any news on him, and Dean had been pleased to report that Cas had been located, alive and well. He left out the angel part, some things were better played closer to the chest just in case. Jo had been relieved, and when she found out Dean would be seeing him again, gave him a message to pass on:

“Don’t pull that disappearing act shit again, Novak, or I’ll personally kick your ass.”

Dean had decided early on that he liked her. She had spunk. She also, by the time they left The Roadhouse that first time, had developed a huge crush on him. She thought she was being subtle, but Dean knew how to read people and to him it was obvious. He didn’t say anything because she didn’t, but, especially now, he would have turned her down (graciously, of course.) She was beautiful—but she couldn’t compare to Cas. No one could.

Except Cas had flocked off to Heaven six months ago and had yet to return.

And now he was grumpy again. He propped his elbow on the table and leaned his chin in his hand, watched Sam tapping away at his computer for a moment before asking, “you got anything interesting or just more weird electrical stuff?”

“Just more weird electrical stuff.” Sam sighed. He finally just shut his computer and pushed it toward the center of the table, stretching his arms out afterward and then reaching for his beer, taking a drink. “It’s all localized in one four-block area, though, so that’s probably worth checking out.”

Dean watched him close his computer and asked with a grin, “did you just hang up on Ash? You just hung up on Ash didn’t you.”

“We weren’t chatting, dumbass.” Sam rolled his eyes, “do you want to check out the electrical stuff or what?”

“I do, but after my burger. Not tonight.” Dean perked up because even as he said it the waitress was coming back to their table to drop off their food and Dean’s beer. He thanked her profusely and very much watched as she walked away. Sam reached across the table and smacked him upside the head and Dean flailed slightly. “What? I’m allowed to look! It’s not cheating if I just look!”

“You just keep telling yourself that when Cas shows up here to smite you.” Sam was already getting into his salad, and Dean just followed suit but, you know, with actual food.

“Cas wouldn’t smite me; he loves me too much.” He told his brother around a bite of frankly amazing bacon cheeseburger. “Plus, he would absolutely miss me screwing his brains out on a regular basis.” It was said just to get a rise out of Sam, but it didn’t work this time.

Sam just blandly replied, “not much screwing going on lately, though, is there?”

Dean glared and took another, this time angry, bite of his burger. “Rub it in why don’t you.”

There was a brief pause as Sam stabbed at his salad with his fork, but he stopped short of taking the mouthful and frowned a little. He shifted in his seat slightly before offering softly, “you’re right, that was a low blow. Sorry.”

The elder Winchester sighed and looked down at his plate of fries, still holding the half-eaten burger in his hands. It was just that he was worried, that was all. About a lot of things lately. Stopping the Lilith from breaking the Seals, for one. Sam was another. But Cas? Even through everything, he couldn’t stop thinking about Cas, and if he was okay, or if he was trapped—and if he was trapped, was there any way they could help him?

“I can’t lose him again, Sammy, not after everything.” Dean muttered finally, then took another bite of his burger, chewing and swallowing more slowly this time. “If he’s been locked in up there…”

Sam’s face took on that familiar, puppy-dog hopeful expression; “then we’ll find a way to jailbreak him.”

Dean was really trying hard to focus on his food, here, because this conversation was just… no good. It probably all needed to be said, though, and he knew that. Now, he took a couple gulps of his beer before returning to his burger. “I want to give him time, I know he has things he needs to take care of, but how much time? I don’t even know anymore…” He trailed off long enough to eat a few fries before adding, “besides, how the hell are we gonna jailbreak Heaven?”

“I dunno, but we’ll figure something out.” Sam went back to eating for a little while before asking, hesitantly, “…have you tried praying? To Cas, I mean. He came before, when I prayed. I think he’d come even faster if you did it.”

“I’m not… much of the praying type, Sam.”

“Yeah, but for Cas?”

He had a point. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Cas, if it came down to it. And praying was simple, he just had to swallow his pride and do it.

It was funny, though, because for all the time he had spent searching for Cas after he had vanished, Dean had been praying to him and not even realizing it. Talking to him in his head, and sometimes even out loud, begging him to please be okay. To come home safely. To not be dead.

He had stopped when he had given up searching, though, and now praying to Cas, no matter how logical and reasonable because he was a freaking angel, just reminded him of those dark times. Of how positively hopeless he had felt—and for how long he had felt that way. Now Cas was back, and things were good again, but Dean was still working through a lot of things from the past.

But Cas was there, now, so they were working through them together. Theoretically.

“Stop looking at me, I’m not gonna pray in a bar!” Dean took another annoyed bite of his burger and privately mulled over the fact that this conversation was really bringing down the great food vibes. When he’d swallowed and gone for a drink of his beer, though, he added, “but I’ll try it, alright? Just. Not here.”

That seemed reasonable to Sam, so he let the topic drop for now and they both went back to their food, eating in companionable silence until they were finished, at which point they made a joint decision to stay at the bar for one more round of beer and the (shockingly, for a modern bar, according to Dean) good music while Sam opened his computer again and went back to work and Dean scoped out the ladies in the general vicinity, despite Sam’s earlier warning.

Eventually, though, their beers were finished and Sam packed up his laptop, and the two of them pulled their jackets back on to head out into the Michigan winter and walk back to the motel, Dean bitching about the cold the entire way.

When they arrived, Sam let them in and took his bookbag over to the little table and pulled his laptop out, opening it and powering it up again, plugging it in this time so it could continue to run Ash’s algorithm program while they slept. Dean locked the door behind them and laid down a salt line across the bottom of the door and the ledge of the bathroom window—they were on a demon job right now and you couldn’t be too careful. They both went to bed around eleven, which, admittedly, was early for them, but that was actually nice for a change.

Once he was out of his clothes, down to just his boxers and a t-shirt and laying in his (surprisingly comfortable) bed, Dean settled back against the mattress, waited until Sam turned off the lights and climbed into his own bed, then focused his eyes on the ceiling through the darkness of the room and—

Cas, He really was no good at this—at praying—he wasn’t into it, felt stupid doing it, but Sam had a point; he would do anything for Cas, and that included making himself feel like an idiot by mentally talking to the ceiling. It’s Dean. I—this is hard. You know I’m no good with things like this. But it’s been almost six months. You’ve been gone for too long. You should have been back months ago and I… don’t tell Sam, but I’m terrified. I’m so afraid that you’ve been locked in up there and you’re never coming back. Never coming home. And if that’s what’s happened, I don’t—I don’t know what I’m going to do. I lost you once before and it nearly killed me, I don’t think I can go through that again.

Sighing softly, he closed his eyes finally and continued; Sam says we’ll find a way to break you out, if that’s the case. But how do you jailbreak Heaven? I don’t… One hand came up and he dug the heel of his palm into one eye slightly; I’m going crazy down here, not knowing, so if you’re listening, if you can, please just… come back to me. Come home. Because I need you here. I need you with me. And it’s been too long… His thoughts trailed off a bit, then, before he added; I love you, Cas. I always will. No matter where you are, or if you are locked up, just… keep that with you, okay? Never forget that I love you.

And it wasn’t a traditional prayer. He wasn’t kneeling at his bedside, hands clasped like some child in a Precious Moments painting. But Dean figured it was probably good enough for Cas, assuming the angel could hear him at all, so finally he just rolled over onto his side, tucked an arm under his pillow, and set about trying to fall asleep.

-- --

The next morning Sam got up at the crack of dawn to go for his run, the same as always, and by the time he got back and finished getting cleaned up and dressed again, Dean was also ready to roll. They hit a nearby diner (because of course they did) for breakfast, where Dean had eggs and sausages, while Sam ordered a fruit salad and toast. (They couldn’t be more different if they tried, sometimes.)

Finishing breakfast took them until just before ten o’clock in the morning, after which they used the google app on Sam’s phone to take them to the four-block-radius where all the electrical disturbances had been happening. It was in the industrial sector, and right in the middle was a power station.

They both wondered, briefly, if the disturbances that Ash’s app had been tracking had just been zeroing in on the power station itself, if maybe the station was malfunctioning in some way that made it look like demon omens when there really were none. Standing in front of it now, it seemed perfectly normal and mundane. No demons in sight, at least not that they could tell.

In the end, they decided to come back that night, when the demons usually came out to play, and take a closer look around the place—when the staff wasn’t around to call them out for it. They really didn’t need to get arrested again.

Besides, there was plenty to explore in Saginaw, even if it was cold as balls out.

They went their separate ways at that point, Sam heading off to explore the city some more and Dean to (hopefully) find a bar. On that had sports and beer. He was in a sports and beer kind of mood, today, he thought, and so that lead to him a bar down on the main drag of town that had no less than eight big-screen televisions around on the walls and above the bar itself, playing varying degrees of sports.

Dean was only really into football, if he was honest (something he and Sam got from their dad), but it wasn’t football season, so he would take what he could get. The television above the bar was playing Australian rugby and that would have to do. He slid onto a stool and ordered his first round, more than aware that he had to stick to beer and not go overboard so he would be sharp for the job that night.

He had warmed that seat at the bar for a while and was mostly done with his second beer, his eyes on the TV but his thoughts on Heaven, when the bartender—a lumberjack of a man with a burly beard but a friendly, welcoming attitude, slid a third beer over to him and said, “you look like you’ve got girl troubles, my friend.”

Dean blinked at the new beer and finished off his current one before pushing the empty glass away and pulling the new one closer. “Not… exactly.” He hedged. He had to be careful what he said in places like this; the ones that absolutely oozed testosterone.

The bartender’s eyes flicked up and down him briefly before he asked; “boy troubles, then?”

Dean shifted in his seat and swallowed slightly, glancing around before replying, “yeah, that about covers it.”

“Breakup?” The bartender wondered. He leaned on the bar across from Dean, a curious look on his face. “That’s always rough.”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head and took a pull of his beer, “he’s just… away on business. Our schedules don’t line up so well sometimes.”

“Sucks.” The man across the bar straightened up and grabbed a polishing rag, starting to clean glasses just to keep himself busy. “Been away a while?”

“Almost six months.” Dean replied with a shrug, “and where he is, there’s no Internet or cell service so I can’t even call him, I have to just sit around and wait for him to come home.”

“You love him?”

“Yeah.”

“You trust him?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The bartender gave a lopsided smile as he continued to polish the glass in his hands; “then the no communication thing? It sucks, but it shouldn’t be a deal breaker. You know he’s coming back to you, that’s the important thing, right?”

Dean looked down slightly. That was the problem—he didn’t know if Cas was going to make it back to him or not. It was frustrating. Sometimes infuriating. Made something in his chest twist and curl in discomfort. Finally, he just went back to his beer with a shrug. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, man.”

The man across from him looked like he didn’t quite believe him, but simply shrugged as well, then nodded toward Dean’s half-full beer. “Lemme know if you need another. You know where I’ll be.”

-- --

That night, Dean and Sam met for dinner at the same diner they’d had breakfast at—it was decently clean and had good food and passable service, they had definitely eaten at worse places—and went over the plan for when they were going to the power plant, somewhere around one o’clock in the morning.

It wasn’t much of a plan, really, considering they were still in the reconnaissance phase of the job; basically, they were just going to park the Impala down the street and hop the fence onto the power plant property to have a look around, see what they could see. Hopefully get some intel that would help with the next phase of their investigation. Look for demon signs that weren’t related to lighting strikes, that sort of thing.

But it was only seven o’clock now, which meant they had another good six hours before it was go time. After they finished eating, Dean was content to hole up at the motel and watch television, but Sam headed out to keep exploring Saginaw, keeping an eye out for demon omens along the way.

So, Dean lounged around the motel—after a stop at a nearby store for Funyuns and beer—and watched shitty movies on the even shittier TV set until he ended up falling asleep. He woke up when Sam came in around midnight, which was fine, it gave him plenty of time to get himself into gear before they had to head out.

At one o’clock, practically on the dot, the two of them left the motel and piled into the Impala, driving down to the industrial sector of town and parking a little way down the street from the power plant, then walking from there. Even though they’d seen no signs of demons before, Sam was still carrying the demon-killing knife, and Dean his buck knife just in case.

They crept up on the fence cautiously and peered inside. They were frankly shocked to see a huge group of people, all sporting black eyes, gathered in the poured concrete courtyard of the power plant.

And that’s when the lightning started.

Dean and Sam quickly clambered over the fence and landed heavily on the other side, and several of the demons glanced their way—but then just turned away again, as if they didn’t care at all. Dean was almost insulted.

But around them, the lighting was striking over and over again, a wild wind beginning to stir up, the snow around them swirling angrily, sparks flying from the power plant’s transformers as—something—jumped around between them, getting more and more wound up as it went. The wind around them just got stronger, more agitated in nature, roaring as it picked up anything it could nearby and tossed it around: snow and slush, sticks, leaves, bits of chipped concrete.

“The hell even is that?!” Dean demanded as sparks flew and the wind whipped, electrical energy jolting between the transformers restlessly before finally zapping to the ground in front of them, the electricity taking on a vaguely bipedal, humanoid form. He had never even heard of anything like—

“I never thought I’d see one in real life, I thought they were extinct!” Sam responded, having to call out over the cacophony around them; and of course Sam knew what this thing was, of course; “Dean, it’s an elemental!”

“COME AGAIN?” Dean shouted, lifting an arm to shield himself from the snow and bits of flying debris.

“An elemental!” Sam repeated, louder; and cursed when something—possibly a stick—flew past him and scraped across his face when he couldn’t get out of the way in time, drawing flecks of blood; “they’re creatures entirely made of elements! This one is electricity, lightning, it’s probably been living in the power plant, that’s what set off the demon omens alarm on Ash’s program!”

“That’s just great, Sam, what the hell do we do about it?!” Dean’s words were snapped.

It was a valid question. Historically, elementals were generally peaceful, at least as far as the lore went, but this one was surrounded by them—out of sheer misunderstanding on their part—and a gang of demons, which—why were the demons there, exactly?

Ahead of them the group of demons were beginning to shift, moving forward, still ignoring Dean and Sam entirely as they slowly circled the elemental. One of them was carrying a pair of cuffs and a collar made out of thick rubber and another a heavy looking book, which it flipped open and began to read from in some language neither Dean nor Sam had ever heard before. A few seconds later the elemental hunched over, and its’ light display diminished considerably.

And oh, hell, this couldn’t be good.

The incantation the lead demon was reciting became clearer now that the wind and sparking electricity, the lightning strikes were less, but they still didn’t recognize the words or the language. All Dean and Sam knew was that the longer the demon spoke, the weaker the elemental got and the closer the demon with the restraints edged—until it was right on top of the elemental, until it was clamping the collar around the elemental’s neck, making it roar, the sound like a cyclone or deep, deep thunder, and drop to its’ proverbial knees.

And the Hunters didn’t know what the demons wanted with the elemental, but they obviously couldn’t let this happen. For one, everything Sam had read on them painted elementals as gentle spirits who coveted their freedom; and for two, whatever the reason the demons did want the elemental was, it definitely couldn’t be good. In fact, it was likely downright bad. Terrible, even.

So, without even a word spoken between them, Sam pulled out the demon-killing knife and Dean his buck knife (the best he could do) and the two of them sprang forward while the demons were distracted trying to wrangle the cuffs onto the elemental’s wrists without getting deep fried.

Sam struck first, jamming the demon-killing knife into the back of the chanting demon and twisting sharply, making it cry out and arch, then slump to the ground, the book tumbling from its’ dead hands.

The other demons all stopped on that—and then they scattered, except for the one still trying to wrestle the second cuff onto the weakly struggling elemental. Dean was on that one, attacking with his buck knife, a flurry of stabs that forced the demon to abandon his Cuff The Elemental plan and fight back—but before it could do much, Sam stepped up beside it and stabbed the demon-killing knife in between its’ ribs, then pulled it out and watched the demon drop with a grimly satisfied look.

Dean, meanwhile, was just kind of hovering around next to the chained elemental, which was still on its’ knees, now weakly grasping at the collar around its’ neck with dimly lit electrical hands. The rubber was grounding it out, tamping down its’ power, draining its’ strength. Dean (hesitantly) wanted to help it, but he also didn’t want to get too close to it and get electrocuted, potentially.

Finally, Sam tucked the demon-killing knife away, then smacked a hand into Dean’s arm and ordered: “you get the collar, I’ll get the cuff.”

Dean just nodded curtly and side-stepped around behind the elemental, then hesitantly reached to undo the wooden buckle on the rubber collar, easing it open and carefully pulling the collar away, wincing internally the entire time. As soon as the collar popped free the elemental jerked its’ head around to stare at Dean, who just stared back, wide-eyed.

Sam was less tentative when he stepped up to crouch down in front of the elemental and began to reach for the cuff on its’ right wrist, but still moved slowly and carefully. When the elemental’s head swivelled back and it flinched away from him, Sam held his hands up, palms out, and told it, hoping it could understand, “we’re trying to help. I’m just going to take the cuff off.”

After a moment of staring at him mutely, its’ electricity already beginning to spike again with the collar off, the elemental cautiously held its’ bound wrist out toward Sam. Sam breathed a little sigh of relief and quickly unbuckled the cuff, then tossed the pair of cuffs off to the side before standing again and taking a few steps back. Dean followed his lead, backing away as well.

It took a few minutes after the cuffs were off and the spell work wasn’t being chanted at it anymore, but eventually the elemental climbed to its’ feet. Once standing, it flexed all of its’ limbs almost absentmindedly before pausing to stare Dean and Sam down intently. Then it simply became electricity again, arcing up from the ground and disappearing into one of the power plant’s transformers.

From there it jumped to another one, then another, before finally leaping across to the nearest transformer out on the street. They visually tracked it for a couple of blocks, jumping from transformer to transformer until it was out of sight.

Dean looked at Sam. “That better have been a good monster, Sammy, or we’re boned.”

“All the lore says they’re peaceful.” Sam told him with a shrug, “I think we just did our good deed for the day. I wonder why the demons wanted it, anyway?”

“Uhhh…” Dean was looking around them, now, and quickly reaching to pull his buck knife back out. “Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

The hoard of demons—probably around two dozen of them, minus the two Sam had already killed—had scattered at first, but now that the elemental was out of the picture and they so very clearly had the numbers advantage, they were creeping back, surrounding the brothers slowly but surely. If they couldn’t have an elemental, the least they could do was take out the Winchesters.

Sam readied the demon-killing knife again and both of them braced themselves.

The onslaught was quick and fierce, demons coming at them from all sides, flinging themselves forward two, three at a time at Sam and Dean each, and they fought back like wolves, vicious and bloodthirsty, stabbing and slicing frantically, slipping in the snow and slush, just hoping to make a good enough effort to keep themselves alive.

They did a decent job. They managed to take out most of the demons, but despite that they were both brutalized by the creatures they were fighting; beaten black and blue and bloody, until bones cracked and broke, cut until they felt bled dry,

Finally, Dean was literally fighting for his life in the middle of the open area, unarmed, while Sam had been forced back against a wall—pinned there—and a strike came down that made Dean careen backward, landing in the slush so hard he could feel at least one rib break harshly against the concrete. He pushed to get up, but one of his wrists was shattered as well. He couldn’t see out of his left eye; it was swollen closed—and the right one wasn’t much better off.

He began to mutter the exorcism, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii—” —but a swift kick to his side shut up him quickly, made him slump back against the ground, gasping painfully.

One of the demons he had been fighting brought its arm back, ready to deliver the final, killing blow—

And then something dark appeared between Dean and the demon, like a bolt out of the night sky, a familiar shape bodily blocking the demon’s strike, and that was followed by a blinding light and a scream—and when the shape turned around a moment later, it was Cas. Dean slumped against the ground and smiled despite his wounds, then closed his eyes briefly while Cas quickly dispatched the remaining demons with just as much ease and efficiency as the first.

“Dean.” When Dean opened his eyes again, Cas was kneeling next to him, a soft smile on his face. He reached out to touch Dean’s forehead, and abruptly all of Dean’s injuries were healed. Dean looked down at himself, almost disbelieving even though he had seen Cas’s healing abilities before. Cas just reached to squeeze his hand and told him gently, “I told you I would come, if things got really bad. No matter what.”

Dean almost wanted to cry. Instead, he grinned up at Cas and said, “my boyfriend is a freaking angel.”

“And he kicks ass.” Sam’s voice pointed out, sounding pained, then; “I’m sorry, but a little help, here?”

Sam was beat all to shit as well, and Cas released Dean’s hand to stand and make his way over to where Sam was leaning heavily against the nearby wall, cradling an obviously badly broken arm. Cas quickly healed him as well. Meanwhile, Dean climbed to his feet and looked around; bodies of demons littered the area, some of them sporting stab wounds and others with their eyes burned out of their skulls.

They needed to get the hell out of dodge before someone saw them and called the police.

The three of them hurried: Sam looked around until he located the demon-killing knife and yanked it out of the chest of one of the dead demons, wiping the blood off on his jeans before tucking it away in his jacket. Dean gathered up his own knife, which had been knocked from his hands halfway through the fight, then picked up the heavy book the demons had brought with them, not wanting to leave it behind—and then they paused just long enough to look at Cas.

The angel flashed a smile. “I’ll meet you at the motel,” he told them, and was gone in the blink of an eye.

The Winchesters bolted for the Impala and Dean drove recklessly through the slushy streets until they reached their motel, where he parked and next thing to dashed out of the car and up to the door of their room, leaving Sam to pick up the tomb of a book and follow at a more sensible pace.

-- --

When Dean opened the door, the lights were already on, and Cas was just standing in the middle of the room waiting for him.

Dean started across the room, a serious expression on his face, and Cas gave him a chagrined, guilty kind of look in return. “Dean, I—” He started—only to be stopped when Dean reached him and just grabbed hold of the front of his coat, yanking him forward into a tight hug. Cas made a surprised noise. “Dean…?”

“I missed you.” Dean muttered against his shoulder, still holding him close, “I thought they’d locked you in up there or something!”

“No, things just… took longer than I originally thought.” Cas brought his own arms up to hug back, finally, just as tightly, and huffed a sigh into Dean’s jacket, “I’m sorry I worried you, but I couldn’t get away. But then I saw what was about to happen just now and I couldn’t just let you…”

“And I appreciate that.” Dean told him sincerely, still not letting go. “You saved my life, Cas. Sam’s, too.”

“I told you I’d be there, if it came down to it.” Cas said softly. “You always take priority, Dean. Always.”

“And what do the bigwigs upstairs have to say about that?” Dean asked.

Cas eased back just enough that he could lean their foreheads together and he could look into Deans eyes. He had always loved Dean’s eyes. “We’ve reached an arrangement. They’ll tolerate my relationship with you and the time I spend on Earth as long as I keep up with… modified duties, in Heaven.”

“Modified duties?”

“Mm, they’re cutting my hours, so to speak. You and Sam are considered important to Heaven, in the grand scheme of things, so the major part of my new duties is to… monitor you two. Make sure you’re safe.” Cas’s lips quirked in a smile, “I don’t think they approve of the fact that I’m sleeping with you, but they didn’t actively forbid it either.”

Dean chuckled, obviously amused. “How’d you weasel you way into that particular gig?”

“Well, they know I have feelings for you, obviously. They know I would do anything to protect you. When you think about it, is there a better angel for the job?” Cas shrugged, then tilted his head to peer past Dean toward the doorway. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam was standing half-in and half-out of the room, looking undecided, like he didn’t want to interrupt but also like he was freezing his ass off. And they were letting all the heat out with the door hanging open the way it was. Finally, Sam seemed to make a decision, and stepped into the room, closing the door behind himself. “Sorry, but it’s cold.”

Dean just dropped a quick kiss against Cas’s lips, then stepped away from the angel and started shrugging out of his jacket. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy, we were just about done anyway.”

That was untrue. The two of them could easily have talked for hours about anything—and then probably fallen into bed together, as always seemed to happen with them. But Dean was acutely aware that he asked a lot of his brother, when it came to tolerating the ins-and-outs of his relationship with Cas. And it was cold out. Leaving Sam out there would be like kicking a puppy. On Christmas Eve.

Now Dean moved around the room, tossing his jacket across the foot of his bed and going to the fridge for a beer. Cas’s eyes followed his every movement until he settled at the table and gestured for Cas to join him. The angel hummed a happy noise and headed over to take a seat next to Dean while Sam worked himself out and then took over the chair on Cas’s other side, a beer in his own hand.

“Are we ordering food? We should order food.” Dean was thinking with his stomach, as usual. He always was after a good fight. Or a good fuck. It was just one of the things about him that Cas found oddly charming.

“Dude, you’re being rude. Cas doesn’t even eat.” Sam pointed out.

“Oh, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t! You two just got your asses kicked, I think you deserve some food.” Cas waved his hands slightly with a wide smile, “just do what you’d normally do. I’m just happy to be here.”

“We didn’t get our asses kicked.” Dean grumbled into his beer.

“We totally got our asses kicked.” Sam corrected him. “We were lucky Cas showed up when he did or we’d’ve been toast.”

“Wasn’t luck, Cas was watching over us.” Dean’s grumbling faded into a smile, and he glanced at Cas, a fond little look on his face. “Has been all along, I guess.”

Cas’s own smile turned soft, and he nodded, “I never stopped.”

Sam took a drink of his beer and leaned back in his seat, eyeing them both. “If you two are gonna start doing the lovey-dovey crap already, I’m going to have to bail.” He informed them before asking Dean; “do I need to get another room for the night?”

“Possibly for a couple nights.” Dean replied around the lip of his beer bottle, a little smirk on his face. “Since we’re done the job and everything, we can take the time.”

Sam made a face, but he wasn’t really upset. He was actually pleased that Dean was happy again. He sighed and lifted his beer slightly. “Can it wait until I finish my beer, and we have something to eat, at least?”

Dean pretended to think about it—but Cas chuckled and nodded his head. “Of course, Sam. Take your time.” Then he perked slightly and asked, “what do you two want to eat? I can get it for you.”

“Dean probably wants burgers.” Sam began.

“Dean always wants burgers.” Cas chuckled.

“Dean is sitting right here.” Dean complained.

In the end they decided on pizza, and even got Dean to agree to having mushrooms on it so it wasn’t entirely meat and cheese. Sam still bitched that they didn’t count as vegetables, but it was good-natured bitching, at least. Then Dean fished some money out of his wallet and handed it to Cas—who blinked out of existence a few seconds later, leaving the brothers to talk amongst themselves.

The conversation generally went along the lines of Sam making observations about how much happier Dean seemed already, with Cas there even less than an hour, how much more settled, and Dean vehemently denying it while smiling a little, contented smile into his beer the entire time. Sam found it hilarious and kind of adorable at the same time.

“But seriously, Dean, we did a good thing tonight.” Sam told his brother with a glance toward where he had deposited the book the demons had been reading out of earlier; “there’s no telling what the demons could do with the power of an Elemental.”

“As long as setting it loose was the right thing to do.” Dean replied cynically. “Something like that could do some real damage if it wanted to.”

“Yeah, but all the lore on Elementals says they’re peaceful.” The younger Winchester shrugged, “at least everything I’ve read, anyway.”

“They are. The generally don’t get into trouble unless they’re provoked. You definitely did the right thing.” Cas’s voice. He had popped back into the room and was carrying a pizza, a pie and a salad in a plastic container balanced in a stack in one hand, and a case of beer in the other. His hands were well and truly full. He stood there for a second before finally asking, “help please.”

Dean got up immediately to take the pizza, pie and salad from him and set them on the table, and Cas followed him over with the case of beer, setting it down as well. He smiled, pleased with himself. “The pizza is from the best place I could find in New York. The pie is pecan and from that diner in New Orleans that you liked so much, Dean. And the beer is from a little microbrewery in Mexico. It’s supposed to be particularly good. I got Sam’s salad from an organic restaurant in California, I know you didn’t ask for it, Sam, but I thought you’d appreciate it…”

Dean and Sam both stared at the food on the table for a long moment before looking at Cas, who just smiled at them—and then Dean stepped over and pulled Cas into a kiss. “You’re the absolute best.” He murmured, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to.” Cas bumped his forehead against Dean’s and lifted a hand to card his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair gently before stepping back and moving to take his seat at the table again. “There are perks to being an angel. Flight is one of them.” He told them with what bordered on a grin.

The next couple of hours were spent talking and laughing, discussing everything that had gone on over the previous six months, both on Earth and in Heaven, though Cas had to be careful what he said because most of what he did for Heaven was strictly confidential. Dean and Sam thoroughly enjoyed the food and drink that Cas had provided them, and Cas was more than pleased with that, even though he didn’t partake of it himself.

Eventually, though, the pizza, most of the beer and half the pie was gone and Sam had finished his salad—and proceeded to excuse himself, going around the room to collect his belongings, including the heavy tomb they had confiscated from the demons (he would probably spend most of the night pouring over it) and then heading out to book another room for himself for a couple of nights. Dean didn’t say ‘thank you’ but Cas did, calling it after Sam as the younger Winchester disappeared out the door. “Thanks, Sam!”

Sam paused on the threshold and glanced back briefly, a weird look on his face like he was vaguely grossed out but trying to appear happy anyway. “No problem, Cas. See you guys later. And, uh. Have fun. I guess.”

Cas just smiled widely and promised, “we will!”

-- --

Dean and Cas didn’t immediately jump into bed as soon as Sam was out the door, which was probably a minor miracle in itself. Instead, Cas headed over to lock the door behind Sam—he’d had motel safety drilled into him by Dean during his human years, and those lessons still stuck even now—and Dean cleaned up the beer bottles and other trash from dinner, tossing everything in the garbage. The leftover beer and pie went in the minifridge for safe keeping.

That done, Cas shrugged out of his trench coat and suit jacket and tossed them over the back of one of the chairs, then toed his shoes off, and climbed into Dean’s bed, gesturing for Dean to join him. “I’m sorry I was gone for so much longer than I thought I would be,” He said once Dean had settled on the mattress with him and they were cuddled up against each other, “but I really was looking out for you the entire time.”

Dean sighed and tightened his arm around Cas, his hand rubbing against the angel’s side gently. “I was ready to give you a piece of my mind when you came back. If you came back. I was worried they’d locked you in upstairs or whatever. But the second I saw you, I just… wasn’t angry anymore. I was just so relieved you were there. And I guess six months is a lot less than seven years.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas apologized again. “I should have made the time to come back, even if it was just long enough to let you know I was alright.”

“You should have,” Dean agreed softly, “but I understand why you didn’t. Whatever it takes to make them let you keep coming down here, Cas.”

“Mm.” Cas hummed and tucked his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, pressing a kiss there warmly; “but like I said earlier, it’s all worked out now. I’ll still have to go back, but only for short lengths of time and not as often as before.” His lips quirked into a smile, and he added; “Uriel is thoroughly disgusted with me.”

“Uriel’s always had a stick up his ass.” Dean informed him. “He keeps comparing us to monkeys.”

“It’s an evolution thing. He’s more of a creationist, I guess.” Cas assured Dean, “I’m sorry about Uriel, but a lot of angels think of themselves as superior to humans, despite what we were taught when you came to be, and he happens to be one of them. He thinks I’m… debasing myself. With my relationship with you. And he especially looks down on the sex.”

Dean snorted and grinned up at the ceiling. “Clearly he’s never gotten any.”

Cas laughed softly. “Probably not.” He agreed, “but then again, that’s true of most angels. My own experience with sex…” A little shrug with one shoulder and Cas kissed against Dean’s jaw. “It started when I was human and it was very good, so I couldn’t just forget that, right?”

“Very good, huh?” Dean chuckled softly and tilted his head to draw Cas into a kiss. “Yeah,” He murmured against Cas’s lips, “it was always pretty fantastic with us, wasn’t it? Even the first time.”

“Mmhm,” Cas kissed back easily, eyes closing over and a happy noise in his throat, “even the first time.” Then a slight pause and he added with an amused smile, “it was also slightly awkward at times, though.”

A laugh and Dean went in for another kiss, starting to carefully maneuver them so that Cas was on his back and Dean was settled half-over him. Cas allowed himself to be pushed down into the mattress, pinned under Dean’s weight, bringing one hand up to hold against the side of Dean’s neck as they continued trading kisses, and the other down to rest by his hip.

And Cas thought he could happily do this forever, just stay in bed with Dean. There was warmth and comfort and love in the way Dean treated him, touched him—there always had been, except for briefly when Cas had first returned to Earth after being missing for years. Dean had had a lot of anger and resentment to work through, then, and they had both struggled for a time, but now it was good again. So, so good.

Now, Dean was kissing along Cas’s jaw, leaning in for another kiss even as deft fingers began undoing the buttons on Cas’s shirt. Once it was undone, he pulled it out of Cas’s pants and pushed it open, leaning down to start pressing messy kisses across his chest.

“Dean… my tie.” Cas reached up to take his tie off—only to have Dean quickly stop him.

“It stays.” He murmured and then continued what he had been doing, kissing along Cas’s chest heatedly.

Cas just sighed and allowed it, arching into Dean’s kisses, letting his head fall back, and bringing one hand up to thread his fingers into Dean’s hair. “Mm, Dean…” Then a teasing bite against one of his nipples and he gasped, “ah!”

Dean sat back at that point and tugged at Cas’s shirt. “Get this off.” He told his boyfriend, even as he began to shrug out of his own overshirt, tossing it away before stripping out of the t-shirt he had on underneath. Cas looked up at him and licked his lips absently, then sat up enough to wiggle out of his shirt and shove it out of the way, the tie remaining behind in its wake. Dean immediately leaned down to kiss him again. “Much better.” He murmured against Cas’s lips.

Cas simply smiled into the kiss—and pushed abruptly, shoving Dean over and manhandling him onto his back again. Then he gave Dean a warm kiss and ducked to begin trailing heated kisses down his chest and along his abdomen, sucking just under his navel until Dean was squirming slightly, one hand down and tangled in Cas’s hair.

Humming softly, Cas brought his hands up to undo the button and zip on Dean’s jeans, urging Dean to lift his hips a little and tugging them down to his thighs. They were quickly followed by his boxers, and Cas just rubbed one hand up to take hold of Dean’s half-hard cock, squeezing gently as he murmured, “God, I love touching you so much.”

Dean groaned, hips bucking lightly, his cock hardening up the rest of the way in Cas’s grasp. “I don’t exactly hate it, either.” He replied, barely managing not to moan as Cas began stroking him off slow and steady, rubbing his palm over the head of his cock to smear precome down his shaft as he went, making Cas’s strokes smoother, slicker.

Cas made a soft amused sound and ducked down to lick over the head of Dean’s cock, then slowly sucked his length into his mouth, easing deep and sucking gently. This was a gentle blowjob, lazy, he wasn’t actually trying to make Dean come from it, he was just trying to give him some added pleasure before the main show—and it was working. Dean was watching him intently from under half-lidded eyes, one hand still tangled in Cas’s hair and kneading gently along with his ministrations as Cas simply continued to suck him off, unhurried, enjoying the weight of Dean’s cock in his mouth and even the strange, molecular-level taste of his precome against his tongue.

After a few minutes of that, though, he pulled off wetly and made his way back upward to drag Dean into a deep, wanting kiss, before rolling over onto his back again and beginning to work at undoing his own belt and pants, shimmying out of them, followed quickly by his boxers.

Then he dropped one hand to stroke at his own erection a few times, biting his lip lightly while Dean watched intently. “Shit, Cas,” He swore under his breath, his own dick twitching against his stomach, steadily leaking precome, and he quickly got to work stripping his jeans and boxers off the rest of the way—then cursed again when he realized the lube was in his duffle bag. Dean rolled over, still kicking his jeans off the end of the bed and reached over the side of the mattress to begin rooting through the bag until he came up with the lubricant in question. He made a quiet triumphant noise when he found it. “Gotcha.”

When he settled again, it was to look sideways and watch Cas as the angel continued to stroke himself off, head thrown back and back arched just the slightest bit. After a handful of seconds, Dean made a soft negative sound in his throat and shook his head, then rolled over to settle overtop of Cas, tugging his hand away from his dick and pressing close, rolling their hips together heatedly.

Cas just gasped, then moaned, head still back, while Dean ground against him and ducked to trail messy kisses along the curve of his throat. “I want you so fucking bad, Cas…”

“Then have me.” Cas managed to gasp out. He brought one hand up to tangle in Dean’s hair and pulled him in for a hot kiss before releasing him again. “I’m yours, Dean. I’ve always been yours.”

And it occurred to Dean, vaguely, as he eased back and nudged at Cas to part his legs and bend his knees, that that was true, wasn’t it? Cas had never in his entire existence slept with anyone else. Dean, on the other hand… well. For most of the seven years Cas had been missing he had been manwhoring himself all over the United States. It almost made him cringe, now, to think of it. But those days were long past, so Dean tried not to dwell on it too much.

Now, he just set about slicking up his fingers and prepping Cas quickly but thoroughly, until Cas was arching and writhing under his ministrations, head thrown back against the pillows as he gasped and moaned—and then began rolling his hips down against Dean’s hand, his own hands clenched in the bedsheets tightly. “Dean—”

Dean didn’t prolong the stretching this time, as he had been known to do in the past and most certainly would do in the future, he just got it out of the way quickly so he could crawl up over Cas again, stroke his slick hand along his own cock just to be sure, and then push himself into his lover’s willing body in one long, deep thrust.

Cas moaned, even as he was bringing his legs up, wrapping them around Dean’s hips to hold him deep inside himself, and sliding his arms around the man overtop of him, digging his fingers into his shoulder blades as he rocked his hips, urging Dean to start moving.

There was no easing into it; after so long apart they both just wanted to feel each other, inside and out. So, Dean braced himself on his forearms and began thrusting into Cas hard and deep, so firmly it jostled Cas up and down on the mattress—and Cas didn’t complain an iota, instead giving as good as he was receiving, rolling his own hips down to meet Dean’s thrusts, head thrown back and loud, sharp cries escaping his throat every time Dean was buried all the way inside him.

This kind of sex, the hard, almost desperate kind, never lasted for long, in their experience. If they were looking for something to last longer, they made love instead, slow and languid and full of emotion. This, right now, was just fucking, and both of them were perfectly okay with that.

Still, it did seem over almost too soon. But with Dean fucking him thoroughly and Cas contributing as well, it was only a few minutes before Cas was coming with a breathless wail, pearly come spurting to smear between their stomachs. Dean followed shortly after, thrusting a few more times before burying himself to the hilt inside Cas’s body and coming with a stifled shout.

Then they both slumped; Cas back and Dean forward onto him, and panted to catch their breath.

“Oh, God, I love this body.” Cas managed a couple of minutes later, head back and blue eyes on the ceiling. He brought one hand up to thread his fingers through Dean’s sweat-damp hair affectionately. “You don’t get to feel things like that when you’re just a celestial wavelength…!” He trailed off, then, before adding with a grin; “I love your body, too, by the way.”

Dean chuckled, muffled into Cas’s shoulder, but clearly wasn’t in a rush to get off him any time soon. That was fine with Cas, who just hummed and closed his eyes, fingers still stroking through Dean’s hair. He had missed moments like this, over the time he had been away… comfortable affection. Softness. Love. Heaven was all harsh rules and constant judgement.

When Dean finally began to move again, it wasn’t to pull away, though, it was to tilt his head and begin trailing kisses along Cas’s neck before gently nosing at his jaw. “I love this body, too.” He sighed and dropped another kiss—and then another one, one hand drifting up to slide along Cas’s side warmly.

Cas started to laugh, but the sound trailed into a sigh, and he arched his neck into Dean’s kisses. “Dean you aren’t even out of me yet…”

“What’s the point?” Dean grinned against the crook of his neck and rocked their hips together lightly, making Cas gasp softly. “I’m gonna be hard and into you again in no time, anyway.”

And oh. Okay. They had never played at this before. Cas swallowed slightly and let his head fall back again, even as Dean kissed down along his shoulder and farther to nip at his collar bone. But that was about as far as he could reach without pulling his already-hardening cock out of Cas, and he seemed determined not to do that.

For his part, Cas just squirmed slightly, the feeling of Dean getting hard while already inside him new and novel, the stretch slow until he was stuffed full again and moaning softly at the feeling, his own dick filling out again, now, too. “Dean…! Oh my…!”

“God?” Dean asked, breath hitching and hips jerking slightly. “More blasphemy. You swear more than any other angel I know.”

“Because I don’t give a shit. God has more important things to worry about…” Cas replied, closing his eyes again and swallowing a little whimper—he arched, then, to press his now-hard cock up against Dean’s abdomen. They both groaned at the movement, and Cas lifted a leg to tuck it over one of Dean’s, breath coming faster now. He licked his lips and told Dean; “you know… men can’t usually get it up again so soon after, but you’ve always been—ah—virile.”

“Only when it comes to you, though…” Dean began adjusting himself, propping himself up on his forearms again and bracing his knees before pulling himself halfway out of Cas—and thrusting back in firmly, making them both gasp. Dean ducked his head to kiss and lick along Cas’s throat, murmuring; “never—never been like this with anyone else… something about you just… brings it out in me…!”

“I was not—complaining!” Cas assured him, voice rising sharply as Dean began to set a proper pace, fucking into him in sharp, quick thrusts that jammed the head of his cock against Cas’s sweet spot almost every time. Soon he was clutching at Dean, panting and moaning again—as he had been what felt like only seconds ago.

And then out of nowhere, Dean grabbed hold of him and rolled them both, so Cas was on top. Cas squawked out a surprised noise while Dean laughed breathlessly and Cas licked his lips, swallowed thickly as he adjusted himself to straddle the man underneath him properly, hands braced against his abdomen, kneading there.

“Your turn now, Cas… ah…” Reaching up, Dean grabbed at the tie still around Cas’s neck and pulled him down by it, leaning up to kiss him, hard and hot. “Told you I’d screw you with just the tie some day…” He muttered breathlessly against Cas’s lips.

Cas gave a panted laugh at that, even as he began rocking his hips, fucking himself as hard and deep on Dean’s cock as his current position would allow. It was a little awkward at this angle, but definitely doable. After a moment or two, Dean loosened his grip on Cas’s tie and let him sit up again (though he still kept a hold on it) and that made Cas’s job much easier.

Now, the angel braced himself on Dean’s stomach again, fingers digging in slightly, and let his head fall back, acutely aware of the tether of his tie between himself and Dean’s grasping hand. It was like being on a leash. Like being connected to his boyfriend in an entirely new way.

He rolled his hips, muscles rippling with the movement, in little circular movements, lifting up on the forward and dropping down on the back, fucking himself deeply on Dean’s cock while Dean slid one hand up to grip at one of his hips and continued holding onto the end of the tie with the other.

Soon, Cas was head back moaning loudly again, and Dean really wasn’t much better off, groaning and panting while Cas rode him like his life depended on it, hot and kinetic, almost frantic. In the end, Cas finally leaned back a little to brace one hand against one of Dean’s legs and ground down into him, his other hand moving to grab and stroke at his own cock. Dean just watched him with a reverent look on his face, like Cas was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. (He was.)

When Cas came a few minutes later, he came hard, arching and jamming his hips downward as he emptied himself across Dean’s chest and stomach—but then he immediately braced himself again and continued rocking his hips until Dean also reached his peak and fell over, coming deep inside the angel for a second time.

Then, Cas just propped himself up on his trembling arm, still braced against Dean’s leg, and took a few shuddering breaths, before Dean was tugging him down over himself, gathering Cas into his arms and dropping a breathless kiss against his hair. “Holy shit, Cas, you really… you’re fucking beautiful, do you know that?”

Cas gave a weak chuckle and tilted his head to kiss by Dean’s collar bone. “Yeah. I think I might’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“It’s true, you know. You’re gorgeous when you ride me like that. I mean, you’re beautiful all the time, but that was…” Dean trailed off, eyes on the ceiling as he sighed out a little contented noise.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Cas hummed.

There was silence for a moment before Dean spoke again: “You know, we never really talked about all the… sleeping around. That I did. While you were gone before. Not—not this time, obviously, I didn’t sleep with anyone else this time, but when you disappeared on me before. When we were younger. I should… I mean. I’m sorry. It must have been terrible for you to see all that, from up in Heaven.”

Cas hesitated for a second, then; “I didn’t love it, I’ll admit that. But I understood it. And you have nothing to apologize for, Dean. You thought I was dead, it’s not like you were cheating on me or anything. I know you would never do that.”

“Kinda feels like that’s exactly what I was doing.” Dean murmured. He brought one hand up to trail his fingers through the mess of come on his stomach and chest, then lifted it to lick at his fingers almost absently. “But thank you for understanding.”

Cas lifted his head up from where it had been pillowed on Dean’s shoulder and leaned up to press a kiss against Dean’s jaw. “I won’t ever begrudge you happiness, I promise.”

Dean smiled gently. “I’m happiest with you, Cas.”

Cas smiled back and answered quite simply; “same.”

-- --

“This body.”

“Hm?”

“Earlier you said you love ‘this body.’” Dean clarified. He was leaning half-propped-up on the pillows with Cas tucked against his side, now, one arm wrapped around the angel and the other down, his hand resting against his own still-sticky abdomen. One of Cas’s hands was tangled up with that one, and Cas had his head comfortably on Dean’s shoulder again. Cas had finally discarded his necktie, wrinkled and stained with come as it was. “What do you mean ‘this body’?”

“Well,” Cas adjusted slightly, nuzzling down into Dean even further, and murmured, “I mean… this body is a Vessel. It was born human. The host personality is long, long gone, though.” He sounded almost regretful about that, and Dean made a mental note to bring it up again later. For now, he just listened. “But as a being, as an angel, I was born… before time even began. I have many forms. But I do have a true form, it’s just…” Cas trailed off briefly before finishing with; “bizarre.”

“Define ‘bizarre.’” Dean asked, rubbing a hand along Cas’s side absently.

Cas hummed at the touch and smiled, “okay, so picture a massive blue eye, surrounded by four rings of different sizes that constantly rotate around it at different angles. And all the rings are covered in smaller eyes, too. Just… a thousand eyes.”

“I—” Dean began, then stopped, his eyes narrowing as he tried to picture what Cas was describing. Then he cleared his throat and offered, “look, I know I said I’d love you no matter what, but that sounds a little too freaky even for me. No offense.”

“None taken.” Cas laughed, “God was very creative when he was designing angels. Did you know Zachariah has four faces, and one of them is a lion?”

Dean scowled, “yeah he may have mentioned that.”

The angel currently tucked against him pressed a placating kiss by his collar bone. “Anyway, my original form, classic Castiel, I guess, wasn’t made for things like this, obviously. This body is so much better for touching and feeling and experiencing things. But especially for sex. Sex is a concept that angels weren’t even aware of until relatively recently.”

“Relatively?”

“Well, when the creatures of Earth began to procreate that way. And it wasn’t until humans that sex became anything other than something strictly for producing offspring. Humans really made it into a big deal. That’s why most angels are so put off by it, I guess, because to us it’s… messy.”

“It is that.” Dean agreed, glancing down at the soiled sheets around them, “I’m gonna have to go get clean sheets from housekeeping.” That was always awkward, but it wasn’t exactly like he could let the cleaning crew in with all the weapons stashed around everywhere.

“I don’t mind the mess, though.” Cas told him; “but then I grew up human for a lifetime, so my view of things is a bit… skewed. Compared to most angels.”

“You also said something about being a ‘celestial wavelength’?”

“Yeah, sometimes I just take on the form of light or sound, when I need to be everywhere at once. Those times I’m just… energy in the cosmos.” Cas shrugged, “again, not very fun. I much prefer this body, and being able to touch things, feel things. Especially with you. Even if being in this body is painful at times.”

“Painful?”

“Well, when I get stabbed, shot, otherwise injured. It doesn’t kill me, and my Vessel heals quickly, most of the time, not even any scars left behind, but I still feel it. I guess I’ve just learned to block out the pain, over time.”

Dean hummed softly and ducked to press a kiss into Cas’s hair. “Remind me to check on you next time we’re in a fight. I don’t like the idea of you being in pain.”

Cas laughed quietly and glanced up, then leaned to kiss Dean gently. “I don’t even bleed most of the time, and the pain is fleeting. Don’t worry about it, Dean.”

The man wrapped up in his arms kissed back warmly and murmured, “I’m allowed to worry about my fiancée, thank you very much.”

But Cas pulled back at that to blink at him in surprise. “Your fiancée?”

Dean’s arm tightened around him, and he shrugged slightly, glancing away before green eyes flitted back to Cas once more. He toyed with Cas’s fingers absently. “Well… yeah, I figure… we never called it off, technically, so we’ve been engaged all this time, right? So, fiancée. Unless you don’t…”

“Dean.” Cas released Dean’s hand and brought his up to touch along the side of his face gently, stroking against his stubbled jaw. “After all this time? After everything, you still…?”

“Of course.” Dean’s voice came out soft and he leaned into Cas’s touch, closing his eyes. “I know we can’t actually do it, not with me being what I am and you being what you are, but it doesn’t hurt for me to call you that once in a while, does it?”

Cas gave him such an overly fond look that Dean could see it even with his eyes still closed, He leaned up to press another kiss against Dean’s lips. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean finally opened his eyes again and gave a little smile in return, “I love you, too, Castiel Novak.”

Cas chuckled softly, “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

Dean just angled for another kiss. “You’ll always be Castiel Novak to me.”

-- --

Eventually they had to leave their little nest in Dean’s bed to get cleaned up, and yes, it was within Cas’s power to simply use his Grace to tidy himself up—and he could do the same for Dean if the man asked for it, he had done that in the past, even—but in this case he much preferred to just join Dean in the bathroom, shower together like they used to years ago.

They had a track record with showering together, though, and while they untangled themselves from each other and the bedsheets, climbing out of bed to head into the bathroom, Cas absolutely noticed when Dean swiped the lube from the bedside table to bring it with them. He smiled to himself, just soft and amused, because honestly? If Dean hadn’t, Cas probably would have.

Their bathroom excursion started off innocuous enough, with Dean taking the opportunity to shave quickly and Cas watching him fondly the entire time. Cas, himself, didn’t need to shave anymore, he could simply whisk the stubble away with a thought alone—though he had grown used to a little scruff, over the years. He wondered, briefly, if Dean would prefer him clean-shaven, as he had always been when they were younger and Cas was human, but then quickly dismissed the thought. Dean didn’t seem to particularly care either way, if all the sex was anything to go by.

When Dean was finished and tidying up, Cas just stepped over and picked up the hand towel, wetting it in the sink and then reaching to wipe away the shaving cream residue from his boyfriend’s face with a smile. It wasn’t perfect, but they were about to climb in the shower anyway, so it didn’t need to be. When he was finished, he set the towel down again, even as Dean grasped his hand a tugged it up to press an affectionate kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“I love you.” Dean murmured, green eyes soft around the edges.

Cas’s smile gentled and he leaned in for a kiss. “I love you, too, Dean.” Then he just tugged at Dean’s hand where it was still grasping his arm and added, “come on, let’s get in the shower now. We need to get cleaned up.”

Dean made a quiet agreeing noise and dropped another light kiss against Cas’s lips before releasing is hold on the angel’s arm and easing over to start up the shower, testing the water with his hand to make sure it was the right temperature before pulling the tab to get the shower running. He stepped in, then, and gestured for Cas to join him—and Cas hummed to himself and nicked the tube of lubricant off the counter before climbing into the shower alongside Dean and sliding the door shut behind them. He set the lube on the little ledge in the shower that was probably meant for soap.

In fairness, they started off showering properly, with each of them washing their hair in turn, and then Dean picking up the nicely scented body wash (that Sam insisted on keeping on hand, plain soap wasn’t good enough for him, it would seem) and lathering up a cloth with a good dollop of the stuff before nudging at Cas to turn around and starting to clean up his lover with gentle, affectionate strokes of the cloth—first his back and then, when Cas turned back around, his chest… and lower.

That was about when things started to go off the rails, Cas shifting on his feet and sighing as Dean washed down along his abdomen to his hips—until Cas was breathing a little harder and his cock was beginning to perk up once more, making Dean swallow slightly and then finally set the cloth aside to pull Cas closer, tight against himself with an arm around his waist.

He leaned in for a kiss, then, watery and with Cas smiling amusedly against his lips. “Good thing I grabbed the lube before we climbed in here,” Cas murmured, angling his head for another kiss—deeper than before as he pressed close against Dean, now. “And you thought to bring it from the other room in the first place…”

Dean chuckled into the kiss but didn’t say anything in return, just settling into kissing Cas again, deeply and warm, one arm tucked around the small of his back and the opposite hand up, holding onto the angel’s bicep, his grip firm.

And they stood like that, pressed close together, rubbing up against each other for a long few moments until they were both fully hard and throbbing against their stomachs, just making out under the shower like they used to when they were younger, during their meetups around the country—hell, even before that, when they had been together in high school and showering together to help Cas out after he was wounded by the jorogumo.

But this time there were no injuries to worry about, hell, even the scars were gone, and Dean was privately glad for that, that those reminders of Cas’s past pain weren’t there anymore. So, after a while, he began carefully maneuvering Cas around, before finally breaking off from kissing him to turn the angel to face the tiled wall of the shower. Cas licked his lips and automatically lifted his arms to brace himself, canting his hips back in invitation.

Dean swore softly, under his breath, and quickly looked around for where Cas had stashed the lube. When he spotted it in the soap tray, he made a soft triumphant noise in the back of his throat that made Cas chuckle and snatched it up, hurriedly uncapping it and slicking up the fingers on his right hand.

Then he turned back to Cas and had to take a minute because—“fuck, Cas, you look…”

Cas was turned away from him, obviously, and still had his arms braced against the wall of the shower, his legs spread as far as the tub surround would allow, and his head turned to peer back over his shoulders, the look on his face entirely debauched and they hadn’t even done anything yet. Dean licked his lips and let his eyes skim over Cas’s body, glistening in the steam from the shower, speckled with water droplets—and Goddamn, he was a lucky man. He had thought that before, many times, but every single time he meant it.

“Dean… come on…”

Cas’s voice had a slightly plaintive note to it that brought Dean back to reality, and he quickly dropped the tube of lubricant back onto the little soap ledge, then eased up behind Cas, resisted the urge to grind into his ass, and instead began the task of prepping him, easing the first finger into his body, slow and deep.

Cas never had any trouble taking one finger, not anymore, especially not after being stretched out already just a short time ago, so it was quick to work up to two, pushing the second into him just as deeply but not nearly as slowly, as Dean began working them inside Cas, parting and stretching, searching for that magic little button that would make Cas lose his shit. He was pretty good at finding it, he’d had a lot of practice, so it only took a moment or two before—

“A-ah!” Cas gave a sharp little cry, his hips jerking, when Dean struck his prostate for the first time, and the fingers of one hand curled into a fist against the tiled wall in front of him. His head dropped down slightly. “Hah, yes, Dean… God, ah, more of that, please…”

As if he had to ask. Having located Cas’s sweet spot, Dean proceeded to take full advantage of it, abusing it first with two fingers, for what felt like forever, and then with three, once he added the third, stretching Cas out as he broke him down completely; until Cas was weak-kneed and clinging to the wall in front of him with one hand, the other down and stroking at his own cock almost desperately, uttering little, breathless gasps and moans the entire time.

This time, though, when Cas began begging for Dean to take him, Dean ignored his pleas. Instead, he just gripped tighter at one side of Cas’s ass with his free hand and continued fucking him on his fingers, hard and deep, until he was loose and pliant, pressing and rubbing against his prostate as much as possible to pull what were frankly beautiful cries out of his lover. Green eyes watched Cas’s every movement, every micro expression intently, lost in the angel’s pleasure, his own temporarily forgotten.

But when Cas cast a pleading look over his shoulder a couple of minutes later, brows drawn together and biting on his lip to try to stifle himself somewhat (Dean wished he wouldn’t), Dean abruptly stopped, yanking his fingers away and taking hold of his own cock, lining up to push himself into Cas’s body—hard and deep, all the way to the hilt in one sharp movement.

Cas gave a breathless moan at that, the sound echoing within the confines of the bathroom, and pushed back against Dean, intent on getting every inch of him inside himself—but he was still jerking himself off, too, his strokes quick and heated, and Dean only managed to thrust into him once, twice, before Cas was locking up around him, coming with a wrecked, panted shout.

“Mmh, Cas...” Dean’s hips stopped moving and he grabbed hard by Cas’s waist, taking a few steadying breaths before managing to get out, “you want me to keep going?”

There was a brief moment of silence from Cas as he continued to heave, gasping for air, the hand previously working his own dick now up and braced against the wall for support, his eyes closed. Eventually, though, blue eyes opened again, and he licked his lips, then pushed back against Dean firmly. “Yeah,” He managed, “yeah, keep going.” And then he glanced over his shoulder to give Dean a heated look and added; “fuck me, Dean.”

Dean didn’t need to be told again. He adjusted his hold on Cas, sliding his hands to hold by the angel’s hips, and began to move again, first a couple of shallow thrusts but quickly working up to fucking Cas hard, almost roughly, eyes half-closed and biting on his lower lip to muffle his little grunts, groans and other sound of pleasure.

As for Cas, he just let his head fall forward again, braced against the wall by both hands once more and whimpered out soft yelps and moans with every one of Dean’s thrusts. Half of them were colliding with his already battered prostate, and he was so overstimulated that Dean’s movements inside him felt so good it almost hurt, but that was fine, that was good—and Dean deserved his pleasure, too.

Fingers curling and dragging against the wall, Cas whimpered quietly as Dean continued to fuck into him almost harshly. His chest was heaving, and he tried to catch his breath through the steam that was entirely filling up the room, the shower still continuing to rain down on them both.

“Cas… ah, fuck…!”

“D-Dean…”

When Dean’s thrusts began to go jerky and fall out of rhythm, Cas swallowed hard and glanced back over his shoulder—then began to shove his hips back into Dean’s, slamming them together roughly for a few more thrusts before Dean pushed deep and held there for a long moment as he came hard, deep inside his boyfriend.

Then he just… paused. And forced himself to loosen his grip on Cas’s hips; he’d left little dark spots where his fingers had been digging in, and he murmured a soft apology even as he eased out of Cas’s body and reached to help Cas straighten up again. Cas mumbled a quiet protest but went along with it, until eventually he was standing straight once more, come beginning to dribble out of him, the sight making Dean swallow hard. And then Cas turned around to tuck himself into Dean’s inviting embrace and Dean’s attention was diverted elsewhere.

Dean’s arms wrapped around him and the man ducked to kiss against his shoulder before asking; “you okay?” And then just as an observation; “you didn’t come again.”

“Mmm,” Cas hummed and tilted his head to nuzzle by Dean’s ear. “It’s okay. I enjoyed it, anyway.”

They would have more than happily stayed there forever, but a couple minutes later the hot water began to run out (a motel water heater could only do so much; they had learned that years ago) and they made the decision to get out and dried off after another quick, cursory clean-up, Cas’s little bruises already mostly faded to peachy skin tone again.

-- --

Once they were dry and dressed again (albeit in just boxers for the both of them and a t-shirt for Dean), they went out to the main room, where Dean stripped the soiled sheets off his bed and made a quick and embarrassing field trip to find the maid for fresh ones. With those obtained, he returned to the room, locked the door behind himself, and the two of them set about making the bed again, this time with crisp, clean linens.

After that they climbed back into bed, this time just on top of the covers, and cuddled up together, Cas tucked into Dean’s side with his head on his shoulder and his fingers toying with the front of Dean’s shirt gently. They were both quiet for a while, just basking in each other’s warmth, before Dean finally broke the silence:

“Earlier, when you were talking about your Vessel,” he began almost hesitantly; “you sounded almost… regretful. I, ah—is that something you want to talk about?”

Cas had had his eyes closed but now opened them, trailing his fingers along Dean’s chest absently for a long, drawn-out moment before responding; “Jimmy is… a sensitive topic.” And then he glanced up and added; “but I could talk about it with you. I think I could talk about anything with you.”

Dean gave him a soft smile. “You were placed with your Vessel when he was a child, right? Unready?”

Cas nodded and leaned up to give Dean a quick kiss before returning his head to his shoulder with a sigh. “It’s not common for children to be used as Vessels. Their spirits haven’t matured enough yet, usually, and… we do need permission to take over a human body. Getting a child’s permission is easy, but it’s… it’s like coercion, you know? They’re too young to know what they’re getting into. We usually wait for our Vessels to mature before we approach them.”

Dean made a soft sound in his throat and lifted one hand to begin carding his fingers through Cas’s hair gently. “Go on.”

“With Jimmy…” Cas trailed off, then sighed. “He was five years old. He agreed, but it was a coerced agreement. It shouldn’t have happened. He should have been able to live out decades more of his life before I introduced myself. And…”

“And?” Dean prompted, still stroking through his hair.

“He’s gone now. I’ve been in this body for so long, I’ve done so much in it, so much has happened to it, that Jimmy himself is long gone.” Cas closed his eyes again. “Sometimes it feels a lot like I killed him. If he had grown into the man he was supposed to, he would have been pious. He was meant to be a pious man. He might even have prayed for this, but…”

Dean’s hand paused in Cas’s hair, and he tightened his grip, tugging gently. “Hey. You know none of that is your fault, right? You keep telling me about Heaven and Heaven’s orders, Heaven’s rules, how you couldn’t disobey them before now. If that’s the case, then when you were ordered into your Vessel before he was ready… that’s not on you. That’s on whoever upstairs is handing out the assignments.”

Cas made a soft sound in his throat, not negative, but not really positive either. “But if he had prayed for this, it would have been a completely different situation…”

Deciding they needed a topic change, Dean let his hand start moving again, petting through Cas’s hair gently, and admitted softly: “I prayed to you, while you were away. Just… just the once, I’m not really the praying type, you know? But I guess I got desperate, when it took you so long to come back, and Sam suggested it, so…”

“I know, Dean.” Cas murmured in response and tucked his head up under Dean’s chin to press a kiss against his throat before leaning down again. His fingers traced gentle circles on the man’s chest. “I heard your prayer. I was wing-deep in some serious crap right then, and I couldn’t come back yet, but hearing your voice calling to me, talking to me, was like a miracle in that moment. So, thank you for that, Dean. For your prayer.”

“What kind of serious crap, hm?” Dean asked; one of his hands was rubbing absently up and down Cas’s bare back.

Cas sighed and tapped his fingers against Dean’s chest before saying, “it was a whole Joan of Arc time travel thing. They needed someone to be there for her, to stand before her and talk to her, to reassure her while she… while she burned. To escort her soul to Heaven when it was over.”

Dean’s hand paused by the small of Cas’s back before he tightened his arm around the angel in a little hug. “Christ, Cas, that’s… that’s horrible. I’m sorry.”

“They give me the shitty jobs, nowadays. The ones no one wants to do.” Cas shrugged with one shoulder. “Because they’re trying to keep me in line, because they don’t completely trust me anymore. No one wants to watch a nineteen-year-old girl burn at the stake, even in the name of God. That kind of thing’s my lot, now, when I’m on Heaven’s clock, but at least I don’t have to spend much time there anymore. Like I said before, from here on out my primary job is to watch over you and Sam here on Earth. Going forward, I’ll be spending most of my time here with you.” Then a pause and he smiled slightly, amused; “it’s another job that no one else wants to do, but for me it’s perfect.”

“It is that.” Dean agreed, a little smile tugging at the corners of his own lips again. “I wonder if they realized what a freaking gift they were giving you?”

“Oh, they absolutely knew I wanted the job. That’s why I’ve been getting my hands so dirty the last while, so to speak, so they would be willing to give it to me. Like a reward for being an obedient son, even though recently I’m anything but.” Cas laughed and dragged his fingers along Dean’s warm skin before pressing his palm by his abdomen to feel him breathe; “so I can be here with you, together like this. I would’ve done anything to be given these orders.”

Dean hummed in the back of his throat and reached with his free hand to grasp at Cas’s chin, tipping his face up and then tilting his own downward for a kiss. Cas kissed back with a pleased sound. When they parted a moment later, Dean said softly, “thanks for being a rebellious son for us, Cas.”

“For you, Dean.” Cas corrected with a little, smitten look; “I adore Sam, you know that, but everything I do is for you.”

Dean smiled fondly and hummed out a few bars of a familiar song, then simply replied, “everything I do, I do it for you.”

Cas flung an arm over Dean’s chest and let his head come to rest by the man’s shoulder, only for Dean to lift a hand up a moment later and tip his chin up to drag him into a kiss, long and deep and languid. Cas hummed out a soft pleased sound, even as Dean began shifting them again to push Cas down onto his back and settle over him.

“Dean…” Cas protested quietly, with no real strength behind it; “your brother…”

Sam was literally in his own bed less than ten feet away. But Dean just ducked to trail kisses along Cas’s throat, down to bite at his collar bone gently. “So, you’ll just have to be quiet for once,” came his murmured reply, “and if you’re going to be gone again, I want as much of you as I can get until you go.”

And how was Cas supposed to say ‘no’ to that? Not that he really wanted to, anyway. So, he just reached up with one hand to thread his fingers into Dean’s hair and tugged him in for another proper kiss. Sam was going to kill them when he inevitably found out about this, but Cas figured they could cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, he just sank into the following series of kisses, sighing out a happy noise against Dean’s mouth as their tongues slid together hotly.

When they broke apart for air after a few long, drawn-out moments, Cas let his head fall back and Dean ducked to kiss along his neck, down to his shoulder and then farther, along his collar bone, nipping gently before moving down to lick across one of Cas’s nipples. Cas arched into it with a quiet gasp, blue eyes closing over even as Dean dragged one hand down his side to tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“Let’s get you out of these.” He chuckled softly.

Cas made a barely audible protesting noise. “Not just mine, yours too. And your shirt. I want to feel all of you.”

Dean laughed again, still softly, and eased back and to the side, quickly stripping out of his t-shirt and tossing it out of the way, and that was followed swiftly by him wiggling out of his boxers. Cas followed suit, and soon they were both bare, and Dean was pressing close against him again underneath the covers.

“Sam is going to kill us when he finds out.” Cas reminded him, voice low.

The shit-eating grin that split across Dean’s face in the darkness was enough of a response for Cas, and he rolled his eyes before pulling Dean closer, down on top of himself and dragging him into another kiss. Dean settled over him with a pleased noise in his throat, pushing one leg up between Cas’s and rubbing against his half-hard cock, making the angel muffle a moan against his lips.

Dean continued rubbing against him, then graduated to rolling their hips together, grinding their cocks against one another while Cas did his best to muffle little groans and cries into Dean’s mouth. Eventually Dean pulled back and kissed a sloppy line up his jaw to whisper in his ear, “turn over, Cas, it’ll be easier to muffle yourself into the pillows that way.”

Dean had a point. So, when the man on top of him moved to the side, Cas rolled over, easing onto his stomach. Dean, meanwhile, reached over the edge of the bed to his duffle bag to dig for the lube. It took a moment to find it, searching blind in the dark, but he finally managed it and pulled the important tube out with a soft pleased noise before returning to Cas, who had settled on his stomach with his hands up gripping at the pillows. He was silently watching Dean’s every move, blue eyes bright even in the gloom of the hotel room.

Licking his lips absently, Dean rubbed one hand down Cas’s spine, pausing at the small of his back and pushing the blankets down out of the way before patting one hand against Cas’s hip—a quiet urge for him to part his legs. And if Sam woke up at this point, they were well and truly screwed, because, uncovered as they were, there was no pretending they were doing anything else.

“We should have… ah… just gotten another room.” Cas whispered, half-muffled into the pillows as he arched his hips into Dean’s hands despite his protests. “This is… not a good idea…”

“Stop pretending you don’t love this as much as I do.” Dean murmured back with a grin—and quickly slicked up his fingers, tossing the lube to the side afterward, then focusing down, one hand holding against Cas’s hip and the other starting to prep the angel with the first finger, easing deep and easily, curling and nudging at Cas’s prostate already—

And Cas yelped out a cry, quickly burying his face in the pillows to muffle it. His hands grabbed at the covers, pulling restlessly as Dean continued, pushing a second finger into him quickly after the first and immediately going for his sweet spot again, a little smirk on his face the entire time. Cas could only moan into the pillows, trying desperately to keep himself quiet enough so as not to wake Sam.

When Dean slid the third finger into him, Cas just whimpered and pressed his forehead into the pillows, panting now, and pushing back into Dean’s hand. Finally, Dean pulled his fingers away and reached to run his slicked-up hand over his own aching dick, then settled himself against Cas’s back and pushed himself into Cas’s body with the briefest, softest of moans.

Dean was better at keeping himself quiet than Cas was—always had been. Dean could press the mute button when need be. Cas had basically no control over the volume of his cries and pleasure-induced ramblings. The pillows were absolutely necessary in this situation, especially when Dean sank into him right to the hilt and settled over him like that, a heavy, warm weight against his entire back. Perfect.

They had had sex like this before—with Cas on his stomach, sandwiched between Dean and the mattress, barely any space even to breathe—but not often (and definitely not recently.) Not that they didn’t enjoy it because God they did, it was just that it could be a little awkward, and other positions were easier, got them there faster, and they could both be rather impatient at times.

“God… Dean…” Cas panted out, forehead digging into the pillows and chest heaving as he gasped for air. He shoved his hips back into Dean’s and quickly muffled a whimper before begging, “please.”

“I’ve got you, Cas…” Came Dean’s reply, just a murmur against Cas’s ear, and then he pulled his hips back slowly before starting to roll them into Cas’s, hot and deliciously deep.

In this position Dean had to angle his hips in a very specific way to strike Cas’s prostate—but he knew how, albeit from distant memory, and soon Cas was desperately rocking back against him, burying his face in the pillows to muffle too-loud moans and shouts. For his part, Dean just ducked his own face against Cas’s shoulder to press messy, meandering kisses there—and then bit down hard with a groan when Cas pushed back against him in a particularly good angle, making the pleasure spike in his gut and tingle in his hips, up his spine.

Cas muffled a yelp at the bite—(it would heal in a matter of minutes)—biting down on the pillow, himself, as Dean continued rocking into him, his cock rubbing heatedly inside him, all over his sweet spot, making him pant heavily and clutch at the bedsheets even as Dean’s arms slid up under his, holding him close and tight as the man on top of him began panting against the back of his neck.

And Dean continued fucking Cas like that, slow and hot and passionate, for the next few long minutes, the near silence of the motel room broken only by the intermittent, soft creaking of the bed and the occasional quiet moans and groans that they didn’t manage to muffle in time. Sam didn’t seem to notice a thing, thank God, or if he did, he was good at hiding it. (He wouldn’t have been good at hiding it, Cas thought vaguely.)

Finally, though, they were both worked up to their peak and Cas desperately buried his face in the pillows again as he came hard, the borderline exhibitionism a definite turn-on, it turned out, a too-loud cry muffled by foam padding and worn feathers. Dean just took a few more, hard thrusts before biting down on Cas’s shoulder again to quiet his own moan when he reached completion, coming deep inside the angel underneath him.

They were still for a moment, both panting hard because that had been surprisingly intense, and then Dean quietly eased himself out of Cas’s body and over to the side, settling on his back with a huff. Cas stayed where he was for another little while, just trying to suck in oxygen through the pillow under his face, before turning over and shuffling up against Dean’s side, pulling the blankets up around them properly once more.

“I’m sorry I bit you.” Dean murmured, the fingers of one hand trailing along the already-healing marks on Cas’s shoulder.

Cas made a soft, amused sound. “You didn’t have a pillow to muffle yourself with. I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean protested quietly.

“No buts. They’re already healing. They’ll be gone in no time.” Cas assured him in a whisper. “Now.” Concentrating for a moment, he used his Grace to tidy himself up—then placed a hand against Dean’s chest and did the same for him, following that up by cleaning up the sheets. When Dean gave him an incredulous look Cas just shrugged and leaned his head down by his shoulder. “One of the perks of being an angel. Though… it does mean I don’t get to keep your come in me longer, which is too bad.”

Dean coughed softly at that. “I’d forgotten you liked that so much.”

“Mm, feels like you’re marking me when you come inside me. I still like that idea.” Cas agreed, barely audible, then; “you should get some sleep, Dean. It’s really late. I’ll still be here when you wake up in the morning.”

Dean hesitated, but in the end, it was really late, and he was tired, his body already starting to fall into relaxation after a bout of good sex, and, as long as Cas would be there when he woke up, he supposed it was all good.

“Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

He was asleep within minutes, Cas tucked up snugly in his arms.

-- --

When Dean woke up the next day it was to Cas nudging him in the side and Sam standing over their bed demanding “what the hell, you guys?!”

He glanced at the clock, which told him it was just before eight-thirty a.m., and mentally decided it was way too early for this shit, especially since he’d been up until after five the night before. Then again, if it was about what he assumed it was, he had brought it on himself, so he really couldn’t complain, could he?

“What the shit, Sammy? I was asleep.” Dean complained.

Sam was standing there in his boxers and a t-shirt, probably intending to get dressed and go on a run, but at that exact moment he was glaring at Dean—and Cas—like they had committed some kind of mortal sin. “I got out of bed and stepped on a tube of freaking lube, and your clothes are scattered everywhere, you really just—you couldn’t help yourselves, could you? You just had to—but while I was sleeping right in the bed next to you? Really?!”

Cas at least had the presence of mind to look chagrined. “Sorry, Sam, it just kind of… happened.”

Dean, however, was not as apologetic: “we didn’t wake you up, what are you bitching for?”

“It’s the principle of th—” Sam broke off and made a face, throwing his hands into the air, then stomped off to get changed for his run, muttering about the lack of respect the entire time. Cas couldn’t really blame him for being annoyed, but at the same time Dean had a point—they had very specifically been as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the younger Winchester and had apparently been successful if he hadn’t even noticed until the morning. Still. He felt bad. Wondered if there was some way to make it up to Sam…

And then Dean was sitting up, wrapping an arm around him and kissing by his ear, then down against his jaw. Cas sighed softly and angled his head into the kisses with a smile. “Stop… honestly, Dean, you can’t keep me from leaving by keeping me in bed with you forever…”

Dean paused at that—then released him and flopped down onto his back again. “Buzzkill.”

“Sorry.” Cas shifted around, lowering himself down and tucking into Dean’s side once more, sliding an arm over his ribs and leaning his head by his chest, just listening to his heart beating. “We already talked about this. I have to go back for a while, and the sooner the better, I…” Trailing off, he tilted his head to press a kiss against Dean’s chest, over his heart, and sighed; “I don’t want to. You know I want to stay with you, but if I want to keep from being locked in… I don’t—I don’t want them to do that, and the two of us never to see each other again, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean’s arm came up around him and he managed, “’s just hard, is all. I already lost you once before. This feels like losing you all over again.”

“Mm-mm.” Cas made a soft negative noise in his throat, “I won’t let that happen. Dean, I know… it hasn’t been long, but… have you thought about what I said? About me casting my Grace out? I’ll only try it if it’s alright with you…”

The man in his arms hesitated, then finally blew out a breath and told him; “if you can do it safely, if it comes down to it, then yeah. Because human Cas is more than enough for me. We can make it work. And I’d rather that than you get locked in upstairs and never see you again. It’d kill me, Cas, to lose you again, after everything.”

“Wait, why are you losing Cas again?” This came from Sam, who had emerged from the bathroom with his running gear on. He had dug his ipod out and was holding it in one hand. He had a confused, concerned expression on his face. “Dean, what’s happening?”

“Cas has to leave.” Dean answered reluctantly. “And there’s a chance he… won’t be back.”

Sam’s worried expression fell right into kicked puppy territory, and he walked over to set his ipod on the table and sit down on one of the chairs there, his run (and his earlier morning’s anger) obviously forgotten for the time being. “Guys, what’s going on?”

Cas pressed his forehead into Dean’s chest for a moment, hair mussing there, before pushing himself to sit up again. “My superiors in Heaven are very displeased with me, with the amount of time I’m spending down here with you and Dean. Especially Dean. They don’t approve of my relationship with him, and… I have to go back, at least for a while, to show them I’m still a good soldier. But when I get there, there’s a chance they might lock me in, just… keep me there indefinitely. Or at least until long after you two are gone from the Earth. Lock me in, essentially.”

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, then rubbed at his hair before sitting up once more himself. He hated this topic with every fiber of his very being, but he did understand that it was an important one—and that Cas’s leaving was coming up soon. Very soon. Probably that day, even.

And it hurt. The thought of Cas leaving again. Of not having him in his life, like he had for all those years. But, Dean supposed, at least this time he knew that Cas was still alive and would theoretically be coming home to him—though if he never did come back again, Dean wasn’t sure what to do about it. If there was anything that could be done about it. So, all he could do was just pray that Cas returned—and in one piece—because the plan to cast out his Grace was frankly terrifying. He didn’t want his boyfriend to implode, thank you very much.

“When do you think you’ll…?”

“…today. Sometime today. I have to get back soon before they yank me back and—"

Cas and Sam had continued talking while Dean thought, but now Dean interrupted with, “Sam, are you going on your… jog. Or whatever?”

“Well, I was going to, but this kind of seems more important…” Sam trailed off slightly, and when Dean gave him a look you could practically see the lightbulb go off. He stood quickly and picked up his ipod again, then hunted down his wallet and shoved it into his shorts pocket. “Look, you guys take your time, I’ll take the long route and stop for coffee after.” Then a pause and he hesitated before looking back toward Cas and telling him, “I’ll… see you, Cas. If I’m not back before you… you know.”

Cas offered a slightly sad smile. “Mm. See you later, Sam.”

Once Sam was gone and the door firmly closed behind him, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and dragged him back down into the bed with him, settling with Dean tucked into Cas’s side, rather than the other way around, Cas adjusted to this switch of positions easily, tucking Dean against himself and pressing a kiss into his hair gently.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly.

Dean’s arm tightened across his ribs, and he muttered, “I get it. You don’t have to apologize. I just… hate it, that’s all. Feels like losing you all over again. I just finally got you back, you know?”

“I know.” Cas brought one hand up to stroke his fingers through Dean’s hair gently, “but I’ll be back, one way or another. Just give it some time.”

Dean was silent for a while after that, just absorbing Cas into himself, before he finally murmured, “hey, Cas? Before you go, can you do something for me?”

“Anything.” Cas told him softly, sincerely.

Dean tipped his head to press a kiss into Cas’s chest, then glanced up at him and whispered, “…make love to me?”

And oh. That was…

They had only done that once before, in the entire course of their relationship. Dean had to be in a very particular headspace to want Cas to make love to him, and not the other way around. But he supposed if there was ever a time for Dean to be feeling that way—down, vulnerable, needing to get out of his own thoughts—it was now. Cas just hadn’t expected it, that was all. Not that he had a problem with it, not in any way.

And at least this time wouldn’t be the first time, though it would admittedly be only the second. Still, it didn’t feel quite so much like Cas’s heart was in his throat at the very idea. He had some experience, albeit in the distant past. And if this was what Dean wanted right now, how could he deny it to him? He would never deny Dean anything, if he could help it…

So, Cas just swallowed slightly and dipped his head down to give Dean a gentle kiss. “Of course, Dean, if that’s what you need.”

“I just need to feel you. Feel you own me. Be yours.” Dean murmured against his lips, “before you leave.”

Cas smiled softly. “Something to remember until I get back?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Dean agreed, angling for another kiss.

Kissing back warmly, Cas pulled Dean closer before gently easing him onto his back and rolling at the same time to sink down over him. They traded kisses, heated and wanting, for several long moments, Cas drifting one hand up and down Dean’s side and Dean wrapping one arm around Cas’s neck and the other around his back, holding him close. Then Cas’s hand slid down and in to palm at Dean’s cock, and he hummed out a pleased noise when his boyfriend began to harden up in his hand.

A moment later, now jerking Dean off in earnest, Cas drew back to drop a little kiss against the frankly adorable dimple in the chin of the man under him before moving on to kiss over the curve of his throat, then along one collar bone and down to his chest, pausing there to lick and bite at one nipple, making Dean gasp and arch, his hips twitching and jerking at the same time.

Cas just smiled against his skin and continued downward, kissing and licking along Dean’s skin to duck under the blanket—and hummed to himself before slowing his hand’s strokes and ducking in to lick over the head of Dean’s cock. He followed that up by taking it into his mouth, easing deep, slowly, and beginning to suck, loving the molecular-level taste of Dean’s precome on his tongue; even cosmically, Dean tasted amazing.

Soon Dean was writhing under him, hand grabbing and pulling at the blankets and, buried under the covers, Cas actually missed the feeling of Dean yanking on his hair. He just continued sucking Dean off, hot and heavy, one hand sliding up to hold against Dean’s hip to hold him still—and that pulled a soft cry from Dean’s throat, one that made Cas smile around the dick in his mouth.

Finally, though, he pulled away, licking his lips, and considered for a moment before crawling back up and popping out from underneath the blankets, hair an absolute mess. When Dean looked at him, still panting for air, Cas just flashed a smile and offered, “sorry, I need the lube. Any idea where…?”

“I don’t… ah.” Dean let his head fall back and took a few more panted breaths, then swallowed and managed; “on the floor somewhere, probably? Sam said he stepped on it, right?”

“We should have thought of this earlier.” Cas chuckled, settling half-over Dean again and leaning in to kiss him gently, sliding a hand to close it around his cock and squeezing firmly. “Just give me a minute.”

When he climbed out of the bed, Dean made a token protest but just slumped back against the pillows and eased a hand down to take hold of his own dick, starting to stroke, grip loose, just trying to maintain some of the pleasure from Cas sucking him off only a moment before. “Cas… ah… hurry.”

He was hurrying, searching the floor on one side of the bed before cursing under his breath and skirting around to the other side—and ah, yes, there it was. Cas nicked the tube of lubricant from the carpet and then climbed back into the bed, quickly getting under the covers and kissing Dean once, briefly, before ducking down under the bedsheets once more, shuffling down to push Dean’s still-moving hand out of the way and enthusiastically duck in to replace it with his mouth again. Above him, Dean just arched and moaned in appreciation.

Another long couple of minutes of a heated blowjob, hidden by the blankets that were pulled up to Dean’s waist, and Cas pulled back again, this time to uncap the lube and slick up his fingers. Then he returned the cap to the tube and discarded it to the side before nudging at Dean’s legs to get him to part them farther and bend his knees—and then licked his lips and gently, carefully pushed one finger into Dean’s body, slowly, all the way to the third knuckle in one go.

Dean hissed softly, hips shifting slightly, uncomfortable. “Ah.”

Cas poked his head out from under the blankets, a concerned look on his face. “Okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Dean chuckled weakly and released the blankets with one hand, reaching down to run his fingers through Cas’s hair. Cas leaned into the touch. “It’s been almost ten years. And even then, it was only once. But I’ll be fine.” Because he knew—he knew first-hand, albeit from a long time ago—that after the initial discomfort and inevitable, vague pain, came absolutely mind-blowing pleasure. Now, Dean tugged at Cas’s hair and offered a breathless little smile. “Keep going.”

Cas looked at him for a long moment before flashing a smile and tossing the blankets back a bit so they were more out of the way, then ducking in to lick up the thick, sensitive vein on the underside of Dean’s dick even as he began to move his hand, pushing his single finger in and out—then crooking it slightly and prodding gently until he found just the right spot—and pressed into it firmly, his smile widening when Dean jerked and moaned.

“Freaking… prostate…!” Dean gasped out, head back and groaning now.

“Freaking prostate.” Cas agreed with a little grin and dipped his head to suck Dean’s cock into his mouth again even as he eased the second finger into him, pushing deep, parting and stroking, making Dean moan and gasp and twitch. Cas just concentrated on coordinating sucking Dean off with fucking him on his fingers until he added the third finger, stretching Dean wide and working over his sweet spot mercilessly all at the same time.

At that point, Dean had his head flung back, was moaning wantonly, one hand down and clenched in Cas’s hair, kneading restlessly as he tried desperately to keep his hips still despite Cas’s onslaught. Cas just continued sucking him off enthusiastically, fingers pushing and shoving at Dean’s prostate—until Dean finally tightened his grip in Cas’s hair and gave a little push.

“Stop. Stop, you’ve gotta… oh God, fuck…!” Dean shook his head against the pillows and pulled at Cas’s hair, tugging him off his dick and farther, up over himself, into a kiss, deep and desperate, then broke away again to pant against his lips; “please, Cas…!”

Cas laughed softly and ducked in for another kiss, but pushed once more against Dean’s prostate, making him moan against Cas’s lips, and then carefully pulled his fingers out and away, sliding his hand up to hold by Dean’s hip firmly, even as he nudged himself up between Dean’s legs—and eased his own cock into the heaving body of the man underneath him in a long, deep push.

Dean made a sort of strangled, choked sound and arched his back, and when he settled, he dragged Cas down flush against himself, arms wrapping around the angel and fingers digging into his back lightly. “Okay, just… just gimme a minute…”

“You alright…?” Cas ducked his head to press kisses along Dean’s shoulder, then nuzzled into his jaw gently. Everything in him was urging him to move, to fuck into his boyfriend hard and deep and slow, to make love to him until they were both gasping and desperate—but of course he wouldn’t do any of that until Dean was ready for him. “If I’m… hurting you…”

“No, ah… I’m fine, just… it’s a lot.” Dean tilted his head into Cas’s kisses and smiled, just a little expression of fondness. After a long couple of minutes of adjusting to the feeling of Cas’s swollen cock inside him, Dean’s fingers relaxed against Cas’s back and he smoothed his hands downward, then swallowed and allowed; “you can… nh… move now. Move.”

“Are you sure—?” Cas began.

But Dean interrupted by dragging him into a kiss, a breathless little plea against his lips; “please… Cas,” And then; “fuck me.”

That was all the permission Cas wanted or needed, and he dove in to kiss Dean again, braced himself on his forearms, and carefully began rolling his hips into Dean’s, fucking into him deep, slow and hard. Dean’s arms wrapped around him tightly, his fingers digging in the slightest bit, and he kissed back with abandon, moving along with his boyfriend, moans and gasps muffled against Cas’s lips.

And Dean was so hot and slick and tight, and just perfect in every conceivable way—Cas moved inside him, kissed him with the longing of a person who was leaving; going away, potentially for a long time. Like this was possibly his last chance to have this with Dean, to feel him so absolutely and completely, to possess him, even though he knew he could never own someone like Dean Winchester, not truly, and that was part of what he loved about the man so very much.

Now, Cas just did his best to show the immense amount of feeling he had for Dean, in every touch and every kiss and every firm rock of their hips together. To make sure that Dean knew that even though he was going to be gone for a time, they would always have this—this moment between them, the trust and emotion behind it. Nothing could take that away from them. Not even Heaven or Hell. Nothing.

For Dean’s part, he was just holding onto Cas for dear life, clinging to him, hands dragging up and down his angel’s back—and Cas was just that. His angel. Would never be anyone else’s. Eventually Dean had to break off from kissing him, though, to throw his head back against the pillows, gasping and moaning along with Cas’s movements: somewhere in-between making love and just fucking.

But then Cas began kissing along Dean’s exposed throat, started slowing his thrusts until he was moving hotly, sensually inside the man under him—and there was no “in between” anymore. Dean choked out a breathless laugh and lifted his head back up to bury his face in Cas’s shoulder because it was almost surreal, but no one had ever actually made love to him. Not like this.

Cas’s thrusts pulled soft, low moans out of Dean with every rock of his hips, the sounds panted in absolute wonder.

And then Cas shifted a little to ease a hand in between them and close his fingers around Dean’s weeping cock, beginning to jerk him off in time with their movements—and Dean almost protested because doing that would make him come and he wasn’t ready for it to end.

But really, if he forced himself to actually think through his pleasure-hazed brain, his orgasm was already edging up on him as it was, and to be fair to Cas, this was only his second time doing this, so Dean couldn’t exactly expect him to go a marathon. Everyone had their limits. So, in the end he just allowed it, rocking his hips into the touches and arching up against Cas, hands digging at his angel’s back, clinging like his life depended on it and face still buried in Cas’s shoulder, panting there breathlessly as he was worked closer and closer to completion.

When Dean finally came it was with an almost startled cry, throwing his head back against the pillows again and clutching Cas to him, desperate to keep him close while he painted both their stomachs with pearly come. And Cas continued to move after that, smearing Dean’s come between them as his thrusts grew jerky and fell out of rhythm. Finally, Cas ducked his head to bury it in Dean’s chest and pushed deep once more—and unlike the first time they’d done this so many years ago, he didn’t pull out: he came hard inside Dean’s slick body.

Then they both just sort of collapsed, Dean backward and Cas forward, the angel slumping over his lover with a vague, nonsensical murmur, pressing warm, meandering kisses along his chest up to his shoulder, at which point Dean lifted a hand to thread his fingers into Cas’s hair and tugged him up and into a proper kiss with a pleased little sound in his throat.

“How’s that… for a sendoff…?” Dean grinned against Cas’s lips and then kissed him again. “Fuck, Cas, that was…”

“Mmm…” Cas hummed an agreeing noise and leaned to kiss by the crook of Dean’s neck again, “amazing. You’re amazing, Dean. You feel so good.”

“I could say the same for you.” Dean tilted his head to press a kiss against Cas’s hair, then, teasing; “you know, this is about the time you’d be telling me to get out of you.”

“Hm?” Cas lifted his head with a blink, then glanced over his shoulder before swallowing slightly. “Right. Sorry.”

Dean was about to reassure him that it was fine, but before he could do so, Cas was easing back, pulling out of his boyfriend and shifting to the side to settle next to Dean instead. Dean gave a little, token wince because ow, he was going to be walking with a bit of a limp later; Sam would never let him hear the end of it if he caught on, but otherwise just adjusted the blankets and shuffled around until he was tucked into Cas’s side, an arm over his ribs, making Cas utter a soft surprised sound. That wasn’t the way they typically did things. He’d figured they would go back to normal once they were… done.

Once they were settled, Dean tucked his head against Cas’s chest and admitted, “I kind of see what you meant… about liking when I come inside you. Liking being claimed like that.”

“Mmhm,” Cas made a soft amused sound and brought one hand up to stroke through Dean’s hair gently. “It’s a nice feeling. At least with you. To know that you want me that much. I don’t know if I’d like it with someone else, though.”

“I don’t think I’d like it if it was someone other than you.” Dean’s green eyes closed over, and he relaxed completely against Cas, warm and comfortable and just breathing together. “But with you, right now, it feels… right.”

“It’s always felt right with you, Dean.” Cas told him softly, “even when it shouldn’t have.”

“I’m… Cas, I’m still so sorry about that, I can’t even—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, I’ve told you that before, Dean.”

“But still, I—”

Cas’s fingers paused in Dean’s hair and tightened slightly, and he tugged, urging Dean to lift his head so he could lean in for a kiss. When they parted a moment later, there was a little pinch between Dean’s eyebrows, still, and Cas just murmured, “you’re forgiven. I promise.”

Dean hesitated for a moment before leaning up for another kiss. “I’m sorry anyway.”

“I know you are.” The angel told him softly, even as Dean returned his head to rest against Cas’s chest. Cas hummed quietly and went back to petting through his hair gently. “Do you understand how much I love you, Dean? When I say I love you more than anything, I mean it. I would happily lay down my life for yours, if the occasion called for it. Being with you is what makes me whole. All the time I was without you I was… half the person I am right now. It was agony. So, I…” He trailed off briefly before continuing with; “so I need you to trust me. Believe me when I say I’ll be back. I swear I will. I’ll always come back to you, one way or another. Alright?”

Dean was quiet, just absorbing what Cas had said, before he asked softly, “you’re getting ready to go, aren’t you?”

“Soon.” Cas agreed, still stroking through Dean’s hair, then down to his shoulders and upper back. Dean was starting to tense up against him, and Cas hated it. His hand drifted up to press against the handprint brand that still marred Dean’s left shoulder—that would always mar Dean’s left shoulder. “But not quite yet. I’m putting it off, a little.”

“Don’t put it off too much,” Dean said, voice still soft, “they might yank you back. Lock you up.”

“I know… but I don’t want to leave you. We only just found each other again.” Cas murmured back. “Are you going to be okay without me?”

Dean swallowed hard at that and turned his head a little to bury his face in Cas’s chest. “It’s only a couple of months, right?”

Cas tightened his arms around him and dropped a kiss against his hair. “Yes. It’s only a couple of months.”

Dean nodded slightly. “Then I’ll be fine. Just… make sure you come back.”

Cas smiled almost sadly. “I promise.”

-- --

By the time Sam got back from his extended-run-and-coffee-break, Cas was gone, and Dean was showered and dressed—but drinking a beer before noon. Again. This time Sam couldn’t blame him, just gave him a genuinely sympathetic pat on the shoulder and, for once, joined him.

It was going to be a long couple of months.

“That’s the point, Castiel,” His partner told him, tone insistent and less than pleased, “I shouldn’t have to be sent to fetch you at all. You shouldn’t even be fraternizing with them.”

“Just say ‘him’, I know you’re talking about Dean.” Cas muttered. He wasn’t really in the mood for this. He had just patched things up properly with Dean, and he didn’t feel like being lectured over it. Not when he hadn’t, in his view, done anything wrong.

“After everything Dean Winchester has done, you still have sex with him, Castiel?” Uriel asked with distain in his voice.

“I don’t hold what he did in Hell against him, and neither should you.” Cas knew fully well what Dean had done during his forty years in Hell, though Dean himself wasn’t ready to talk about the details yet. “You know what he was put through down there, any man would have broken eventually.”

“His father didn’t.” The other angel pointed out sharply.

“Uriel, if you ever tell him about that—” Cas warned, voice going low and dangerous.

“Don’t worry, I remember you ordering me not to.” Uriel assured him, tone making it clear he was unimpressed that Cas could order him around at all. “And unlike you, I am an obedient son.”

“Maybe sometimes a little disobedience is a good thing.” Cas told him.

“Your love for that man makes you weak, Castiel.” Uriel was frowning, now. He did a lot of that. “Disobedience is never a good thing.”

“You’re wrong.” Cas peered through the veil, down at Dean and Sam, and a little smile tugged at his lips. “My love for Dean is the strongest part of myself.”

Uriel just looked at him, surveying, for a long moment before telling him; “you are not the Castiel I used to know. The Castiel I used to know—”

“No, I’m not the Castiel you used to know.” Cas agreed, tone firm, and turned his eyes away from Dean and Sam and to his partner, sharp and focused, “and I’m better off for it. Get used to the new me, Uriel. It’s been a millennia. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tch.” Came Uriel’s response.

-- --

It was three days before they saw Cas again (much longer in Heaven’s time), and as the minutes and hours ticked by Dean got more and more worried that Cas had been locked down upstairs and would never be able to return. Not to mention that they were somewhat relying on him for the whole palraijuq thing. It was more than a two-man job, after all, though Dean supposed they could call Bobby to pinch hit if they had to.

Still, waiting on Cas to come back was torture, for Dean at least. (And also, for Sam, who had to deal with Dean’s antsy anxiety the entire time.) He paced around and practically climbed the walls, probably drank too much, but what else was new? He barely slept, until he’d been awake so long that he just couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

And this was three days, what would he do if Cas actually didn’t come back? If the bigwigs in Heaven had locked him up and thrown away the key? It would be the same kind of heartbreak as seven years ago, the same devastation, but it would go on forever, this time knowing exactly where Cas was but still being unable to reach him.

Thankfully, on the fourth day, around six o’clock at night, just as Dean and Sam were sitting down to burgers at the diner nearest to their motel, Dean poking at his food unenthusiastically but knowing he needed to eat, Cas popped into existence in the chair next to Dean—one second the seat was empty, and the next Cas was sitting there, looking utterly exhausted.

Dean jerked in his seat like his heart was about to jump right out of his chest, but Sam just lifted up his burger without even blinking an eye and greeted, “hey, Cas.” Then he took a bite of his food and turned his gaze on his brother. “You good over there, Dean?”

Dean nodded emphatically, a huge smile already spreading across his face, and he turned to face Cas properly, then reached to grab at the angel and dragged him into a kiss. “What took you so long?”

“The Crusades.” Cas answered simply and didn’t offer any further explanation. He hummed into the kiss and smiled back, then pressed his forehead against Dean’s and said softly, “I missed you.”

“Hold on, the Crusades?” Sam interrupted.

Dean glared at him, but Cas replied, wearily, “yes, it’s a… it’s a time travel thing. I hope you never have to experience it; it’s exhausting.”

“Time tr—?” Sam began to ask.

“We can talk about that later, right Sam?” Dean interrupted, already leaning back into his own chair, though he kept his attention on Cas and reached down to catch Cas’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “Cas, no offense, but you look like shit. Why don’t you go to the motel and rest for a bit? I know you won’t sleep but just lay down. We’ll be back there as soon as we finish up here.”

Cas opened his mouth to protest, but instead sagged into Dean’s side a little and squeezed his hand back. “I—actually, that sounds like a good idea.” Leaning up, he kissed Dean’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.”—and then he vanished again, leaving the two of them sitting by themselves once more.

Sam immediately rounded on Dean. “He was talking about time travel, Dean!”

“So?” Dean picked up his burger and began eating, now with much more enthusiasm than before. He frowned at Sam. “He’s obviously tired, Sam, he needs to rest. I guess time travel is exhausting or something! We can ask him about it later, it’s not that important.”

“Not that importa—it’s freaking time travel!” Sam insisted.

“Uh-huh,” Dean muttered around another bite of burger. He was horsing his way through his food, now, eager to get back to the motel where Cas was (presumably) waiting for him. “And I assume time travel will still exist in a couple hours, once Cas has had some time to chill. So just drop it, Sammy.”

Sam grumbled under his breath but went back to his food, stabbing at his side salad in frustration before heaving a sigh and offering, “sorry, I just. Time travel, dude.”

“I know.” Taking a break from his burger, Dean popped a few fries into his mouth and then went for a drink of his coffee. Then he was right back at the burger. He glanced up at Sam and frowned—then shook his head and offered; “I get it, but there’s a time and place and now isn’t it.”

A slight smile from Sam. “You’re getting protective again.” Then a pause and a bite of salad before he admitted; “it’s actually good to see. I’m glad the two of you… found each other again, after all these years. Even when I was a kid, I knew you were meant to be together.”

A faint flush tinged the tips of Dean’s ears, but he steadfastly ignored it. “It wasn’t that obvious.” He muttered, embarrassed.

Sam chuckled. “Actually, Dean, it was. You could see it from space.”

This time Dean grumbled, but after that they fell into silence as they finished off their food and paid for their meals. Dean didn’t even bother ordering a slice of pie, he was in such a rush to get back to the motel and Cas—and Sam found that frankly amusing as hell. The walk back to the motel was almost more of a run with how fast Dean was moving, and a ten-minute walk was whittled down to five minutes flat. Dean practically burst through the door to their motel room, leaving Sam to follow at a more sedate pace, and looked around for Cas immediately.

He spotted the angel flat-out on his back on his bed, still in his trench coat and shoes, hands clasped over his stomach and breathing deeply, slowly. His eyes were closed and lashes fluttering slightly. It was almost like he was actually asleep.

Dean approached the bed cautiously, sitting down gently to take off his boots and then carefully climbing onto the mattress, easing up to Cas’s side. Cas still didn’t move, except for his eyes behind the closed lids. “Cas?” Dean tried, voice soft, and when he didn’t get a reply; “holy shit. Okay.” Adjusting himself, he tucked up to Cas’s side, carefully pulling the angel into his arms, and settled in for what could potentially be the long haul. When Sam walked in the room a couple of minutes later, he made a confused face and Dean just whispered, “I dunno, he’s sound asleep, so I guess we just leave him until he wakes up?”

“How long is that going to take?” Sam whispered back.

“I have no idea.” Dean told his brother softly, “but if he’s so tapped that he actually needs to sleep, I’m not gonna be the one to wake him up.”

Sam sighed. “Angels, man.”

Dean stifled a snort and just tucked Cas closer into his side, curling around him and closing his own eyes, and while Sam dug out his laptop, Dean simply enjoyed the very human moment with his lover, even if Cas wasn’t conscious to enjoy it with him. Eventually, he sagged into relaxation and fell asleep as well, warm and comfortable cuddled up in bed with the love of his life.

When Dean woke up again it was nearly five a.m., the lights were all off, Sam had long since gone to bed, and Cas was beginning to stir against his side. Dean sucked in a deep breath, then sighed it out and ducked his head to kiss by Cas’s temple, and the angel hummed softly, nuzzling closer to him almost on autopilot. His eyes still closed, he mumbled into Dean’s shirt, “what time is it?”

Dean blinked a few times to clear his eyes and craned his neck to look at the clock before settling again. “Four fifty-two in the morning. You crashed hard, what was that all about?”

Cas was quiet for a long moment, and Dean was just starting to think he had fallen back asleep when he spoke up with; “time travel. It uses up my Grace. Saps my energy. I just… needed to rest and recoup.” And then; “did you stay with me the whole time, Dean?”

“Most of it.” Dean admitted.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Cas told him, still sounding sleepy, “but thank you.”

Dean just smiled; “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

They spent the next two hours with Cas half-dozing against Dean’s chest, talking quietly sometimes when the angel was more awake but mostly existing in comfortable silence while Sam slept in the bed next door. Dean informed Cas that Sam had a million questions about time travel for him, and Cas laughed softly at that revelation—but he wasn’t surprised in the least. He had known mentioning time travel around the younger Winchester would prompt that kind of response. He really didn’t mind.

By the time the sun was coming up, Cas was feeling more or less back to normal, but Dean really needed a couple more hours before he got up and they went out to Hunt a giant crocodile. So, Dean settled in to catch a bit more sleep and this time Cas just rested with him, one arm tucked against the man’s chest and his head resting on Dean’s shoulder—his eyes closed, though he was no longer sleeping, himself.

At eight-thirty a.m. when Sam’s cell phone alarm went off for him to get up and go on his morning jog, Cas lifted his head to greet him, and Sam gave him a smile, pleased that he was up and about again, so to speak. Even if he was technically still curled up in bed with Dean. He informed Cas that he had some questions for him when he got back from his run, and Cas laughed softly before agreeing and just returning his head to Dean’s shoulder. Sam left the room shortly after, ipod in hand, and Cas toyed with a button on Dean’s overshirt absently while he waited for his boyfriend to wake up.

When Sam got back from his run forty-five minutes later, he was carrying a tray with three coffees and reached to shake Dean’s leg on the way past. Dean grumbled and kicked at him weakly, but then Cas tipped his head to nose into his neck and any annoyance with his brother was forgotten in lieu of early-morning kisses.

Sam just rolled his eyes and set the coffee on the table, along with his ipod, then headed through to the bathroom to have a shower.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve had some more sleep?” Cas asked in-between soft little kisses.

Dean hummed out an agreeing noise. “Mmhm, thanks for letting me crash again. I feel bad you’re always just kind of… sitting around while I sleep.”

“Don’t, though.” Cas shook his head and went for another kiss; “you know I don’t mind. Besides, you stayed with me while I slept last night. We both look out for each other, right?”

A smile and yet another kiss. “Right.”

“Mm.” Cas tipped his head to kiss by Dean’s jaw, then; “I think Sam brought us coffee, we should go drink it while it’s still hot.”

“Did he?” Dean sighed and patted one hand against Cas’s side until the angel moved off of his arm so he could sit up, and they both climbed out of the bed, sleep-rumpled but generally in a good mood. Dean made a beeline for the coffee—but when he pulled the first one from the tray, he held it out for Cas, rather than taking it himself.

Cas smiled and took the offered cup, opening it up and inhaling the scent with a quiet sound in his throat. “The worst part about not tasting things right is that they still smell the same.” He told Dean; “it’s very disappointing in general.”

“I can imagine.” Dean was already sipping at his own coffee, Sam’s still waiting in the tray for him when he was done in the bathroom. “At least you still enjoy coffee, though, right?”

“I do, yes.” Cas agreed. He glanced down at his clothes, then sighed—and his form blurred for just a split-second, and when he settled again his outfit was crisp and clean again. Dean privately wished it was that easy for humans to get cleaned up. “Much better.”

“Too bad.” Dean commented idly, “I was going to ask if you wanted to shower with me.”

Cas paused at that, halfway to a sip of his coffee. He hesitated, then coughed and glanced down. “I could still, ah… do that. If you wanted me to.”

The elder Winchester smirked into his cup. “Actually, I think I might really like that.”

Cas didn’t reply, just flushed the slightest bit red and went back to his coffee, making Dean chuckle. The two of them were mostly quiet, just sipping at their coffees, until Sam got out of the bathroom and began digging clothes out to get dressed—and before he could even return his towel to the bathroom, Dean and Cas had disappeared inside, leaving their mostly-empty coffee cups behind on the table, and shut and locked the door behind themselves.

Sam just snorted and shook his head because apparently some things never changed.

-- --

Once Dean and Cas emerged from the bathroom nearly forty minutes later, after simultaneously getting dirty and clean (Sam didn’t comment… much), and they were both dressed and ready for the day, all three of them huddled up to figure out what was to come.

The general “plan”, as far as plans went, was to take their spears, head to the marina, bypass the security somehow, hotwire an airboat, hope one of them could pilot it, and zip around the swamps and canals until they stumbled upon the palraijuq. As Sam pointed out, that was actually kind of the opposite of a plan. It was really just flailing around aimlessly and hoping to run into the creature at some point.

Dean argued that they’d done more for less, which was true but didn’t make Sam feel any better. At least they had Cas there; having an angel along for the ride made them both feel a little more secure about things. A little. He would at least make sneaking into the marina easier, if nothing else, or so he assured them, especially since all the waterways were still on lockdown and so, presumably, was the marina itself.

They would theoretically be the only ones out on the waterways, aside from police boats, which they would have to watch out for, although it was also hard to discount rednecks who might be out illegally to hunt down whatever was causing all the ruckus. There were some outsider theories that it was a huge rogue alligator, which actually wasn’t entirely wrong—but they would definitely have to watch out for that, too.

There were just too many variables this time around, and it made Dean and Sam a little nervous, a touch edgy, just… wary of what was to come. But again, at least they had Cas on their side, and that helped keep their heads on their shoulders enough to actually go through with their half-assed plan.

Hence them currently driving to the marina in the Impala, pulling up in front of the shut and locked gates, watching as the pair of police who were parked out front gave them a very unsubtle look, and then waiting while Cas did his thing.

The angel had been seated in the back seat of the Impala, but then vanished, appearing next to the open window on the driver’s side of the police cruiser. Before the officer could even react, Cas reached out and touched his forehead lightly—and he passed out cold in his seat. Then another quick teleport to the other side of the car and he did the same with the man’s partner before turning and walking back to the Impala, leaning down to talk to Dean in the driver’s seat.

“They’ll be out for a few hours, unless I wake them earlier. But otherwise, they’re okay.” Cas glanced over. “Hopefully long enough for us to get this done.”

“You did the same thing to Bobby the day we summoned you, and he came out fine.” Dean shrugged, “I trust you.”

Sam just looked at him incredulously. He hadn’t seen that particular power of Cas’s before, but he didn’t ask any questions, now wasn’t the time. He just saved them up for later (along with his time travel questions) and buckled down for what was to come, climbing out of the car along with Dean and retrieving the spears from the back seat to hand over to Cas. Then they made their way to the gates—amateur stuff, really, they would only keep children out—and quickly hopped over. Cas met them on the other side, still holding the spears, and they began searching for an airboat they could ‘borrow’ for the afternoon.

The thing about airboats was that none of them knew a thing about… airboats. But the Winchester brothers were experts at hotwiring pretty much anything, so it kind of went without saying that they would be able to hotwire one of them, too. Piloting it, on the other hand… that might be a bit of a learning curve. Good thing they’d left the motel in plenty of time.

In the end it took little time to locate a suitable boat, there were several in the marina, and Sam hotwired it with ease while Dean stood back and made comments about the size of the freaking fan on the thing. Cas just continued holding the spears for safe keeping, taking the time out to dip them all in the jar of seal blood he was carrying in his coat pocket so they wouldn’t forget later, and chuckled to himself the entire time.

Once they were on the water, they took turns trying the airboat out before deciding that Cas was probably the best at piloting it (and even he was more than a little shaky), and he was officially given the job of driver for the day. Cas took it, no longer the spear-carrier—they were set neatly in the flat bottom of the boat, now—and did his best to navigate them out into the waters of the swamps and canals around New Orleans. (He even managed not to crash on the way out of the marina, which, Cas thought, was actually pretty decent, considering.)

As soon as they were out on “open” water, piloting the airboat became much easier. There wasn’t as much to potentially crash into, just reeds and grass and duckweed; waterfowl and small animals that heard them coming a mile away and got out of the road as quickly as possible. And it was good, that the boat was so loud—it would help draw the attention of the palraijuq, which had proven to have a taste for boats (and their crews) many times in the recent past.

They spent the first couple of hours just kind of blindly cruising around and finding nothing—though they did see alligators now and then. Small ones, though, nothing the size of a Greyhound bus. They passed those alligators by peacefully and continued on, until eventually Dean waved his hands and gestured for Cas to cut the engine. No one could hear anything over the sound of the giant fan.

Cas did as requested, fully aware that he would need Sam to get the airboat started again—he was just the driver, after all—and stepped down from the piloting seat. Standing on the boat proper, he looked at the swampland stretched out as far as the eye could see all around them and sighed. “I feel like this could be going better.”

“We’re seeing lots of wildlife.” Dean pointed out, bordering on sarcastic.

“Yeah, but not the wildlife we’re looking for.” This came from Sam, who sat down in one of the seats and kicked at one of the spears a little with one foot. “There’s just so many swamps and waterways, and the palraijuq is probably moving around a lot, I mean, I don’t know if we’ll ever find it this way. Like it was a solid… ish. Plan. But.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Sammy, but what else is there?” Dean asked, and glanced between his brother and Cas, “we don’t have any way of tracking the thing, it’s just…” He made a gesture encompassing all around them. “Maybe we should head back, call it a good try and give Bobby a ring, see if he knows any good trackers that could help out with this? Otherwise, we could spend our entire lives out her—”

Dean broke off at the sound of another airboat approaching and looked sideways to watch the craft come up on them. It slowed to a stop just in front of their boat and the pilot cut the engine. Face-to-face, both crews looked each other over, Dean, Sam and Cas with the critical eyes of Hunters.

There were three men and a woman on the other boat, and none of them were professionals—that is, none of them were Hunters. They may have been hunters, lowercase “h”, or trappers, but they had no business being out there with a palraijuq running rampant. These people were going to get themselves killed and Dean could tell that from a single glancing look.

Still.

“You out here for the bounty, too?” One of the men called to them; “because that ‘gator is ours; you hear me?”

And ah. Of course there was a bounty, now. Probably put up by a newspaper, despite the police closing down the waterways. But, well, they themselves were proof enough of how easy it was to get over the fences, and it was just as easy to bribe a police officer or two to get inside. These people had just done what Dean assumed many other people were also doing: trying to cash in on an “easy” payday. If only they knew.

Before Dean could even respond to the man who had first spoken, the woman, who was wearing a camouflage vest and toting a shotgun—the regular kind, not the sawed-off kind—piped up: “Aw, can it, Mason! There’s plenty of alligator to go around and you know it.”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks and then glanced back at the other boat. Cas just watched the entire thing play out silently. Finally, Dean cleared his throat and offered a winning smile, “heyyy… we’re all out here for the same thing. Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition, right?”

“Where are your guns?” One of the men called out, while another wondered, “why’s your boy there dressed in a suit and trench coat?”

Cas glanced down at himself and then back up again. “This is what I always wear.”

Sam palmed over his face and bent down to pick up one of their spears and hold it up; “we’re more, ah… traditional hunters, if you catch my drift.”

There was a long silence and then the entire other boat erupted into laughter, and someone shouted, “that’s hardcore, dude!” And then; “yo, I’m Adam, and this is Chris and Mason. The lady is Kate.”

Dean shifted slightly, glancing between Sam and Cas before hesitantly introducing; “I’m Dean. This is Sam and Cas. We—"

And that was about when the palraijuq exploded out of the water beside them and collided with the other boat, smashing it to smithereens in the space of a breath, sending shrapnel and human bodies flying. Then it settled in the water in front of them, snapped up Chris from the destroyed other boat—grabbed him by both legs and flung him around like a ragdoll until he pretty much split it half, innards spattering everywhere—and swallowed his legs before snatching up his torso and gobbling it down as well. He hadn’t even had time to scream. Now they knew why so few body parts were left behind.

And then it was lifting up as if to attack once more.

Dean took one look at the creature rising up out of the swamp and the shattered remains of the boat in front of them, currently flecked with blood and gore, and stated firmly, loudly, speaking clearly and in the verbal equivalent of capslock: “THAT. IS FUCKING GODZILLA.”

Cas practically dove for the spears. “Dean, focus!”

At the same time, Sam was hurriedly ushering the three survivors of the original attack over to their boat; “come on, come on! Everybody out of the water, double time!”

Cas shoved a spear into Dean’s hand and held the other two ready for himself and Sam while Sam pulled Adam, Mason and Kate out of the water as fast as he could. It was difficult with them floundering through the swamp grass and boat debris, all the while the palraijuq continued levering itself up and eyeing them like they were absolutely about to be dinner.

“Sam, we need you, here!” Cas shouted.

Dean snatched the offered spear and held it ready—but hesitated to take a shot because Jesus H. Christ this thing was a freaking nightmare: it was probably thirty-five or forty feet long, prehistoric-looking, with six legs, heavy armor on almost every inch of it and rows of sharp spikes down it’s back and tail. Its’ mouth gaped wide; jaws full of countless huge razor teeth—like a cross between a crocodile and a shark. And its’ eyes were tiny, miniscule, and surrounded by the same heavy armor that covered the rest of its’ body.

“Oh, come on, I call unfair, we are never going to be able to hit that!” Dean protested, then stated flatly; “that’s it, we’re all gonna die.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Sam called back at Cas, ignoring Dean’s sarcasm as he hauled Kate into the boat and then immediately shoved her aside. He’d already pulled Mason in, so now he leaned to yank Adam in as well. That done, he scrambled to snatch his spear from Cas and whirled around to face the palraijuq properly for the first time—and sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Oh, holy shit.”

The creature had lifted up as much as it could in the muck and grass and water and stared them down for an endless, tense moment, then let out a low, guttural rumble that they all felt deep down in their bones. Huddled behind the Hunters and the angel, Kate screamed, high and shrill, and Adam quickly clamped a hand over her mouth while Mason, clearly terrified, ushered them both farther back on the boat while whispering fervently, “that is not an alligator!”

Dean, Sam and Cas ignored them, tuned them out completely, now focused on the Hunt, even as the skies abruptly opened up and rain started pouring down on them. Because what else could possibly go wrong, right? Then again, it was storm season after all. They’d been lucky to avoid them so far, since they’d arrived in Louisiana.

“Wait until it’s close enough.” Cas muttered to Sam, who was slowly raising his spear and taking aim through the driving rain, “it’s too small a target, if you miss…”

“I know, Cas.” Sam told him lowly.

The palraijuq took a sloshing step toward them—then another.

“Fucking Godzilla.” Dean repeated under his breath. And why hadn’t they brought any other weapons? Shotguns, machetes? He felt so naked right now, defenseless with only his handgun tucked into the back of his jeans and his buck knife in his inside jacket pocket as usual. Logically, he knew none of those things would work against the creature that loomed before them, but they would make him feel better—feel better while he was being eaten, that is. Visions of that poor bastard Chris being snapped in half like a toothpick flashed through his mind and he glanced sideways at Sam. “You got this, Sammy?”

“I got this.” Sam assured him.

The palraijuq took another lumbering step forward—then another—and finally Cas snapped out; “now, Sam!”

Sam drew his arm back and launched his spear with deadly accuracy—and it struck its’ target, hitting the palraijuq right in the left eye, but the thing didn’t go down, the spear hadn’t penetrated far enough, and it roared, thrashing its’ head from side-to-side in an attempt to dislodge it. But while the spear hadn’t gone deep enough to kill the creature, it had, apparently, gone deep enough to stick, and even with all it’s flailing the palraijuq couldn’t get it loose.

Finally, it just spun around, turned tail and took off in the opposite direction, the spear still dangling from its’ mangled eye.

Dean dropped his spear into the bottom of the boat again and vaulted the seats to fiddle with the wires and get the airboat running again, at the same time as Cas climbed up into the pilot’s seat and took over the controls once more.

“You’re going after it? Are you insane?” Adam demanded, while Kate wailed, “no way, take us back to the marina!”

“Keep your heads down and your mouths shut, and you might just survive this.” Dean told them, even as he got the engine started again and nodded to Cas, who pushed the throttle forward, the airboat zooming off after the fleeing palraijuq; “this is our job, just trust us or you’ll end up like your friend back there.”

Their three unwilling passengers fell silent after that, aside from Kate’s soft sniffling, which was mostly drowned out by the rain, and while they all felt bad for them there was nothing they could do. The safest place for them was in the boat—they couldn’t exactly leave them out to tread water in the middle of a swamp full of legit alligators and snakes, after all. So, they would just have to tough it out for the duration and hope nothing terrible happened to them, too.

“Go faster, Cas.” Sam advised.

Cas gunned the engine and pushed the boat so fast they were basically flying over the water, a grimly determined look on his face—and they were catching up to the palraijuq, little by little, even though it had had a head start on them. A couple of minutes later they were right on its’ tail and Cas had to slow the airboat for fear of running right into it.

That was when the creature put on the brakes. Cas hurriedly yanked back on the throttle, stopping the boat abruptly and nearly toppling all of its’ occupants over, and when the palraijuq whirled around to lunge at them—Cas lunged right back. He leapt forward, crossed the deck in a handful of strides, and met the palraijuq straight-on, one hand grabbing hard at either jaw as the palraijuq continued trying to snap and bite, hampered by the angel currently physically holding its’ mouth open. Dean and Sam could only stare for a long, long moment before Cas looked back over his shoulder slightly, clearly struggling, and grunted; “get the spears!”

The Winchesters scrambled for the two remaining spears, each taking one and hurrying up next to Cas—and it was quick work after that, really, driving the spears into each of the palraijuq’s eyes, shoving them in hard and deep, until they heard bone crack, until they reached the gooey center of the palraijuq’s skull.

And then its’ head exploded.

Maybe it was the Inuit spearheads, maybe it was the seal blood, but something reacted with the palraijuq’s brain that caused it to boil over so fiercely that its’ entire head just burst, spraying giant crocodile brains, fleshy bits and blood all over. They all just kind of stood there for a second, watching the remains of the creature sink into the swamp to be devoured by its’ much smaller brethren, and then Dean spat out a mouthful of palraijuq blood and announced, “time to go home!”

They took the boat, along with Kate, Adam and Mason, back to the marina, with some helpful directions from Mason because they really were a little lost. Once they got there they climbed off the boat, covered in gore (though admittedly some of it had been washed away in the storm), and Dean cast a glance to make sure the Impala was still where they had left it. (With the windows down, damn it.)

Kate was shivering now, and Adam had an arm around her. Mason asked; “who—what are you guys?”

“We’re Hunters.” Sam told them simply, “just doing our job.”

And then Cas touched his hands to Dean and Sam’s shoulder, teleporting them over the gate to the Impala, and they all climbed in to head back to the motel.

-- --

When they arrived back ‘home’ all three of them were still covered in sludge and muck and palraijuq gore—as was the Impala, now, but Dean decided he would deal with that later, when it wasn’t pissing rain—so while Cas quickly tidied himself up using his Grace, there was an almost frantic dash for the bathroom between Dean and Sam, which Sam won by a hair. Dean cursed loudly and just began stripping out of his filthy clothes, leaving them scattered on the ground on purpose just to piss Sam off later.

When he was down to nothing, he pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and used the inside of his dirty t-shirt to towel his hair as much as he could before going to the fridge for a well-earned beer and next thing to flopping into a chair at the table. “That was intense.”

“I… yes. That’s a good word for it.” Cas agreed, joining him at the table. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to go out for food for you and Sam? It’s about that time.”

Dean hummed into his beer over that, taking a long drink, then smirked slightly and added to his prior statement; “by the way, you going toe-to-toe with that thing? That was awesome, Cas, I’ve never seen anything like it. I know you’re an angel, and you heal and you’re strong, you’ve got powers, but holding it back like that while Sam and I took the money shot? That was damned impressive.”

Cas opened his mouth to say ‘it was nothing’ but just changed his mind and amended it to, “thank you. I mean, I couldn’t just let the palraijuq eat you. I kind of like you all in one piece, after all.”

Dean chuckled at that, taking another swig of his beer, then, to answer Cas’s earlier question; “food would be great, Cas. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Cas smiled, “what would you like?”

A shrug from Dean. “Surprise us. Just like, you know, vegetables for Sam, right?”

“Of course.” Cas chuckled softly and thought for a moment—then just vanished from sight, leaving Dean sitting by himself, drinking his beer while Sam hogged the shower. Cas wasn’t gone for long, though, and soon enough he blinked back into existence, this time standing next to the table—and for the first time Dean didn’t startle when he did so. Cas made a little pleased noise and set a hefty-looking bag onto the middle of the table, along with two small bottles of some kind of liquor. “Korean. Lots of meat. Plenty of vegetables. Should still be hot when you guys are done showering. Have you ever had Korean before?”

Dean shook his head. He had to admit whatever the bag contained smelled fantastic. “Where’d you get it?”

Cas blinked. “South Korea.”

“Well at least it wasn’t the scary Korea.” Dean commented. He was very tempted to tear into the food right then, Sam or no Sam, shower or no shower, but that would be unfair to his brother and also… even stripped to his underwear he was still gross. He didn’t really want to eat with giant crocodile brains caked under his fingernails. Besides, Cas had said the food would keep until they were both cleaned up. “Hey, you know, thanks for doing this so often. Running out for food for us. It’s a little thing, but we both really appreciate it.” And then, out of curiosity; “what’s the liquor?”

“I really don’t mind. I can get you food from anywhere easily.” Cas shrugged—then grinned slightly and told him; “it’s soju. Really strong. You drink it in shots. Not really sure what it tastes like, I’ve never had it myself, but if I was to hazard a guess, I’d say… paint thinner, probably. Or nail polish remover.” His grin grew the more Dean eyed the bottles; “it’s made from rice. Might even get you drunk.”

“Oh, so you’re trying to get me drunk now,” Dean teased, voice muffled by the mouth of his beer bottle. He took another sip. “Just like a bad prom date.”

“You never went to prom.” Cas reminded him.

“But you did.” Dean came back with a chuckle, “I would have paid to see that.”

“Only because Charlie made me,” Cas lamented, and dropped his head forward with a heaved sigh, “and you did see, you made me show you all those embarrassing photos when we were in Loveland that one time, when I had my camera with me.”

“Riiiiiight.” Dean drawled, a smirk stretching across his own face; “we took some, ahem, photos of our own that meetup, if I recall.”

Cas’s face flushed red, and he shifted in his seat, “God, if anyone had ever seen those…”

“Not for nothing, Cas, but I would have killed for copies of those pictures.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“But like, with Sam and Dad around, living out of a duffle bag, trying to hide them would’ve been a pain in the ass.”

“True.” Cas agreed, then; “do you want a picture of us, Dean? I mean… not a sex picture, but just a picture of us together that you can hang onto?” He offered a smile; “I wouldn’t mind having one, myself, just to keep in my pocket for rainy days up in Heaven.”

Dean hesitated halfway to a drink of his beer—then offered a little, soft smile, and replied; “yeah, actually, that’d be nice. Just… something to look at when you’re not around, when you can’t be around, you know? But not when I’m covered in giant crocodile gore.”

A laugh from Cas. “That would make it authentic, though, you have to admit.”

“Not while I’m covered in giant crocodile gore.” Dean reiterated, even as the bathroom door was opening and Sam was stepping out, looking clean and fresh and oh-so-relieved to be both. Dean set his mostly empty beer on the table and stood. “My turn. Back in a few minutes.”

Then he disappeared into the bathroom, scooting in behind Sam and slamming the door shut in his wake, leaving his brother to dig for fresh clothes while Cas politely averted his eyes. When Dean emerged from the shower a few minutes later, though, Cas did not avert his eyes, watching the man cross the room wearing only a towel, then discard even that to pull on a set of clean clothes, licking his lips absently at the sight. Sam, who was now seated at the table, just shook his head.

“You guys are unbelievable.” He commented, reaching for the bag of food. “What is this? Korean? Smells like Korean.”

“What was that, Sammy?” Dean pretended not to hear Sam’s initial comment as he tossed his wet towel in the general direction of the bathroom just to make his brother’s eyebrow tick, then came over to sit down at the table again. “Yeah, Cas went to South Korea for that. He also brought us booze. I think he’s trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me.”

Sam snorted. “As if he needs to get you drunk for that.”

He had a good point.

The three of them sat around the table while Dean and Sam ate the Korean barbecue and vegetable side-dishes that Cas had brought them (admittedly, Dean ate mostly the barbeque and the noodles, though he did try the kimchee after some goading—and subsequently declared it an affront to God) and drinking the soju that Cas had provided as well. He had specifically gotten a strong one, and while Sam had trouble choking it down for the first couple shots, Dean downed it with no problem which… wasn’t really a surprise but made Cas chuckle, nonetheless.

Cas himself had learned to like Korean food when he was still human and in college; there had been a little Korean restaurant close to his apartment that he had gone to on a regular basis, but before this he had never thought to try introducing Dean to it. There were a lot of vegetable dishes, but then Dean was good at picking vegetables out of his food (he would eat lettuce and tomato on his burgers, though), so it all went over pretty well, and Dean absolutely loved the barbeque itself.

It was times like this that Cas wished he could still eat—or, rather, that he could still taste, because he really wanted desperately to join in, but there was no point, and it would just ruin his good memories of Korean food forever if he did.

When the food (and soju) was done and everyone was feeling pleasantly full and the slightest bit buzzed, Cas snaked a hand into Dean’s pocket—he got a little grin at that—to retrieve his boyfriend’s phone, then pulled up the camera function and got all three of them to huddle in for a picture together. It turned out nice and was followed by one of just Cas and Dean, tucked in close together, with Cas’s head on Dean’s shoulder. (And then a final one of Cas kissing Dean’s cheek, and one of the two of them exchanging a little, loving kiss just for good measure.) Something for Dean to look at in the dark times when Cas couldn’t be there.

“I want copies of those.” He told Dean as he handed the phone back. “Get Sam to take you to Walmart or something and get them printed out.”

“You know I am capable.” Dean protested as he pocketed his phone again.

“With most thing, yes,” Cas agreed, and patted his chest gently, “but not with this. Get Sam to help you.”

Dean grumbled but agreed.

They went to bed at a decent hour that night, down to their boxers on the surprisingly comfortable motel mattress, but Dean was too amped from the Hunt to really fall asleep quite yet and Cas, of course, didn’t sleep (except on extreme occasions), so the two of them just laid about in bed, talking quietly while Sam read through a heavy-looking book over at the table. Eventually, though, even Sam ran out of gas, and he climbed into bed, turning the lights off behind him.

Dean and Cas continued to simply cuddle up together for a while longer before, eventually, around one o’clock in the morning, Cas patted Dean’s chest and pushed up on one elbow. “It’s time. Come on, I want to take you somewhere.”

“At one in the morning?” Dean asked, looking dubious.

“Yes, at one in the morning.” Cas replied, and climbed out of bed, waiting for Dean to do the same. “Get dressed.”

Dean gave him a little look but still pulled his clothes on, and Cas did the same, until they were both decently dressed again—and then Cas stepped up to Dean’s side. “I’m sorry, but I need to fly you for this.” He apologized, even as he was patting a hand down on Dean’s shoulder—transporting them both three-and-a-half States away to distantly familiar ground in Jacksonville, Florida.

When they landed, Dean stumbled slightly, and Cas caught his arm. It was very dark where they currently were, and he knew Dean needed time to right himself and let his eyes adjust.

“A little more warning than that, next time, Cas.” Dean grumbled, but there wasn’t much heart behind it.

Cas just smiled and kept his hold on Dean’s arm until the man got his feet under him properly and reached to pat his hand, then squinted through the gloom, trying to see where Cas had brought them, and then he suddenly realized—

“Is this the gym at Caspar High?” Dean demanded abruptly, sounding a strange combination of repulsed and delighted.

Cas nodded. It was nearly two in the morning in Jacksonville, Florida, so it was pitch dark out—the gym was swimming in inky blackness. Cas reached over and flipped on one bank of overhead lights, just to give them something to see by, then took Dean’s hand and together they made their way over to the bleachers—and climbed in behind them.

Dean settled on the floor where he always had when they had gone to school there together almost thirteen years prior, and Cas sat down next to him… then produced a little parcel from one of the pockets of his coat and held it out. Dean looked down at it and laughed.

“Did you actually bring me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” He asked with a smile.

“I thought you might appreciate the gesture.” Cas told him softly. “Even if I don’t join you with one of my own.”

Dean leaned back against the painted bricks of the wall behind them, holding the plastic-wrapped sandwich in his lap with the smallest little grin on his face. “We had some good times back here, didn’t we?”

“You’re just thinking about me jerking you off.” Cas accused fondly.

“I am not!” Dean protested with a laugh, before admitting, “okay maybe a little. But all the other times, too. Talking about Hunting and monsters and going through my journal, and just sitting and eating together, and laughing together… making out sometimes. Just… spending time together, you know?”

“I know.” Cas agreed, smiling himself, now, just softly, remembering all the things Dean was talking about. “Or that time when Charlie caught us making out, when she brought me your cuff. I thought you’d be really upset that I told her where we were spending lunch hour every day, it was such a relief when you weren’t angry…”

“You were human, Cas. To err is, right? And besides, I found out after that that she was your best friend, so it wasn’t a big surprise that you told her. And she was good about not telling anyone else.” Dean smiled sideways at him—then actually unwrapped the sandwich in his hand and took a bite. “I never did tell you, did I? How much it meant to me that you were making lunches for me every day. I never had that, growing up, I always just went hungry at school until I met you.”

Cas shook his head and glanced down, his smile turning fond. “I couldn’t eat my lunch and watch you starve, what kind of person would I have been?”

“It meant a lot.” Dean reiterated, taking another bite of his sandwich. He hesitated then, before offering; “I know you don’t taste things like you used to, but do you want to share?”

A chuckle and Cas shook his head. “No thanks. I used to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I remember how they used to taste. Now they’re just sad. The whole tasting molecules thing is one thing I really hate about being an angel.”

Dean shrugged and kept eating, and they were quiet for a few minutes, just sitting together like they had so many times in their younger days—and, Cas thought, this had been a good idea. The comfort and nostalgia here were nice. Dean seemed content, and that was the most important thing in the world.

Especially since…

“My superiors in Heaven are getting progressively more upset with me.” Cas sighed finally, “with all the time I’m spending down here with you and Sam. With my relationship with you. They know everything, there’s no hiding it from them. They think I’m losing my way, that I’m not… mmh. Devoted enough to Heaven’s cause, I guess.”

Dean paused, three quarters of the way through his sandwich, to look at Cas, a worried expression on his face now; “what are they going to do?”

“I think they might force me to come back, if I don’t return on my own.” Cas said softly. “But if it comes down to that, they might lock me in up there, not let me return to Earth again, and obviously I don’t want that…”

Dean wrapped the last of his sandwich up in the plastic wrap and dropped it beside himself, eating forgotten completely. “They can do that? Just chain you to Heaven like that?”

Cas nodded. “Yeah. I’m not… the first angel to do something like this. There are protocols. I’ve been trying to avoid it by splitting my time between here and Heaven, but lately… things are good between us again, and I know I’ve been spending a lot more time down here with you. But Heaven doesn’t make allowances for love.”

“Cas…”

“I’m going to… go back. For a while. A couple of months, maybe, just to show them that I’m still doing my job. That’s plenty of time in Heaven’s time. I’ll be back, I swear, I just need this time to try to sort things out so I can come back. Before they lock me in.”

Dean glanced down. “I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

“Dean, I want you to think about something, okay?” Cas was still speaking quietly. Now he shifted and leaned into Dean’s side, like he so often had during lunch hour when they were teenagers; “if they say they’re going to lock me down, I’m going to—I think—I’m going to cast my Grace out. I’m going to let myself Fall. Become human again, so that Heaven won’t be able to hold anything over me anymore. Like we talked about before.”

“Cas—!”

“I know. It’s dangerous. And even if it was to work the way I would want it to, I’d be vulnerable again. Like I was when we were younger. I would be a liability. So, I don’t want to do it unless it’s okay with you. Because I would still want to be in your life afterward. So just… think about it. Alright?”

Dean was silent for a long time, but he wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulders and held him close. That was a complicated thing, Cas was asking of him. Because of course he would want Cas in his life—in any way he could have him—but it was also true that as a human, Cas would be a liability.

Then again, hadn’t they gone through this before, when they were younger, and trying to eke out a relationship while Dean was on the road with his dad and Sam, and Cas was still in school? Cas had been a liability then, too, and it hadn’t stopped them; in fact, they had even planned on getting married before everything went to shit.

But in general, it would be better if Cas could smooth things over with Heaven, so he could keep his wings, so he would stay safe. Otherwise, Dean supposed, if he were human again, Cas would have to put down roots somewhere and Dean would have to visit him when he could. Or Cas would have to travel to meet him in shitty motels like they had done in the past.

The only alternative was to train Cas as a Hunter, which… Dean didn’t think he liked the idea of Cas being in that much constant danger. Not as a human, anyway. He had seen already that he could handle himself as an angel.

“I’ll think about it.” He agreed finally, turning his head to press a kiss against Cas’s temple. “When are you going back to Heaven?”

Cas hummed softly. “Soon. The longer I put it off, the higher the chances they’ll lock me in when I get there.”

“Why are we always saying goodbye, Cas?”

“We do seem to do that a lot, don’t we? At least this time you know where I’m going, where I’ll be. And I’ll always be watching out for you, you know that, right? If anything really serious happens, I don’t care what Heaven says, I’ll come right back to you.”

“I know.” Dean still didn’t like it. But it was what it was. “Thank you for… this. The gym. The bleachers. It’s nice.”

“I thought you might like it.” Cas settled into Dean’s side even more and asked, “do you want to just stay here a while?”

They had eggs for breakfast again, this time with sausage, and Dean did the cooking when Bobby called them freeloaders and tapped out. Sam had just snorted at that.

After breakfast they went back outside for another short spear-throwing session, just to make sure, and just like before, Sam came out on top, though Dean and Cas were only a hair behind him. They were beginning to think they might actually be able to do this. It was a huge relief, to say the least, especially knowing the odds they were up against.

Then, around one o’clock that afternoon, after a quick lunch of sandwiches they basically slapped together, Dean and Sam packed up their things and Cas gathered the spears, and the three of them prepared to return to New Orleans.

“Well,” Bobby said as Sam was shoving his laptop into his shoulder bag and Dean was coming into the kitchen hauling his duffle bag, “I wish you the best of luck with this one. Try not to get yourselves killed, ya idjits.” And then a nod toward Cas; “make sure you keep the angel close.”

“I won’t be going anywhere.” Cas assured him. “I’m in this Hunt all the way.”

“Good.” Bobby grunted, “because if anything happens to either of these boys, I’m holdin’ you accountable.”

Cas smiled slightly, then glanced toward Dean and added, “I’m in everything all the way. You don’t have to worry.”

Bobby didn’t respond in words but gave him a look that very clearly said if he hurt Dean again, the older man would find a way to end him and then do it. Cas met his gaze seriously, then gave a short nod… and then Bobby was relaxing again, leaning back against the counter and glancing between the three of them. “Have a good trip back.” He said with more than a little sarcasm.

Dean made a little blegh sound. He wasn’t a big fan of Cas’s flight. It made his stomach twist in on itself, made his knees go wonky. Sam just shrugged; it didn’t bother him in the least anymore, not after the first couple of times. Cas just chuckled and stepped over to place his hands on Dean and Sam’s shoulders—Dean carrying duffle bags and Sam carrying his laptop bag and the spears—then nodded to Bobby—and instantly transported them all back to their motel in New Orleans.

The second they made touchdown Dean dropped the duffle bags with a muffled thud and grabbed onto Cas’s shoulder for balance. Cas reached up to steady him with a hand on the small of his back, and a moment later he had his feet under him again and was bending down to pick the duffles up from the floor. He headed over to toss Sam’s on his bed, then took his own over to drop it onto the ground next to his own bed and complained, “makes my stomach feel like it’s trying to crawl up into the back of my throat.”

“Sorry.” Cas apologized. “Some people handle it better than others.”

Sam, for example, had been very mildly put off the first couple of times Cas had transported him, but subsequent times he hadn’t even blinked an eye. Now he was moving over to stand the three spears he was carrying up in the corner of the room, and glanced toward his brother to goad, “don’t be such a little girl.”

“I’m not being a little girl,” Dean bitched back, “we were in South Dakoda two seconds ago, Sam, it’s not natural!”

“It’s natural for Cas.” Sam pointed out with a smirk.

“Yeah well, Cas is a freaking angel, and I’m not.” Dean informed him; “there’s a huge difference.”

Cas just watched them bicker with an amused smile on his face. After a brief pause, he headed over to stand next to Dean and reached to take hold of his hand, tangling their fingers together loosely and tugging gently. “Are you okay? Really. I know flight can be… jarring, sometimes.”

Dean hesitated for just a split second before tightening his hand in Cas’s and offering a little smile. “I’ll be fine. It just takes a minute or two for the wonky feeling in my guts to go away.”

“Sorry.” Cas apologized again, but returned his smile, just soft and fond—the kind of smile that made Sam, across the room, make a mildly disgusted noise and start digging out his computer so he had something to distract himself from the overly affectionate atmosphere. Cas glanced over toward Sam and his smile widened. “Sorry, Sam, we’re just…”

“You guys are you again,” Sam supplied when he trailed off, already booting up his computer, “it’s just been a long time. I need to get used to it again. Seeing my brother all… lovey, you know? I’m not used to it like I was back in school.” Then he added, as if in an afterthought, “it’s a good thing. I’m happy for you. But still, just… eugh.”

Dean rolled his eyes at that, but Cas actually laughed. He squeezed Dean’s hand again and returned his attention to him, leaning in to kiss by his jaw gently. “Just be glad that your brother is happy for us, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean released his hand and sat down on the edge of the bed to untie his boots and pull them off, then just stretched out on the mattress and shuffled over to make room for Cas. “C’mon.”

“Oh, God, you’re gonna cuddle.” Sam complained.

Cas chuckled, but quickly shrugged out of his trench coat and draped it over the back of a chair, followed by his suit jacket, and then took his own shoes off before returning to the bed and crawling onto it beside Dean, settling cuddled into his side, one arm tucked against his chest and his head resting by Dean’s shoulder. Dean just wrapped an arm around him, bringing that hand up to card his fingers through Cas’s hair gently while Cas traced absent circles against his shirt with his fingers.

This time Sam didn’t pack up and leave, he just continued working on his laptop, researching their current job as well as possible future jobs and ignoring the fact that his brother and Cas were tucked up in bed together not ten feet away. They weren’t naked or groping each other or anything, so he figured it was fine. And it was nice to see Dean happy again after so long.

There was comfortable silence between the three of them for a while before Dean closed his eyes and rumbled out, “don’t think I’ve forgotten about our date later.”

Cas’s eyes were already closed, and he smiled slightly, his fingers catching in the material of Dean’s t-shirt, stopping their mindless tracing for the moment. “I haven’t, either.” He told Dean softly, “but what are we going to do on this date, hm?”

Dean’s hand continued to stroke through Cas’s hair, then paused to tug, just gently. “I think we should go to a diner, like we did on our first date, way back in high school. I… know you don’t eat anymore, but I think it’s… nostalgic. You know?”

Cas’s smile grew slightly, and he opened his eyes and picked his head up off Dean’s shoulder, tilting to press a kiss into his jaw warmly. “I understand. That sounds perfect, Dean.”

“Anything to get you two out of the motel room.” Sam piped up, adding his two cents.

Green eyes opened and Dean glared across the room at his brother. “You mind your damn business.” Sam snorted but didn’t reply otherwise, and Dean just turned his attention back to Cas and angling his head for a proper kiss, then humming happily when the angel returned it easily. “It’s a date then. There’s a diner downtown that’s got really good pecan pie, we can go there.”

Cas chuckled and kissed him again. “You love pie more than you love me.” He accused fondly.

Dean just grinned at him. “Oh, absolutely.”

Across the room, Sam didn’t look up but definitely gave a little snort of laughter.

-- --

That night, just before dinner time, after an afternoon of whittling away the time with cuddles, the occasional sarcastic comment from Sam, and then an actually very serious sit-around-the-table chat over the job they were about to embark on, Dean and Cas packed up and headed out to find the diner with the fantastic pecan pie. Dean insisted they walk rather than Cas flying them, even though Cas did make the offer—which he later would have rescinded anyway if he’d realized that Dean didn’t even remember the name of the place.

It wasn’t a very nice day out, really. Hurricane Gustav was incoming, and New Orleans had been battered by the preceding storms for the last few days. They had missed most of the bad weather in South Dakota, but now it was obvious another storm was coming in hard and fast. It was overcast and the sky rumbled occasionally—the heavens were grumbling.

Still, Dean was in a good mood as they walked, taking Cas’s hand with only a brief hesitation as they made their way downtown and to the diner in question. It took some searching, because Dean couldn’t remember the name of the diner, only that it started with an ‘S’, until they eventually stumbled upon it, and he exclaimed excitedly; “here! This is the one!”

Cas looked up at the sign and asked, “you couldn’t remember ‘South By Southeast’?”

Dean elbowed him in the side lightly. “Don’t be mean.”

Cas chuckled and they headed inside and found a booth in a private back corner where they could talk about anything without worrying about someone overhearing. Cas shrugged out of his trench coat and left it on the seat beside him, loosening his tie as well to be more comfortable.

When the waitress came by to take their drink orders, Cas surprised Dean by ordering a coffee, and once again when their drinks were delivered and he didn’t even add any cream or sugar to it, just picked it up and took a sip of it while it was still distinctly black. Dean didn’t comment, though, because he was too busy ordering his food—and Cas politely declined any, of course. The waitress just shrugged and headed off to put in Dean’s order

The two of them chatted about nothing in particular until Dean’s food—a burger and fries, naturally—was delivered, at which point the conversation dwindled a little while he dug into his burger. The waitress came by a few minutes later to refill both their coffees and Cas thanked her politely.

When he was done his burger and (most of) his fries, Dean pushed his plate away, and when the waitress came back around to collect the dishes, Dean asked for a slice of their delicious pecan pie. She winked at him and headed off to get it for him, returning a couple minutes later to deliver it—along with two forks. Cas just smiled and slid his fork away. The waitress refilled their coffee again before she vanished to take care of other tables.

Dean waited until she was out of sight and then just groaned out a happy noise around a bite of pie and closed his eyes. Once he’d finished the bite in his mouth, he scooped up another forkful, smiling widely, “I really wish I could share this with you, Cas, it’s fantastic.”

“Sadly, I wouldn’t taste it the same as you.” Cas agreed and took another sip of his coffee with a little, fond smile. “I’m glad you like it, though.” Then he shifted slightly in his seat and asked, “is there anything you want to talk about while we’re out, Dean? I mean… real things. Not just small talk.”

Dean finished the bite of pie in his mouth and scooped up another one but paused at Cas’s question. “I have a lot of things I want to talk about with you, but… I, ah, was wondering…”

Cas tilted his head slightly. “You were wondering?”

“Yeah, um, so… you still age, even though you’re an angel? I mean, you’re obviously older now than you were when we were together before. But aren’t angels immortal?” Dean quickly closed the distance and took his next bite of pie once the questions were out.

“Essentially. But my Vessel continues to age here on Earth. Eventually this body will grow old and die, and I’ll have to take a new one.” Cas shrugged and tapped one finger against his coffee cup, “I’ve had Vessels before this one, and I’ll have others after it.”

Dean considered that for a moment before hesitating and setting his fork down, half his pie still on the plate. He looked down at the table for a long moment before finally stating softly; “so, we could have a life together, then.”

Cas smiled a little. “Yes,” He said softly, “if that’s what you wanted.”

And unlike when they were younger, Cas wasn’t a ‘civilian’ anymore. They had talked about it in the past, and always said there was no way Cas could go on the road with Dean because it was too dangerous for him. But now he was an angel, was perfectly capable of defending himself against most anything, and maybe he would have to come and go, spend time in Heaven as well as with Dean, but…

Dean took a slightly shaky breath and picked his fork back up, but rather than starting to eat again, he just poked at the pie, picking the remaining pecans out and pushing them around the plate. “Is that what you want?” He asked finally.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Cas replied with another smile, “ever since the moment I met you.”

“What about your—your duties in Heaven? That kind of thing?”

“I would have to return to Heaven to fulfill my obligations there from time to time, but I could spend a lot of my life with you. We could be together in a way we never could before. You wouldn’t have to worry about my safety like you used to.” Reaching out, Cas grasped Dean’s wrist gently, stopping his hand from stirring the pie around and making him look up again. “Dean, it’s probably too soon to be talking about this.”

Dean looked at him, expression unreadable, and then told him, “I’ve been in love with you for thirteen years, I think this talk is way overdue, actually.”

Cas gave him a soft look. “But for seven of those years you thought I was dead. This is all very new, again. I don’t want to screw things up right from the start.”

“The fact that I thought you were dead all that time is the reason I—” But Dean cut himself off, looking down and setting his fork down again. He reached to take hold of Cas’s hand. “I don’t want to screw things up, either. Not after everything.”

“So, let’s just… table this conversation for now. Okay?” Cas said gently.

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean agreed. He pushed his mangled pie away from him with a sigh, then nodded toward Cas’s coffee. “I thought you don’t eat.”

“I don’t, but I…” Cas trailed off with a smile and an almost fond glance down at the cup in front of him, “I guess I couldn’t let it go. I had to hang on to some small things from my human life, even just something like coffee, or my trench coat, or Charlie’s bracelet. Anyway, it still tastes like molecules, but… I guess I developed a taste for that.”

“You drink it black now.”

“Yes, ah… the cream and sugar molecules aren’t very good. Black is much more palatable.”

“I knew you’d come to the dark side, eventually.” Dean gave a lopsided grin. He was still holding Cas’s hand and neither of them seemed willing to let go right away—in fact Cas carefully adjusted his hand in Dean’s to thread their fingers together. Dean’s grin faded into a soft smile. He glanced down. “If we’re starting from the beginning, you know our first first date ended in sex, right?”

Cas gave a startled laugh. “It did!” And then, sounding amused, “is that what you want from this, Dean?”

“I wouldn’t turn it down,” Dean told him, sounding amused, himself. He looked back up, the little grin back on his face. “And we’ve already screwed… in this life, I mean. Though... I really should apologize for that, too, I was… I was rough. I treated you badly. I was still really angry and I just…”

A little squeeze of his hand and Cas shook his head, “you don’t have to apologize. I understand. I understood when it happened. And I enjoyed it anyway. I mean, obviously. I wanted so desperately to be with you…” He smiled slightly, an ironic little quirk of his lips; “I think maybe we were both taking advantage of each other in that moment. It wasn’t great of either of us, but we’ve moved past where we were then, haven’t we?”

Dean let out a little breath but nodded. “It’s in the past. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Cas gave him a fond look. “You did, a little bit.” He admitted, “but it was a good kind of hurt. I think at the time I needed it. And I heal quickly.”

Dean tightened his grip on Cas’s hand slightly. “I’m sorry anyway.”

Because he had promised himself long ago that he would never hurt Cas—not on purpose anyway—and now it turned out he had done just that, blinded by his own rage and grief. But Cas understood, and like he’d said, the way Dean had treated him when they’d had sex a short time ago had been welcome. He had needed Dean to treat him that roughly, a kind if penance after everything he’d put the man through.

So, now he just smiled gently again and sighed. “I know. But there’s nothing to forgive, Dean, I promise. Anyway, it’s in the past, right?”

“…right. Right.” Dean agreed, somewhat weakly.

Cas picked up his coffee and downed the last of it, then pushed the cup away from himself and tilted his head, changing the topic entirely; “should we go? As I recall, on our first first date, we followed dinner up with a walk around town. I think we should continue that tradition with this first date, too.”

Sliding out of his side of the booth, Cas stood, still holding Dean’s hand, and tugged at him gently until Dean climbed out of the booth as well. Dean took his hand back long enough to dig out the cash to leave for their meal, and then, somewhat hesitantly, reached to take hold of Cas’s hand again. Cas smiled and headed for the door.

Walking around New Orleans was interesting—it was a fascinating town for the architecture alone—but the weather was terrible. The hurricane lead-up storms were still coming in hot and heavy. This particular evening it wasn’t actually raining, by some miracle, but it was darkly overcast and terribly muggy.

Also, there were approximately twenty billion mosquitoes, which didn’t seem too interested in bothering Cas but loved Dean.

They called their walk off after only forty-five minutes, after Dean began complaining of impending anemia, and then complained more when Cas laughed at his over dramatics. They walked hand-in-hand back to the motel, Dean smacking at mosquitoes and Cas smiling amusedly to himself the entire way.

When they got there, they were both privately disappointed (but not surprised) to find Sam in the room. The younger Winchester was reading through a heavy hardcover book when they walked in and smiled when he saw them together, then absolutely clocked that they were holding hands.

Dean saw Sam’s eyes flick downward and flushed red—“shut up, Sammy!”—then stomped over to his bed, dragging Cas along with him. Once there, he kicked his boots off, made Cas take off his shoes too, flopped onto the mattress and pulled Cas down as well, trench coat and all, maneuvering them around until they were cuddled up properly and then finally settling. Cas just went along with it, tucking into Dean’s side—right where he’d always belonged.

For his part, Sam just rolled his eyes and went right back to his book, flipping through the pages idly until finally drawling, “I bet you guys would love if I went out for a while right about now, huh?”

Dean let his head fall back against the pillows. “Screw you, Sam.”

Sam smirked. “I feel like you’d rather be screwing Cas.”

Cas chuckled softly. “He’s not entirely wrong.”

Sam stretched his arms above his head, arching until his back popped before slamming his book closed with a dull bang. “You know, I think I might find myself a bar to hang at for a while,” He announced, making Dean narrow his eyes at him like this was some sort of particularly mean-spirited trick. “I’ll be back in, what, does a couple hours sound good to you two?”

Dean was still eyeing him with suspicion.

Cas hid a smile against Dean’s chest and whispered, “say ‘thank you’ to your brother, Dean.”

Dean grumbled but managed, “…thanks, Sammy.”

Sam snorted, but he was grinning. “Don’t mention it. And I mean seriously. Don’t ever mention it.” He grabbed his wallet, shoving it into his pocket as he headed for the door, “when I get back, I’ll knock before I come in. Please be dressed when I do.”

“I promise nothing.” Dean told him firmly.

Sam’s response was just to close the door too loudly behind himself.

There was a beat where neither Dean nor Cas moved, both of them looking toward the door in case Sam had forgotten something or changed his mind like they were living some cosmic joke—but when his younger brother didn’t come back in the door immediately, Dean quickly turned his attention to grasping Cas by the side of the neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Cas went willingly, humming out a content noise, adjusting so he was laying half-overtop Dean while they kissed, slow and warm and languid, getting to know each other properly again after such a long time. Dean’s hand remained holding firm at the side of Cas’s neck, his other hand coming up to rest by Cas’s hip. For Cas’s part, his own hands were just kneading, one in the blankets and the other against Dean’s chest, fingers catching in the fabric of his t-shirt.

It wasn’t that sex was forbidden to angels, necessarily, though it was looked down upon by a great many, it was more that interpersonal relationships were frowned upon in general. But as Cas had said before, he had turned into a rule-breaker after returning from his time on Earth, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Not when he finally had Dean close to him again after so very, very long. He would continue to be the rebellious son.

Especially if rebelling meant pushing himself up and shrugging out of his trench coat, tossing it on the floor, then going for Dean’s overshirt, only to have the man below him grab at his tie and drag him back down for more increasingly heated kisses.

“Not gonna lie,” Dean murmured against Cas’s lips with a grin, “the tie is kind of hot. You still don’t tie it right, though. It’s backwards.”

“A lot of things are backward with me.” Cas replied with a sigh, reaching up to pull Dean’s hand away so he could loosen his tie and then pull it over his head. It joined his coat on the floor.

Dean pouted just a little. “I liked that.” Then he grinned and grabbed at Cas, flipping them over so he was on top of the angel instead. “Someday I’m going to fuck you with you wearing just that tie and it’s going to be so Goddamn good.”

Cas laughed, smiling widely up at Dean. “But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight.” Dean agreed, running his hands from Cas’s shoulders down to his abdomen—and then abruptly hooking his fingers in the fabric of Cas’s shirt and yanking, sending buttons flying every which way. He licked his lips and pulled the still-tucked-in tail of the shirt out from Cas’s pants, then pushed the shirt flaps off to the side so he could slide his hands along Cas’s bare skin. Green eyes glanced up and he asked, “you can get another shirt, right?”

“I can fix this one.” Cas replied, just a touch breathlessly. He swallowed. Dean had never done that before. Then again, he had rarely worn button-down shirts in the time they were together before. Cas sat up enough to shrug out of his suit jacket and shirt, then reached up to push at Dean’s overshirt. “Get this off. Your t-shirt too.”

“I was kind of more focused on you being naked.” Dean told him, pushing him back down again, already reaching for his belt, undoing it with deft fingers and pulling it out, the familiar hiss of leather. He threw it somewhere across the room, then started in on Cas’s pants.

“This is unfair,” Cas let his head fall back and bit his lip, not really complaining. “Let me see you, damnit.”

“Are angels allowed to swear?” Dean chuckled and just kept working, and Cas couldn’t have been all that upset because when Dean urged him to lift his hips so he could get his pants off, Cas did it without question. His pants were also tossed who-knew-where. It was going to be interesting trying to get dressed again before Sam got back.

“Angels are allowed to swear.” Cas confirmed, now down to his boxers and very aware that Dean was still completely dressed, leaning over him. “Dean. Come on.”

“I am coming on. I’m coming on to you.” The elder Winchester smirked as he hooked his fingers in the elastic waistband of Cas’s boxers and tugged them down to discard them as well, pleased to find Cas already hard beneath them. Dean ducked down and gave a quick lick over the head of his cock and Cas just whined. Dean chuckled, “you still make all the same noises.”

Cas bucked his hips just slightly and let his head fall back. “Of course I do. I’m still me.”

“So I’m learning.” A quiet murmur and Dean shuffled down farther so he would be more comfortable when he leaned in and licked up the underside of Cas’s cock, making the angel gasp out a groan. Dean just hummed to himself and proceeded to take Cas’s dick into his mouth, sucking heatedly as he eased deep. “Mmh.”

“Oh… God…!” Cas arched back, sucking in a sharp breath and forcing himself not to thrust up into Dean’s mouth. But he hadn’t had a blowjob in millennia, literally, and his entire body was so oversensitive to anything regarding sex after not being touched for so long—he had learned that the last time. On top of that, Dean’s mouth had always felt particularly good and—

Dean pulled off him with a little, wet slurping noise to chuckle, “okay, I know it’s against the rules to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Fuck the rules,” Cas gasped out, making Dean snort a laugh because he knew how much Cas disliked that particular word—or at least he had in the past. Now Cas just threw an arm up over his eyes and managed, “Dean, don’t stop!”

“I’d almost forgotten,” Dean murmured as he ducked back down to start sucking Cas off again; “what it’s like to take you apart like this. You’re so beautiful when you’re laid out for me. Absolutely gorgeous.”

Cas would have responded, probably disputed Dean’s claims that he was either beautiful or gorgeous, but before he could say anything Dean sucked him back into his mouth and started bobbing his head, sucking his way up and down the length of his cock, and every coherent thought fled his brain entirely because Dean hadn’t forgotten how to give a blowjob, not in the seven years they’d been apart, not at all.

All Cas could do was arch his back and drop the arm not covering his eyes to thread his fingers into Dean’s hair, kneading and pulling along with Dean’s rhythm. He mostly managed not to thrust his hips, but once or twice his fraying control slipped and he bucked upward, making Dean utter a muffled protesting sound in the back of his throat—and then he just pushed even deeper, swallowing around Cas like it hadn’t been seven long years on Earth and forty years in Hell since the last time he’d given someone (also Cas) head.

“Dean,” Cas gasped out after a couple minutes of this, shaking his head, hair mussing against the pillows, “Dean, it’s been too long, I won’t last and—and you still—"

Dean pulled off again, but this time brought a hand up to stroke at Cas’s cock in the absence of his mouth. “You used to like to go twice in a row.” He pointed out, licking his lips absently. “Am I in the wrong, here?”

Cas whined, embarrassed, because it was true, and because he should have realized that was Dean’s plan all along. He braced himself for being completely worn out by the end of this and not even being able to sleep afterward. All he would be able to do was rest with Dean and recoup his energy. (It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant idea.)

“No,” He panted out finally, hips jerking into Dean’s hand, “no, you’re not wrong, just—please, Dean—”

“Heh.” Just one quiet chuckle and Dean was right back at it, sucking up and down Cas’s cock, hot and messy—and it really didn’t take long at all. Cas had been serious about it being a long time, especially in Heaven’s terms, and he came rather hard and abruptly when Dean shoved deep once more, swallowing around him. Cas gave a sharp cry and arched slightly, and Dean just continued swallowing until Cas was done before pulling off him and licking his lips, tasting nothing but salty come.

Cas even tasted the same…

Slumping back against the bed, Cas panted for air for a moment, one hand still tangled in Dean’s hair, before tugging gently, pulling the man upward and into a long, languid kiss. When they parted, Cas took a moment to mull over the taste of the molecules of his own come, coming straight off Dean’s tongue, and then bumped his forehead against Dean’s lightly.

“I wasn’t expecting that.” He told Dean and swallowed slightly. “Do you want me to…?”

But Dean shook his head. He reached up and carefully extracted Cas’s hand from his hair, tangling their fingers together and giving Cas an almost hesitant smile. “No. I want all of you. If that’s alright, after…?”

Cas reached up with his free hand to stroke against the side of Dean’s face and said, seriously, “it’s more than fine with me. Is it okay with you, though? All of this… I know it’s a lot. I don’t want you to regret anything afterwards.”

He got a soft look in response to his words. “No regrets with you, Cas. Not ever. Remember?”

Cas’s lips quirked slightly, and he rubbed his thumb along Dean’s cheek. “I remember.” Then his smile widened, and he added, “take your clothes off, Dean. I feel very… naked, right now.”

“Well, you look incredible. Then again, you’ve pretty much always looked incredible. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.” But Dean was already shifting back, shrugging out of his overshirt and then stripping off the t-shirt underneath. Then he climbed off the bed long enough to get out of his jeans and boxers before returning to Cas’s side, easing up against him and leaning for a kiss.

“It’s much better when I’m not the only one who’s naked,” Cas told him, the words half-muffled against Dean’s lips, and when Dean just advised him to shut up he decided it was sage and tilted his head to focus on the kissing instead while Dean stretched his arm out, reaching over the side of the bed to his duffle bag where he had stashed the lube from last time. Some blind fumbling eventually produced the important little tube and then Dean returned all of his attention to Cas—and kissing him within an inch of his life.

Then again, angels were immortal, weren’t they? So maybe not within an inch of his life.

When Dean pulled back after a few long moments of making out like their lives depended on it, it was to trail messy kisses down Cas’s neck and then nip against his shoulder, even as he was uncapping the lube to slick his fingers up. “Knees up, Cas.”

When they had fucked before—two weeks before not before before—the stretching and prep had been quick, rough and incomplete, and that was something Dean regretted deeply. He privately vowed to do better this time, to break Cas down piece-by-piece until he was begging—like he used to, before everything. When they were young and in love and both of them still human.

Now, Cas just pushed him back a little so he could adjust, bending and parting his knees, licking his lips as he watched Dean settle mostly beside him and then reach down with his slick hand to push one finger into his body. Cas sighed and let his head fall back. There were some things you didn’t forget the feel of, even after a millennia in Heaven, and any part of Dean inside of him was one of them.

While it was true that his body remembered the feel of Dean’s fingers, it was also true that it had been a freaking millennia. The last time aside, it was like being a virgin again, even just one finger felt like a lot, though logically Cas knew that it wasn’t. He shifted his hips awkwardly as Dean worked at him with just the one finger for a while, knowing that it would get better with the second one—

And it was true. When Dean eased the second finger into him there was a stretch and burn—mildly uncomfortable still—but Cas knew the second finger always lead down the road to his prostate, which was anything but painful. Cas privately thought that that secret little button was one of God’s greatest inventions, and had been very pleased, two weeks before, to find out that his was still in-tact, despite his now angelic nature.

“Right… abouuuut…” Dean was murmuring to himself as he pushed his fingers deeper, feeling around until—

“A-ah!” Cas jolted, hips jerking, when Dean finally struck his sweet spot, gasping out a stilted cry.

“Ah. There.” A little smug look. Dean twisted his fingers and pressed them hard against Cas’s prostate, rubbing across the little bundle of nerves for a moment before pulling back to give Cas a brief reprieve. Then he was back at it, pressing and rubbing, stroking his fingers over Cas’s sweet spot until the angel was arching and writhing, head back and gasping out panted breaths.

When he introduced the third finger, what seemed like a very long while later, Cas whined, high and tight in his throat, and pushed his hips into it, urging Dean to go deeper, move faster, just—“more, God, Dean, more…!”

Dean did as he was told, fucking Cas deeply and hard on his fingers until Cas was gasping breathlessly and his already sated cock was beginning to flag again, stiffening while Dean toyed around with his prostate, working him over more than just thoroughly. And Cas just grabbed for purchase at anything he could, ending up with one hand up, fisted in the pillow next to his head and the other down, pulling at the covers.

Finally, Dean took pity on him and pulled his fingers away, then slid over and settled himself between Cas’s legs, making a soft amused sound when Cas immediately grabbed onto him, fingers digging into the back of his shoulders even as Dean lined himself up and pushed his cock into Cas’s pliant body.

Cas sucked in a deep breath, hips arching against Dean’s and head back. He moaned lowly at the intrusion, Dean’s cock filling him up so deeply and fully—just like how he remembered, back when they were younger.

“Shit, Cas…” Dean swore, ducking his head to bury his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, voice coming out slightly muffled, “you feel the same… so hot and tight, just freaking perfect…!” And then a slightly breathless laugh and he added, “always perfect. You’ve always been perfect. Ever since we met…!”

“So have you,” Cas managed to gasp out, then; “move, Dean…!”

Dean began to move. Just short, gentle thrusts at first, knowing Cas was still adjusting to having him inside himself, but quickly moving up to deeper, harder movements—but still slow, slow and languid and with true feeling behind them. So much that it made Cas’s heart ache with it. Made tears bite at his eyes and his panted gasps turn into borderline sobs.

Because they were making love, and he had never thought he would ever experience that again, not in any of his lifetimes, but especially not with Dean, not after what he’d done. And it was almost too much…

When Dean caught on to his almost-tears he pressed a gentle kiss into the crook of Cas’s neck, then lifted his head to draw Cas into a series of warm, loving kisses, murmuring softly, breathlessly in between them, “I love you, Cas… I love you; I love you…”

The tears came anyway, dripping down from the corners of his eyes—but they were joyful tears, not the heartbroken, crushing kind that he had cried countless times over the last seven Earth years. They were cathartic, a release of sorts. But Dean couldn’t know that, couldn’t know that he was so happy it was just overflowing, too much for him to contain, and so he began to ease off and pull away—and when he did, Cas clutched onto him even tighter, bringing his legs up to wrap them around Dean’s hips to hold him where he was, a quiet whine in the back of his throat.

“Cas, you’re crying…” Dean protested. He had entirely stopped moving now and Cas rocked his hips, trying to get him to start again. “Cas…”

Cas let his head fall back but continued to hold tight to Dean; “Good tears.” He managed to get out, swallowing hard, “I’m just happy.”

Dean settled against him again, bracing on one arm and bringing the opposite hand up to wipe at the tear tracks on Cas’s face. Cas laughed weakly. “Are you sure?” Dean asked softly, “I don’t want to screw this up, especially after last time, I don’t—"

“I’m sure.” Came Cas’s reply, and he licked his lips before arching slightly, pressing his body against Dean’s. His cock was fully hard again, swollen and red, leaking wetly against his stomach, now pinned between his abdomen and Dean’s, so it was obvious he was still more than a little turned on. “Make love to me, Dean. I just want you to make love to me…”

Another brief moment of hesitation and then Dean settled himself once more, bracing on his knees and beginning to roll his hips again, thrusting into Cas: gently and carefully, to begin with, as if they were starting all over again, and he leaned in to kiss Cas, deep and warm and with so much emotion…

There was no doubt in Cas’s mind that Dean was telling the truth when he said that he still loved him. Not when he kissed him like that. When he moved inside of Cas so carefully, as if he was afraid that Cas might break. But Cas had never been particularly delicate, even when he had been human, and finally he dropped one foot back to the bed to brace himself and rolled his own hips down to meet Dean’s, urging him to move a little harder, a little deeper.

Dean groaned against his lips and Cas’s reply was a shuddering sigh when the man on top of him began thrusting just a bit more firmly, deeper, but just as slow, just as passionate, all simmering heat and emotion that was long overdue. Their kisses were long and deep and messy, punctuated by sighs and moans as Dean worked them both to a peak—

And a few, long, drawn-out minutes later, Cas fell over the edge again, coming with a moan, breaking away from Dean to let his head fall back as his orgasm flowed through him. Dean followed shortly after, his thrusts going jerky and sharp for a moment before he came deep inside Cas’s body.

They were both still for a couple of breaths—and then Dean slumped down over Cas, kissing him gently again before burying his face in the angel’s shoulder, a comfortable weight over him. Cas let his hands rub down Dean’s back with a hum that bordered on a groan, just loving the feeling of his muscles shifting under his fingers as Dean caught his breath. Cas had missed this.

Finally, though, Dean swallowed slightly and eased back, pulling out of him and rolling to the side to land on his back. The bed gave a protesting squeak and Cas chuckled at the sound, even as he turned over and cuddled into Dean’s side.

“You okay?” Dean asked after a brief pause.

Cas smiled and pressed a kiss by his collarbone. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m not the one who cried.” Dean pointed out, not unkindly.

“I, ah… did do that, yes.” Cas made an embarrassed noise. “I’m sorry about that, I just got overwhelmed and…”

“Good overwhelmed, though?”

“So good.”

“Then we’re both okay.” Dean concluded, sounding satisfied.

“Mm.” Cas agreed. He brought his hand up to trace his fingers against Dean’s chest, like he had so many times in the distant past and smiled to himself. “What just happened between us… it felt like coming home.”

“It kind of did, didn’t it?” An amused murmur and Dean added, “I’m glad you’re happy, Cas.”

“And you are too?

“I—yeah. I think I really am.”

“Then we’re definitely both okay.”

Dean chuckled. Then he asked, “so hey, did you keep tabs on anyone else from before? I mean not just me?”

“Mm.” Cas shifted around, crossing his arms over Dean’s chest, resting his chin on one of his own wrists absently. “You and Sam, obviously, and your Dad, kind of by default. Mr. Singer occasionally. But my friends, too.” He adjusted to allow Dean to tuck an arm behind his own head, his other hand coming up to rub along Cas’s arm gently as he spoke; “Jody is a Sherriff now, married with a son, out near where Mr. Singer lives in Sioux Falls. Charlie is a total con artist, she switches identities constantly and gets IT jobs at multibillion dollar companies, then siphons off money to go toward charities. It’s actually kind of badass. And Garth… he started out as a run-of-the-mill dentist but then something weird happened at his practice, and now he’s switched. Now he’s a Hunter.”

“Hunt—Hunter? Like our kind of Hunter?” Dean demanded, “Garth? Really?”

Cas laughed and nodded, “yeah, I know, it’s crazy. But he’s pretty good!”

“Garth.” Dean repeated incredulously.

“No, really, you should see him. I mean he’s still Garth, so everything is weirdly laid back and kind of goofy sometimes, but his vibe seems to work. It’s fun to watch.” Cas ducked his head to press a kiss against Dean’s chest, “you might run into him some time.”

“You might run into him some time, now that you’re back.” Dean pointed out.

And that had crossed Cas’s mind once or twice, the thought of meeting up with his friends again after so long. He knew Dean had tracked them all down one-by-one to question them when he had gone missing, though, all of them in college or university at the time, so they knew he had been missing—still was, as far as they were concerned. And that had been years ago.

“I don’t know if that’s… such a good idea.” Cas sighed and returned his chin to resting by his wrist; “they think I’m long gone, right? I know you talked to them all. They might not take the New Me very well.”

“Hey, the New You is plenty of fun.” Dean protested, smoothing a hand down Cas’s bare back for emphasis—and then up again to rub at his arm some more. Then he added gently, “they’re your friends, they should know you’re okay. Especially Charlie, she was your best friend. You two were really close.”

That was true. Cas and Charlie had been particularly close. She had been slated to be his best man, when he and Dean were planning on getting married. And Cas had watched her join the frantic search for him when he disappeared—in her own way, using her tech skills, trying to track down a digital footprint, a scrap of anything and coming up empty. She had poured her everything into it… until the day she woke up and just couldn’t do it anymore.

Guilt over putting her through that made Cas shy away from the idea of meeting up with any of his friends again, even though he knew he owed it to them. Hell, look how Dean had reacted when Cas had shown back up. He had hated Cas. …but not really. Cas supposed it was true that the anger was just to cover the hurt, and anyway, now they were cuddled up naked in bed together like nothing had ever happened.

“I’ll think about it.” He promised softly, and when Dean’s free hand slid up so he could thread his fingers through Cas’s hair, the touch reassuring, Cas hummed and leaned into it, closing his eyes. “And I know you know about Jo, about her Dad being a Hunter before he died, and her and her Mom running the Hunter’s bar now. You and Sam have been to The Roadhouse, I saw it.”

“Yeah, and that was a shock when we walked in there and found Jo of all people.” Dean’s fingers paused in his hair briefly before he continued stroking through it gently. “With you and the Hunters, Cas, jeez. You’re like a magnet. What about the other one… uh. Kevin? Kevin. Is he out ganking vampires and shit, too?”

Cas chuckled softly and opened his eyes. “No, Kevin’s just living a normal, everyday life, albeit that of a genius prodigy who was raised by a legitimate tiger mom. He’s in university now. Princeton.”

“He’s a lot younger than you and the rest of your friends, right?”

“Yes, he’s a little younger than Sam. He skipped ahead several grades in school.”

Dean’s hand slid away from Cas’s hair and down to cup his jaw gently. “You really made sure to keep an eye on everyone, didn’t you?” He asked, sounding mildly amazed. “You cared so much about all of us, and I gave you so much shit about it. I’m so sorry, I know I said things that…” Trailing off, he frowned a little. “I can’t take them back. I’m just sorry, Cas.”

“Hey, no frowning…” Cas leaned into Dean’s hand against his face and sighed, “I understand why you said those things. You’ve forgiven me, right? Well, I forgive you, too.”

“I think that’s a good deal…” Dean agreed softly, then trailed off when he suddenly thought of something. His frown faded and green eyes blinked. “Hey, you never mentioned your Dad. You kept an eye on Chuck, too, didn’t you?”

“I tried.” Cas tipped his head to press a kiss into Dean’s palm, “but he just kind of… disappeared. A couple of months after I returned to Heaven. I couldn’t get a read on him; I couldn’t pin him down. It was really weird. Even now I still can’t…” Now Cas was the one who was frowning, and Dean drew him into a kiss as distraction. When they parted, Cas sighed. “Sorry, my Father is an uncomfortable subject.”

“I talked to Chuck right after you disappeared,” Dean told him, leaning in for another kiss. Cas kissed back to shut him up, not liking this topic. But when they pulled apart a moment later, Dean just finished with, “he was acting like any Dad would act if his kid vanished.”

“I saw that part. It was after that that he…”

“I’m sorry, Cas. If I’d known, I would’ve looked into it.”

“No, you wouldn’t’ve. You were too busy looking for me.”

“…okay, that’s true. Maybe we can look into it now?”

“Dean, if I couldn’t find him from Heaven…”

“Yeah, that’s a point.” Dean wrapped his arm around Cas, now, the other still tucked behind his head. “We’ll figure something ou—”

That was about when the door to the motel room swung inward and Sam came into the room—and immediately spun on his heel to face away again, swinging the door closed as he did so. “What did I tell you guys?!” He complained loudly, eyes firmly on the back of the door and a deep frown on his face.

Dean just started to laugh, a smug little smile tilting at his lips, even as Cas hurried to toss the blankets up over them both. It was the least he could do, considering what Sam had just walked in on. “Sorry, Sam. We lost track of the time.”

“But you said you were going to knock first, Sammy!”

“That is not an excuse, Dean!”

Once they were both properly covered, Cas coughed out, “it’s safe to look now, Sam.”

Sam heaved a sigh and turned around, eyeing the pair of them in the bed. Dean just had a smug grin on his face while Cas looked chagrined. They were both at least covered up by the blankets, now. Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Literally, I asked for one thing. One. Be clothed when I came back. But no, I walk in and it’s all just—nudity! Like a horrible, traumatizing strip club from Hell.”

Dean began to laugh, leaning his head down to rest his forehead against Cas’s shoulder, and Cas swatted at him in an attempt to get him to pipe down—but it didn’t work. He just continued chortling to himself, and if he was really honest, Cas was privately pleased to see him enjoying himself so much. For his part, Sam just huffed and stomped over to grab his laptop, then went to the kitchenette table and sat down to glower at the computer while he powered it up.

“You two are stuck there, now, ‘cause I’m not leaving again. Just stay under the covers forever.” He told them.

“I kind of feel like there’s nothing you can do to enforce that, Sammy.” Dean commented idly, tone amused, “also, being trapped in bed with Cas isn’t exactly a chore. Give us another few minutes and you may regret your life choices, here.”

“Cas.” Sam said, obviously pleading for some sort of sanity.

Cas chuckled and pushed Dean back, then leaned up to kiss him warmly. “Be nice.” He told him, then wrapped the top sheet around his waist and climbed out of the bed. That was followed up by him wandering around the room, gathering the strewn pieces of his clothing, and then disappearing into the bathroom, only to reappear seconds later, completely clean and dressed properly again—shirt even mended from where Dean had torn the buttons away—holding the sheet in one hand. He wandered back over to the bed and ducked in to kiss Dean once more, leaving the sheet behind before crossing the room to take a seat at the table with Sam. “Sorry, Sam.”

Sam glanced back at the bathroom, then looked at Cas and just said, “that’s handy.”

Dean, meanwhile, tried to look like he wasn’t pouting while absolutely pouting. After a minute, though, he just flung the blankets off himself and stood up, stretching until his back popped, a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. Cas watched with appreciation while Sam quickly averted his eyes and complained, “dude!”

Ignoring him, Dean wandered over to the table, still nude, to lean down and give Cas another kiss. Now he was just being a dick on purpose. Cas muffled a little laugh and gave him a shove. “At least put your boxers on.”

“Boo.” The elder Winchester jeered, but did as he was told, searching around the room to locate his boxers and pulling them on easily before heading to the fridge and pulling out a pair of beers, returning to the table and setting one next to Sam as a peace offering.

Cas reached out and swiped at Dean’s abdomen with one finger, then brought it up to lick at it absently. “You need a shower.” He commented, trying to avoid saying that Dean had come smeared all over his stomach in front of his younger brother. Sam was already bitchy enough as it was.

Dean just shrugged and pulled up a chair to sit, opening his beer while Sam made a face. “I’ll have one in a bit.” He grinned at Cas, “you want to join me?”

“I think Sam might explode if I did.” Cas pointed out with a little smile.

Dean came back with, “I think I might explode if you did.”

“Oh my God,” Sam protested, and palmed over his face, then reached for his beer like it was a lifeline, “you guys are good again and suddenly I’m right back in high school. It’s uncanny.”

He and Dean began to bicker, then, just the childish kind of minor arguing that happened all the time between siblings who had a close relationship. Cas smiled through it; it was good to see. When they had been in high school, Dean and Sam had had a good relationship, but it had started to slide as Sam got older—Cas had witnessed that first-hand, during his human days.

And then, when Cas had vanished and Dean had called on his brother for help, they had briefly grown closer again. But it had been a tenuous thing, a bond forged through adversity, and when Sam had finally stopped his own end of the search for Cas, it had been broken once again. Dean had felt betrayed by his brother calling off the search, and things had been bad again… until he’d had to go to Sam for help once more, almost two years later, when their Dad went missing.

That was when their relationship had started to repair itself, though Sam had been reluctant at first, and now… they were back to how they had been in high school. It was incredible, really, the round-about way things had gone, just to come back to home base again.

“Castiel.”

Cas’s thoughts—and Dean and Sam’s bickering—were interrupted when a familiar voice next thing to snapped Cas’s name, and when they looked up, Uriel was standing a few feet away from the table, hands firmly at his sides, pressed suit and all. The Winchesters abruptly shut up and Cas immediately frowned but didn’t stand from his seat at the table.

“What is it, Uriel?” He asked lowly.

“I’ve been sent to fetch you.” Uriel told him, voice dripping with disdain; “you turned your frequencies off again. We couldn’t contact you otherwise.”

Cas had almost forgotten he had turned Angel Radio off for his date with Dean. Now his frown deepened, and he blinked slowly, flipping the switch in his head to turn it back on, then wincing when the voices began blaring in his head again, many of them calling out for him to come home.

“You okay?” Dean asked softly.

“Yes, just… I turned Angel Radio off for the last couple days, and I just turned it back on. It’s… loud.” Cas sighed and lifted a hand to rub at one temple lightly. There were times, like this, when he missed when Angel Radio just hadn’t been a thing in his life.

“Castiel.” Uriel repeated his name.

Cas made a soft, displeased sound in his throat and stood from his chair. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He told Dean, then leaned down to kiss him gently and offered a smile, “I’ll be back in time for the Hunt, I promise.”

Dean made an unhappy noise and reached up to grab at the front of his shirt, dragging Cas in for another kiss. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Cas flashed a little, reassuring smile, even as Uriel made an unsubtle disapproving sound—and then he was gone in a flash of shining feathers, Uriel following immediately after him.

“Dick with wings stole my boyfriend.” Dean bitched, taking another drink of his beer.

“Oh, is he your boyfriend again?” Sam asked blandly, then looked back at his computer and added; “you’ve got a little something on your stomach.”

When they arrived in New Orleans they hung their boots, so to speak, at a little motel called The Gatorland Inn and they were not kidding with that name. When they walked into their room, there were no less than three taxidermy alligators around the place, and everything was covered in ‘gator skin, right down to the lampshades. Dean almost turned right back around and walked out again, but who was he kidding? They had definitely stayed in worse places, even if the stuffed alligator over the television kept giving him the side-eye.

They spent the rest of that day unpacking and going through their belongings, and Dean began putting up the Wall Of Weird for this job. Giant Crocodile Monster was a new one for both of them, so they needed all the information they could get—and when he was finished, it was a pathetically small Wall. Unfortunately, there just wasn’t that much intel out there on the palraijuq to be had, unless maybe you went all the way up north and asked the Inuit yourself. Sam seemed disappointed that the Internet had failed him.

With all that done, they headed downtown and picked a random diner—South By Southeast—to have dinner at, where Dean discovered, to his absolute delight, they had the best pecan pie. He ordered two slices. Sam just shook his head, but he had a little smile on his face because it was good to see his brother acting… normal again. (Normal for Dean, anyway.)

That night they crashed early, exhausted from the drive, and thankfully Dean didn’t have a single dream—good or bad—the entire night.

-- --

The next morning, they set off to procure a couple of Inuit spearheads.

The Alabama Natural History Museum was in Tuscaloosa and give-or-take, a four-and-a-half hours drive away—probably less since Dean was the one who was driving, and he tended to have a lead foot even when he wasn’t angsting. They made it to Tuscaloosa at about the four-hour mark with Sam harping on Dean to slow down the entire way.

They couldn’t actually go in to pull off their heist until after the museum was closed, so they spent the day tooling around Tuscaloosa, until Dean found a bar he liked and decided to put down roots there. Sam continued his exploration of the city, and they agreed to meet at the museum at midnight. It was a solid plan.

The bar Dean had decided to camp at was called Decades and was a popular place, at least judging by the lunch crowd. It was around one o’clock and Dean was on his third beer already, now waiting for the burger he had just ordered—when Cas suddenly appeared in the seat across from him at the small table he was occupying.

Dean jumped slightly, then just sighed and swiped a hand over his face. “Shit, Cas, I will never get used to that.” He was just picking up his beer and taking a drink when Cas set a small jar of red liquid on the table between them. Dean finished swallowing thickly and asked, “is that what I think it is?”

“It’s seal blood.”

“Baby seal blood.”

“It was hard to get.”

“I bet.” That was about when the waitress came over with his food. She stopped at the jar of blood and looked at Dean, who just smiled winningly and informed her, “it’s baby seal blood!”

“Very funny.” She seemed to assume he was joking, and when Cas reached to move the jar out of the way she set the platter containing Dean’s burger and fries down in front of him, then looked to Cas, “can I get you anything?”

Cas just smiled a little. “No. Thank you.”

A shrug, and she headed off, leaving them alone again. Dean started in on his burger immediately, making a little grunting noise when it turned out to be really good. Cas watched him eat with a small, fond smile on his face. It was nice to see that some things hadn’t changed.

“You’ll be happy to know the seal didn’t suffer.” He told Dean, offhand.

“Oh, good. That’s good.” Dean tried to seem tough, but he secretly had a big heart. It was one of the things Cas loved about him. Now Dean asked around a mouthful of food, “so, you really just don’t eat anymore, huh? Angels don’t eat?”

“No, we don’t eat.” Cas confirmed, even though they’d covered this topic before. Dean couldn’t seem to get past it. “So, you can’t steal my fries anymore.”

Dean paused at that, just the faintest of smiles tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Do you miss food?”

“You know, I do.” Cas chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, “I used to love the taste of food. Most food, anyway. I loved the taste of lots of things.” Not necessarily just food, but he didn’t think he should go there. “But now it’s… I don’t taste things properly anymore. Everything just tastes like its molecular makeup. I used to love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, yeah, but now they just taste… cosmic. It’s strange. It’s because of my Grace, I’m sure, but my Grace also makes it so I don’t need to eat anymore, so…” He shrugged. “Why bother, right?”

“That sucks.” Dean popped a fry into his mouth and chewed, swallowed before continuing with, “the food is half the fun of being human—which.” He stopped there and sighed. “I guess you’re not anymore. So, it makes sense.”

“Mm.” Cas agreed. Then he gave an almost cheeky little smile and added, “is the other half the fun of being human sex? Because I’m pretty sure I can still do that.”

Dean snorted. He was working on another large bite of burger, and once he swallowed, he muttered, “yeah we kind of proved that already, didn’t we?”

Cas laughed softly and reached to pick up the jar of seal blood, tucking it into the pocket of his trench coat again before reaching into the opposite pocket and pulling something else out. He set them on the table as an offering. “I got these while I was up there. I thought they might be handy and save you having to break into yet another museum.”

“What do you mean ‘yet another’?” Dean demanded, reaching with the hand not holding his burger to pick up one of the objects Cas had just presented—and he paused, turning it over in his hand before saying, “Cas, tell me these aren’t Inuit spearheads.”

“You guys are always breaking into museums for things,” Cas shrugged, “you keep forgetting I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

“I never forget that.”

“Anyway, yes, those are Inuit spearheads. I visited a couple of Inuit villages while I was in Alaska and one of the hunters there made them for me.”

“They just made them for you. Out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“Yes. I asked for their help and told them we were hunting a palraijuq, and they were more than willing. They’re a very giving people.”

Dean set the spearhead down and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. “Doesn’t matter that they’re not, you know, relics?”

“No, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re crafted by the hands of an Inuit hunter.”

Dean was already setting his burger down and dialing Sam’s number. “One sec, I have to tell Sam we drove to Tuscaloosa for no reason.” It wasn’t meant to be biting, but it came across slightly harsh. Cas brushed it off as he collected the three spearheads up and tucked them back into his pocket for safekeeping.

The conversation with Sam was short and easy. He took the news well, pleased that they wouldn’t have to do any breaking and entering that day—and it was only another four-hour drive back to New Orleans anyway. He said he would find the bar and meet them there as soon as possible.

When Dean hung up and dropped his phone back into his pocket, he just immediately went back to his food, picking up his burger and taking another large bite. “Okay, so thanks for that I guess.” The words were barely understandable around the food in his mouth. Cas had actually kind of missed that particular habit of Dean’s.

It was funny, some of the odd things he had missed about Dean while they had been apart. Things that he had been able to see from above, but not experience. Things like Dean talking with his mouth full. A little thing that most people would even find irritating, but Cas found oddly charming, somehow.

He found most things about Dean charming, to be fair.

They sat in silence for a while, Dean eating and ordering another beer when he went to take a drink and came up dry. That was one thing Cas had never developed a taste for, in his time as a human—alcohol. He had been more of a coffee guy. But, once they were older, he had never begrudged Dean a beer or two if he wanted them, and now he had no right to say anything even if Dean was on his fourth, now.

When Sam finally arrived, Dean was done with his food and the waitress had whisked the plate away, leaving he and Cas to sit together quietly while Dean drank—possibly too fast, but who was Cas to judge. He would just make sure that Sam was the one to drive the two of them home.

“Where did you get Inuit spearheads from?” Sam asked as he dragged a chair over from another table and took a seat.

“An Inuit.” Cas replied simply. That much seemed obvious. “I was in Alaska anyway, so I figured…”

“Apparently Cas is good buddies with at least one Inuit huntsman.” Dean muttered around the edge of his glass. “He literally just asked them, and they immediately made some spearheads for him.”

“To be fair, I did tell them about the palraijuq.” Cas pointed out.

“Did you get the seal blood, too?”

“Baby seal blood.” Dean groused.

“Yes, I got it. You’ll still have to fashion the actual spears to attach the spearheads to, but that should be easy. Even broomsticks would suffice. It’s the spearheads themselves that are the important part.”

The Winchesters were not unfamiliar with fashioning their own weapons, so this shouldn’t be a problem. Making spears out of broom handles would just take a bit of whittling and cutting so they could strap the spearheads to the poles properly. Might take an hour or two, tops.

“Who here has ever actually thrown a spear before?” Dean asked after a moment, glancing between Sam and Cas. When his question was met by silence, Dean took another drink of his beer and mumbled, “and we’re supposed to hit this thing in the eye? We are so screwed.”

“Well—I mean—no, come on—” Sam waved one hand, “how hard can it be? It’s just a pointy stick, right?”

“Actually,” Cas began, and both brothers knew immediately they weren’t going to like what he was about to say, “the physics behind spear-throwing are very complicated. The weight of the spearhead, the balance of the shaft, the experience of the thrower… not to mention the fact that you’re trying to hit a moving target…” And when Dean and Sam both just looked at him, he demanded; “what? The palraijuq isn’t going to just roll over and let you stab it in the eye!”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Then Sam leaned forward against the table and said, “I say we send in the angel.”

Dean snorted into his beer. “You good with a spear, Cas?”

“Uh… spears were never my thing. Back in the Dark Ages, I was more of a daggers kind of guy. A sword when I absolutely had to. And I mean… my angel blade, obviously, so. But no, I was never really any good with spears.” Cas shrugged. “Maybe you just need to practice? I mean a lot.”

Sam heaved a sigh. “Where are we going to practice spear-throwing in New Orleans?”

But Dean grinned. “I’ve got a better idea.”

-- --

It turned out they weren’t going to practice spear-throwing in New Orleans. They were going to make the spears in New Orleans. They were going to practice in South Dakota—because what happened on Bobby Singer’s property stayed on Bobby Singer’s property, and that had apparently always been the case.

So, they drove from Tuscaloosa back to New Orleans with Sam in the driver’s seat and heavy one angel in the back. Cas was mostly quiet for the trip, but then so were Dean and Sam, just a little bit of conversation here-and-there along the way. It was only a four-hour drive, so it wasn’t unbearable. Cas spent the time looking out the window and remembering back to all the hours he’d spent on the bus, travelling to meet up with Dean when they were younger. The Impala was much more comfortable than the buses had ever been.

Back in New Orleans, they holed up in the motel room with two brooms and a mop they had stolen from the maid’s closet at the end of the row of rooms, and each of them took one. They removed the heads and got to work whittling down the tips to attach the spearheads to them. Eventually, Sam took over Cas’s when it turned out the angel was hopeless at whittling.

What he wasn’t hopeless at was disappearing and reappearing a few minutes later with a ball of twine that was desperately needed for attaching the spearheads to the newly made shafts. And once everything looked good, Cas was also tasked with transporting them to South Dakota, where they, a couple of duffle bags, and their sketchy-looking spears appeared on Bobby Singer’s doorstep completely out of the blue.

Bobby wasn’t even surprised this time, except for the spear part. He just heaved a long-suffering sigh and invited them in to dump their stuff on the floor in the living room—Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors for the spare bedroom and Sam won, of course, so he took his own bag upstairs while Dean took over the couch.

Then they quickly decided on the best course of action for practicing spear throwing, and they all went out and started making sandbags, which were then painted with bullseye targets on their centers and set out at a distance from the house that they deemed feasible.

The rest of the day was spent with the three of them throwing spears at the targets—and missing completely—until they were frustrated, exhausted, and just tromped back into Bobby’s house when the sun went down for food and beer, not a single one of them having even hit a sandbag that day, never mind a bullseye.

Cas excused himself and disappeared, heading off to do Heaven’s bidding, promising he would be back the next day.

Dean looked after him with a slightly sad expression on his face but didn’t actually protest. He understood that Cas had other duties to attend to as well as what he was helping them with down on Earth.

Still. Dean was growing to hate that soft little sound, the ruffle of invisible feathers.

-- --

Their first night crashing at Bobby’s place and Dean had a nightmare—the Hell kind, where he woke up at three a.m. hyperventilating, unable to catch his breath, feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest, with images flashing in his head that were so horrible that he wished he never had to sleep again just to escape them. Except being awake did nothing to keep them at bay, either, really, they were always there, in the back of his mind, tormenting him and—and sometimes he didn’t even know what was real, if he was actually back or if he was still in Hell or not—

And suddenly Cas was there, appearing beside the couch silently and shrugging out of his trench coat, letting it to fall to the floor before toeing off his shoes and climbing onto the couch with Dean, maneuvering them around and wrapping him up in his arms, holding him close, warm and comforting and real. Something from the real world that he could latch onto and hold onto for dear life while he attempted to find his footing again.

Sam was thankfully sleeping upstairs in the spare room, but even if he had been there, neither of them would have cared. Cas just held Dean securely for the longest time, one hand rubbing soothing circles against his back, while the man in his arms clung to him and slowly, oh so slowly, began to ease off and calm down, get a hold of himself again.

Cas wasn’t cleared to be on Earth right now. He had abandoned his duties right in the middle of something, leaving Uriel to complete the task, when he had seen Dean was in need. He would be in trouble for that later, he was certain of it. Already was, judging by the voices on Angel Radio—but he didn’t care. He would be there for Dean, no matter what. He just turned down the volume on Angel Radio to focus more on the man beside him.

Finally, after a long while, Cas murmured softly, “do you want to talk about it, Dean?”

There was a long, long silence before Dean took a shaky breath and managed to croak out, “you… came into Hell. To rescue me. Did you see…?”

“Some of it.” Cas admitted, “the incursion into Hell… Dean I know it was forty years for you, but that’s how long it took to get to you. We—I—started fighting to get you out right from Day One, but the resistance was… formidable. It took us all that time just to break through Hell’s defenses, and I did see… beyond the battle…” Trailing off, he sighed quietly; “I did see what you did down there. But I understand. That kind of pain, that kind of torture, for decades? Anyone would have…”

“The things I did,” Dean said in a voice that cracked mid-sentence, wavered in his throat, “they’re unforgivable, Cas. How can you even stand to be near me, to touch me? Never mind to—to love me, I’m—I’m a monster, I’m—”

“You’re not.” Cas insisted firmly, and just tightened his arms around Dean even more, holding him close against his side, “Dean, you can’t blame yourself for being human, for… for breaking, under those circumstances. You’re allowed to break, sometimes.”

“But I didn’t just break, Cas, I traded myself for…” There were tears in Dean’s eyes, now, and he scrubbed at them harshly with one hand. Cas just tilted his head to kiss by Dean’s temple gently. “The things that I did to those people, putting them on the rack and just—just tearing them apart, I—” More tears, and this time he couldn’t stop them. His shoulders began to shake, and he hunched in on himself; “why did you pull me out, Cas? I deserve to still be down there.”

And Cas’s heart broke on those words. He uttered a soft, almost wounded noise, and gathered Dean into his chest, just letting him cry. “I rescued you because it was my duty.” He told Dean truthfully, and then; “and I rescued you because I love you with every fiber of my being, because I know you, and you did not deserve to be trapped in Hell. You are a good man, Dean Winchester. You always have been, and you always will be, you just got pushed beyond your limits and that’s understandable, considering the circumstances.”

Dean had his face buried in Cas’s shirt, but he croaked out, “…you really… believe that; don’t you?”

Cas nodded and dropped a kiss against his hair. “I always have, and I always will. I’ll always believe in you, Dean, even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

Dean fell silent after that, just leaning into Cas and closing his eyes, forcing down the flashes of Hell—of what he had been through down there, of what he had done—and absorbing Cas’s warmth in the quiet of the middle of the night. Eventually, what seemed like hours later, his heartrate and beathing seemed to be under control again, and he was no longer actively crying, though tears still bit at his eyes from time-to-time. Cas was patient through it all, just letting him work himself out—until Dean finally sat up a little but didn’t actually pull away from the angel.

“I don’t know how you can always have so much faith in me.” He admitted softly. “You’ve… you’ve seen the worst of me. The absolute worst, but you still…”

“The kind of love I feel toward you, it means embracing all the flaws, all the mistakes. All the bad times, along with the good.” Cas murmured. He leaned back in the couch finally, pulling Dean along with him and settling with Dean tucked into his side, “I’ll always feel that way, when it comes to you.”

Dean was quiet for a while again, and then began moving, easing around to stretch out on the couch—but very obviously leaving room for Cas behind him. The angel smiled a little and eased down to lay with Dean, sliding an arm over his waist and holding him close.

“Will you… stay?” Dean asked after a moment, “can you stay?”

Cas hummed. “You mean until morning?”

“No, I mean—I mean yes, until morning, but,” Dean swallowed slightly, “even after Sam and Bobby get up? I mean can you stay?”

Cas was already flicking the switch in his brain to turn off Angel Radio entirely. “Of course I can stay, Dean. Of course.”

-- --

It was early the next morning when Bobby woke with a yawn, his back popping and complaining as he stretched, and wandered out of his bedroom. He poked his head into the spare room and Sam was already out of bed, so he continued on down the stairs to the kitchen. Sam had already started up a pot of coffee and was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug at his elbow and his laptop out, scrolling for news out of New Orleans.

“Mornin’, Sam.” Bobby greeted Sam even as he headed for a cup of coffee for himself, then; “where’s Dean?”

Sam picked up his mug and chuckled into his coffee, nodding toward the living room. “See for yourself.”

When Bobby walked over to the doorway to the living room, cup of steaming coffee in his hand, he was met by the sight of Dean laid out on the couch with Cas cuddled up behind him, both of them pressed tight together to fit on the narrow piece of furniture. Cas’s arms were wrapped around Dean, and he was holding him close. Dean was obviously still asleep, and Cas had his eyes closed—but the word was that angels didn’t sleep, so he was probably just resting.

Bobby gave an amused snort and returned to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table. “How long until we disturb them?”

“Lets’ give them a little while longer.” Sam said with a little smile. He was still scrolling the news but paused to look over at Bobby. “They’re finally figuring things out, and I think they deserve the time together, after everything.” Then he returned his attention to the computer for a couple of minutes while Bobby drank his coffee and tried to wake up a little more before clucking his tongue and muttering, “another boat attack. A couple of alligator trappers this time. No signs of the bodies.”

“Shit, son,” Bobby muttered into his mug, “that’s three attacks in the last week alone. This thing is really picking up the pace.”

Sam muttered an agreement, already clicking the links for more information about the attack (“boating accident.”) He paused just long enough to go get himself another cup of coffee before returning to the table. Meanwhile Bobby had gotten up to dig through the fridge for the fixings for breakfast and started working on that, and soon the entire house was full of the smell of bacon and scrambled eggs.

When Bobby started plating everything up, Sam decided that it was about time to wake Dean and headed through to the living room where he cleared his throat softly and simply said, “Cas. It’s time.”

Cas’s eyes blinked open immediately, and he flashed a brief smile before turning his attention to the man in his arms, leaving Sam to return to the kitchen and give them their privacy. Cas simply tightened his hold on Dean briefly before letting go to rub one hand against Dean’s arm and murmur, “Dean? Dean, it’s time to get up. We have work to do.”

Dean shifted slightly, then just muttered, “we always have work to do.”

“It seems like that, doesn’t it?” Cas agreed softly and pressed a kiss into the nape of Dean’s neck, just lightly, gently. “I’m sorry to have to wake you.”

“I was already awake.” Dean sighed and patted at one of Cas’s arms around him, “I was just comfortable.”

Cas reluctantly unwound his arms from around Dean to allow him to get up, and Dean sat quickly, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch and rubbing at his hair. Cas sat up as well, settling beside Dean and straightening his shirt absently. He glanced sideways at Dean before asking quietly, “are you… alright?”

“You mean after last night?” Dean wondered around a yawn.

“Yes.” Cas confirmed. “I mean after last night.”

“I… I feel okay.” The elder Winchester replied, chancing a glance sideways at Cas, along with a fleeting flash of a smile. “You being here with me helped. Thanks. For staying.”

“I would do anything for you, Dean,” Cas repeated the sentiment he had expressed so many times already; “and I promised, so of course I stayed. I’ll continue to stay, for as long as I can. For as long as you need me.”

“And what if I need you forever, huh?” Dean asked softly.

Cas reached to rest a hand against Dean’s leg, squeezing gently. “Then I’ll figure something out.” He assured him. “I’ll stay until they have to come and drag me away in chains, if it comes down to it.”

Another flit of a smile from Dean, and he nodded his head briefly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Cas offered a smile of his own, then squeezed Dean’s leg again before pushing to stand and holding out a hand for the man to take. “Come on, let’s get some food in you. We’ve got a lot of practice to look forward to today—one of us will turn into an expert spearman sooner or later.”

Dean gave a real chuckle at that, reaching up to take Cas’s hand and letting the angel haul him to his feet. Cas grabbed his trench coat off the floor almost absentmindedly, then the two of them made their way through to the kitchen, where Bobby had set out a plate of bacon and eggs for himself, as well as one for Dean—and Sam was already halfway through his own plate. Dean took a seat at the table and mumbled a thanks to Bobby before tucking into his breakfast, and Cas smiled to himself, even as he draped his coat over the back of a chair and eased around and plucked a mug from the cupboard, filling it with coffee and taking it over to set it by Dean, who paused in shoveling food into his mouth to utter another soft thank you. Then Cas took a seat, himself, about the time Bobby was joining them at the table as well.

“Sam tells me you don’t eat anymore,” Bobby shrugged as he began eating, himself, “so I didn’t make you anything. Hope that doesn’t come across as rude or nothin’.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Cas assured the older man, “it’s actually more awkward for me when people do offer me food.”

Dean paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and glanced toward Cas. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that, then.”

Cas chuckled. “It’s no problem, Dean, I know it can be weird that I don’t eat. Offering is a kind gesture.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise and went back to his food, and Sam finished off the last of his bacon before offering, “new boat attack in New Orleans. It was in the news this morning. Two trappers missing, presumed dead. Bobby said this thing is really amping up, and he’s right. That’s three attacks this week alone. Ten people in total.”

“What’s the body count now?” Dean asked around a mouthful of food.

“Almost forty in the last three months.” Sam informed them all, then quickly finished off his eggs and stood to take his plate to the sink before returning to his seat. He picked up his coffee and took a sip. It was nearly cold now but that was fine—he was almost finished. “The New Orleans officials are declaring a state of emergency, banning all boating into the swamps and canals, except for the police. They still have no real clue what’s going on, though. They’re basically flailing at this point.”

“I would say it’s imperative that at least one of us gets the hang of spear throwing.” Cas stated flatly.

“And I would say you’re right about that.” Sam agreed, “so everyone finish up here so we can get back to work.”

They did just that, Dean scarfing down the rest of his food so fast Cas worried he might choke, then downing his coffee just as swiftly. Bobby ate quickly as well, but at a slightly slower pace than Dean. Sam powered down his laptop and closed the top, pushing it away slightly. Cas just waited patiently for the rest of them to be ready.

The rest of the day was spent like the day before had been, with Dean, Sam and Cas all practicing with their homemade spears, trying to hit the bullseye painted on sacks of sand—until eventually Bobby finally got frustrated with their frankly epic failure and demanded to see their spears. He looked them over closely, eyes sharp and intent, and then declared their shafts to be utter shit and set about taking the spears apart and doing some tooling on the broomsticks they had used to make them to begin with.

A couple hours of sitting around in the kitchen doing nothing later, and Dean, Sam and Cas perked up considerably when Bobby came back into the house with spears that were significantly lighter, more elegantly carved—and definitely more aerodynamic, according to Bobby. He handed one to each of them and then gestured for them to get back to work.

Cas took his and weighed it in his hand, then held it out to look down the length of it and nodded to himself. The balance was much better. They really should have just asked Bobby to do that from the get-go.

When they went back outside and returned to target practice, there was still a bit of a learning curve, but after a while they started to hit the sandbags, which was progress, and then the bullseye, though maybe not dead center at first. That took a little while longer. But it was important that their aim be impeccable because the palraijuq’s eye was definitely a tricky target.

In the end, Sam turned out to be somewhat of a prodigy, picking up the skill quickly and walking that learning curve faster than either Dean or Cas. By the end of the day, he was reliably hitting the center of the bullseye on pretty much every shot, while Dean and Cas were still in the vicinity but not quite there yet. They decided that when it came down to it, Sam would be the one to take the shot.

When it started to get dark out, they called it for the night, feeling much better about the whole situation than they had before, and headed inside, where Bobby was cooking steak and fried potatoes for dinner. They all sat down around the kitchen table again, and everyone except Cas had a beer while they waited for the food to be ready. Dean and Sam were starving, as they had skipped lunch earlier in the day, too distracted by their sudden spear-throwing successes.

When Bobby slapped supper on the table, not a vegetable in sight, no one complained, not even Sam. He and Dean just devoured their steak and potatoes like they hadn’t seen food in a week, and Cas was relegated to beer duty, taking away empties and bring back full bottles for all three men. He was more than happy to do it. It made him feel like he had a purpose.

After dinner, the four of them sat around the kitchen and talked about all kinds of things; jobs they’d been on, the best places to eat in various towns they’d been to, and a few of the restaurants they had been to so far in New Orleans—even a cute dog Sam had seen on one of his jogs the other day. And, of course, they all had angel related questions for Cas, who answered them all to the best of his ability without giving away too much.

That night when Dean and Sam played rock-paper-scissors for the spare bedroom, Dean actually won, which was a surprise to everyone else but him (and Sam) because he picked scissors the same as he always did. Sam knew what he would pick. He always knew what his brother would pick. By all means, Sam should have won, the same as always. But while Sam pretended to be shocked at the outcome of their silly competition, Cas and Bobby could see right through it.

Cas smiled to himself while Bobby snorted into his beer.

-- --

Later that night, after they had all sat around talking about nothing in particular for a while longer, Dean made a point of finishing off the last of his final beer of the evening and then yawning hugely before heading up the stairs with a casually tossed out, “you comin’, Cas?”

Of course he was coming. What a ridiculous question. Cas said goodnight to Sam and Bobby and climbed the stairs after Dean, not entirely sure where this was headed or even if he was ready for what he was walking into—but certain that whatever it was, he would weather it. For Dean’s sake.

Dean closed the bedroom door behind them once they were both inside, then just started getting undressed, carefully, deliberately, and when Cas just stood there, unsure, he asked, “are you gonna get into bed dressed like that?”

“Ah. No, I… of course not.” Cas quickly began undressing as well, draping his clothing over the back of a desk chair in the corner of the room, kicking his shoes off, until he was down to his boxers and shifting almost awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure what was happening, here, and it had him a little off kilter.

But Dean just finished stripping, down to his own boxers and a t-shirt, before climbing into the bed and reaching to flick on the bedside lamp. “Get the overhead light, would you?” Cas blinked, then stepped over to flick the light off before hesitating again—until Dean finally made a soft sound in the back of his throat and tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “Just get in here already.”

And they had done this before, just cuddled up in bed together, so maybe this wasn’t so weird after all. Cas climbed into the bed and under the blankets, and then, when Dean tugged at him, tucked himself into the man’s side, cuddling close and sliding an arm over him, just warmth and comfort—the kind that Cas has severely missed, in Heaven for all that time.

They were both quiet for a while before Dean spoke up with: “I need to… apologize.”

But Cas made a soft protesting noise. “You really don’t.”

“No, I do.” Dean insisted. He adjusted slightly so that he could bring one hand up and stroke his fingers through Cas’s hair gently. Cas hummed out a pleased sound. “I’ve been an asshole to you basically ever since I got back and found out you were alive, and that’s… it’s not right. You’re an angel, and you take your orders from Heaven, and they told you not to contact me, so… I get it. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such a jackass.”

“You’re not acting like a jackass now.” Cas pointed out softly, leaning into the hand in his hair, “anyway, I should apologize, too. I shouldn’t just blindly follow orders. I should have questioned them. I should have gone to see you, to tell you I was alright, so you wouldn’t…”

“It broke me, Cas. Losing you.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Dean.” Cas shifted a little and slid a hand to toy with the front of Dean’s t-shirt absently, fingers catching in the soft fabric. “I’ve been getting into trouble lately, for spending so much time with you down here. I’m neglecting my duties in Heaven. I have Angel Radio turned off as we speak. They keep calling me out for it, my superiors. I think… it’s sad. That they don’t understand love like I do.”

Dean made a soft sound in his throat. “I never would have thought of Heaven as a place lacking in love, before all this. Then again, I didn’t really think it existed at all, so there’s that, too.”

“Heaven isn’t what most people picture. It’s… bureaucracy. It can be harsh and cruel at times, at least for those of us running it. There’s no room for love, with only a couple of small exceptions.” Cas hummed softly, “you know when man first came to be, though, we were all taught to love you over everything else. But I think most of my brothers and sisters have forgotten that, over time. Ironic, considering what happened to Lucifer.”

“But not you?”

“I might have as well, in the past.” Cas admitted, “but then I spent eighteen years living and growing up as a human, and I fell in love—deeply, so deeply—with you, and learned what it could be like to devote myself entirely to another person; to have that other person return that devotion in kind. I took that back to Heaven with me when I returned, and… I’m the broken cog, now. I bend the rules, I love too much, I throw things out of alignment.” Then a little smile and he added, “and I will happily keep doing so for you.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before saying softly, “I do still love you. You know that. Just as much as I did before. I’ve already told you that. But it’s…”

“Hard. Complicated. I understand that.” Cas tucked his head against Dean’s chest and closed his eyes, listening to his heartbeat. “I don’t expect forgiveness for what I put you through. Just the fact that you still love me is proof that miracles are real. And I’m willing to wait for as long as it takes for us to be… us, again.”

“But what if that never happens, Cas?”

“Then I guess… I’ll take what I can get. What else can I do? I’ll certainly never do anything to hurt you again. Even if you were to tell me to leave for good, I would do it if it would make you happy. I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“You really are still… you. Aren’t you?”

Cas glanced up at Dean with a smile. “Just with wings now, yes.”

There was another brief silence before Dean spoke up again, voice quiet; “you know, at first, when you were gone, I thought… I thought it was because of the marriage thing. I thought you’d changed your mind. I thought you were running. And I…” His hand paused in Cas’s hair, and he swallowed slightly, “I thought maybe you’d finally come to your senses; you’d finally figured out that I was no good, that loving me was no good…”

“Dean…” Cas sighed softly and grasped at the front of Dean’s shirt firmly, shaking his head, hair mussing against Dean’s chest. “I wanted to marry you so badly. I still—” Breaking off, he smoothed his hand in Dean’s shirt again. “I know we can’t, especially now, especially with what I am, but I still would. And I would never think of you like that, that you’re no good—you’re the best man that I’ve ever met. For so many reasons.”

“I know,” Dean replied, and began stroking through Cas’s hair again, just gently, “I got that out of my head pretty fast. Especially when I started really thinking about it. You left everything behind. Even Marshmallow and Itsy. You didn’t even take any clothes with you. So, obviously something had happened to you, and then I just thought… something had taken you to get to me. Because of the job. Because I was a Hunter.”

Cas knew all of this already. He had been privy to some of Dean’s conversations over the years, in his surveilling of the man he was currently curled up with. “I’m sorry,” He repeated, “after what happened to your Mom, thinking I had been taken by some creature… I’m just so sorry, Dean.”

“I know you are.” Came Dean’s response, and his hand left Cas’s hair, sliding down so he could urge the angel up and draw him into a soft but still tentative kiss. “I know you didn’t mean for any of this.” He murmured against Cas’s lips, then hesitated before finishing with; “and I forgive you, Cas. Alright? I do forgive you. I forgive you for all of it.”

Cas froze at that, pulling back to look at Dean properly, blue eyes the slightest bit wide as he tried to judge—and wasn’t it a wonderous thing? All he saw in Dean’s gaze was the love and trust he had thought he’d lost forever, after everything he’d done—or not done, as the case may be. Finally, he just ducked in for another kiss. “I love you, Dean. With every part of myself. I always have. I always will.”

Dean smiled into the kiss and whispered back, “I love you, too.” A few deep, warm kisses later and Dean murmured, “so lets’ start over, hm? Go out on a date with me, Cas, when we get back to New Orleans tomorrow. Before the Hunt. A new first date, for a new lifetime.”

Cas could only smile up at Dean, wide and happy. “That sounds like a great idea to me.”

-- --

They didn’t have much planned for the next day aside from heading back to New Orleans, but Dean still woke up just after dawn anyway, and glanced toward the window to watch the sun beginning to shine through the blinds before just closing his eyes again, sighing as he felt out Cas still tucked safely in his arms.

As usual, Cas felt perfect against him, warm and comfortable. He always had, right from Day One, right from when they’d met. Like they were made for each other, Dean had said once, a long time ago, and it still held true even now, even after everything, even with Cas no longer human.

Dean was aware that he still had things to work through. But he thought he might be over the hump, so to speak, and having Cas around felt good now, not like before when it had been like salt in a wound to be with him. Having Cas near him was helpful, now. Felt good, felt warm, felt like love. He hadn’t felt anything like it in a long time—seven years, to be exact, not counting his brief time with Cassie. And he had loved Cassie, yes, but his love for her paled in comparison to his love for Cas.

Cas was everything. Cas was the love of his damned life.

And Dean entertained thoughts, now, that Cas had been right about them being soul mates, because he had met the angel—then human—and taken one look and fallen hard. So much harder than anything he had ever experienced before, or since. They had the kind of love that defied explanation or expectation, and Dean deeply regretted his initial response to Cas’s reappearance in his life, because that love was still there, still tied them together, even after so much time apart.

Dean shifted slightly, ducking down to whisper by Cas’s ear; “I love you.”

A smile lifted Cas’s mouth. Of course he had been awake, even though his eyes had been closed. Now, blue eyes cracked open, and Cas lifted his head. “I love you, too.”

“Mm. Good morning.” Dean smiled and tilted his head, going in for a kiss.

Cas kissed back warmly, then pressed another little kiss to Dean’s lips before shifting back and settling against him again, leaning his head down against Dean’s shoulder and pressing one hand over his heart to feel his heartbeat underneath his palm. “How do you feel this morning, Dean? About everything that we… talked about. Last night.”

Dean made a soft contemplative sound and rubbed one hand against Cas’s back. “I don’t want to take back anything I said, if that’s what you mean.”

Cas sighed, the sound soft and almost relieved. “Just checking. You’d had a few beers; I was concerned the alcohol…” Then again, beer didn’t really do much for Dean anymore, did it?

“I’ve always loved you, Cas. And all I’ve ever wanted was to be with you. Things just got… muddled, for a while.” Dean told him; “but I meant everything I said last night, Cas. Just bear with me with some things, alright?”

“Muddled is a good word.” Cas agreed. He closed his eyes again. “I’m happy, then, Dean. You make me so happy.” Then a pause before he added; “but why are we awake at the literal crack of dawn?”

Dean laughed softly, his hand sliding up to stroke through Cas’s hair warmly. “I just woke up. Couldn’t get my thoughts to stop. Think we should get up and go downstairs? Bang pots and pans together just to be dicks to Sam and Bobby?”

“Don’t even joke.” Cas chuckled amusedly at the mental image, leaning into the hand in his hair. “We’re staying here a while longer. I won’t do that to Sam or Bobby.”

“What if we just go downstairs and make coffee, real quiet?” Dean suggested, ducking down to drop a kiss against Cas’s hair. “We can just sit in the kitchen and talk.”

“Why can’t we talk in here?”

“Because I’m awake and I want coffee. Well, coffee or sex, and I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

“We were there a little while ago.”

“That wasn’t…” A soft sigh. Dean tugged at Cas’s hair and pulled him up to look him in the eye; “lets’ just go get coffee.”

Cas spent the night like that, just holding Dean in his arms and silently listening to his breathing, his heartbeat, the little things that he had missed so much for all the time they had been apart. He even turned off Angel Radio, just to enjoy the peace with Dean, though he was sure he would be reprimanded for that when he next returned to Heaven.

Dean slept late the next day. He did that, sometimes, on “days off”; normally he was up at the crack of dawn, but today it was eleven o’clock by the time he dragged himself awake—and when he groped for Cas in the bed next to him, the angel was gone. Dean stifled the immediate panic that tried to set in and sat up. He was just rubbing at his hair and yawning to himself when Cas popped back into the room holding a coffee cup and a paper bag that smelled amazing.

“Sorry, I was hoping to be back before you woke up.” He held up the bag; “breakfast burritos and coffee from a little place in Mexico City I think you’d like.” Cas explained, setting the food on the table, “I thought you might be hungry.”

And so started their first real day together. Dean ate his breakfast ravenously, like he hadn’t seen food in weeks, but that was typical, so Cas just smiled to himself and didn’t worry too much about it. Dean didn’t say as much, but it was obvious he thoroughly enjoyed the burritos and coffee—he even offered a muttered thanks to Cas halfway through his meal.

Cas, meanwhile, still had Angel Radio turned off, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hear if someone prayed directly to him, so if Sam tried to call him in early, he would get the message. He still fully expected to get in trouble for turning off the antenna in his brain when he returned to Heaven… if they didn’t send someone to fetch him, first, which was always a possibility. In the meantime, he was determined to make things up to Dean as much as possible.

Now, he shrugged out of his trench coat, then loosened his tie and pulled it off, draping them both over the back of a chair before taking a seat next to Dean at the table. The elder Winchester had slowed down partway through his second breakfast burrito, and finally set it down to pick up his coffee to take a drink.

“I feel bad, eating in front of you.” He admitted.

“Don’t, though.” Cas gave him a smile, “it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“No, but it bothers me.” Dean pushed the rest of the second burrito over toward him, “just like. Take a bite. Prove that you still can.”

“You think I’m a robot or something?” Cas teased gently, but still picked up the burrito and took a healthy bite, chewing and swallowing despite the fact that it tasted like nothing but it’s molecular structures. Then he set it back down and pushed it back over toward Dean again. “See? I’m capable of eating, I just… don’t.”

Dean watched him closely the entire time, then just took the burrito back, picking it up and beginning to eat again, slower this time. “You seem… much more relaxed today.” He mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Cas nodded, glancing down. “Yeah, I… last night helped.” He admitted, then added; “also I turned off Angel Radio so my mind is… quiet. For the first time in a long time. Just me and my own thoughts. It’s nice.”

Surprise flitted across Dean’s face. “Won’t you get in trouble for…?”

“Probably.” Cas agreed, “but I don’t care. I want—” Breaking off, he cleared his throat and looked toward Dean again. “I want this time with you.”

Dean regarded him quietly for a moment before turning back to his breakfast, finishing off the last couple of bites and then pulling his coffee closer. Green eyes focused on the cup in his hand, and he offered softly, “I don’t want you to get into trouble for me, Cas.”

“But I happily will.” Cas told him with a soft smile. “I would do anything for you, you know that.”

“But not…” Dean began before trailing off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Cas knew what he’d been about to say; he would do anything, yes, except come down and reassure him when he’d thought Cas was dead for all those years. When he had been searching for him so desperately. Cas sighed softly and glanced down again. “Dean, no matter how many times I apologize for not coming home to you, it won’t make things right. But if I could go back and do it again…” He closed his eyes; “I would never have left in the first place. I would have stayed with you on Earth, I would have married you like we’d planned; I would have denied Heaven entirely. I would have cast out my Grace to stay human and be with you.”

He still had his eyes closed, so he didn’t see all the micro expressions that flitted across Dean’s face as he looked at him—but he did feel when Dean’s hand came to rest over his own on the tabletop. “You can do that? Just get rid of your Grace, just like that?”

Cas lifted his head to look toward Dean again and carefully threaded their fingers together. “It’s possible. But it’s unpredictable. If I was to do it, I would Fall, and there would be a chance I would be reborn as a different human. An infant. That’s what happened with Anna, we think, and Heaven has been looking for her for years.” He rubbed his thumb against Dean’s absently; “and then there’s the possibility that I could just… implode. An angel’s Grace is like a nuclear reactor, it’s tricky and dangerous to work with. It would be better if I had another angel to extract it for me, but… I don’t know of any who would do it.”

“Cas, it sounds like your Grace is something we probably shouldn’t mess around with, anyway.” Dean pointed out, a concerned look on his face.

“Yeah, but if I did it properly…” Cas shrugged slightly. “It’s just something I’ve thought about over the years. The idea of casting out my Grace and being human again. So I could be with you.” Blue eyes flitted downward again, “it’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever since we met.”

“Cas…” Dean looked at Cas for a long while before squeezing his hand and tugging at it gently. “Cas, look at me.” And when Cas finally lifted his gaze again; “you don’t have to mess with your Grace to be with me. You can be with me just like this. You being an angel now doesn’t… it doesn’t change much, really. I just… need to work through some things, that’s all.”

And conversations like this were helping with that, helping salve the wounds that had been festering for years. Having Cas there with him. Knowing that Cas did, indeed, still love him—and with everything he had. Knowing that Cas would turn off Angel Radio so they could be alone, defy Heaven’s orders for him. Knowing that some things would never change, and one of them was how much they cared for each other, deeply and truly.

Searching for Cas in the time after his disappearance had been torture. Dean had had to rehome Marshmallow with Garth, and Itsy with an exotic animal rescue. He had put it off, thinking that Cas would be angry when he got home to find that his pets had been sent away. That had been in the very beginning. When he’d still had hope.

But then every lead he thought he’d found didn’t pan out. Every person he had talked to had known nothing, not even the psychics—though Missouri had been suspiciously vague when Dean had gone to her, and he had always thought she might have known more than she’d been willing to admit.

Dean had searched every Goddamn inch of the country for Cas, and even parts of Mexico and Canada when he’d gotten tips leading him there. He had searched until he was so deeply exhausted and rode-worn that he thought he would be tired forever. He had pulled Sam into the search, for the first year or so, and Cas’s friends, too. He had suffered and raged and mourned until he had eventually given up hope and just... stopped.

It had never occurred to him to just look up.

Through it all, though, one thing had never changed: he had never stopped loving Cas, deep down in his admittedly bitter and jaded heart. And if he could survive forty years in Hell, and what that had done to him, then he could survive the love of his life returning from the supposed grave.

“Thank you,” Dean said after the silence dragged on between them for perhaps a little too long; “for breakfast.”

Cas offered a little smile. “I just thought you’d like it. It was no problem at all.”

“When I woke up and you were gone, there was a second of panic.” Dean admitted, a little embarrassed. “I slept better last night than I have in a long time, with you with me in the bed.”

“I’m glad.” Cas’s smile turned soft and fond around the edges.

“What about you?” Dean asked, “did you have bad dreams? You always used to…”

“But not with you.” Cas reminded him, before awkwardly informing him, “but no, I, ah… don’t sleep. Anymore. Not since my Grace powered up again. Since I became an active angel.” He shrugged slightly and ran his free hand through his hair, “on the plus side, I mean, no more nightmares, right?”

Dean just stared at him. “Well, that’s a little awkward.”

Cas shook his head, “no, I just stayed with you overnight and kept you safe. It was nice, actually.”

Dean seemed dubious, but Cas assured him it was fine.

And it really had actually been pleasant, just spending that time with Dean, absorbing the man into himself in a way that he hadn’t been able to in what seemed like an endless span of time. Cas thought he could easily do the same thing every night for an eternity—but of course that wouldn’t be permitted.

The two of them sat like that, together at the little kitchenette table, for the rest of the afternoon, just talking about everything, working through a little of Dean’s trauma, with breaks here and there for one or both of them to run to the store for drinks or snacks for Dean. He insisted on driving, rather than Cas popping in and out in the blink of an eye. Something about Cas’s teleporting made him uncomfortable.

At around ten o’clock that night, Dean disappeared long enough to hit up a diner for a take-out burger and fries, half afraid that Cas would be gone when he returned, and privately more than a little pleased to find the angel still seated at the table when he got back. A little smile tugged at his lips as he locked the door behind himself and headed over to take his own seat and eat his dinner.

They chatted while Dean ate and when he was finished eating, Dean cleared his throat slightly and stood, beginning to strip out of his clothes. Cas blinked, watching almost warily, until Dean was down to his boxers and t-shirt, at which point he climbed into his bed and gestured for Cas to join him and—ah. Okay.

Cas stripped out of his own clothes, down to just his boxers, and climbed into the bed with Dean, easing up against his side and tucking in there, then letting Dean pull the blankets up around them. After some brief adjustment they ended up with Cas settled into Dean’s side, Dean’s arm around his shoulders and one of Cas’s arms slung across Dean’s chest—just the way they belonged, as far as Cas was concerned.

They were quiet for a while after that, both of them just getting used to being in each other’s arms again, and it was warm and comfortable and nostalgic. Soon Cas found his eyes closing—not to sleep, obviously, but just to take in the moment on an even deeper level.

“You’re still beautiful, you know.” Dean murmured finally. “Nothing’s changed about that.”

Cas’s lips tugged into a little smile, and he replied, “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Beautiful is for chicks, Cas.” Dean told him, his voice a low rumble.

Cas just laughed softly and turned his head to press a kiss against Dean’s chest, over where his heart was beating. “You said that to me once when we were younger, too. But you still call me ‘beautiful’, so what does that say?”

“It’s the perfect word for you, though. It describes everything about you. All the things I fell in love with. All the things I still—” He cut himself off with a sigh. One hand came up to tentatively thread his fingers through Cas’s hair. “Mh. Anyway.”

A pleased hum and Cas murmured, “we don’t have to talk, you know. We can just… be. Like this. For a while. It’s getting late, anyway.”

Dean shifted slightly, still stroking through Cas’s hair gently. “Will you still be here when I wake up in the morning?”

Cas made a soft agreeing noise. “Of course, Dean. If that’s what you want.”

Dean just made a quiet sound in the back of his throat before deciding, “yeah, Cas, I think that’s what I want.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be here.”

“Promise, Cas…?”

“I promise, Dean.”

-- --

In the morning, eleven o’clock finally rolled around, it was time to fetch Sam from South Dakota, and Cas had to reluctantly ease away from Dean and climb out of the bed, leaving him tangled in the covers. He would only be gone a minute or two anyway.

Still, when he pulled away Dean muttered a quiet protest and sighed out a deep breath, then groped at the bed where Cas had been a moment before. He picked his head up and looked for the angel blearily—then seemed relieved when he saw him. “Thought it was a dream, for a second,” He muttered, letting his head fall back down onto the pillow, “thought you were gone again.”

“No.” Cas stepped back over to the bed, kneeling on the mattress to lean over and press a kiss by Dean’s temple, “no, I’m here, Dean. I promised, didn’t I? I just have to go get Sam, that’s all.”

Dean just grumbled at that idea, even as he was drifting off again, seeming placated for now. Cas smiled fondly down at him, then straightened again, retrieved his clothes and got dressed, homed in on Sam’s presence in South Dakota—and vanished with the soft beating of invisible wings.

Half a second later he appeared in Bobby Singer’s kitchen, where Sam and Bobby were seated at the table surrounded by stacks of books, coffee cups from that morning—and empty bottles of beer from the night before. They both startled when he popped into view, jumping in their seats, and Sam palmed over his face while Bobby just looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. This was the first time Bobby was really seeing him since he’d been ‘back.’

“Hello, Sam.” Cas greeted the younger Winchester, then; “hello Mr. Singer.”

Bobby stammered for half a second before managing, “hey… Cas.” And then; “so you’re… alive.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed softly, already bracing himself for the inevitable; “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Worried me?” Bobby sounded incredulous—and also a little angry. He shoved his chair back and stood, turning a glare on Cas, who just met his eyes with a sorrowful look of his own; “Jesus H. Christ, son, you should be sorry for what you did to Dean! You destroyed that boy, broke him down into tiny bits that he might never manage to put back together again! You promised me, you swore you would never do anything to hurt him, and I swore if you did, you’d have to deal with me! John ain’t around no more to take care of these boys, but they’re my boys too, and you—and you—"

Cas glanced downward, a sad expression on his face as Bobby ranted at him. He had expected it, really. Bobby viewed Dean like his son, and Cas had broken Dean, so obviously he was angry. If John Winchester had been alive and known what Cas had done, he probably would have shot first and asked questions later. Not that it would have done much good.

“Mr. Singer, I—”

“Bobby,” Sam’s voice finally broke through the angry tirade of words, and Bobby trailed off before looking at Sam. “Cas knows. He knows all that. And he’s doing his best to make up for it, to fix things, has been ever since he came back.”

“You damn fools think you can just make up for what Dean went through?” Bobby bit out—but then just heaved a sigh and dropped back into his chair. He took his hat off to rub at his head before pulling it back on again and glancing back at Cas. The older man looked him up and down, then offered, “you look good, at least. Being an angel must agree with you.”

Cas smiled just slightly. “It’s what I’ve always been, I just didn’t remember for a while.”

“Is it better?” Sam asked curiously, a question he hadn’t thought to ask before; “being an angel, I mean. Is it better than being human?”

“In some ways, it’s more convenient.” Cas agreed softly, but then looked down again and added, “but I think… it’s not better in the ways that really count.” And when Sam tilted his head and made a confused puppy face, Cas thought for a moment before explaining; “we’re not supposed to… care. Or feel. About anything except what we’re ordered to. But what I felt for Dean… what I still feel for him…” He waved one hand slightly. “Human emotion is… it’s everything. It makes life worth living. I couldn’t give it up when I returned to Heaven. I’m a poor excuse for an angel, really.”

“They don’t let you love? In Heaven?” Bobby demanded, disbelieving.

“It’s a distraction from our missions, our orders. In general, the only angels that freely show love are the cherubs and the cupids, because it’s their job.” A tiny smile, then, and he added, “it’s true, too. Holding onto my love for Dean made me a less efficient soldier. I spent a lot of time looking in on him, watching him. I was chastised for it often. But then they…”

When Cas trailed off and his eyes returned to the floor, Sam prodded gently, “they?”

Cas made an uncomfortable noise and sighed. “They weaponized my love for Dean. Used it to send me into Hell to rescue him. Many angels were lost in the incursion, but I still pressed on regardless of the casualties. They knew I would do anything to complete that mission. Give anything. Anyone. Even myself.”

“Oh.” Sam glanced at Bobby, then asked softly, “you held onto your love for Dean even through all that? Through Heaven’s rhetoric?”

A brief nod. There was seriousness, determination in Cas’s eyes when he looked between the two men. “Dean was, and still is, the most important thing in the world to me. I would do anything for him, and the fact that I’ve hurt him so badly… I’ll never forgive myself for that. I was ordered not to come down to Earth, and I obeyed until recently, but I shouldn’t have. I should have gone to him and told him everything as soon as my memories returned.”

There was a long silence between the three of them, then, and Cas’s gaze eventually returned to the floor. He knew he had a lot of atoning to do, to make up for his transgressions, with Dean, yes, but also with Dean’s loved ones. Cas was determined to do everything in his power to repair things, though, from now on.

After a while, Bobby got up and went to get a beer from the fridge. He didn’t normally drink so early in the day, but this was a special occasion. He didn’t bring one back for Sam, though, since Sam would be leaving shortly. When he sat back down, he sighed out a deep breath. “You’ve got an uphill battle, that’s for sure.”

Sam started packing up his laptop, shutting it down and tucking it into his bag. “What will the bigwigs in Heaven do if you just don’t come back?”

“I’m not sure.” Cas admitted truthfully, eyes lifting up to Sam, who was just standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “For now, I’m trying to… to balance my time here and my time in Heaven, but if my superiors decide I’m being too disobedient, they could force me to come home. They could lock me in. If that becomes the case, there’s a chance I really will be gone for good.”

Sam came to stand next to him. “Don’t hurt him again, Cas.” He advised seriously.

“I don’t plan to.” Cas stated, just as seriously.

Then he nodded to Bobby, and patted a hand down on Sam’s shoulder, his wings taking them back to Laramie, their starry, kitschy motel room, and Dean still passed out on his bed. Cas then proceeded to take off his shoes, trench coat, suit coat and tie and crawl back into bed with Dean—so he would be there when the man woke up, just like he had promised the night before. (Sam only rolled his eyes a lot at the sight.)

-- --

Dean woke with a start from a horrible nightmare an hour later, thrashing under the covers with Cas trying to calm him down with limited success. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the elder Winchester started to settle—until eventually he was clutching at Cas’s arms with his head buried in the center of the angel’s chest, gasping for air, eyes flitting around but not settling on anything. Finally, he just closed them. He swallowed thickly.

“Cas?” He croaked.

“Yeah,” Cas’s arms were around his waist, and they tightened, pulling him even closer, more securely against himself, “I’m here. You’re okay.”

But Dean just shook his head, eyes still firmly closed and clutching Cas even tighter. “I’m not okay.”

Over at the table, Sam had been eating his lunch and going over some research on his laptop, but now he was staring at them. He swallowed down the bite of food in his mouth and set his fork down, unsure what to do or say to help—if there was anything he could do or say to help.

Cas just ignored the fact that Sam was in the room entirely and adjusted so he was on his back and Dean was pulled close into his side, half-over his chest, his arms wrapped securely around him. “No, Dean, you’re okay, I promise. You’re with me and you’re safe. You’re okay.”

Dean’s voice shook slightly, and he whispered, “Cas, you don’t get it. I’ll never be okay again.”

It was at that point when Sam stood up from the table, his chair screeching along the floor and making Dean startle like a spooked animal. Cas just tucked him closer against himself and murmured something soothing to him, then shot a look in Sam’s direction.

Sam was already packing up his laptop and winced slightly before offering; “sorry. I’m just gonna get out of here. There’s a café down the street, I’ll be there if you need me.” He headed for the door, book bag slung over his shoulder—and paused before ducking out the door. “Take care of him, Cas.”

A brief nod. “I will.”

When the door banged shut behind Sam, Dean jolted again, but then just asked, voice rough, “…Sam leave?”

Cas rubbed at his back gently. “Yes.”

Dean sagged into Cas’s chest, practically collapsing against him, and shook his head, hair mussing against Cas’s shirt. “I don’t want him to see me like this.” Then he paused before adding; “don’t want you to see me like this, either.”

“I’ve seen you like this before,” Cas pointed out, then hesitated before offering, “but I can go, if you want me to.”

But Dean shook his head again. He began shifting, moving around so he could properly tuck himself up in Cas’s arms, his own arms wrapping around the angel in turn. “No, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that.” His head went back to its previous place, firmly burrowed against Cas’s chest. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this, but… if someone has to, I don’t—I don’t hate that it’s you.”

“You’re allowed to show weakness, sometimes, Dean, especially around Sam and I, we understand.” Cas told him softly, pressing another kiss into his hair, just gentle affection, then; “nightmare?”

“…yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” Dean began, then trailed off and shook his head. “No.”

Cas accepted that easily, one hand rubbing along his back gently, still. “That’s alright. Not until you’re ready. Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed weakly, not really meaning it; “maybe.”

-- --

Sam was gone for nearly two hours, during which time Cas and Dean stayed where they were, wrapped up in the blankets and each other, and talked about anything but what Dean had been dreaming about earlier. When the younger Winchester tentatively knocked on the door—then tried it to find it unlocked, he opened it carefully, afraid of what he might find for more than one reason. When all that greeted him were Cas and Dean blinking at him in surprise, he let out a little, internal sigh of relief and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind himself.

Then he crossed over to dump his bookbag on his bed. He was carrying a take-out coffee in his free hand, and set that on the kitchen table, before he cleared his throat and glanced at Dean, concern written all over his face. “You… alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied gruffy, already extracting himself from Cas and the covers. He headed over and snatched up the coffee. “This for me?”

“It’s actually—I mean. Yeah. Alright. I guess it’s yours now.” Sam shrugged with a sigh. Dean was already drinking, and it was just a coffee, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get another one easily and cheaply. Really, he should have just brought one specifically for Dean to begin with; but he hadn’t been sure what shape his brother would be in when he got back, so he hadn’t wanted to make the assumption.

Cas was currently climbing out of the bed, clothes completely wrinkled and definitely in need of a good ironing. And then he glanced down at himself, and he seemed to almost blur for just a moment, just the span of a blink, and his clothing was perfectly neat and crisp again—or at least as neat as crisp as Cas’s clothing ever was. Dean was halfway to a drink of his pilfered coffee and blinked a couple of times, then shook his head and went back to his caffeine. Sam just made a huh kind of noise. Cas continued on to where the rest of his clothes were, draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled on his suit coat, then his tie, but left his trench coat off for the time being.

“I need a shower.” Dean was muttering around the lip of his cup, “and some aspirin.”

“That was, ah… some nightmare.” Sam observed.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean headed him off at the pass, and Sam raised his hands in defeat, even as his brother set the half-finished coffee down and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a bit. Don’t throw out my coffee.” As if Sam would ever deem to do such a thing.

Once Dean was in the bathroom with the door firmly closed behind himself, Sam turned to Cas, expression expectant. “Well?”

“He wouldn’t talk about it with me, either.” Cas frowned and glanced down slightly. In the past, Dean would have shared anything with him, but now they clearly still had a long way to go to get back to that point. “I suspect it has something to do with his time in Hell, but I can’t tell you for sure. Just… keep an eye on him, the next couple of days. He’s not in a good place right now.”

“You’re leaving?” Sam asked, then; “now isn’t really the best time.”

“I know, but…” Cas trailed off for a moment and reached inward, flicking the little switch to turn Angel Radio back on in his head. He winced when he was bombarded by a barrage of angry messages. “Sam, I turned off Angel Radio the last couple of days to be here with Dean, I basically went AWOL. My superiors are not happy with me. If I don’t go back, they may yank me back, like I said before. I don’t want to get locked in up there. That would be much worse than being gone for a few days, I think.”

“I get that, Cas, it’s just…” Sam glanced toward the bathroom door. Inside, the shower was running now.

Cas followed his gaze before glancing down. “They expect a lot of me, and I’ve been falling short lately. If I get locked in, I won’t be able to come back. At least not in your lifetimes, most likely. I want to be here for you and for Dean, but I have to do my job for Heaven as well, or…”

“Or we might never see you again.” Sam finished for him. He sighed. Right now was a terrible time for Cas to be leaving, but he understood. If he wanted to be there for Dean in the long term, he had to leave for the short. “Just don’t… disappear while he’s in the shower. Wait and say goodbye first.”

Cas nodded. Dean was very afraid of him vanishing again, that much was clear. If he just left without telling him goodbye, it would be detrimental to their new, burgeoning relationship. So, despite the voices yelling in his head, Cas took a seat at the table, reaching for his shoes and pulling them on in the meantime, tying them with deft fingers. “You need to watch out for him while I’m gone. He’s very… delicate. Right now. Even if he would never admit as much.”

“Emotionally, yeah.” Sam agreed. “He’s an absolute basket case between one thing and another.”

“Basically. So, don’t—don’t push him, too hard, okay?” Cas finished with his shoes and straightened, giving Sam a worried look; “I know you want to know about how he’s feeling, about me, and about Hell, and all that, but he’s not ready to talk about it. It could be really bad if you force him to.”

“I’m not—” The younger Winchester began protest, but then broke off because, really, he was, and he knew it. He glanced down and nodded. “I’ll try to curb myself for a while. Just… try to come back quickly?”

“I’ll try.” Cas promised. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

About that time the shower shut off, and a couple minutes later Dean came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel hanging low around his hips. He headed straight over to dig through his duffle bag for clothes and Cas’s eyes followed him the entire way. He shifted, adjusting himself in his seat, and swallowed thickly. Sam just rolled his eyes and chuckled, “some things never change.”

“What was that, Sammy?” Dean pulled out a clean pair of boxers, then rooted for a t-shirt before muttering, “gotta do laundry today. Damnit.”

“Nothing.” Sam coughed, then headed over to grab his own bag and began stuffing dirty clothes into it before tossing it onto Dean’s bed; “shove your dirty stuff in there and I’ll do a laundry run once Cas is gone.”

Dean’s head came up at that. “Wait, what do you mean ‘once Cas is gone’?”

Cas stood from his seat and reached for his trench coat, draping it over one arm rather than actually pulling it on. “Dean… I have to go for a while. I’ve been away from Heaven and unreachable for too long. I’m already going to be severely reprimanded when I get back.”

“…right. Right.” Something shuttered off in Dean’s eyes, and he went back to getting dressed, his movements quick and efficient now. “Go, then. Don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

“Dean,” Cas took a step toward him, but Dean obviously tensed, and he stopped. Looked down with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And if you need something, just… pray to me, and I’ll come.”

Sam said gently, “thanks, Cas.”

Cas flashed him a sad smile—and then he was gone.

-- --

Dean was not in a good mood for the rest of the day, and Sam was more than happy to volunteer to do laundry to get out of the motel room for a while, but he could only linger in the motel’s laundry room for so long before he eventually had to return. When he did get back, Dean was dressed, at least, but sitting in front of the TV, brooding at the screen, obviously not actually paying attention to what was playing on it, with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Sam just sighed and put their clean clothes away, then went over to his computer and booted it up. Once it was ready to go, he pulled up the relevant pages and then waved Dean over, snapping his fingers to catch his attention, “come over here, I’ve got something to show you.”

Dean heaved a sigh but got up nonetheless and made his way over to sit at the table with his brother, glass of whiskey in tow. “What do you want, Sammy?”

“The thing in New Orleans.” Sam spun his laptop around, open to a page on Inuit folklore; “okay, so Bobby and I did some research, and we think it might be a palraijuq.”

“…”

“A palraijuq.”

“I’m sorry a what now?”

“A pal-rai-juq,” Sam repeated for the third time with an eyeroll, enunciating more clearly for his brother’s sake, “it’s a creature from Inuit folklore. Kind of like a giant armored crocodile with six legs and a taste for human meat.”

“Okay, giant crocodile. Great. But Inuit?”

“Yeah.”

“Like Alaska?”

“Yeah, Dean, like Alaska.”

“Then what the hell is it doing in freaking Louisiana?”

Sam shrugged but he was frowning. “How should I know? Weird creature behavior happens all the freaking time. Remember the chupacabra up in Maine back before you… uh. You know.” He didn’t want to actually say died or went to Hell; “how did that make any sense? This is just another one of those things where you have to accept it and move on.”

Dean slumped back in his seat and let his head fall back with a groan. “Alright fine, how do we kill it then?”

“Well, that is the tricky part.” Sam told him, and Dean slumped even further because there was always a tricky part. “An Inuit arrowhead, dipped in seal blood, shot through the palraijuq’s eye. I guess that’s the only part of it that isn’t covered in armor.”

“Sam, where the hell are we going to get either of those things?” Dean demanded, and he absolutely was not whining, thank you very much.

Sam was already typing away at his computer. Dean tried to be patient while his brother did his searching, but sometimes it wasn’t easy. Now he shifted around restlessly until finally Sam said “ah,” and looked up again. “There’s a few Inuit arrows in Alabama.”

“Great! We can go rip those off asap once we get down south,” Dean fixed Sam with a look, “but where are we gonna get the seal blood, Sammy? That’s not like a goat or a dog, we don’t exactly have seals running wild around freaking Louisiana. And if you even think about saying Sea World, so help me God…”

Sam hesitated before asking, “think we could ask your boyfriend?”

“We can’t ask Cas for every Goddamned thing just because he’s an angel, Sam, we have to—”

“What can’t you ask me for?” Cas wondered, having popped into the room just behind Dean’s seat. Dean startled and flailed slightly, his chair tipping backward—and Cas simply reached out to catch it and right it before he could fall. “I heard my name. How can I help?”

Sam made note that not only did Dean not dispute the ‘boyfriend’ label, but he also actually gave Cas what amounted to a small smile once he’d stopped flailing. That was progress. As for Sam himself, he didn’t even blink when Cas suddenly poofed into existence there the way he had. He supposed he was starting to get used to it, the teleporting thing, although actually doing it himself was another matter entirely; when Cas had done it with him the first time it had left his stomach tied up in knots for what felt like hours afterwards. The second time hadn’t been nearly so bad, though.

“Hi, Cas.” Sam said, already looking back to his computer.

“Hello, Sam.” Cas replied, before turning his attention to Dean. His greeting was the same, but his tone was warmer. Sam noted it but didn’t take it personally. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean replied, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. He actively forced the smile off his face and reached to pull out one of the other chairs around the table, a clear invitation for Cas to take a seat. The angel did so without comment. “I thought you had to go back to Heaven and stuff.”

“I did.” Cas agreed, “but Heaven’s time is different from Earth’s time. A few hours down here is years in Heaven. I… made up for my transgressions, somewhat. And a part of me is always tuned to you, Dean.” And it was clear that Dean was pretty much always top priority for him now, the same as he had been in the past—the same as he apparently always had been, regardless of whether Dean had been aware of it or not. “My superiors aren’t happy with me at the moment, but, as I said, I heard my name, so.” Then he simply asked again, “how can I help?”

Dean was just looking at Cas, a little bit contemplative with fondness trying to edge its way in as well—but he was doing a good job hiding it. Sam watched him discreetly, and privately thought he was doing well, all things considered. Having the love of your life come back from the dead wasn’t a small thing, and Dean hadn’t been coping well to begin with, for obvious reasons. But he seemed to be to the point now where his anger and resentment, while still there, were beginning to simmer down.

It was a good thing, because Dean had been completely spinning out there for a while, between the whole Hell thing and Cas showing up back in his life. And it was obvious right from the hop that he was still as in love with Cas now as he had been years ago when Cas had vanished. But he still had a lot to work through before he could completely trust Cas again, and Sam knew Cas understood that. Something between them had been broken by Cas disappearing the way he had, and now they needed to slowly glue the parts back together. They were working on it.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat. “Cas, we’re pretty sure we’re up against a palraijuq.”

Cas paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he clearly went through a mental catalogue in his head, and then he nodded. “Ah. Yes. Fearsome creatures. They originate from the far north, if I remember correctly.”

“The Yukon area, yeah.” Sam confirmed. “Not entirely sure what one is doing this far south, to be honest.”

Cas shrugged. “Weather pattern changes, habitat destruction, it could be any number of reasons. Supernatural creatures often migrate for the same reasons regular animals do. It could be its food supply simply ran out and it set out for new territory. You have to admit, this place is full of easy meals for something like that.”

He had a point. Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Freaking global warming.”

“Basically.” Cas agreed.

“Anyway,” Sam glanced at his computer again, then back up at Cas, “the lore says we need an Inuit arrowhead dipped in seal blood.”

“No, that’s wrong.” The angel frowned, eyes flitting back and forth as he thought for another minute before; “a spearhead, not an arrowhead. It has to be a spearhead. The seal blood part is correct, though. Preferably from erignathus barbatus, and best from a pup.”

“Erignathus barbatus?” Sam asked.

“The bearded seal.” Cas shook his head, “I’m sorry, I… I’ve gotten used to talking—communicating—a certain way, in Heaven. I forget myself sometimes when I’m down here.”

“I’m stuck on the best from a pup part.” Dean said, “it’s bad enough we have to bleed a seal, but a baby seal? C’mon, man. Could we pick a cuter animal?” Sam just shrugged and gestured from his computer toward Cas and back again, Dean rubbed at his forehead. “Can we just agree to make this as painless as possible for the thing?”

“You need me to obtain the seal blood, I take it?” Cas asked, and then assured Dean, “I’ll make it as humane as possible.”

“Thanks, Cas. I hope you don’t mind.” Sam offered a little smile.

“I’ve done worse.” Cas glanced down slightly. Obviously, things from the past few years—or millennia, in Heaven’s time—were weighing on him, but he didn’t say anything, just stood from his seat and prepared to leave. “This could take some time; pupping season ended a month ago. Finding a young enough pup could be troublesome.”

At the last second, Dean’s eyes flitted to Sam briefly before returning to Cas, and he reached up to take hold of one of Cas’s hands with his own, just giving it a gentle squeeze, a tiny, brief, moment of affection. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas smiled and squeezed his hand back. “I’ll be back.” And then he was gone.

Once Cas had disappeared, Sam went back to his laptop and quickly found them some Inuit spearheads they could rip off from a different museum, and they made plans to leave the next day to do exactly that.

That taken care of, Sam went to the fridge and pulled out a pair of beers, bringing one over for Dean and popping the cap on his own to take a drink. He watched Dean stare down at the bottle in his hands for a couple of minutes before finally saying, “dude, you need to talk about it or you’re going to drive yourself insane.”

“Huh?” Dean looked up again—and immediately opened his beer, taking a huge gulp. “There’s nothing to talk about, Sammy.”

“There is, though, after everything that happened with you and Cas—”

“Sam, you know I’m not into all that sharing feelings crap.”

“Yeah, but this is a big one, and if you’re not going to talk to Cas about it, then—”

“I have talked to Cas about it. More than once.” Dean grit out. “Look, just leave it alone.”

But Sam was like a dog with a bone with some things and this was apparently going to be one of them, despite Cas’s warning earlier. He sat back down across from Dean and set his beer on the table, then demanded, “you look at him like a lost puppy sometimes, and I just don’t get why you don’t—”

“Because I am! We’re trying to make it work, but I’m drowning, Sammy!” Dean finally snapped, slamming his own beer down on the table, the force making it foam out the top and down over his hand. He cursed and shook his hand slightly, then wiped it on his jeans. Green eyes glared. “I searched for him, you know how long I searched for him, you helped me search, for God’s sake! I cried and I sobbed, and I raged and I—I broke, and he was just up in Heaven watching me go through that! And before you say anything, I get it, he wasn’t allowed to come see me, but just the fact that he was watching me fall to pieces is—”

Breaking off, he swallowed hard and looked down.

“I still love him. More than anything. More than life. But he’s seen the absolute worst of me and I just…” Dean trailed off for a moment. Sam was silent, just sitting and waiting, “I’m not the person I used to be, Sammy. But I look at Cas and I see everything that I was before all this shit, and it tears me apart inside. And I do love him. You know that, of course you do. So does he. I never stopped. Cas is the love of my damned life. But everything inside me is stripped raw and right now loving him is like rubbing salt into an open wound. Every time he’s around I feel… I feel everything so clearly. Love and hate and hope and pain, just all in one big ball. And I’m trying, I really am, but sometimes the pain is just too much and I…”

“You lash out.” Sam finished for him softly. He offered a little, barely-there smile, “but you’re doing better, Dean. I can see it in how you talk to him and interact with him. I get that it still hurts, but you’re doing so much better. Even if you don’t see it right now.”

Dean huffed and glanced up. “I’m trying.” He repeated, “I’m trying for Cas, because I get that the last few years haven’t exactly been easy on him, either. And I can’t imagine what it was like…” He trailed off again and swallowed thickly before continuing; “I can’t imagine what it was like to suddenly remember all that angel shit and be Called back to Heaven instantly, and immediately told he could have no contact with me. To have everything ripped away like that, his whole life. It must have broken his heart, and I hate the thought of that. So, I’m trying. For him.”

“You should try for you, too, you know.” Sam told his brother gently. “Because he is back, and you do still love each other. Despite the whole angel… thing.”

A barked laugh from Dean at that, “that was the last thing I expected. Cas is a freaking angel.”

Sam smiled a little. “You remember the little angel wings he had on his backpack in high school? Ironic now.”

“Yeah.” Dean reached for his beer and took a gulp, making a face. It wasn’t right now that it had foamed over. “I never believed in angels, all this time, and it turns out I was sleeping with one for years.” Then a pause, followed by a warning look and, “dude, if you make a Touched By An Angel joke, I swear…”

Sam held his hands up, a placating gesture. “I wasn’t going to.”

Another brief silence and then; “he pulled my ass out of Hell, Sam. He saved me from the pit, and all I did to thank him was shout and yell and make accusations. I guess I do take after Dad more than I thought.” A pause and he added, “though there was some frankly amazing angry sex, but that’s beside the point.”

“You didn’t need to mention that.” Sam coughed out around the lip of his beer bottle.

“I guess the point is…” Dean ignored Sam’s protest and continued on, seemingly determined now that he was on a roll; “he’s done nothing but be here for me ever since he literally saved me from damnation, and I’ve just… been a spiteful little bitch. I shouldn’t… I can’t do that anymore. It’s too hard on him. And on me.” Then a pause, followed by; “it’s just… when Cas is around, every possible emotion boils to the surface immediately and it’s hard to sort through them all, I…”

“You’re trying.” Sam concluded, repeating Dean’s earlier words, and then, when the following silence stretched on an uncomfortable amount of time, he smacked a hand against the table and announced, “A+ share, Dean, great job! What do you say we go out for burgers to celebrate?”

Dean had been looking uncomfortable, but now relaxed visibly and gave his brother a little, grateful look before downing the rest of his shitty beer and setting the bottle back on the table. “That sounds like a plan. We’ve gotta wait for Cas anyway, we might as well go grab some grub while we’re at it.” Then a pause and he added; “then I guess we’re on our way to Louisiana.”

Sam smiled and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll drive.”

They drove back to the motel almost recklessly, and when they got there, they dashed inside, slammed and locked the door behind them.

“Dude, what the hell happened?” Sam gestured to Dean’s… everything.

Dean was wiping at his jacket uselessly, basically just smearing the ectoplasm around. “Basically, the entire freaking library attacked me. Books flew off the shelves and pelted me, one of them got me in the eye, Goddamnit, and the stupid… cards… exploded… and just ectoplasm everywhere.” He picked an index card off of himself, dropped it on the floor and let his head fall back as he bemoaned; “and poor Baby, Sam, she is so completely slimed up now, I’m gonna be cleaning her upholstery for weeks.” (That was an exaggeration, and he knew it, but the sentiment remained the same.)

“Whatever’s in that building is seriously annoyed.” Sam observed, and then; “Dean, just take your jacket off and we’ll get it to a dry cleaner tomorrow. And stop dropping stuff on the floor, you’re getting ectoplasm all over the carpet.”

“You don’t care about Baby at all.” Dean complained, but he was already stripping his jacket off, turning it inside out and draping it over one of the kitchenette table chairs. His shirt underneath wasn’t exactly clean, either and neither were his jeans, so he quickly shucked out of them as well, tossing everything in the laundry pile to be washed the next day. He vaguely wondered if Cas was upstairs watching, but dismissed the idea just as quickly as it came to him.

“Go have a shower.” Sam told him, interrupting his thoughts; “seriously. Your hair is…” Trailing off, Sam just shook his head and reached to pluck another index card out of his brother’s hair, then repeated, “just go have a shower, Dean.”

Dean was already heading for the bathroom, pausing just long enough to swat Sam’s plucking hand away. He might not have been great about taking care of himself lately (he was getting better about that) but this time he was definitely on Team Shower. Being coated head-to-toe in ghost snot would probably do that to anyone, he figured.

His shower was quick and used up probably too much shampoo and soap, but by the end of it he finally felt less like a library had sneezed him out when he stepped out into the bathroom proper and grabbed a towel to dry off. He dried quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist before heading back out into the motel room to root out some clothes—he needed to be dressed so he could go outside again and take care of Baby, because he was not leaving her all mucked up for any longer than he had to.

Sam was sitting at the table, shuffling through the new papers he’d printed off at the library, his bookbag sitting in a chair next to him, open so he could dig through it as he highlighted the important sections of each article. They would go up on the Wall Of Weird soon, but not until Dean deemed fit—the elder Winchester had gotten touchy about who added to his Walls as of late.

Whatever got him through the day, Sam figured.

While Sam worked, Dean made his way around the room, pulling on clean clothes and then tossing his towel in the direction of the bathroom—he was bad about that. Putting towels away properly. It drove Sam insane. Now, at least, Sam’s back was to it so he couldn’t see it right away. He would just bitch about it later instead, when Dean was done dealing with the Impala.

Once he was dressed and had pulled his boots on, Dean went out to the car and dug in the real trunk—not the fake one—for a shammy and the Armor All, then sneaked his way into the maid’s closet by the motel office where he pilfered a bucket, which was filled in the sink of their motel room. The water was a last resort, in case the Armor All failed him.

The poltergeist gunk was basically everywhere he had touched in the Impala, so the steering wheel, the seat and the floor. He did have floor covers for monster-y occasions, so he just pulled out the one on the driver’s side and washed it off with the water from the bucket and the shammy. It took some work. Then he set to scrubbing freaking ectoplasm out of all of Baby’s nooks and crannies. Sadly, this wasn’t his first time doing this exact job, either. He definitely had a really weird—and more than occasionally disgusting—life.

The problem with ectoplasm was that it was sticky, gunky crap, like snot on steroids, and it got into all the crevices. Dean knew that from personal experience. He also knew that it was going to take an entire afternoon of vigorous scrubbing to get Baby looking spic-and-span again, which was why he’d gotten the jump on it immediately after getting himself cleaned up.

It was also a good way of keeping his mind off… other things.

Or that was the theory, anyway. As he worked, though, Dean’s thoughts wandered to the inevitable. To Cas, and everything that had—and hadn’t—been between them. To the loss and the anger and the absolute betrayal that he had felt when he had learned that Cas was alive and well for all that time after all.

And then to the love, the love that was still there, taking up so much space in his heart. The love that hurt so, so badly at the moment, but he couldn’t shake off, couldn’t deny despite his best efforts to do just that.

Because Dean had said it many times in the past, but Cas was it for him—his soul mate, if he believed in such things—and no one else would ever compare to him, angel or not. It was just the profound sense of loss and the icy shock of pain after Cas disappearing for so long, being dead for so long, that stopped Dean from wrapping him up in his arms and—

And what? Proclaiming his undying love? He couldn’t do that after everything that had happened, even if he had… somewhat… already done it. Goddamnit, he had basically already done it, hadn’t it? And then right after that he had…

Dean didn’t realize how hard he was scrubbing at Baby’s seat until his knuckles started to hurt, and he eased off, sitting back a bit and shaking his hand out, eyes on the ground under his feet. And that’s what he felt like, really. He felt like dirt. Lower than dirt, even, for hurting Cas like that, even if in the moment it had felt… not good necessarily, though he had obviously come from it, buried deep inside Cas just like the old days, but maybe… cathartic? Was that the right word?

Dean shook his head, dismissing the thought, and went back to work on the Impala, this time paying more attention to what he was doing and less attention to the near constant narrative that was going on in his head.

-- --

Poltergeists could be tricky things and didn’t like to play by all the same rules as regular ghosts. Sure, if you could figure out who the spirit belonged to, you could try to salt and burn the bones, but that was if you could find the body. That wasn’t always a given, in their line of work. And that was also if burning the bones even worked at all, which wasn’t always a given with poltergeists either.

Dean stood in front of the Wall Of Weird, studying it, what there was of it so far anyway, while Sam did what Sam did best and booted up his computer to do some more research, since they likely wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the Albany County Public Library again any time soon (during operational hours, anyway.) Thank God for the Internet.

When they had been at the library earlier, Sam had managed to pull a handful of articles from the microfiche, and three of them had been obituaries: people who had died on the land, if not in the library itself. The first, Ed Carson, was an elderly gentleman who’d had a heart attack in the parking lot three years ago. Probably not their spook. Too benign of a death.

The other two, Abby Perkins and Margot Good, were less clear than Mr. Carson, the articles that Sam had managed to find at the library providing only the basest of details; Abby Perkins had died in nineteen eighty-four, and Margot Good in seventeen ten. Now Sam was doing his thing, working on digging up more information on the other two deaths while Dean continued to side-eye the Wall until he eventually decided it was time for a beer and went to get one from the minifridge.

Privately, Sam was impressed with how little alcohol had passed Dean’s lips that day so far. Then again there were still some hours to go before they crashed for the night, so things still had time to edge downhill. Still. He could handle a few beers. Dean could handle a few beers. It was good to see him taking the job seriously. But he had taken the rugaru job seriously, too. He was a professional when it came down to it.

“Okay, so,” Sam spoke up after a while of working his deep dive, and Dean turned away from the Wall again to look toward him; “Abby Perkins died of anaphylactic shock back in the eighties, she was allergic to bees. But Margot Good—she was hung on this land way back in seventeen ten.” He looked up from his computer to grin slightly, “which was, of course, the popular way to deal with witches, back in the day.”

Dean’s brows rose and he took a pull of his beer. “Real witch or is this a Salem Witch Trials situation?”

“Oh, Salem Witch Trials and in more than one way.” Sam gestured toward the computer screen even though Dean couldn’t see what was on it; “in seventeen ten the witch hysteria was still very real, and it had spread out from Massachusetts to other colonies all over the country. And Margot Good just happened to share a last name with the most famous of the Salem ‘witches’—” He made air quotes around the word ‘witches’ for emphasis; “—Sarah Good. So, in this time of mass hysteria, rumors spread, and Margot is connected to the most infamous witch in history to that date. They practically had to hang her, as far as they were concerned.”

“But she was innocent, yeah?” Dean asked around the edge of his beer.

“Undeniably.” Sam agreed, “or at least that’s the prominent theory. But she was buried on the grounds where she was hanged, which was tradition at the time, I suppose, and guess what now stands on that ground?”

“The Albany County Public Library.” It wasn’t a guess. Dean made a little clicking sound with his tongue and finished off his beer. “But if she’s been dead for this long, what woke her up, now?”

Sam tapped at his laptop for a second before spinning it around for Dean to see the article he’d pulled up. “Look, they just started renovations on the library basement. They’re digging up the whole thing to replace the foundation. They broke ground last month. Bets that she’s buried somewhere under that floor?”

Dean was back at the minifridge pulling out another beer. He popped the cap and muttered, “no wonder she’s pissed off. She gets accused of witchcraft, probably tortured, then hung to death and she can’t even rest anymore because they’re digging up her grave? Shit.”

It took a really ticked off spirit to become an actual poltergeist instead of your run-of-the-mill ghost, but from what Sam had dug up, it sounded very likely that Margot Good had every reason to be seriously angry. That was definitely poltergeist territory right there. They both figured they’d probably found their culprit.

Now they just had to figure out what to do about it.

The standard for poltergeists was special hex bags in the walls of the building, north, south, east and west. Sometimes you could take one out by finding the body that had belonged to the spirit of the poltergeist in life, salting and burning the bones, but unlike with normal ghosts, that didn’t always track with poltergeists.

So hex bags it was.

With a call to Bobby, they were able to locate a witch in Cheyenne, Neave Wynne, who was willing to help them out with the proper hex bags to put down a poltergeist. Dean went alone, claiming that he needed some time to think, and Sam gave only a token protest before just agreeing that he would stay behind and make the rest of the preparations.

So, Dean made the hour’s drive (in forty minutes, tops) with his thoughts on Cas the entire time, despite initially trying to keep his mind on the job at hand, going over all of their interactions so far and how well, or badly, they had gone. He managed not to completely spin out this time, during the drive to Cheyenne, though he had his hands gripping too tightly on the wheel again by the time he pulled into the driveway at the address Bobby had given them.

In Cheyenne it was only a matter of minutes for him to pick up the hex bags, pay the witch an obscene amount of money and go on his way. Dean thanked Neave profusely on his way out the door, and she, in turn, thanked him for the cold hard cash. She wished him well in his endeavours, and he was off again, heavy four hex bags in his jacket pocket. Hopefully, they would do the trick.

Then there was the hour drive back to Laramie and a return to all his swirling thoughts. He managed to tamp it all down when he got to the motel and came face-to-face with Sam again, though, dropping the hex bags on the table with a little triumphant “Ta-daa!” and making Sam roll his eyes.

But even though he pushed the thoughts down they were still there, niggling, and his first instinct was to go for booze again. Beer at the very least, but preferably something stronger. They weren’t going to the Albany County Public Library again until the next day, so for now he allowed the impulse and went over to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He downed it in one go, then poured a second glass quickly. Sam gave him a look but didn’t say anything.

The rest of the evening was spent going over the case over and over again until Dean’s head was aching—or maybe that was him mixing his liquor again. That was definitely a possibility. Either way, by eleven o’clock that night Dean was exhausted, physically and mentally, and Sam wasn’t doing much better, so Dean finished off the last of the beer in his hand and set the bottle down on the table a little too hard before making his way over to collapse into his bed, not even bothering to get undressed first.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day, too.

-- --

The next morning the brothers woke at eight a.m. to the alarm blaring Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley and Dean moaned a protesting noise and pulled his pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the shitty, shitty music. In the other bed, Sam just muttered, unamused, “the radio is freaking Rickrolling us. It is too early for this bullshit.”

Dean’s response was a muffled, “what the hell is a Rockroll?”

“Rickroll. It’s when you—” Sam started, even as he levered himself up and reached to smack at the alarm until it turned off. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. Come on, it’s time to get up.”

Still, Dean stubbornly stayed in bed while Sam got up and got ready to go for his morning jog, changing into his sweatpants and running shoes, and he left Dean where he was while he grabbed his ipod and wallet and disappeared out the door. He would let Dean snooze for another half an hour until he came back, coffee in hand. That would get Dean out of bed for sure—it always did.

And sure enough, when Sam got back (forty minutes later, the lineup at the coffee shop had been unreal), all he had to do was walk in the door with a tray full of fresh java and Dean rolled over in bed and lifted his head to peer back over his shoulder blearily. “You get coffee?”

“Yeah. Got one for you. Help yourself if you can haul yourself out of bed long enough.” Sam was already heading through to the bathroom for a shower; “I’ll be back out in a few. Don’t drink my coffee, too, jerk.”

Dean hummed and nuzzled into his pillow before absently replying “bitch” and finally swinging his legs around to sit up, rubbing at his hair absently before standing and wandering over to take one of the coffees from the tray on the table. He opened it up and began to sip at it as he wandered over to stand in front of the Wall Of Weird, still a little sleepy, staring at the article about Margot Wood that was pinned up right in the very center.

A poltergeist was easy. Ish. Usually. This one was just a little stronger than most. And gooier. They totally had this in the bag.

Dean nodded to himself, halfway through his coffee and feeling much more awake already and glanced over when Sam came out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, crossing the room to root through his bag for a change of clothes and then, once he was dressed, taking his wet towel very pointedly back to the bathroom again, thank you very much, Dean.

A little smirk tugged Dean’s lips up and he went over to set the rest of his coffee on the table, then ducked into the bathroom once Sam was out again to shower and brush his teeth quickly. That was followed up by coming back into the main room, getting dressed, and just tossing his towel in the general vicinity of the bathroom, Sam. This was a game that never got old—or at least not to Dean. Sam found it very irritating.

The rest of the day was spent bickering between themselves as they gathered up everything they needed; the hex bags, obviously, but also their sawed-off shotguns, filled with rock salt, and the huge tin can of table salt—just in case the malevolent spirit actually showed itself. That was an unlikely scenario, though, as poltergeists rarely manifested as actual entities.

Dean sat taking his shotgun apart, cleaning it and putting back together, over and over again for over an hour in the middle of the afternoon, basically on autopilot, not really seeing what he was doing, just doing it on instinct alone, his thoughts a million miles away. It was something he and Sam both did when they were anxious over something—field-stripped and cleaned their weapons.

When he eventually blinked out of it and realized what he was doing, he could only sigh and finish his current round by putting his shotgun back together. Then he immediately retrieved his sidearm and proceeded to strip and clean it as well, but in this case only one time. Both guns were fully loaded and ready to go, now.

Across the table from him, Sam had finished cleaning both of his own guns long since and had been watching Dean do his work over and over for the past little while, but quickly turned his attention to his laptop, pretending he hadn’t been watching. “So, the library closes at eight.” He announced; “we can probably go around nine, just to be sure none of the staff are still around.”

“We have time to grab food, then?” Dean looked up at him, eyebrows lifted. They hadn’t even taken a break for lunch, just going on power bars that Sam always kept in his duffle. “I could use some real food before we do this thing.”

“Yeah, totally.” Sam agreed. “Diner down the street?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean nodded, then pushed his chair back and stood. “Oh, and Sam? Your power bars do nothing.”

-- --

At nine o’clock that night, they packed up their shit and drive across town to the currently closed Albany County Public Library, where they parked around back, and Dean made quick work of picking the lock on the back door to get them both inside the building.

They were not expecting a warm reception, but the instant they walked in the door a book flew out of nowhere and clocked Dean in the side of the head—and he cursed. Loudly. At least it was a dry book. No ectoplasm—so far. Dean really hated the ectoplasm. (So did Sam.)

Dean and Sam made their way through the rows of tables in the back section of the library and things exploded around them. The computers started fritzing out, blinking on and off, the keyboards sparking in the dark. The printers began printing out reams and reams of paper, spitting them out all over the place.

Sam reached down and picked one up, and all it had on it was one word, printed over and over again: INNOCENT. Sam held it out for Dean to see and got a snort in response. He dropped it back to the ground afterward.

“You take north and east; I’ll take south and west.” Dean said, and handed two of the hex bags to Sam, who pocketed them quickly and headed out, even as the filing cabinets began spewing out papers and index cards, along with more ectoplasm than anything they had ever seen before. It practically rained the stuff.

With Sam off to do his part, Dean made for the back wall and began hauling one of the filing cabinets away from the wall so he could kick a hole in the plaster. That part done, he shoved a hex bag into the hole before moving on to the west wall, where he spent a couple of minutes fending of books that were flying in his direction from the stacks before repeating the process of pulling out a cabinet and booting a hole in the wall. The second hex bag went in as (relatively) easily as the first.

That done, he looked around for Sam and, when he couldn’t spot him, assumed he had gone to the north wall at the front of the building. So, with things still freaking out around him, Dean braved a dash through the stacks, books pelting him the entire way and slime dripping off the shelves, now, until he burst through the other side—only to find Sam standing there looking at him.

“Why didn’t you finish south and west?!” Sam demanded over the library having an utter fit.

“I did!” Dean replied, incredulous, and then winced when another heavy book bounced off his shoulder blade. That was going to freaking bruise. He made his way forward to stand next to Sam, farther away from the cacophony in the main part of the library. “What the hell is going on?!”

Margot Good was one strong poltergeist if the hex bags didn’t even phase her. And if that was the case, then the only thing they had left was uncovering the body and salting and burning the bones. Otherwise, they were seriously screwed. So, it was decided that they would go to the basement, where there were hopefully less books to collide with their faces.

A quick rock-paper-scissors later and Sam braved the book-and-index card melee to go back outside for shovels from the trunk of the Impala while Dean stayed behind and continued to endure the onslaught inside, this time the metal detectors by the front entrance trying to electrocute him—he just barely managed to dash away in time to avoid frying. Now everything was covered in black goo, and he would hate to see the face of the librarian who came to unlock the building in the morning.

When there’s something strange, in your neighborhood… who you gonna call? If there’s something weird, and it don’t look good… who you gonna call? Dean’s voice singsonged, even as Sam burst through the stacks again, carrying two folding shovels and covered head-to-toe in ectoplasm.

Shovels obtained, they found the door to the basement, which was, predictably, locked. So, they, just as predictably, picked it, and quickly flicked the lights on, heading down the narrow staircase cautiously. The overhead lights flickered, almost like a strobe light, but at least the basement had been cleared out to make room for the construction on the floor, so there was less for the poltergeist to throw at them. Still, little chips of gravel and concrete left over from the excavation of the old floor pelted them constantly their entire way down, tiny and stinging like bites from a fly.

The whole poured concrete floor had been dug up and hauled away, leaving just dirt behind, which they assumed was going to be covered up with more concrete, eventually. For now, it left things perfect for them to dig, assuming they could figure out where because the library didn’t exactly have a small footprint, and—

Over in one corner, the ground was moving. Shifting and lifting, something rising up from under it.

They both froze and watched as a shape clawed its’ way out of the dirt, vaguely human but rotted nearly through—

“Is that a freaking zombie?” Dean asked almost flatly.

“I think… it’s Margot Good.” Sam replied, almost blank.

The rotting corpse—which by all means should have been nothing but dust and bones by now, considering she had been buried in the seventeen hundreds—spun to face them, mouth wide and shrieking and the walls started to bleed ectoplasm. Dean flinched his shoulder away from the nearest wall and yanked his pistol out of the back of his jeans. “Well, we know what to do with zombies. Sorry, Margot.”

A quick headshot did the trick. The walls immediately stopped oozing, and the cacophony upstairs fell silent; they could hear midair books dropping to the ground deadly and when the printers suddenly stopped spitting out page after page of paper. They watched the body slump to the ground, then immediately begin melting, then turning to dust, and Dean tucked his gun away again.

“You, uh, ever see something like that before?”

“Nope.”

“We should get out of here.”

“I call dibs on the first shower.”

-- --

Now that they were done with the poltergeist-slash-zombie, Sam wanted to immediately go to South Dakota to help Bobby with his research into the Louisiana thing. Dean was happily stuck in his rut right where he was, though. He thought he deserved a few days off rather than hopping on the road again so soon, but Sam reminded him that lots of people were dying in New Orleans. Literally boatloads of people. They went around and around on the topic for a good, long while, especially because Dean wouldn’t allow Sam to just up and take the Impala to go to South Dakota without him.

Sam finally threw his hands in the air and declared; “fine then! I’m calling Cas!”

Dean froze, then blanched slightly, then stammered, “he’s—he’s not a freaking taxi!”

But it was too late, Sam was already casting his eyes toward the ceiling and saying, “Cas, if you’re listening in, it’s Sam Winchester and I could really use a ha—”

Dean next thing to tackled him. He scrambled out of his chair, knocking it over in his haste, and collided with his brother, tumbling them both onto one of the beds, where they proceeded to wrestle and fight while Dean tried everything he could to keep Sam from praying—including actually clamping a hand over his mouth. When Sam childishly licked his palm, Dean jerked his hand away again and made a disgusted noise, wiping it on Sam’s shirt.

“Sammy, I told you—”

“Uh. If this is a bad time I could come back later.” Cas said from over by the table. He was observing their little scuffle with more than a bit of amusement in his eyes and proceeded to watch them both scramble to get up and right themselves, too, a small smile on his face.

“You don’t have to be here.” Dean told him gruffly, straightening his shirt and avoiding eye contact like it was a deadly dangerous thing.

“Sam called me.” Cas pointed out before turning his attention to Sam, who was still floundering in the blankets slightly. Finally, Cas made his way over and helped the younger Winchester to untangle himself, then pulled him to his feet.

“Giant baby.” Dean commented.

Cas chuckled and Sam glared. “Cas, I need a lift to Bobby’s place, if you have the time. Dean refuses to drive there, and I want to help Bobby with research for the New Orleans job.”

“Do we not deserve breaks in between cases, sometimes?” Dean demanded.

“You do.” Cas agreed with Dean, but then gave Sam a smile; “I can absolutely take you to South Dakota, Sam. When do you want to be picked up?”

“I dunno… thirty-six hours? That’ll give us a good head start at the very least.” Sam was already cramming all of his stuff into a bag, “I guess if I need more time I can always, uh… let you know.”

“Yes, prayer works no matter where you are.” Cas nodded, waiting for Sam to finish packing before stepping over and hovering one hand over his shoulder. “You might want to brace yourself. The first time can be… a little jarring.” Then he patted his hand down on Sam’s shoulder, and they were gone.

In South Dakota, the two of them appeared just outside the door to Bobby’s house: Cas had very specifically not transported them inside because Mr. Singer had yet to see him since he’d been back, not really, and he wasn’t looking forward to the reunion. Bobby had made threats during their first meeting, back when Cas had still been human—about what he would do if Cas ever hurt Dean—and Cas had more than just hurt Dean, he had, as John Winchester had correctly predicted so long ago, destroyed him. Not that he thought Bobby could physically harm him, very little could, but…

It was a confrontation he was still putting off at all costs.

Now, Sam steadied himself, feeling a little woozy from the flight over, and glanced toward the door before offering a smile. “You should—”

“I’m going to.” Cas told him softly. “Just as soon as I’m done here.”

“Good luck, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam. I’m going to need it.”

And then he was gone again, leaving Sam to knock on Bobby’s door at eleven o’clock at night, no Impala in sight, when by all intents and purposes he should have been in Wyoming. He got a splash of Holy Water to the face for his troubles, and his entire explanation was “angels”, which just made Bobby snort—but at least he was let in the door in the end.

-- --

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean tensed up at the familiar voice and didn’t move for a moment. He had barely managed to right his chair and sit back down and now Cas was back again, and it threw his whole everything off-kilter. Finally, he lifted his eyes to look at the angel standing next to him. “Hey… Cas.” He replied hesitantly.

“I can… leave. If you want me to.” Cas offered softly.

Dean sighed and glanced away again before shaking his head. He lifted one leg to shove the chair opposite his out from the table a bit with his foot. “No, I—it’s fine. Sit.”

Cas took the olive branch and pulled the chair out the rest of the way, sitting down, his every movement careful, as if Dean might spook if he moved too fast or too suddenly. As if he might snap, which he had every right to do, really, despite the headway they’d briefly made with Cas helping him with his nightmares. Once he was seated, Cas looked down at his lap for a long moment before finally speaking up again; “I’m… sorry, Dean. I’m sorry things are so broken between us. I never meant for any of this. And it’s…” Shaking his head, he added; “I’d hoped the other night might help, some, but you barely even remember it…”

When he trailed off, Dean glanced up at him slightly, then away again, the two of them both avoiding eye contact, now. “I’m sorry, too.” He replied after a long silence, then just shoved out of his seat and made his way over to his bed, where he flopped down and curled up on his side. At first Cas assumed that he was just trying to put some more distance between them, but then Dean asked, “are you coming, or…?”

Surprised, Cas blinked, then hesitated before getting up and crossing the room, toeing his shoes off and then crawling onto the mattress behind Dean, settling on his side facing Dean’s back. After a brief moment, he lifted one hand to rest by Dean’s hip, and Dean allowed it without complaint. The two of them were silent for a long time, just laying together, breathing together, before Cas finally spoke up:

“Have there been others, while I was gone?” He asked softly. He knew the answer to that question already, he had seen it, but it would be different actually hearing it from Dean’s mouth.

Dean frowned, though his back was still to Cas so Cas couldn’t see it. He shifted slightly. “Cas, I—damnit, of course there have been. You were gone for seven years, and I—I thought you were gone for good, that—that you died or—or something worse—and was I supposed to just stay celibate all that time?”

“Of course not.” Cas assured him, voice still quiet. Then he asked gently, “did any of them matter?”

Dean hesitated at that, one hand coming up, fingers touching along the back of Cas’s hand absently. “One.” He admitted, finally, “her name was Cassie, and trust me, I get the irony in that. Cassie’s the first person that I really loved after you. The only one. But still not—not the way I loved you. Nothing could compare to how I loved you. Anyway, it didn’t last.”

“You deserve love, Dean. I’m glad that you found her, even if only for a while.”

There was a long silence after that, Dean stewing over everything in his head and Cas giving him the space and silence to do so. This thing between them was… almost new, again. Raw and painful, particularly for Dean. Especially after what had happened the week before, the last time they had been alone together. Cas didn’t want to push too hard and possibly break it, or him, again.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean said finally, voice coming out gruff, “I’m glad you’re not dead. I was so afraid you were dead, but… you were just upstairs this whole time? You keep saying you couldn’t leave, but why couldn’t you come see me? Why couldn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to,” Cas admitted, “all this time, I wanted to go to you so badly. But they wouldn’t let me. I was forbidden contact with you until…” Trailing off a little, he slid his hand to rub by Dean’s shoulder where his own handprint was branded into Dean’s flesh, “until I was ordered to pull you out.”

“You’ve never really been one to break the rules all that much,” Dean admitted softly.

“Especially when they’re handed down by God Himself.” Cas added.

“I get your point. Doesn’t make this any easier to swallow.”

“I know, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Finally, finally, Dean shifted, rolling over to face Cas. He looked at the angel quietly for a moment before offering; “you do look good, Cas.”

Cas gave a little smile, “so do you, Dean. For someone who just escaped Hell.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dean muttered. He lifted one hand to tug at the lapel on Cas’s trench coat and he made a soft, almost amused noise. “With the trench coat. You’re an angel now, you couldn’t find anything better?”

“I was wearing it when I was Called back to Heaven.” Cas explained, and a hand came up to cup Dean’s jaw gently, thumb running along his stubbled cheek. He added, “besides, I told you before, years ago, that I like it. So, when I changed the rest of my clothes, after I returned to Heaven, closer to their dress code, I kept my trench coat. For sentimental reasons. I’m still wearing my bracelet from Charlie, too.”

“I saw that, yeah.” Green eyes flitted down to his own wrist, where he had worn the leather cuff for so many years.

Cas followed his gaze, lips quirking just slightly. “You’re not wearing your cuff anymore. Did it finally break?”

“No. I…” Dean trailed off, avoiding Cas’s eyes, before trying again, “I took it off, a couple of years after you vanished. It was… it was painful. To wear it and think of you every time I saw it.” He admitted softly, looking almost ashamed, “I still have it, though, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I just… haven’t worn it in a really long time.”

Sadness flitted across Cas’s face. He had already known all of that, but this conversation was important. He sighed softly, resisting the urge to pull Dean into his arms. He didn’t think they were there yet; despite the fact they had already had sex a little over a week before. “I’m so sorry, Dean. That I put you through that. It wasn’t intentional, I had no choice, but… you suffered because of me. And I never wanted that. I only ever wanted you to be happy.”

And Dean knew that, really, deep down inside himself. He knew Cas hadn’t abandoned him on purpose, hadn’t left him willingly. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He was still wrestling with the fact that Cas was back after so very long—and not only that, that he wasn’t human as he had appeared to be for all the years Dean had known him before.

He was a freaking angel, and angels existed, and it was a lot to take. But speaking of angels…

“Hey,” Dean said, changing the subject entirely, much to his own private relief, “that… ringing in your ears. Was that…?”

Cas quirked a smile again. “It really was angels talking,” He informed Dean, “when I hit my head during the jorogumo Hunt it knocked something loose… or maybe back into place. I started hearing the other angels talking to each other. Not tinnitus, like the doctors said. More like Angel Radio, as my Father called it.”

“You were an angel all along.”

“So it would seem.”

“Tell me about it, Cas. Tell me about you.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I really do.”

Cas sighed and shifted slightly, pausing to think. “I’m countless eras old, and I’ve had many true forms. I’ve been around since the dawn of time, pretty much. Since before the Earth was even born. I was a warrior for God through it all. I fought and then commanded in his armies.” And ah, that explained the slightly hardened look in his eyes, now, Dean thought. Cas continued; “then, twenty-five years ago, I was ordered to come to Earth, but my True Vessel at the time, Jimmy Novak, was only a small child then. Five years old. He wasn’t ready. Being placed into an unready body was… traumatizing. My Grace was supressed. I lost my memories. I was… trapped, I guess, in this body. For lack of a better term.” He shrugged a little, “so I was placed with my Father, and he raised me into adulthood. I lived a normal, human life. I moved around a lot. Eventually I met you.”

He paused there with a fond little smile, “I fell in love, the way humans fall in love. So totally and completely. You were my everything. I would have given anything, everything for you, to you… I still would. But… when my Vessel was twenty-three, my body became ready and my Grace reawakened, and I was Called back to Heaven to Serve again. But you already know that part.” Cas hummed to himself before continuing; “loving you… it changed me, as a person. As an angel. I’m not the same Castiel that I was before my time on Earth. Before my time with you.”

“Loving you changed me, too.” Dean agreed, but then frowned, obviously bothered by something, and asked, “why were you ordered to come to Earth if your Vessel wasn’t ready?”

“I don’t know.” Cas told him truthfully, “I don’t question when orders are given to me from Heaven, from God.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Did you question your father when he gave you orders?”

“That’s different, I…” Dean started—then trailed off because it really wasn’t all that different, after all, when he thought about it. He glanced down—and finally lifted one hand up to touch against Cas’s chest, just tentatively at first, and then harder, until his palm was pressed there firmly, feeling the angel’s heart beating under it, reassuring. Or, his Vessel’s heart, anyway. Either way, it was Cas. “I really thought you were dead, Cas.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I never meant for any of this. And the last thing I wanted was to leave you.” Then, softly, “I loved you, Dean. With my entire being, with everything I had. I still do. I always have. I always will.”

“I…” Dean had already told Cas he still loved him, days ago, but it had been shouted in anger and frustration. Now he hesitated again. After a moment he flashed a little, fleeting smile and just offered, “same.” Then he adjusted, ever so slowly and carefully, to tuck himself against Cas’s chest, letting Cas wrap his arms around him delicately. “I really thought you were dead.” He repeated after a moment, head tucked under Cas’s chin, forehead pressed by his clavicle and voice slightly muffled. “I thought you were dead and I just… I died inside.”

“I saw. I watched you search and suffer. I suffered along with you.” Cas was speaking softly, afraid of breaking whatever spell had come over them. The sudden peace. “I cried for you countless times.”

“It just… became all about the Hunting. After I gave up searching for you.” Dean continued, and Cas fell silent again, “just Hunt after Hunt after Hunt, never ending, and the pointless sex, the booze, the loose women. Anything to forget about you. Until Cassie. And even that didn’t last. But no other men, I couldn’t…” Trailing off, he took a bit of a breath and swallowed slightly. “Then there was Yellow Eyes, and Dad dying… saving Sammy, bartering my soul. And forty years in Hell.” A weak chuckle, “turns out it was only four months of Earth time. And you—”

“I was the angel tasked with leading the army into Hell and rescuing you.” Cas agreed quietly. “And I think we both know why.”

“We do?”

“I would move Heaven and Earth for you, Dean. I would have done anything to pull you out of Hell. I would have sacrificed everything. You didn’t belong there. And my superiors knew all of that.”

“I’ve done bad things, Cas.”

“I know. So have I. Everyone has. That doesn’t mean you should be damned to an eternity in Hell.” Cas ducked his head to press a gentle kiss against Dean’s hair and murmured something he had told Dean countless times in their past together; “you are a good man, Dean Winchester.”

“I guess that should mean something, coming from an angel, huh?”

“Coming from me.”

Dean was quiet for a while, then, just absorbing that much of their conversation and feeling Cas’s chest rising and falling under where his head was pressed. They weren’t there yet, they had a long way to go, but this was a step up from the angry sex from before. It felt… honest. Real. It helped to soothe a part of Dean that had been raw and wounded for years.

For now, this was alright, though. They could take their time while Dean attempted to work his head around the fact that Cas was back—and wasn’t exactly human. He knew Cas wanted nothing more than to fall back into the way things had been before—his feelings for Dean had clearly not changed an iota in all their time apart—but for Dean it was more complicated. Cas had been able to watch over him, all those years, but to Dean, Cas had simply been dead and gone. It was hard to swallow that he had actually been there invisibly riding shotgun all along.

Dean pressed his forehead a little harder into Cas’s chest and in response Cas tightened his arms around Dean, just the slightest bit. “This is a lot, Cas.” Dean said finally, after a long silence, “coming back from Hell, and you coming back from the dead, and… just. Everything.”

“I know.” Cas replied, tone soothing, and rubbed one hand against Dean’s back gently. “We can take things as slow as you need us to.”

“We already screwed, Cas, that’s not exactly taking it slow.”

“Mm, but I mean from now on. Now that you seem more… settled. We’ll start out from the beginning, if you want, like we’re just starting to date again. Does that make sense?”

Dean actually laughed, just a little. “Making out under the school bleachers?”

That made Cas smile. “Well… maybe not that far back, exactly. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dean eased back a bit, lifting his head up to look at Cas again, his gaze mostly unreadable, but scrutinizing. Finally, he hesitated, then leaned in to kiss the angel, just lightly—then a little harder before pulling back again. “You know I still… I still… I never stopped…”

Cas hushed him with another gentle kiss. “I love you, too, Dean.”

As much as he was glad Cas wasn’t around right now, a hard as it was to be around him, Dean also kind of wished the angel was there so he could apologize, awkward as that apology would inevitably be. But he may have lost that chance already, all things considered. Cas might never be back. Again. Who really knew? For the time being, all Dean could do was wait it out.

He and Sam were currently on their way to Laramie, Wyoming, on the trail of a rather nasty sounding poltergeist. Bobby had sent them off on the job while he did some more research on their potential case in New Orleans. It was a long drive, but it was made mostly in silence. Dean could tell Sam wanted to ask him about a great many things, but the younger Winchester was trying to be respectful.

But he could only keep that up to a point.

They were reaching the turnoff for Laramie when Sam finally spoke up: “dude, you haven’t said two words since we left Pennsylvania. Did things go that badly with Cas?”

“No, Sam, they went swell.” Dean deadpanned, eyes still on the road.

“But did you get into an argument or something? We haven’t seen him in days.”

“Words were exchanged.”

“And?”

“And what do you want me to say, here, Sam?” Dean demanded, then followed that up by gritting his teeth and finally snapping; “we fucked, alright? We fucked and I was too hard, and I was too rough, and it was too impersonal, and then afterward I freaked out and kicked him out. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“First of all, way too much information, Dean! Second of all, that’s why he hasn’t been coming around?” Sam threw his hands into the air and let them fall back into his lap heavily, “you are such a freaking jerk!”

“I know, okay, I know!” Dean was white knuckling the steering wheel and privately apologizing to Baby for being too rough… which just reminded him of the problem at hand and made him tighten his grip even more. It would have been an endless cycle, if Sam hadn’t interrupted his thoughts with:

“You didn’t… hurt him, did you?”

“I don’t…” Dean still kept his eyes on the road, mostly, but glanced sideways at Sam just fleetingly. “I don’t know.” He answered truthfully. “I kicked him out before we could get into that. But he’s—he’s an angel, right? He—he heals.”

“I feel like it still counts, though, Dean.”

“No shit, Sam! I know! The entire thing was a—a mistake, I never should have—Goddamnit!” The elder Winchester cursed and banged a hand against the steering wheel, once again silently apologizing to Baby for it. “I’ve been kicking myself to Hell and back for it ever since, but I can’t do anything about it until he comes back. If he comes back.”

Sam was on his phone now, looking up motels in Laramie even while they had this serious conversation. “Turn left up here, there’s a motel a couple of streets down, looks like our kind of thing.” Then he paused before adding; “and once again, you’re a freaking moron. You swore you would never hurt Cas. You damn near killed yourself, trying to find him, and now that he’s back—”

“CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE.” Dean demanded loudly. “I just, I can’t—”

“SURE, DEAN.” Sam replied sarcastically, just as loud, even as they pulled into the parking lot of the motel he had been navigating them to. The neon sign was blinking Stargate Motel: Vacancies. Their room was probably going to be interesting. And by ‘interesting’ Sam meant ‘hideous.’ He shoved his phone into his pocket and looked at Dean pointedly. “How about you tell me how Hell was, huh? That’d be a great conversation, and I think it’s about time!”

“It was warm and balmy, like an oceanside vacation in Hawaii!” Dean snapped, before shoving his door open and leaning to grab his duffle bag out of the back seat; “I keep telling you, I don’t remember, Sam!”

“That is such bullshit, you’re just—” Sam broke off when they walked into the motel’s office and the two of them fell silent, though you could cut the tension with a knife. They were both glowering, the exact same expression on each of their faces. Sometimes it was easy to tell they were related.

The woman behind the desk glanced between them before clearing her throat and pulling out the booking ledger. She didn’t even bother to ask if they wanted a single bed or two, as most places did with them (it seemed to be a theme); “two queens is eighty-nine dollars a night.” She told them; “if you don’t want the cleaning staff to come in your room use the privacy signs provided. Check out is eleven a.m., cash, debit or credit?”

Dean paid for two weeks up front on his (admittedly fake) credit card, and then he went back out to the Impala to pull her around and park in front of room fifteen, all the way at the end of the motel aisle, while Sam chose to walk in an attempt to cool his head, carrying both his duffle bag and his shoulder bag with his computer in it—it wasn’t very far, anyway.

He was torn, really. Because in a lot of ways, he very much understood where Dean was coming from with the whole Castiel thing. Sam had been there for a lot of the searching, after Cas had gone missing. Had deferred his first year at Stanford to help Dean try to find Cas, and he had seen first-hand what Dean had gone through. But at the same time… Cas was back, now, and that was a good thing, and why Dean couldn’t see that past his own anger, Sam couldn’t understand. And the fact that he had potentially hurt Cas was… well. It was completely unbelievable. And yet there it was—Dean had not-quite-freely admitted it.

Sam assumed, and he thought rightly so, though he couldn’t be sure because Dean wouldn’t talk about it, that part of the problem was Dean’s entire tour in Hell. He was dealing with that at the same time as the whole thing with Cas—or not dealing with it, as the case may be—and it was making him twitchy, aggravated, angry, on edge. And Sam was sure—sure—that Dean was lying when he said he didn’t remember his time in Hell, but he had no way to prove it so all he could do was keep at it, keep asking, until eventually Dean decided to tell him. Be as annoying as possible, basically. He was good at that, he’d had practice; he was the younger brother.

But also…

Sometimes, he thought, he should give Dean a break. He had just spent four months in Hell, after all, and the love of his life had just come back from the apparent dead. So maybe he just needed some more time before…

Sam sighed. Yeah, okay.

When he got to room fifteen, the door was hanging open and Dean was already inside. Sam paused on the threshold because wow. The entire room was decorated with stars and mirrors, like a disco ball had thrown up in it. Sleeping in it would be interesting, indeed. Shaking his head, Sam stepped inside and closed the door behind himself, then double locked it out of habit alone.

Dean had already taken over the bed closest to the door, so Sam took the other one, dumping his bags on it unceremoniously. “Dean,” He said after a couple of minutes of tense silence, “I’m… sorry. I don’t know what you’re going through. How could I? So, I shouldn’t judge. I just… I’m worried. That’s all. About you, and about Cas, and about the whole Hell situation, so… I’m just sorry. I’ll try to be less… overbearing. Okay?”

Dean had been organizing his weapons, tucking his bowie knife under his pillow, but his hands paused at that, and he sighed out a long, somewhat shaky breath. “It’s just really complicated, Sammy. I can’t even explain it all, everything that’s going on in my head right now. It’s a freaking mess.” Then a pause followed by; “I’m going for food, you want anything?”

Sam looked at him for a long moment, like he really wanted to say something, before just starting to pull his laptop out of its’ bag with a shrug, “yeah, just grab me something. Don’t care what, as long as it has vegetables.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean pulled his keys back out, left his things strewn across his bed, and headed for the door. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind me.”

“Dude. I know motel safety.” Sam protested. “I’m twenty-six.”

“And I’m still older, so I still get to boss you around.” Dean came back, even as he was ducking out the door.

Sam resisted the urge to throw something at his back, a shoe sounded tempting—his inner child’s reaction to being talked down to—and instead headed over to bolt the lock and slide the chain-lock into place with a click. Basic motel safety was the first thing John Winchester had taught his sons when he had started taking them on the road with him; when Sam was a few years old, and Dean was old enough to watch after his little brother (most of the time.) It wasn’t something Sam was likely to forget any time soon.

Once the door was securely locked, Sam went to his duffle bag and dug out a container of salt, then proceeded to lay down a salt line along the bathroom window ledge and along the bottom of the door. He was just finishing that when a voice from back behind him in the room told him conversationally:

“You know that only works on demons and ghosts. Other things can still get in.”

Of course Sam knew that. He rolled his eyes and finished up the salt line he was working on. “Yeah, but it’s better than nothing, Cas.” When he was done, he straightened and turned around to face the angel, pausing to look him over for a long moment. He looked okay, at the very least; had a little, amused smile on his face. “Dean went out for food. He’ll be back in a bit if you want to hang around.”

That was where Cas’s mask slipped slightly. He glanced downward. “No, I… I can’t stay. I wanted to talk to you.”

Sam blinked, surprised, but then it clicked, and he asked; “about Dean?”

Cas nodded, not quite making eye contact. “I try to keep an eye on him; on both of you. But my duties in Heaven have kept me away for the last few days, and I haven’t been able to look in on him. When we last saw each other… it didn’t…” Trailing off, he sighed and shook his head, “I’m just worried about him. I want to know how he’s doing.”

“So stay and ask him yourself.” Sam suggested.

“I don’t think…” Cas began, then trailed off again before finishing with; “I doubt he wants to see me right now.”

And that was when Sam realized it: Dean hadn’t just hurt Cas during their last encounter, they had hurt each other, and of course neither of them was willing to take the hard first step towards talking about it. Dean was just being stubborn, emotionally constipated, but Cas was obviously worried about possibly doing even more damage. They were both clearly afraid of having their hearts broken again.

Sam didn’t envy either of them.

“Dean’s… you know how he is. He doesn’t like to talk about anything.” He told Cas after a short pause, “but… he feels terrible, about what happened the last time you were together. I know that much.”

“He told you?”

“Not the details. Are you alright?”

“Physically? I’m… I mean. Angels heal quickly. And he didn’t do much damage.” Cas shrugged one shoulder lightly and finally looked at Sam properly, “besides, he didn’t do anything I didn’t consent to.” It was obvious Cas had regrets, though, in the way he was standing, the way he was holding himself. “It’s my fault anyway, I shouldn’t have let things go that far… neither of us was ready.”

Sam crossed the room to take a seat at the kitchen table and Cas trailed along behind him, but refrained from sitting down himself, even when Sam gestured toward another of the chairs. “You had no way of knowing. Neither of you did.” When Cas didn’t respond, just glanced away, Sam sighed. “Look, he’s… dealing. But he’s barely hanging on, even if he won’t admit it.”

Cas looked down. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

“You really need to talk to him, Cas.”

“Sam, I can’t, I’ve tried explaining myself and I just… I don’t know what else I can say.”

“Okay, but at this point you have to try, Dean has been carrying a torch for you for thirteen years, he still is—” Sam broke off, making a frustrated noise, but when he opened his mouth to continue, he was interrupted by a banging on the door. He glanced over. “That’ll be Dean.” He told Cas. “It’s up to you.”

Cas hesitated while Sam got up and went over to open the door. When he unlocked it and swung it inward Dean was standing there with a bag in one arm and a case of beer in the other—and for just a split-second green eyes flitted past Sam to land on Cas. But then he blinked, and Cas was gone.

“Christ, I must be tired. I’m seeing things.” Dean muttered and pushed the bag of convenience store food—probably not a single vegetable in sight—into Sam’s hands as he made his way past his brother and into the room.

Sam just took the bag when it was shoved at him and made a disappointed noise when he turned around, and Cas had disappeared.

-- --

The poltergeist in Laramie turned out to actually be at the Public Library there, and Dean only made approximately fifty million Ghostbusters references when he found that out before Sam finally got sick of it and made him stop by threatening to spray paint the Impala pink. Dean had smacked him upside the head at just the thought, which had initiated a full-on slap-fight, which had led to a flailing wrestling match and eventually ended up with the two of them sprawled on the floor, huffing and glaring at the ceiling after a few minutes. So, typical Winchester sibling behavior. Afterward they sat down and had a beer together.

It wasn’t Dean’s first beer of the day, and it wouldn’t be his last. He was still fully committed to his Day Drinking to keep his mind of Cas, especially after what had happened the last time they’d been together. The guilt from that encounter still crawled up his spine every time he thought about it. He just tried to shove the memories deep under alcohol and Hunting as much as possible.

It was still their first day in Laramie, though the afternoon was now waning, and they didn’t have much in the way of plans for the evening—their investigation would start the next day after they’d (hopefully) had a good night’s sleep, but Dean had already started taping things up to one of the walls, particularly after they’d asked around at the diner they’d gone to for lunch and discovered the poltergeist was at the freaking library. (And that would never get old. Job of the century.)

But since actually going to the library was slated for tomorrow, that left today wide open. Sam was using it to have a wander around town. Dean explored long enough to find a liquor store and somewhere to buy pie and Funyuns before returning to the motel room and holing up there to work on the Wall and drink. It was basically a rerun of Hazleton, just with a different monster.

That evening, not actually drunk but pleasantly tipsy after a couple (admittedly heavily poured) glasses of whiskey and several bottles of beer in a very short amount of time, Dean fell into bed around one o’clock in the morning, making the most of the semi-comfortable mattress and the scratchy motel linens, and passed out for the night. Sam went to bed shortly after that, after cleaning up all of Dean’s empties and depositing his glass in the sink.

At exactly four o’clock in the morning Dean woke up from a terrible nightmare of fire and brimstone and all the worst kind of tortures, absolutely panicking, eyes flying open wide and grabbing hard at the bedsheets, breathing heavy and hard, open mouthed, chest heaving. Instinctively, he scrambled out of bed, trailing the sheets after himself and fumbled for his gun, then crowded back into the nearest corner, knees pulled up to his chest and face down in them as he tried to catch his breath, to staunch the flow of adrenaline.

And then there was a body beside him, easing close ever-so-slowly and settling next to his side. An arm looped around his shoulders. The room remained silent, but slowly his breathing eased off and his grip on his gun loosened—though something in him refused to actually let the weapon go.

He knew it was Cas beside him, he could feel it, could tell even without lifting his head or opening his eyes to look, but he still remained quiet for a long, long time before finally whispering shakily, muffled into his knees and the sheet still tangled around his legs, “…thank you.”

The arm around him tightened, and Cas pressed a gentle kiss against his temple, then murmured; “do you want me to stay for a while?”

It was a complicated thing, because he was still trying very hard to avoid Cas like the plague. But right now, after what he had just dreamed, with the things that were currently flashing behind his closed eyelids, he didn’t want to be alone. And he couldn’t wake Sam. Sam would only ask questions that he wasn’t prepared to answer yet. Couldn’t. But if Cas had rescued him from Hell, then he had already seen—he knew, and he wasn’t asking any of the difficult questions, at least not now, anyway.

So finally, Dean nodded his head against his knees mutely.

Cas settled closer into his side at that and leaned his own head down so his forehead was pressing by Dean’s temple. “I’ll stay, then.” And then, just quietly, a promise; “but I’ll be gone by morning. I know you don’t want me here in the morning.”

Dean hesitated before nodding silently again. He was still, just taking slow, deep, shuddering breaths for the longest time, before he began to list sideways without even meaning to, leaning into Cas’s side without even lifting his head. Cas just adjusted to accommodate him without a word, and Dean more than appreciated that.

It took a long time, but eventually Dean shook his head slowly, hair mussing against his knees, and asked hoarsely, “don’t you even want to know what this is all about?”

“I can guess what it’s about.” Cas replied softly, “and I know you’re not ready to talk about it yet, so I’m not asking.”

Dean finally let one arm drop down and set his gun on the floor with the muted sound of metal on shitty motel carpet and lifted his head slowly, then turned to tuck himself closer into Cas’s side. Even with all the bullshit that was going on between them at the moment, Cas still felt safe. Cas still felt like comfort. Cas still felt like home. Even after everything…

It was easy to relax into the angel beside him once he allowed himself to do so. Slowly the images of fire and torture began to fade to the background again, where he had been shoving them ever since escaping Hell—ever since being pulled out, rescued, by the only person he’d ever loved with every part of his wretched, damaged soul. And now that same person was there, unbidden, just because Dean needed him, needed to lean into him and feel his warmth and allow his light to soak into himself, even if just a little bit, to chase away the darkness for even a short time.

And it was a short time, only two and a half brief hours before the sun began to crest the horizon. They were both quiet the entire time, just leaning into each other, Cas holding onto Dean securely—until Dean actually drifted off to sleep again, head lolling against Cas’s shoulder. Cas easily allowed for it, adjusting to lean his head sideways against Dean’s and closing his eyes, trying desperately to absorb all the negativity and fear that was radiating off him, to replace it with warmth and love.

Eventually Cas had to leave, though; he had promised, after all. And when the sun began peeking through the windows of the motel room, he lifted his head, glanced down at Dean with a sigh, then carefully slid out from beside him, leaving him leaning into the corner, still asleep. Cas followed that up by ducking in and dropping a kiss against Dean’s forehead before straightening, standing, regarding Dean almost sadly for a moment—and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

When Dean woke up again it was alone in the corner he had huddled up in some hours earlier, the sheet still tangled around his legs, and Cas gone. If he had ever even been there to begin with. If he hadn’t been some desperate fever dream.

Sam was also standing over him, staring down at him with an obviously baffled expression on his face. “So. ‘Morning.” He greeted, and made a vague sort of gesture to Dean in his corner and—“what’s with the… gun?”

Dean just grumbled something inarticulate and untangled himself from the sheet, climbing to his feet and picking the pistol up off the floor, then leaving the sheet behind and heading over to tuck the gun away in his duffle bag again. “What time is it?” He asked finally.

“Just after nine.” Sam replied, still just watching him with that same confused expression on his face. He bent to pick up the sheet and carried it over to toss it on Dean’s bed. When Dean sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress a second later, Sam regarded him with concern. “Dude, what happened?”

“Nightmare.” Dean grunted after a pause, one hand up and rubbing through his hair. He only vaguely remembered what had happened the night before, he thought Cas had been there, but… that was impossible, right?

“Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare.” Sam commented, then; “I’m going for breakfast, you want me to bring you something?”

Just the thought of food made Dean’s stomach roll. He quickly shook his head, hands grabbing hard at the edge of the mattress. “Coffee. All the coffee. Like ten cups of coffee.”

Sam nodded slowly. “You should get cleaned up while I’m gone. You look like crap.”

“No shit.” Dean replied sarcastically, head down and eyes on the carpet by his feet. “Just go, Sam, I can take care of myself.”

Sam wasn’t so sure about that, all things considered, but he still grabbed his wallet and headed for the door, pausing on the threshold as if he wanted to say something else before changing his mind and heading out into the Laramie sunshine, closing the door securely behind himself.

Once his brother was gone, Dean relaxed minutely, shoulders slumping and posture easing slightly. Green eyes closed over, and he frowned to himself, trying to focus in on memories from the night before—but all he could bring up were memories of freaking Hell, which was not what he was going for. He was sure—absolutely certain—that Cas had been with him last night, but his mind was foggy when it came to trying to remember that particular fact. If it was a fact as all.

Abruptly, eyes still closed, he felt the bed dip beside him. Dean’s eyes blinked open and he glanced sideways to look at Cas, who was sitting there, just looking at him quietly. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but failed and swallowed thickly before trying again; “you were there last night, weren’t you?”

Cas smiled softly. “Yes, I was there.”

Dean looked away quickly. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

But Cas just shook his head; “you needed me, so I came. And I was gone when the sun came up, because I promised I would be, but… you seem to need me, still. So, I’m here again. I’ll always be here, Dean.”

“Except when you weren’t.” Dean accused weakly, almost automatically, though his heart wasn’t really in it this time around. “I don’t remember much about last night. I don’t remember you being here, not really. I mostly remember the nightmares. But I also remember comfort and reassurance, and… who else could it be but you?”

“I couldn’t just leave you like you were. I had to try to help.” The angel told him quietly, then; “will you be alright, Dean?”

Dean didn’t answer that question, just giving a vague shrug as a response. “Are you going to be here every time I have a nightmare?”

“I would like to be, but I can’t promise anything.” Cas replied reluctantly.

“Of course not.” The elder Winchester gripped tighter at the edge of the mattress for a moment before letting go entirely. “Just go, Cas. I’m fine.”

“But—” Cas began.

“Go.” Dean insisted. “I’m fine.”

Cas hesitated for another long moment, then leaned over to kiss by Dean’s jaw gently before standing—and vanishing with the soft ruffle of feathers. Dean just looked at the space where Cas had been only seconds before, expression unreadable, unsure how he felt, entirely, about Cas actually leaving, despite the fact that he had told him to go… but it was definitely a little like he had lost something again, deep down inside.

Cursing under his breath, Dean just pushed himself to his feet—he had work to do.

-- --

By the time Sam got back from the diner with two (not ten) cups of coffee for Dean and one for himself, along with his own breakfast, his brother was up and organizing the Wall, still in his boxers and the t-shirt he’d slept in, hair an absolute disaster, but working away diligently nonetheless, taping up the articles and clippings they had managed to gather up until now.

A new city, a new Wall Of Weird.

It wasn’t much so far, really, just stuff that Bobby had sent them and things they had snipped from the paper the day before, or printed from Sam’s laptop, but it was something and it kept Dean busy, kept his mind off of the million abysmal things that were rolling through it at any given moment.

“Yo.” Sam kicked the door closed behind himself and headed over to set everything on the table in the middle of the room, careful not to disrupt the little piles of papers Dean had set up strategically over half the surface area. “Coffee, dude. Can I move some of this stuff so I can eat my breakfast?”

“No.” Dean deadpanned, even as he taped up another article and then held out one hand, making a grabby motion toward the coffee, without even turning away from the wall. “Coffee me.”

Sam sighed heavily and pulled one of the cups of coffee from the tray, heading over to shove it into Dean’s grasping hand. His brother just grunted out a sort-of thanks, already opening the cup lid and bringing it up to take a long drink of the—frankly scalding—liquid. Dean had always been able to tolerate his coffee as hot as the freaking sun and Sam honestly had no idea how.

“You still look like shit.” Sam commented, heading back over to the table and pushing some little stacks of papers out of the way despite Dean’s warning. He sat down and flipped open the take-out container, unwrapping a fork and starting in on his food: scrambled eggs, a side of bacon and a small mix of fruit salad. “You need to shower and get your hair under control.” He told Dean around a mouthful of food, “also freaking shave, you look like you just came out of a year in the wilderness.”

“It’s not that bad.” Dean complained, lifting one hand up to scratch at what was maybe for sure the beginnings of an actual beard. Yeah. Okay, so it was that bad. He definitely needed to take care of it. Even Cas had commented, a few days ago when… “Sam, did you move my papers?”

“They’re our papers and yes, I made space so I could eat.” Sam didn’t budge an inch. He could practically see Dean’s eyebrow tick, even with the other man’s back turned to him.

Dean just took another drink of his coffee, though, and rather than bitch he offered; “thanks. For the coffee.”

A blink from Sam, surprise that Dean wasn’t giving him shit. He poked at his eggs absently for a moment, watching Dean quietly before giving a shrug and going back to eating. “Seemed like you needed it this morning.” And then; “are you… feeling any better?”

Just a brief hesitation, and then Dean made a soft agreeing noise. Having Cas around had helped, even if just a bit. Finally, he turned away from the Wall and headed over to drop into a chair at the table alongside Sam, trying to block out the smell of Sam’s food the entire time. His stomach still didn’t feel particularly great. “You got three coffees?”

“Yeah, because you asked for all the coffee, remember?” Sam rolled his eyes and reached for his own coffee, opening it up and taking a hesitant sip. It was still predictably boiling hot, so he took the lid off and set it down, leaving it to cool. Then he went back to his breakfast, pausing long enough to ask, “I know you said no to food, but do you want a piece of bacon or something?”

Dean’s eyes flitted down to the container of eggs and bacon in front of Sam, and he had to swallow against the bile that rose in his throat. He brought his cup up to inhale the scent of his coffee instead. “No, I’m good. I’ll get something later.” Then, after a pause, “I’m gonna… go get cleaned up.”

Sam regarded him speculatively for a moment before nodding. “Good plan.”

Dean set his half-finished coffee on the table, went to dig his shaving kit out of his bag, then headed through to the bathroom. Once inside, with the door firmly closed between himself and Sam, he leaned back against it and closed his eyes, trying like hell to keep himself grounded despite the images that were still flashing through his head—were always flashing through his head, just worse that usual right now.

Cas, though… Cas had understood. Or at least it seemed that he had. But that was something to think about at another time.

For now, Dean just got to work getting himself shaved (finally) and scrubbed down (finally), getting his hair back into a semblance of order (finally) before he wandered back out into the main room with a towel hanging around his hips, to dig through his things for a set of clean clothes. Or at least clean-ish. They had probably been worn at least once before, but they would do the job. He would need to do laundry soon, though.

Once he was dressed again, he tossed his wet towel in the general direction of the bathroom and rejoined Sam at the table. The younger Winchester had long since finished his breakfast and was now sipping at his coffee as he shuffled through the papers on the table in complete disregard for Dean’s “filing system.”

“You look like a human being again.” Sam commented idly without looking up when Dean joined him.

Dean went right back to his own coffee. “As opposed to what?”

Sam glanced up and lifted his eyebrows. “A bigfoot?”

“Bigfoot isn’t real, and you know it.”

“Okay, an artist’s interpretation of a bigfoot, then.”

“Screw you.”

“Right back at you.”

-- --

The Albany County Public Library, located in Laramie, Wyoming, was a two-storey building (not counting the basement) and really quite quaint, all things considered. Nothing like the New York City library in Ghostbusters, which Dean was once again humming the theme song for, Goddamnit.

Sam supposed he should just be happy that Dean was getting some small joy out of the little things again, considering how everything hadn’t been going lately. But still, it was annoying as hell and if his brother didn’t cut it out, he was going to snap him in half like a twig. Like a twig. It was going to be a long job, if this bullshit kept up, which if he knew Dean, and he absolutely did, it would.

“So, what’d you think, Sammy?” Dean asked as they stood outside the extremely nondescript looking building, under the lobby overhang out front; “should we be worried about the twinkie yet?” And then a lopsided smile and he shook his head; “nah, I’m not worried about the twinkie yet.”

“I am begging you, please stop with the Ghostbusters references.” Sam told him, mostly flatly.

Dean took a moment to ponder that before just shaking his head—“nope!”—and heading forward to go into the library proper. Sam trailed along behind him with an overworked-and-underpaid kind of look on his face. It was nice that Dean had decided to be in a good mood today, despite how it had started out, but this was potentially going to get ridiculous, Sam could already tell.

The first snag they hit was that the library had metal detectors—Sam assumed they had tags in all their books and movies, and this dissuaded thievery, a lot of libraries had them nowadays—but they went off immediately when Dean tried to go through because he was carrying an EMF detector in his jacket pocket. Luckily, he wasn’t carrying any weapons (and neither was Sam, guns and knives were useless against poltergeists) and the EMF detector Dean had grabbed that day was the one that looked like a jacked-up Walkman, so they were able to easily pass it off as such.

The elderly woman manning the front desk let them in with little complaint, just told them to keep their music down and went back to whatever she had been working on. Sam thanked her politely while Dean continued on farther into the library, looking way too excited to be around so many books. He didn’t normally even like to set foot in a library, always leaving that part of the job up to Sam.

After a brief discussion they decided to split up, and Dean headed upstairs to start checking the place top-to-bottom for EMF while Sam actually sat down at one of the microfiche stations to do research because, well, it just made sense, right? If there was ever a place for it… plus, he could keep an eye out for anything weird on (most of) the main floor as he worked, and an ear out for Dean in case he shouted for him. It seemed like a win-win situation as far as Sam was concerned. Two birds with one stone.

Dean, meanwhile, had made his way upstairs and dug out his EMF detector, popped the earbuds for it into his ears, then began systematically walking the rows of shelves, scanning for EMF as he went. For the first few minutes everything was normal, just baseline static, but Dean wasn’t about to let his guard down just yet. Not until he had swept every single inch of the building, in fact.

So, he went up and down the aisles of the (mostly) empty library, garnering odd looks from the few people he did come across—he just flashed them a winning smile and kept on going—and generally getting nothing but the occasional, small, predictable spike in the EMF… until he got to the gardening section, where his EMF meter abruptly went nuts.

All Dean could think was: freaking gardening, really? But he didn’t say anything out loud, tempting as it was, and risk garnering any more attention than he already was. Instead, he scoured the gardening shelves up and down, and got more than his fair share of readings from it. Gardening.

And then something bounced off his head hard, making Dean yelp out a startled “damnit, shit!” and whirl around to see what was behind him. But there was nothing; only a book, laying on the floor by his feet, as if someone had thrown it at him—but there was no one else around. He frowned and crouched down to scan the book—"The Flower Gardener’s Bible”—with the EMF reader, and the readings were off the charts.

Dean hummed to himself and picked the book up, only to discover black goo oozing from between its pages. Ectoplasm. Gross. He made a face and dropped the book back on the floor, then wiped his hand on his jeans, right about the time a handful of other books began easing off the shelves around him.

Dean’s eyes flicked around, clocking all the books that were moving on their own, and straightened up, standing again and saying out loud, lowly, “I don’t want any trouble, here. I’m just taking some readings. No biggie.”

The spirit inhabiting the Albany County Public Library didn’t seem to agree with his assessment.

The next thing Dean knew books were flying at him from all directions, and not just softcovers either—some of them were heavy hardcover tombs. Dean scrambled away from the gardening section and out into the main room of the second floor, dashing around tables and desks with books zooming at him from every direction until he slammed into the library catalogue cabinets for that floor—only to have several of the drawers shoot open, spewing ectoplasm and index cards everywhere.

Dean nope’d right the hell out of there. He ran for the staircase, books chasing him the entire way, and dashed down to the main floor, hurrying over to Sam. Once he was standing next to his brother, he cleared his throat, and Sam looked up—then paused. Because Dean was next thing to coated in slime, his hair was sticking up everywhere, bruises were already starting to form on some places he could see and probably other places he couldn’t, a black eye fading into existence, and index cards were stuck to his clothes.

But Sam did have to give it to Dean, his research had been spot-on (for the most part), considering he’d been drunk half the time he’d been doing it. And his Wall Of Weird—which, indeed, took up one entire wall of the motel room—was impressive. Their dad had taught them how to make Walls Of Weird, where they posted all the news articles, pictures and information they gathered on any given Hunt, but Dean had it down to a science.

Sometimes Sam forgot that Dean had honed his Hunting skills on the road by himself for a while; for a short time before Cas had disappeared, and then again after he had finally stopped searching for him, before their dad had gone AWOL and he had showed up in California to drag Sam back into the life and screw up the whole Stanford thing. Not that Sam blamed him for it, now, of course.

It was easy to forget that his brother had spent so much time Hunting alone, now that the two of them were such a practiced team. And it was especially easy to forget that he was perfectly capable of doing the brainy part of the job, not just the ass-kicking and swooping in to save damsels in distress. Though exactly how much of that last part would be happening now that Cas back was a pretty up-in-the-air question.

While he was working on the Wall, Dean seemed to be able to get his thoughts off of Cas and everything that was happening with that situation. He tacked things up with a single-minded purpose, organizing and reorganizing without regard for the motel wallpaper until everything was in its proper place and made total sense—to him, at least. And it would to Sam, as well, since they’d been taught in the same manner initially.

He had a beer on the go because he’d had a drink on the go incessantly for the last few days, relying on alcohol to get him through, but while he worked, he didn’t guzzle it like when he was left alone to let his thoughts spiral. Sam thought it was a good thing Dean had taken the research position this time after all, if it kept him from drinking himself into a stupor every day. He was still existing largely on pie and Funyuns, though, which definitely wasn’t healthy.

“Yo, I brought lunch.” Sam announced as he walked in the door, closing and locking it behind himself. He was wearing his Fed suit and had just come from the coroner’s office, where he had been inquiring about the latest victim under the name Agent Grayson. (Dean always got to be Agent Wayne when they used these IDs. They were the only superhero names Dean viewed as acceptable.)

Dean was staring at the Wall Of Weird, a little frown of concentration on his face as he rearranged a few articles before turning his attention to Sam—and the coroner’s report he was holding in his free hand. He held a hand out and demanded, “gimme.”

Sam chuckled and crossed the room to hand over the paper, and Dean gave it a quick once-over before turning back to the Wall and looking it over, then choosing just the right spot for it and pinning it in place. Meanwhile, Sam meandered over to the table and set the bag of food he was holding down, then loosened his tie before pulling it off and tossing it toward his bed. His jacket got hung on the back of a chair and he undid the top couple buttons of his shirt, then gave a little relieved sigh. Much better.

“Seriously, Dean, food.” Grabbing the bag, Sam opened it up and started pulling out containers, setting Dean’s down at an empty place and getting his own out as well, then crumpling the empty bag up and tossing it in the trash. He followed that up by sitting down at the table and opening his own food with a little eyeroll. “Dean.”

Dean moved the newest coroner’s report to a new spot on the Wall, but then finally turned around and came across to the table. He had a beer sitting there waiting for him, and he grabbed it and took a drink even as he was sitting down. Sam watched covertly while Dean opened the container with his burger, and then the second, smaller container, which of course contained—

“Sam.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Where are my fries?”

“You get a salad today.”

“Dude.”

“Dean, you haven’t even looked at a vegetable in days. You get a salad.”

“Dude.”

Sam was already getting out the fork for his own salad and slid another one across for Dean to take. “It’s a Caesar salad, Dean, it’s like the cheeseburger of salads. I literally got you the unhealthiest salad. And I got you a small one.” He reached over and patted one hand against Dean’s shoulder. “You can do this; I believe in you.”

“Freakinggggg… rabbit food.” Dean complained, but still picked up the fork and poked at the salad in front of him grudgingly. Because he knew Sam was just trying to look out for him, he knew he was being a royal pain in the ass lately, and he also knew that despite his unwavering belief, Funyuns simply didn’t count as vegetables.

In the end, Dean begrudgingly ate his salad, and he never would have told Sam, but it wasn’t even actually all that bad. It had bacon in it. And cheese. Still. He basically wolfed it down so he could move on to his burger, which he was looking forward to much more. Sam seemed satisfied at the very least.

He rinsed the Salad Taste out of his mouth with the last of his beer, then left the table just long enough to get another one. He offered one to Sam, but Sam turned it down, saying it was too early for him to start drinking quite yet. Dean just shrugged and returned to his chair with only the one beer in his hand. He’d gotten used to drinking alone as of late.

When they were done lunch, Dean didn’t even bother tossing his trash in the garbage can and just immediately went back to scouring the Wall Of Weird for clues, new bottle of beer in his hand this time. Sam sighed and tidied everything up before stripping out of his Fed suit and getting back into more comfortable clothes, then joining him in front of the admittedly impressive Wall.

“What are we thinking?” Sam asked his brother, hoping to initiate an actual conversation for the first time in nearly a week.

Dean muttered to himself for a moment before finally speaking up: “well it’s definitely a rugaru, but we were pretty sure about that coming in just from Bobby’s intel. Now we have to figure out where the thing is lairing up. Get in there and torch it.” He possibly sounded a little too enthused about the torching part, but Sam let it slide, considering. “See these three kills? They seem random, but when you compare them to the next two, and then the one from yesterday…”

“Ah. They’re all around the Our Lady of Grace Cemetery.” In kind of a rough semicircle, but the pattern was there if you looked for it. Sam reached out to touch the map in the middle of the Wall, tapping against it absently.

“Rugarus aren’t usually into denning, but it’s gotta have somewhere to go when it’s not out feeding. Not that that happens often.” Dean was frowning, eyes darting all over the Wall. Then he swatted Sam’s fingers away from his handiwork. “Hands off, Sammy, I’ve been working hard on this. Look with your eyes.”

Sam chuckled and poked at the Wall once, twice more just to watch Dean’s eyebrow tick before dropping his arm back to his side. “Well, at least we have somewhere to start.”

“But I dunno, Sam, something’s off…” Dean lifted his beer up and took a pull from it, then gestured toward some of the photos from the coroner’s office that they’d managed to get their hands on; corpses mangled beyond recognition, gnawed all the way down to the bones. “I mean, rugaru are vicious, yeah, and hungry, but some of these people were eaten all the way down to their skeletons in one go. That’s…”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Sam agreed, “but rugaru are voracious, so it’s possible, right?”

Dean didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah. Maybe.” Another long drink of his beer and he gave a kind of vague shrug with one shoulder, “either way we should check out the cemetery. We’ll go tonight, yeah?”

And he had said “we’ll”—meaning that Dean intended to go as well. That was a positive sign, that he was willing to leave the motel room, even if it was just for the job. He would probably insist on stopping for more beer and Funyuns on the way back, though, which Sam figured he should just accept as a fact right now, so he wasn’t blindsided by it later on. Baby steps, Sam thought, they had to baby steps this whole thing with Dean until he managed to make it through to the other side.

There was one thing, though…

“Dean.” Sam smacked a hand into his arm lightly and informed him; “I’m not getting into the car with you until you shower.” And then; “and don’t you bitch at me, it’s been three days, man. You’ll feel better if you get cleaned up, anyway.”

More grumbling. Dean was doing a lot of grumbling lately. But finally, he did agree and went to set his beer down on the table and head through to the bathroom. He did feel pretty grody, now that he actually thought about it. Then again, showering had been the farthest thing from his mind the past few days, if he was being honest.

“Don’t drink my damn beer while I’m gone.” Dean shouted from the bathroom.

“Like I’d want your gross bottle anywhere near my mouth, anyway.” Sam called back; “just brush your freaking teeth already.”

-- --

There really was no Best Time for Hunting a rugaru, but in general, if they were going to sleep, they did it at night. Very briefly, but they did it. They spent ninety percent of their time out hunting and feeding. So, the basic plan was to head to the Our Lady of Grace Cemetery that night after it was dark, probably around ten o’clock, and scope the area out.

Of course, there was every chance they were wrong about the cemetery and there wasn’t really a pattern at all, it was just wishful thinking. If that turned out to be the case, their little surveillance trip would come up with nothing and they would be back to step one all over again, but they would never know if they didn’t try.

Also, it was an excuse for Sam to get Dean out of the motel room for something other than alcohol and snack runs. His brother desperately needed some fresh air and exercise, along with the excuse to actually bathe. Depressed, angsty Dean really was all-around no fun and Sam had somehow forgotten about that fact.

To be fair, he had lost everything a long time ago and that grief had shaped a great deal of his personality afterwards. Hell, he couldn’t even look at a cat anymore, never mind that he was allergic to them. And now the everything he had lost was suddenly back? His entire sense of self was probably in upheaval on top of everything else. Sam knew it was a lot—he got that—but he also knew that cleanliness, fresh air and decent food were basic human necessities. At least Dean was still willing to put the job first.

The rest of the day they spent preparing for the upcoming mission and, for Dean at least, day drinking, because that had become his number one pastime. But not as much as was typical of him lately and just beer because he couldn’t be going into the field drunk off his ass. He could get drunk when they made it back to the motel safely afterward. (Sam, for his part, just stuck to shitty motel coffee.)

The hard part came when they were getting ready to prep the flamethrower units, because they had history with flamethrowers—with flamethrowers and Cas. He was the one who had first introduced them to the concept of homemade flamethrowers, way back in high school, back when he and Dean had first become a couple. The Winchesters (and Bobby) had improved on the design significantly since then, but of course they pulled up all sorts of memories for Dean, they always had. For Sam, too. But for Dean it was definitely more complicated. Especially now.

Now, tinkering with the firing mechanism on one of their flamethrowers, Dean had a pained frown on his face and a little pinched furrow between his eyebrows. After a moment he swallowed hard and set the unit down on the table, then stood and headed for the bottle of whiskey on top of the minifridge.

“Careful.” Sam warned, just a cursory reminder.

“I know.” Dean grunted in reply, and when he pulled out a glass, he only poured a scant serving of the whiskey into it. He did know he needed to stay sharp, it was just… some things hit a little too close to home lately, he was finding.

For now, he just returned to the table, whiskey in tow, to finish going over the flamethrowers in preparation for that night. Because bringing them and then not finding a rugaru would be a minor inconvenience, but not bringing them and finding a rugaru would be potentially catastrophic. Better to be safe than sorry—and as much as fixing up the flamethrowers brought up memories that made him want to get blind drunk, Dean couldn’t be sloppy about his work on them. It could literally be a matter of life and death.

So, he quite reasonably sipped at his whiskey while he tuned the flamethrowers up, got them ready for potential action, and when he finished off his serving he didn’t go back for more, despite how desperately he wanted to. Instead, he returned to his beer and its’ complete inability to get him intoxicated.

The job wasn’t complicated, but it could be delicate, making sure all the gauges were in proper order and that the firing mechanism wasn’t too tight or too loose; all of this could affect the function of the flamethrowers themselves, and a malfunctioning flamethrower was the last thing they needed on a rugaru Hunt. At least these ones were more reliable than those first ones, the ones they’d built in high school, as long as they were properly maintained.

Lighter fluid was still the fuel of choice for these things, and eventually after tinkering with both flamethrowers for over an hour, Dean went to one of their gear bags and pulled out the industrial sized can of the stuff, then returned to the table to fill them both up. Once that was done, he sat back and finished off his beer, then went to the minifridge to get another one and followed that up by going to stand in front of the Wall Of Weird, green eyes skimming over it as he brooded to himself.

Sam had been field stripping their guns, taking them apart, cleaning them and putting them back together again, because even though a bullet wouldn’t kill a rugaru, it would slow it down temporarily. He also sharpened Dean’s buck knife, because Dean never went anywhere without the thing, and it had been that way since he was twelve and their dad had given it to him.

Once he was done and had the rest of their weapons set on the table with the flamethrowers, ready to go, Sam went and poured himself another cup of what was possibly the worst coffee in the world and went to stand next to Dean, though he was less focused on the Wall and more on his brother.

“Hey.” He said finally, after a long silence, not trying to push, just trying to judge where Dean’s head was at; “how’re you holding up?”

Dean didn’t even look at him. “Stop treating me with kid gloves, Sam. I’m not a child.” He told him flatly. He had his arms crossed over his chest but uncrossed one to take a swig of his beer before crossing them again. “I can do the job, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s exactly what I’m worried about.” Sam admitted, tone serious, “you’re losing your shit right now, Dean, whether you want to admit it or not, and I don’t want either of us to get hurt out there.”

“I’m not losing my shit, Sam. I’m dealing.” Dean took another drink.

Sam gestured toward the beer bottle in Dean’s hand with the hand currently holding his own coffee. “This is your ‘dealing’?”

“I am a grown-ass man, Sam!” Dean snapped.

“Right, a grown-ass man who’s currently living on alcohol and Funyuns, not bathing for days on end, and hasn’t shaved in a week. Yeah, I caught that you didn’t bother today, either. At least you showered, which like, thank you.” Sam rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, making a bit of a face at the taste.

Dean bristled. “Oh, screw off, Sam. If the rugaru goes after you tonight, I’m just gonna let it eat you.”

Sam knew he was exaggerating. Dean would never actually do something like that. His expression went soft and a touch sad and he glanced away, eyes turning to the Wall Of Weird. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain, Dean.” He told his brother quietly. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Dean just shrugged with one shoulder but didn’t bother answering in words. Then he turned away from the Wall and headed over to the table to sit down again, hoping Sam would get the message and just let it drop. And this time he actually did, which was a relief—and also really rather a minor miracle. Sam’s tenacity was infamous, in certain circles. A good quality in a Hunter, but an annoying quality in a brother.

Sam continued studying the Wall Of Weird for a while longer before asking without turning around, “what time is it?”

Dean glanced at the digital clock on the stand between the two beds. “Quarter to ten.”

“Alright.” A sigh, and Sam turned to look at Dean, “we should get packed up and head out.”

Dean muttered an agreement and downed the rest of his beer, then set the bottle on the table to be tossed away later and stood, heading for one of their spare duffle bags. He dug it out from under his bed and returned to the table again, packing the flamethrowers and extra lighter fluid inside, along with a pair of flashlights, and quickly zipping it closed.

His gun got tucked into the back of his jeans, and once he shrugged into his jacket, his buck knife went into the inside pocket.

Sam, meanwhile, was making similar preparations, pulling his jacket on and tucking his own gun away, along with the demon-killing knife, because they basically never went anywhere without the thing. (Also, it was a genuinely good, sturdy knife and handy in a pinch.)

Once they were ready, Dean grabbed the duffle bag and they headed for the door, ducking out into the night and locking it behind them, leaving the customary ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the handle.

The bag was deposited in the back seat—carefully, of course, they couldn’t risk any damage to the flamethrowers—and Dean took the wheel as usual, but only because Sam judged him to be sober enough to drive. Granted, he had been drinking, but to Dean beer was barely stronger than water, plus he’d only had the one shot of whiskey. And he’d definitely driven under worse conditions before.

The drive to Our Lady of Grace Cemetery was made in silence and with the familiar undercurrent of tension that came along with going on any Hunt—or surveillance job, in this case. It was an anticipatory kind of anxiety that coiled in your stomach and made something in your chest curl and twist uncomfortably. And yes, they were Hunters, and they were supposed to be brave, but there was a difference between bravery and bravado, and ignoring your inner warning signs, your gut instinct, could potentially get you killed.

Something about where they were going, what they were about to do, wasn’t sitting well with Dean, and all of his alarm bells were ringing as he drove. There was something not right about this job, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what, so he was going into this with all his senses and instincts turned up to the highest level. He just hoped Sam was psyching himself up for tonight the same way.

When they approached Our Lady of Grace Cemetery, Dean made the executive decision to park three blocks away and leave the car there. They could hoof it the rest of the way, and the Impala’s engine might spook anything that was hanging around the cemetery proper—better safe than sorry, when it came to that. Missing a target because of the damn car (sorry, Baby) would be more or less a disaster, something their dad never would have tolerated so Dean wouldn’t either.

So, Dean grabbed the duffle bag from the back seat, locked the Impala down securely, then pocketed the keys and they headed off on the short, three-block uphill hike to the cemetery for what was supposed to just be a simple reconnaissance mission.

When they got there, the gates were predictably locked (it was after ten o’clock at night, after all) and they had to climb the fence to get inside, Dean hauling the duffle bag on his arm even as he clambered over to the other side. Once they were both inside the cemetery proper, Dean quickly unzipped the bag and handed one of the flamethrower units and a flashlight to Sam, then grabbed the second unit and flashlight for himself. He stashed the mostly empty duffle in the bushes, then, and the two of them set off to do a sweep of the cemetery grounds.

They worked in a loose grid pattern, up and down the rows of headstones and finding nothing—so they moved on to the tombs.

Searching tombs was a hit-and-miss kind of thing; ninety-nine percent of the time all you found were old bones, but that other one percent of the time you found something hideous or disgusting or, you know, both. There was also the chance of finding something that just ripped your head clean off your shoulders with no preamble, too. Dean and Sam were both privately hoping against that last one.

Fingers crossed for puppies. Dean thought privately as he ducked into the first crypt, while Sam checked out the one next door. He shone his flashlight around the tomb: the burial vault was intact, just a little crack along one corner of the lid, probably caused by the cement settling, and the floor was clean aside from some dead leaves and other plant debris. Nothing here.

Dean climbed back outside and glanced to the side about the same time as Sam was emerging from the tomb he had been investigating. He shook his head. “Just a dead raccoon.”

Dean shrugged. “More than I found.”

They moved on to the next tombs, again, each taking one and heading inside. And again, all Dean found was a crumbling burial vault and nothing more than that. Sam, on the other hand, apparently found something more significant, if his rather abrupt shouting from the crypt next door was anything to go by. Dean scrambled back out into the night air just in time to see Sam stumble out of his own tomb—with a freaking rugaru hanging onto his back like a monkey, biting at his shoulders and neck the entire time.

Obviously, Sam couldn’t exactly use his flamethrower on something latched onto his own back, and Dean was in much the same position: he didn’t want to barbecue his brother, after all.

In the end it was a split-second decision and Dean dropped the flamethrower and flashlight to dive at Sam, grabbing hold of the rugaru and wrenching, bodily prying it off of Sam and heaving it backward, back into the tomb it had come out of. Dean then scrambled to snatch up his flamethrower again, but by the time he had it in his hands and ready to go, the rugaru had already darted out of the tomb and past them into the graveyard proper.

Dean hurried over to Sam, who had bites all up and down his shoulders and neck through his shirt, blood soaking into the fabric. “You still good for this, Sammy?”

“Yeah… yeah.” Sam assured him, working his shoulders with a wince, “I’ll survive. Let’s just get this thing before it escapes.”

They dashed after it, chasing the rugaru through the maze of tombstones and out into a more open part of the graveyard—a field that would hold future graves. The creature whirled on them, snarling and gnashing its teeth, eyes black as night and all pale, wormy skin, and Dean brought his flamethrower up, digging in his pocket for his lighter to light it—

And something collided with his back hard, sending him crashing forward into the grass and knocking both the flamethrower unit and the lighter out of his hands. Dean wheezed a curse, the breath knocked out of him, even as the second freaking rugaru dug its teeth into the back of his shoulder, biting right through his shirt and deep into his flesh. And suddenly it made sense, why the bodies were so thoroughly ravaged, down to the bone: there were two of them. That never happened; rugaru hunting together. Except, apparently, when it did. Dean grunted out a pained noise and shoved, rolling over and scrambling to get to his feet.

He wasn’t very successful. Just as he was gaining his footing, the rugaru slammed into him again and he crashed onto his back. A few feet away, Sam was in a similar struggle with the first rugaru, flat-out on his back, one hand grasping at the thing’s neck and the other arm up to ward off its teeth, which were making absolute mincemeat of his forearm, the rugaru carving out huge bites of flesh and swallowing them ravenously.

“Sam—” Dean struggled under the rugaru that was currently pinning him down, panic beginning to rise in his chest, and he turned his head to look toward Sam—only for the rugaru overtop of him to lunge down and clamp its teeth into the side of his neck, then yank its head back, ripping a huge chunk out of his throat; muscle, tendon and artery included.

Dean made a choked coughing sound; one hand flew up to cover the injury, which was now gushing blood everywhere, while the rugaru continued biting at him, tearing pieces of him away and swallowing them hungrily.

And was this it? Was he about to bleed to death under a Goddamned rugaru, of all things? After everything?

Then, overtop of the pounding of rushing blood and the struggle, there was the distinct sound of beating wings, and something grabbed at the back of the rugaru on top of him and hauled it bodily off Dean. Green eyes fluttered closed. He was starting to feel weak and sluggish. But even behind closed eyelids he could see the flare of light… and then another one, a little to his left, a moment later.

When Dean managed to crack his eyes open again, Cas’s face swam in front of him—and then Cas reached out to touch his forehead, and a split second later all of Dean’s wounds were miraculously whole again. Cas then stood without a word and moved across to Sam, where he did the same for the younger Winchester. Both of them basically collapsed back into the grass once they healed, just… taking a minute.

“Dean.” Cas returned to his side, and Dean had to open his eyes again—he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them once more. Now Cas was kneeling next to him and reached one hand out to cup his jaw gently, completely ignoring all the sticky blood that was smeared across Dean’s skin. “You should be okay, now.”

Dean just grunted softly and swallowed, then pushed Cas’s hand away and carefully climbed to his feet. Cas eased back to give him room, then stood again as well. Dean looked around and made note that Sam was just getting off the ground, himself. There was a lot of blood, but he was in one piece again, at the very least. Dean wondered if he looked like he’d stepped out of a bloodbath, too. Probably.

Either way, the two rugaru were dead, their eyes nothing but burnt-out pits, and Cas just gave them both a smile before vanishing into the night, leaving them to gather up their things and head back to the motel to get cleaned up. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about anything that had just happened, if he was honest with himself (which he rarely was.)

At least one thing was predictable tonight: the Impala was still waiting, three blocks from the cemetery, parked where they had left it earlier that night, just waiting to take them back to the hotel.

-- --

When they got back to the hotel room, both of them still rubbing at places where they’d had chunks of flesh bitten out and then subsequently healed, Dean opened the door and flicked on the lights only to find Cas sitting in a chair at the little kitchen table. Dean stopped in his tracks and swore under his breath, and Sam actually ran right into his back, then made a startled noise and asked, “what the hell, Dean?”

“Freaking… angel.” Dean stated flatly, then forced himself to keep moving, striding farther into the room even while Cas’s eyes tracked his every movement. He crossed over to dump the duffle bag next to his bed, specifically avoiding eye contact with Cas, though he did mutter, “thanks. For earlier.”

“Of course.” Cas responded with a small smile, still not getting up.

One of Dean’s hands came up to the side of his neck, holding against where the rugaru had literally ripped his throat out, feeling the skin there, the pulse there, strong and healthy—but what if Cas hadn’t come? What if Cas hadn’t made it in time? And Sam. Sam had been just as bad off. If Dean had died, Sam would have, too, torn apart by two freaking rugarus. Devoured whole. Bones and all, maybe, until there really was nothing left.

Now, Sam stood in the doorway and hesitated because neither Dean nor Cas were asking him to leave, but it was very clear, at least to Sam, that Cas wanted to talk to Dean—and preferably alone. Dean probably wasn’t down for that, but finally, after a long, long pause, Sam came farther into the room, closing the door behind him, and changed his shirt before he started gathering his belongings up.

“I’m going to get another room for the night.” He told his brother when Dean gave him an odd look; “I’ll be back tomorrow, don’t worry.”

For just a split second, Dean looked stricken, like he wanted desperately to protest, but in the end, he just fixed his expression to a carefully schooled neutral and shrugged, responding, “yeah, whatever.”

There were a few awkward minutes as Dean sorted through the duffle bag distractedly and Sam packed his meager belongings up for the night. Then Sam and his laptop were gone, and Dean and Cas were alone in the motel room, which was absolutely the last thing in the world Dean wanted right at that moment. Cas, on the other hand…

“Dean.”

Dean’s rummaging paused for just a beat before picking up again, his hands digging through the duffle bag in front of him with single-minded purpose but conversely absolutely no clear path. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just something—anything—to keep his mind off Cas and the fact that the angel was still in the room with him.

After a hesitation, Cas stood from his seat at the table and took a couple of steps toward Dean, stopping when Dean visibly tensed up. “Dean,” He tried again, “I think… we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” Came Dean’s curt reply. He straightened up, but still refused to look at Cas properly. “I can’t talk about it. I just. No. Alright?”

“It’s not alright, though, there’s things we need to talk out, things I need to explain, and—”

“Cas. Stop.”

“I just saved your life, saved Sam’s life, all I ask is that you listen for a minute—”

“Please, I am begging you, just stop.”

“But if you’ll just listen, I think, I hope—”

“Cas, I can’t!” Dean snapped, an almost pleading tone to his voice.

Cas shook his head, clearly not understanding; “but why—?"

“BECAUSE I STILL FUCKING LOVE YOU, GODDAMNIT CAS!” Was Dean’s shouted reply.

Cas fell back a step, like he had been pushed, his breath catching in his throat and his eyes widening as he stared at Dean, who was heaving now—and clearly just realizing what he had just said—yelled, really. His mouth worked silently and then he looked away again, tensing as if to make for the door.

But before he could flee, though, Cas was moving, crossing the few steps between them and grabbing hold of Dean’s bloody shirt, and when Dean looked back at him in surprise, Cas leaned in and crashed their mouths together, kissing him hard, bordering on desperately.

There was a brief pause, a moment of stillness—and then Dean was kissing back just as frantically, hands grabbing at Cas and pulling him closer, tight against himself. They traded kisses, hot and panting against each other’s mouths until Dean began stripping Cas out of his coat and Cas just went along with it, letting it fall to the ground as he, in turn, shoved at Dean’s ruined flannel overshirt.

The rest of their clothes followed in quick succession, practically torn from their bodies and flung all over the room until they were stripped bare and tumbling into Dean’s bed together, the old frame creaking at the sudden weight, the mattress springs squeaking in complaint.

They landed with Cas over Dean, but Dean quickly rolled them, flipping them over so he was on top of Cas instead, and Cas was more than fine with that. He just arched his body up against Dean’s and then dragged Dean back into another kiss with a muffled moan.

Dean broke off the kiss quickly to trail messy kisses along Cas’s stubbled jaw—and that was new, the stubble—one hand sliding between them to grope at the angel’s cock. Cas groaned and bucked into the touch—he hadn’t been touched like that in a millennia and Dean’s hand on him felt so, so good.

Meanwhile the man on top of him was kissing down his chest, along his abdomen, and paused to lick at the head of Cas’s dick, making him jerk again. Dean nudged at Cas’s legs, obviously not wanting to draw this out too much, and that was fine with Cas because he was sure he wouldn’t last very long anyway. He dropped his hands to tangle his fingers in Dean’s hair and pulled with a moan.

And then Dean realized: he had stopped carrying lube with him everywhere a long time ago. He looked up at Cas for a long moment, then grumbled and crawled back up the length of his body, rolling to the side and flopping on his back next to him. “We don’t have any—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Cas vanished. He was gone maybe two minutes, and he was back quickly, a tube of lubricant in his hand and embarrassment written all over his face. “I was briefly naked in a pharmacy in Wisconsin.” He told Dean, then just shoved the lube into Dean’s hand. Further explanation wasn’t needed. Dean almost laughed.

“Did you steal this?” He asked instead.

“Technically?” Cas hedged, then changed his mind and just nodded, a somewhat chagrined look on his face. “I—yes. I probably definitely did that.”

This time Dean couldn’t help laughing, and he thought the mental image of Cas appearing nude in a Walgreens just long enough to swipe a tube of lube and disappear again might stick with him forever. Cas glared at him a little while he chuckled, his face the slightest bit red, and that just made it funnier.

Eventually Cas just grabbed at him and dragged him over on top of himself again, pulling him into another hard kiss just to shut him up.

Things immediately fell right back into the way they had been before he had briefly left; harsh, hard kisses and Dean’s hands all over him until he sat back to uncap the lube and slick up his fingers and Cas hurried to part his legs and bend his knees to make what was about to happen easier.

Dean pushed two fingers into him immediately and it was… rough. Cas swallowed a little pained sound and grunted softly when Dean didn’t slow down, shoving deep and quickly beginning to part his fingers and stretch Cas out. It was uncomfortable. Dean had never done things this way, in the past. He had always been careful and gentle. And it had been a long time, since the last time. Cas didn’t complain, though, just pushed his head back into the pillows and gripped his hands tight in the blankets.

The third finger was added perhaps a little too soon, Dean obviously impatient, frustrated, and Cas couldn’t blame him for that either. He unclenched one hand from the covers and lifted it up to fist in Dean’s hair, pulling a bit and making Dean mutter under his breath; “always with the hair pulling…”

Cas didn’t bother apologizing, instead just tugging again as Dean pushed his fingers deeper, the stretch still uncomfortable, bordering on painful, and continued working him open for another couple of minutes before finally pulling his hand away. Cas swallowed hard and shifted his legs father apart—but Dean made a soft negative noise and grabbed at Cas, manhandling him over onto his stomach and then pulling his hips upward and oh. Oh, okay.

Dean positioned himself behind Cas while Cas levered himself up onto his hands and knees properly, hands holding tightly against the angel’s hips, fingers digging in. And then he pushed his cock into Cas’s body swiftly, hard and deep, with no easing into it, no preamble, making Cas wince and hiss, head falling forward as he bit his lip hard. This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted his reunion with Dean to go. But if this was what Dean needed, this was what Dean needed, and Cas was in all the way.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when Dean started fucking into him, hard and rough, jostling him harshly against the mattress. And Cas just grunted and closed his eyes, allowing the rough treatment because he knew where it was coming from—a place of deep, deep hurt. A place of pain.

Beyond the pain of Dean pounding into him with less than proper preparation, though, there was the pleasant ache and fullness of being fucked wide open for the first time in forever, of Dean’s cock accidentally colliding with his prostate now and then and making stars spark behind his closed eyes. Cas began rocking back into Dean’s thrusts, jolting them together even harder—and then all bets were off.

The rest was a bit of a blur, Dean fucking into him harshly, almost viciously, and Cas giving back just as good as he was getting, in his own way, trying to make it as good as possible for Dean, at the very least—until he felt his orgasm begin to creep up on him, and moved a hand down to grasp at his own straining dick, beginning to stroke himself off while working Dean to his peak as well.

Cas came with a wrecked cry a short time later, spurting pearly come across his own hand and the sheets under him before quickly returning to bracing on both arms while Dean continued his rough thrusting… until his hips began jerking out of rhythm, and he finally shoved deep and held there, coming hard inside the angel beneath him, offering only a grunt and a quiet mutter as proof of his pleasure.

This time Dean didn’t drag things out like he had tended to in the past; he pulled himself out of Cas’s body and flopped down onto his back, at the same time as Cas collapsed sideways onto the mattress, shuffling around into his back to look up at the ceiling, breathing hard. He hadn’t felt that in ages…

After a moment, Cas glanced sideways at Dean, then tentatively turned over to ease himself up into the man’s side, tucking himself there just like the old days. Where he had always felt like he belonged. Dean didn’t protest, simply silently wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Cas slid an arm over his chest with a soft sigh. That was progress, at the very least, even if the sex itself had been... well. It had just been.

They stayed like that for quite a while, not speaking, just breathing together in the silence of the room, before Cas mustered up the courage to say something and murmured softly: “you need to shave.”

“I haven’t shaved in a few days, yeah. You used to complain about that when we were younger, too.”

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t like me too stubbly.”

“I like you too stubbly just fine right now. I’m stubbly nowadays, too.” Cas smiled a little. “I’ve missed being close to you, Dean.”

“You mean the sex?” Dean asked blandly.

“Well… yes, that too, I’ve always loved sex with you. But I was talking about the emotional part.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Dean shifted, pulling away and sitting up on the edge of the bed, hands braced against the mattress. “That’s more complicated, Cas.”

Cas understood that. Dean may still love him, but he didn’t think Dean trusted him anymore, not after everything. And it would take a lot of time, a lot of work to earn back that trust. He had broken Dean, in more than one way, by leaving the way he had, by letting him think something terrible had happened to him, and Cas just hoped, someday, he would be able to help Dean pick up the pieces again. He wouldn’t blame him if it never truly happened, though.

“Your scars are gone.” Dean commented after a moment, back still to Cas; “the ones from the jorogumo.”

“Yes. But so are yours,” Cas pointed out softly, laying on his back again, a distantly familiar, throbbing ache between his legs. It had been a long time since the last time he’d had sex. And he’d never had it that rough. The pain would fade quickly, though. “Except for my handprint.”

Dean had been reborn after his time in Hell completely whole and new again, bearing none of the physical scars Cas had been so well acquainted with in the past. He had known it would be like that, but seeing Dean’s skin so blemish free was still a bit of a shock to the system. It took him aback. As did his own handprint, burned into Dean’s flesh.

They were both entirely different people, Cas supposed, but at the same time somehow neither of them had changed. Deep down, Cas could see that Dean was still the man he had loved for so long—millennia, in Heaven’s time. Thirteen years all together, on Earth. Either way it was an eternity.

Dean brought one hand up to rub against his own shoulder, the movement almost self-conscious in nature. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what had just happened. Certainly, it had felt good in the moment—sex with Cas had always been amazing—but now that it was over, something uncomfortable was coiling in his chest. He didn’t like it, didn’t like the divide between them, now, the separation. But after everything that had happened it was hard for him to look past it all, to just move on as if it hadn’t occurred.

“I know you can’t forgive me yet,” Cas said, as if reading his thoughts, “and I don’t expect you to. What happened was… unforgivable. I should have…”

Dean dropped his hand away from his shoulder and grit out, “you should have what, Cas? Left me a note? Maybe dropped in to tell me you weren’t freaking dead? I searched everywhere for over a year and a half trying to find you, to figure out what happened to you, and you were, what? Just upstairs the whole time, watching me lose my Goddamned mind?”

“Dean,” Cas protested softly, pushing himself to sit up finally, “it wasn’t like that. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t have a choice. Yeah, you’ve said that. But guess what, Cas? That doesn’t make it okay!” Dean was shaking slightly now, emotion radiating off him, but when Cas reached out to touch his back gently, he jerked away, shaking the angel’s hand off. “Look, this was… this shouldn’t have happened. You should go.”

Cas drew his hand back, blue eyes flitting over Dean’s form, before he finally sighed and climbed out of the bed, pulling his clothes on quickly and hesitating just briefly before saying quietly, “goodbye, Dean”, and vanishing from sight.

Even though he was no longer in the room, he could see the moment Dean’s walls crumbled away and the man he loved with everything he had finally broke down into near-silent tears.

-- --

Cas watched from above as Dean cried into his own hands, quiet sobs raking his body, and guilt crawled up his spine because he was the cause of it—and there was nothing he could do to help Dean, to comfort him, as much as he wanted to, at least not at this particular moment. Not with how things were now.

When Uriel stepped up beside him, Cas was silent, just waiting, know what was coming.

“They’re hairless apes, Castiel, how could you let him do those things do you?” Uriel’s tone was one of abject disgust.

And there it was. Cas sighed. He heard things along these lines about his time spent with the Winchesters often from his partner, recently, just usually not quite so… personal. “What I do with my Vessel is my own business, Uriel. You’d do best to mind yours.”

Uriel made a face. “It’s filthy.”

“It’s just sex.” Cas informed him, “it’s natural.”

“Maybe for humans, but not for us. We are above that.” Uriel sniffed.

“Obviously not all of us.” Cas knew for a fact he wasn’t the only angel out there who indulged in the occasional bout of clandestine coupling, either. “And you’re forgetting, I used to be human. A part of me still is.”

“And is that going to be a problem, Castiel?” Uriel asked.

Cas could sense Uriel weighing him, somehow, with those words. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes at the other angel. “It is not your place to question me, Uriel.” He said firmly, almost snapping the words. “I suggest you remember where you stand.”

Uriel hesitated before nodding slightly. “We should go.”

They had work to do before Cas could return to the Winchesters and Dean once more, but Cas had to admit, it was good that he would be gone for a while. Dean needed some time apart from him. Having sex had obviously been a mistake, no matter how much they had both apparently wanted it at the time. And as hard as it was to stay away, Heaven’s orders were a good thing this time. Something to distract Cas from the constant pull he felt to return to Dean’s side.

He would go back in a few days when Dean had hopefully calmed down a bit.

“Let’s go.”

When they got to Hazleton, they stopped for food at the first diner they came across and while they were there Sam asked about local motels—Dean still remained staunchly silent. Sam ordered them burgers to go because obviously Dean wasn’t in any state to be around, well, people, and when their food was ready, he handed over one of their fake credit cards, then smiled and thanked the waitress before they ducked back out and headed for the car again.

On their way to the motel, Dean pulled into a convenience store, got out of the car, slammed the door hard behind himself, and went inside. He came out with a case of beer and a bottle of whiskey and Sam was officially worried again. He bit his tongue for the rest of the drive, though, not wanting Dean to road rage them into a wreck.

The motel they ended up at was maybe a little more run-down than their usual motels, but it was better than squatting in derelict buildings as they had done occasionally in the past (and would likely do occasionally in the future.) Sam once again took the lead and went into the office to pay for a room for them for a few days, then came out with a key, climbing back into the Impala for Dean to pull around and park in front of room number eleven.

Once they were parked by their room, Dean got out of the car, took his beer and whiskey from the back seat, and walked over to wait for Sam to open the door, leaving his brother to grab both of their bags and follow. Sam hurried because he didn’t think Dean would tolerate anything less.

Unlocking the door, he swung it inward, then stepped aside to let Dean in ahead of himself before following, hauling both their duffle bags as well as his shoulder bag and the bag of take-out burgers. He kicked the door closed behind them, then dropped the duffles on the floor and turned to lock the door securely, strictly out of habit.

With the door locked, he turned back around, and Dean was shoving some of the beer into the minifridge. When he was done with that, he stood for a moment, practically vibrating with energy, before starting to pace up and down the room and mutter to himself. Sam gave a concerned look and dragged their bags into the room properly, dropping his on one bed and Dean’s on the other, then taking the bag of burgers over to the table.

“Dean.”

Dean’s pacing paused, just a slight hesitation, before picking up again. “What.”

“You’ve been like this since Bobby’s place. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Sam frowned. He took a seat at the table to watch Dean pace. “Dean, what exactly happened when you tried to summon that thing? You said it didn’t show up, but it did, didn’t it? What aren’t you telling me?”

Dean muttered to himself for a long moment before finally grudgingly admitting. “no, it definitely showed up.”

“And?”

“AND IT WAS CAS.”

“Wait—what? What do you mean it was Cas?” Sam demanded incredulously. “Cas like—like your fiancée, Cas?”

“I mean it was Cas!” Dean snapped in response. And suddenly all of Dean’s off behavior made sense. He was still pacing the hotel room like a caged animal, anger just rolling off him in waves. “But it wasn’t Cas! It couldn’t be Cas! Cas is long dead! It’s a shifter or something else and it’s freaking impersonating Cas, after all these years, after all this time, after all the—the searching and the grief and the loss and the heartache, this son of a bitch shows up wearing Cas’s face and—and thinks I’m just gonna go all heart eyes and completely—”

He broke off there and dropped down into a chair at the kitchen table opposite Sam. The bag of take-out burgers was still there, and he ripped into it, pulling one out and angrily unwrapping it before taking a bite. When he tried to swallow it, though, it stuck in his throat and he unceremoniously dropped the burger back onto the table, got back up, and went to the fridge. He needed a beer. Or several. Yeah, preferably several.

“Dude, are you actually turning down a burger?” Sam demanded.

Dean had already opened his first beer and was actively trying to down it in one go. He stopped drinking to glare at Sam. “The love of my life just popped back up after seven years of being totally MIA, Sam! Yes, I’m turning down the burger!” Then, in a mutter, “feels like my stomach is twisted into knots, anyway.”

“Understandable.” Sam watched Dean finish off his beer in record time and pull out another one and sighed, “did he say anything else?”

“Yeah, that he’s an angel of the freaking Lord.”

“I’m sorry, a what now?”

“Exactly.” Dean took a deep pull from his second beer and scrubbed his free hand down his face before pushing the heel of his palm into one eye, a frustrated gesture. “It’s… it’s insane, right? I’m just insane now. Totally insane.”

Sam gestured for Dean to join him at the table again, hopefully before he started pacing once more. He was practically wearing a groove in the floor. Dean eyed the chair for a second and then stepped over to sit down again, setting his beer on the table next to his abandoned burger. Sam studied him thoughtfully for a minute before asking, “did he feel like Cas?”

“I didn’t touch him, dumbass! I mean, he helped me up, but that was all.”

“You know what I mean.” Sam rolled his eyes and reached out to poke Dean in the chest right over his heart. “You of all people know what Cas feels like.”

Once it clicked what Sam was saying, Dean had to actually stop and think about it. Because his knee-jerk response had been disbelief and anger, yes, but deep down there was a part of him that knew, somehow, that the person who had been standing in front of him, claiming to be Cas… was Cas. Was actually Cas, the whole angel thing notwithstanding.

“It felt… like standing next to Cas again.” He admitted reluctantly, somewhat gruffly, and picked up his beer, this time taking a normal drink of it before setting it back down again. “He has a very… different kind of feel to him, to me, unique. Always has. I’d recognize it anywhere. But this Cas felt...” Dean shook his head, frowning, “tougher, more powerful, just… maybe not entirely human.”

“Maybe not human at all.” Sam suggested gently.

Dean groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I dunno, dude, an angel?”

“There’s tons of angel lore,” Sam pointed out, and Dean remembered having this same conversation with his brother about the existence of angels on a job a while ago. Even back then Sam had wanted to believe. Now he added, “there’s more lore about angels around the world than there is for anything we’ve ever Hunted… except maybe demons.”

“I know, I know,” The elder Winchester went for his beer again, “okay, so we’re saying there’s a possibility it is Cas, and that he’s a freaking angel.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen to a word I was saying.” Came Cas’s voice abruptly, and they both jerked when the angel blinked into existence a couple feet from where they were seated. “I believe your exact words were ‘go screw yourself.’” He added, sounding amused. He glanced between them before giving Sam a small smile, “hello, Sam.”

Sam just looked at him almost blankly. Then he asked, “Cas?”

Cas chuckled softly and looked toward Dean, “I thought we’d already established that, but yes.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat and avoided eye contact like the plague. He took another small sip of his beer before setting it on the table once more. There was a long silence between the three of them, and Sam glanced between his brother and Cas several times before patting one hand on the table and standing.

“I’m, uh, gonna go for a walk. A long walk.” Sam told them both. He had a million questions for Cas, himself, but now wasn’t the time. Now he just grabbed his jacket and shoulder bag with his laptop and disappeared out the door. He would find a café nearby to pass a little bit of time.

Dean cursed under his breath, eyes still shifting, flitting anywhere so he wasn’t looking at Cas. Cas just stood there for a moment before stepping over and taking the seat at the table that Sam had vacated. He noted the uneaten burger sitting in front of Dean and the bottles of beer with a little, worried look on his face.

Seven years had passed, and Cas had looked in on Dean quite often, basically whenever his duties in Heaven allowed for it—sometimes even when they hadn’t. He had watched his precious love’s frantic search for him after he had gone missing—and watched the hope slowly fading from him over time. He had seen Dean grow rigid and hard, seen his shields go up to protect himself from that kind of pain again.

Seven years on Earth was a long time, but in Heaven seven Earth years was seven centuries. More. A millennia. Cas himself had been changed by the things he’d had to do in God’s name. He, himself, had grown harder, tougher because of it. But he had never forgotten Dean, never forgotten his love for Dean. He’d carried that with him the entire time. It had been his shield in the darkest times.

And when Cas had watched Dean ripped to shreds by a hellhound, cast into the depths of Hell, it had broken his heart, torn him apart inside. So, when Heaven had called upon him to lead the incursion into Hell, to grasp Dean with his own hands and pull him out again, naturally Cas had jumped at the chance.

He didn’t expect forgiveness, or gratitude. He was just happy that Dean was here and alive and whole: outside, if not in.

“You’re staring at me.” Dean muttered after a while of silence, “at least blink or something.”

“Sorry.” Cas shook his head and looked down, but took note when Dean finished off his beer and went to the fridge for another one. Dean had done a lot of that, while he’d been searching for Cas, just drinking himself into nothingness. Cas hated to see it. Now he shrugged slightly. “I just didn’t think I would ever get to sit with you like this again, that’s all.”

Dean returned to his seat with his third beer in a row and twisted off the cap. “Don’t get used to it, we move around a lot.”

“I know. But I can find you wherever you go. As long as it’s alright with you.”

“You’re asking a lot.”

“I… can leave. If you’d rather I wasn’t here.”

The faintly dejected tone in Cas’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who finally looked up at him, eyes flitting away and back again several times before settling on him firmly. Now it was Cas’s eyes that were downcast. Dean sighed and shifted in his seat before offering, “stay and… I dunno. Have a burger.”

Cas’s gaze lifted again, and he gave a little smile. “I don’t eat anymore. But thank you.”

“You don’t eat? Everything eats.”

“I don’t need food or drink, Dean. My Grace keeps me going.”

“That’s so freaking weird. You used to love food. Especially pizza. And you lived for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“I know. But I don’t even taste food anymore. I taste it’s molecular make up. I was very disappointed the first time I tried to eat something after my Grace was restored.”

Dean studied Cas over the rim of his bottle, analytical. Cas could practically see the cogs in his head turning. Probably none of what he was saying made any sense to Dean, but he could only explain so much. Even sitting there, talking to Dean this freely at all was going against the rules that were set out for him. But he couldn’t stay away from Dean anymore, not after being tasked with saving him. Not after going into battle for him. Not after pulling him out of Hell with his very own hands.

“I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Cas murmured after a moment with a quirk of his lips, and when Dean gave him a confused look he explained softly; “I’m the one who pulled you out of Hell, Dean.”

Dean nearly spit his beer—and choked in his haste to swallow it. He set it down quickly and reached to pull the arm of his shirt up, revealing the handprint brand that marred his shoulder. “This was you?”

“Yes,” Cas confirmed, and reached out to hover his hand over the mark with a little smile, but didn’t touch, “it was me.”

“Remind me not to let you touch my dick any time soon.” Dean muttered.

The angel actually laughed softly. “That was my true form—one of them, anyway—that left the brand on you. In this form I could touch you anywhere safely. Just like before, when we were together. It’s the same body.”

When we were together. Because after everything, they weren’t anymore, were they? Despite how Cas still felt. How he thought he would always feel. Dean simply… didn’t, did he? That much was obvious in the way he was looking at Cas, talking to him. And that hurt, but he could understand it.

Dean had been a broken man for a long time because of him, only just starting to put himself back together again—and now Cas was back in his life to screw it all up once more. It made guilt roll in his stomach, just the thought of it.

“I’m… sorry. About following you earlier. When you first woke up.” Cas said finally, “I was trying to talk to you, but…”

“All the breaking glass and electronics freaking out was you talking?”

“Yes, I thought… because of our bond, because of who you are, you would be able to hear my true voice. I guess I was wrong. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“We don’t have a bond, Cas. Not anymore.”

Cas looked down. That wasn’t entirely true. He could feel the little threads of fate that connected them, even now. But that was something most humans were entirely unaware of, so it wasn’t surprising that Dean couldn’t feel them, too. Only people with strong psychic abilities could sense the strings of fate.

He remembered, years ago in Raleigh, during one of their meetups, the psychic who had spoken up while they were at the outdoor market together. She had told them they were bound together strongly, and at the time Cas hadn’t known what she meant, but now he did. He and Dean were connected—always had been, always would be. But that didn’t mean they had to be together in a romantic sense. Especially not after everything. Still.

Cas smiled, just a little, and murmured. “We do. But I understand, Dean.”

“Stop.” Dean grit out, eyes going hard but with sadness behind them, “stop saying that. There’s nothing between us. No bond. No—no love. Not like before. You’re nothing to me, Cas. Nothing.”

And that hurt. Cas kept his gaze averted and sighed sadly because he may have been nothing to Dean, but to him Dean was still everything, and he was determined to prove it. To make it up to Dean for all the things that he had gone through over the years because of Cas. Because of Cas not being there.

When he glanced back up, Dean was looking away, and things had never been so awkward between them. They had been close—as close as two people could be. Now there was a great divide between them, like the Grand Canyon right there, splitting the hotel room in half, a great chasm, and Cas could sense Dean’s anger and resentment even though the man hadn’t expressed it yet, not really. Cas knew the explosion would come, though, it was only a matter of time.

“How have you been, Dean?” He knew the answer to that question, he had been watching over Dean from Heaven ever since returning there, but he was trying very hard to initiate an actual conversation, here. To get a foothold to try to establish some sort of a relationship again, even if it wasn’t the same as before.

“Lost my Dad. Took a vacation in Hell. Oh, and my fiancée vanished off the face of the Earth for seven freaking years. I’m doing peachy.” Dean snorted, still not looking at him, still working his way through that third beer.

“I’m sorry about your Dad. I’m sorry about Hell.” Cas murmured softly, “I’m sorry about… everything. I’m sorry about everything, Dean.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it all better, Cas. Sorry doesn’t take back what you did.” Dean growled.

“I… I know. And I know it probably won’t make a difference, but…” Cas’s eyes drifted downward again, and he shifted in his seat slightly, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to, I was just… Called home. And when I got there, I was told not to contact you. It was forbidden. I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

“Since when did you ever let anything keep us apart?” Came Dean’s reply.

“Since Heaven.” Cas told him softly. “I couldn’t exactly disobey a direct order from God, I…” He trailed off slightly before adding; “it killed me, Dean. Not being able to go to you. And I’m very, truly sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean finished off his beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “You can shove your apologies, Cas, because I’m done. You need to get out right now before I say everything I’ve wanted to say to you for the last seven freaking years.”

The angel flinched at that, but then carefully stood from his seat. He wouldn’t stay on if Dean truly wanted him to leave. He looked at Dean sadly for another long moment—and then vanished with the quiet beating of invisible wings.

-- --

“Your trips to Earth won’t be tolerated, you know. Your job was to retrieve him from Hell, and you did that, now we’re only to go to Earth when ordered.” Uriel told Cas.

They were both standing, looking down through the veil on Dean Winchester, who was into another beer already, his expression angry, but… Cas could see sadness, in the slope of his shoulders. In his posture. He was very close to being a broken man again, like he had been back when Cas had disappeared, and Cas hated to see it. But between what he had been through back then, and then his forty-year tour in Hell, it was understandable. Not to mention Cas popping back into his life as he had done.

“How can this weak, miserable excuse for a human being possibly be our great hope?” This time Uriel’s voice was tinted with distain. He had never been all that fond of humans.

“Our brother was cast out for thinking like that, long ago. It’s why we’re in the predicament we currently find ourselves.” Cas reminded him, tone serious; “and you don’t know Dean Winchester like I do. He’s the strongest person I know, human or angel. He has the heart of a lion. He can do anything. Anything. I have no doubt of that.”

Whether that anything was the best thing for Dean or not, Cas had serious doubts. But he had been forbidden to say anything about that to Dean or his brother… at least not until the time was right. And Cas wasn’t sure he could go through with it, the grand plan, because he would lose Dean all over again if it happened and he didn’t think he could handle that. But that was a long time off, so maybe there was still wiggle room to change the course of things…

“Don’t underestimate the Winchesters.” Cas told Uriel finally, “in the end I’m sure you’ll find they surprise you.”

-- --

“So, how’d it… go?” Sam asked tentatively. He had gotten back to the motel room a little while after Cas had left, which meant he hadn’t gotten to ask any of his myriad of questions, but that was alright because he was more concerned with his brother and all the empty beer bottles that were littering the kitchenette table.

Dean just grunted in response, into his fourth beer now and with a vague plan to drink until he passed out (again.) He figured he was allowed, given the circumstances.

Sam took a seat across from him, his movements slow and careful, as if he were approaching a wounded animal—which he kind of was, in a way. “Did you guys talk? What did Cas have to say?”

“Angel bullshit.” The elder Winchester muttered, taking another swig of his beer. “Nothing important.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Sam sighed and leaned his arms against the table, reaching with a hand to push a finger against one of the empty beer bottles. “Dean, I know what you went through after Cas disappeared. Hell, I helped you search for him, but now that he’s back you can’t just… shut him out.”

“I can and I will. Drop it, Sammy, I don’t want to talk about this.” Dean told him coldly.

Sam hesitated slightly before deciding to let the subject go for the time being. His brother obviously wasn’t in a place where he could deal with this right now, but maybe once he’d had a little more time to process things he would come around. For now, Sam just went to get his laptop and brought it back to the table, opening it and powering it up. “I think I found us another job, after this one.” He announced, changing the subject entirely.

Dean looked relieved. He took another drink from his beer and asked, “what is it?”

“Missing people. Tons of them, over in New Orleans.” Sam typed in a couple of things and pulled up a news article, then turned the laptop for Dean to see. “Entire airboat tours are vanishing. Other boats too, and fishermen. Trappers. They find the wreckage of the boats, all torn up, and the occasional body part, but that’s pretty much it. No one can figure out what the hell is going on, what could be ripping up the boats like that.”

“And we assume eating the people, given the ‘occasional body parts’?” Dean asked.

“Exactly!” Sam looked Dean, his expression expectant. “So, what do you think?”

Dean took another sip of beer. He seemed to be slowing down now that they weren’t actively talking about Cas anymore. “I think… it’s been a while since I had a good bowl of gumbo.” He finally said, with just a little, faint hint of a smile, still bitter around the edges. “And the pecan pie in the south is amazing.”

-- --

There was no point in driving all the way to New Orleans, halfway across the country, when they didn’t even know the nature of what they were going to be Hunting. They needed to figure out what it was and how to kill it, and then possibly spend some time just gathering ingredients, putting together weapons, before they took off for The Big Easy. Besides that, they still had to do the whole rugaru Hunt there in Hazleton. In the meantime, Sam called Bobby and got him in the loop to help with research over in South Dakota, sending him the news articles to review over the computer.

For his part, Dean went out and stocked up on supplies. Specifically supplies for himself; beer, whiskey, pie, Funyuns and copies of Busty Asian Beauties. He didn’t buy a single thing that was meant for Sam, or healthy in any way, and when Sam saw the groceries, he kind of went ah because these were Dean’s foods (and other things) for when he was angsty or depressed, so it made sense. Sam would just go buy his own groceries later, if he needed to. (He would probably need to.)

After he made that run, Dean locked himself up in the motel room and staunchly refused to exit the premises. Sam brought him coffee and a burger a couple of times a day just to get liquid in him that wasn’t alcoholic and food that wasn’t pie. He did a lot of pacing and even more sleeping, working on the case in-between. Sam could see he was spiralling, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop it.

That would be up to—

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam was currently sitting at one of the outdoor tables at a little café a few blocks from their motel, his laptop out in front of him and a coffee by his elbow, scrolling through articles that he thought might relate to their new job, when Cas appeared in the seat across from him. The angel watched Sam give a start with a small, almost amused smile on his face.

“Sorry.” Cas offered, just a brief apology for startling him.

Sam huffed out a breath and shook his head. “It’s fine. How’s it going, Cas?”

“Alright. Busy.” Cas shrugged one shoulder slightly, “what about with you?”

“Pretty much the same.” Sam gave a little smile—then shut his laptop to focus on Cas and reached for his coffee, bringing it up to take a sip and hissing softly when it was still boiling hot. The insulated cups here were apparently the real deal. “Babysitting Dean, researching a couple of jobs.” Then he looked at Cas for a long moment before asking, “so… angel, huh?”

“Yes.” Cas’s smile widened just slightly, and he glanced off toward the street, blue eyes watching people walk by.

“Since when has that been a… thing?” Sam studied him curiously.

“Since the beginning of time. I just… forgot, for a little while. Back when you knew me before.” Cas continued watching the passers by for a while before returning his attention to Sam; “seven years ago my memories returned and I was Called back to Heaven, it’s why I…”

“Why you disappeared.” Sam finished for him. “Cas, why…” He started, then trailed off before stating; “Dean searched for you for more than a year and a half, Cas. You have no idea what that did to him.”

“I do, though.” Cas glanced down. He was ashamed of that—of what his absence had put Dean through. “I saw it all. I saw his frantic search.” When he looked up again, it was to smile and add, “I saw you helping him, Sam. I should thank you for that. For being there for him when I couldn’t be.”

“He’s my brother, I couldn’t just leave him to that by himself.” The younger Winchester tried his coffee again, blowing on it lightly before taking a sip, and this time not scalding himself on it. “But I couldn’t do it forever, he was obsessed, and I just—I had to get back to my life, you know? So, I…”

Cas smiled softly. “No one blames you for giving up on me, Sam. You did your part, and it was a hopeless case.”

“Dean did. He hated me for it for years.” Sam sighed, “sometimes I think he still does.”

But Cas shook his head. “He went to Hell for you, Sam. He literally walked through fire and brimstone for you. You don’t do that for someone you hate. Besides, right now he hates me, so you’re probably off the hook.”

“I feel like Dean probably has it in him to hate two people at the same time.” Sam deadpanned, then chuckled and shook his head; “but he doesn’t hate you, Cas. He’s just… hurt and confused right now. He doesn’t know how to handle it. Right now, he’s doing a lot of binge eating and day drinking, it’s his way of coping. Just… give him some time, alright?”

Cas understood that—he did. Dean needed time and space to adjust to the way things were now. That didn’t make it any easier, though, not when all Cas wanted to do was declare his undying love and kiss the man until the end of time. But then that’s all he had wanted to do these long past seven years, too.

“When I asked what you said when you guys talked, he just told me ‘angel bullshit’ and shut me down.” Sam tapped his fingers against his closed laptop lightly. “Did you tell him why you vanished, why you never came back?”

“I was given orders not to contact him. Or you. From Heaven. I couldn’t exactly disobey…” The angel looked down again. “I told Dean that, but I don’t think he bought it. I think… he has the idea in his head that I left him willingly, stayed away willingly, even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth. All I ever wanted was to be with him, to love him.” When he looked up once more, he gave a little, somewhat weak smile; “I was going to marry him, Sam.”

“I know. I know how much you loved him.”

“I still do. Dean is the love of my life. And I’ve lived a very, very long life, Sam.”

“You should be saying these things to Dean, not to me.” Sam advised softly.

“I don’t think he would listen right now.” Cas replied, a touch of sadness in his voice. “I think it’s too soon.”

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair a little, blowing out a breath and running a hand through his hair, an absent sort of gesture. He regarded Cas silently for a moment, taking another couple drinks of his coffee before asking, a little belatedly, “hey, do you want a coffee or something? I should’ve asked earlier.”

Cas hesitated—but then just made a soft agreeing sound. “Actually, yes, a coffee would be nice.”

Sliding out of his seat, Sam ducked back inside the café and returned a few minutes later with another cup of coffee. He had automatically gotten it black, and in the past that would have been a problem: human Cas had always taken his coffee with cream and sugar. Luckily angel Cas took his coffee black, the same as the Winchesters did, so it was fine.

Coffee tasted like molecules, the same as everything else, of course, but he had redeveloped a taste for it like that after his Grace had reawakened. Now he drank it occasionally out of nostalgia for his time as a human.

“Thank you,” Cas took the offered coffee with a smile and brought it up to blow on it gently before taking a small sip and smiling.

Sam just returned to his seat and his own half-finished coffee. “What’s it like, being an angel?” He asked curiously.

“Mmm.” Cas hummed a contemplative noise into his cup. “It’s living on a completely different wavelength than humanity. There’s power and grace, and higher purpose. But not much else. I miss being human terribly. The emotion and the physicality, just… everything.”

“Okay, and the teleporting thing. How does that work?”

“My wings take me wherever I need to go. I would show them to you, but they’re rather large and obvious.”

“White wings or black?” Sam asked with a wry little smile.