#deancasholiday13

  When the pantry stock started to run low Cas turned from food and drink to getting Dean and Sam, whenever they had to leave the bunker for a case, to bring back wreaths and tinsel and baubles and "basically anything and everything even vaguely Christmassy that we can find?", Dean asked sarcastically and then groaned at Cas's vigorous nod and Sam's not-so-subtle jab at his side. And, of course, more ingredients to feed his culinary fit (not that Dean was really complaining about that part ever since Cas had mastered the art of pie).

  On the second week of December, after ganking a particularly vicious and stubborn wendigo and sitting through Sam's lecture on packing warmer clothes ("seriously, Dean, I told you to get the thermal underwear set"), they came back to fairy lights decorating the staircase railing and Kevin grimacing in a Santa's elf felt hat with matching pointy felt ears.

  "Kevin?", Sam asked after a beat when a voice with definitely un-Cas-like enthusiasm called out, "Dean, Sam!", before the brothers were barreled into by a figure in vibrant, almost violent, yellow.

  Dean huffed. "When did you get here, squirt? And why didn't you call? And what the hell are you wearing?", his tone turned skeptical as he gave Charlie a once-over after hugging her.

  "It's a star onesie, dummy." She rolled her eyes before stretching out to show off the shape the pajamas took (complete with a pointed yellow hood). Sam snorted before she turned to hug him too. "And two days after you guys left, I think Kevin said. And I wanted to surprise you guys! Course, I should've made sure you'd actually be here to be surprised, but it worked out since I finally got to meet Kevin and work my Christmas magic with Mr. McDreamy with you out of the way", she grinned through Sam's bear-hug.

  "Mr -- what? Who?", Dean spluttered while Sam laughed at the Santa hat she crammed onto his head and set her down. Her grin grew wider as she looked behind Dean, and she whisked Sam and Kevin away, asking about the wendigo with accompanying wild hand movements and proclaiming about FLB's ingenuity with some of the christmas decor. ("FLB?", he heard Sam ask, bemused. "Foster Li'l Bro", the other two replied simultaneously, Charlie in laughter and Kevin in exasperation.)

  "Hello, Dean." Dean turned around to see Cas emerging from the hallway where the bedrooms were, wearing a headband with reindeer antlers. "And Sam", he called out in the direction of the library where Charlie was pointing out cutout snowflakes Dean now saw were taped to the sides of the bookshelves.

  "Hey, Cas", Sam boomed. "Hey, Cas", Dean echoed, raising an eyebrow and a hand to fiddle with the antlers.

  "A gift from Charlie." Cas beamed. "Well, they were originally meant for you since she didn't know I would be here, but she thought that I might appreciate them more." His expression grew teasing. "I didn't disagree."

  "Yeah, well, if you wanna look like a loon, feel free, just don't rope me into it", Dean chortled.

  Cas shook his head fondly. He gestured about the room which was now decked in bright greens, reds and blues. "We've managed to do much more than I had expected since Charlie's arrival. She had materials I hadn't thought of using; it seems she was planning to adorn the bunker singlehandedly."

  "Like what you've been doing since way before she got here."

  Cas' smile slipped a little at this, misinterpreting Dean's playful tone as accusatory. "I'm sorry. I realize I may have gotten in the way several --"

  Dean cut him off. "No, man, we all needed some holiday cheer around here, you were just doing what you could", he finished before flushing when he realized the full meaning of his words. "Fuck, Cas, I'm sorry - I didn't mean --"

  This time Cas interjected, "Dean, it's alright, I know what you meant."

  There was a pause before Dean cleared his throat. "I, uh, love what you've done with the place." He winced inwardly at the cliché, but Cas didn't seem to notice.

  He smiled warmly. "Thank you. I hope the hunt didn't wound you or Sam too badly."

  "A few scratches here and there, nothing we can't patch up", Dean shrugged. Cas nodded in relief.

  There was a break in which Cas did his nonchalant staring thing at him, and Dean busied himself by closely examining the faux evergreens lining the ancient computers. They haven't been left alone with each other ever since he and Sam first brought him to the bunker, and he took Cas aside and told him, in what he hoped were gentle words, not to leave the bunker until they've figured out what to do about his gracelessness and the angels on his ass.

  And a few weeks after that, Dean noticed that Cas had fallen into a pattern: if he wasn't helping out Sam and Kevin in their research on the tablet as a translator of dead languages or recollector of knowledge lost to time and disuse -- as only a being of several millennia's worth of existence can be -- he was checking the internet for news articles that might have concerned his fallen siblings (with guidance from Dean, Sam and Kevin). If he wasn't doing that, he was playing housekeeper; putting away referenced material and dusting the encyclopedias and reorganizing the archive records and even baking and cooking, once he'd learned how -- as if he were on autopilot, Dean realized with a start.

  He looked at Cas, who was staring at him patiently until he noticed the shift in Dean's demeanor and looked away. Dean opened his mouth.

  "Cas, are you okay?"

  He looked at him with furrowed brows. "Of course, Dean. Why wouldn't I be?" His answer was almost defensive. Dean took a step closer, frowning.

  "Cas. What's going on?"

  Cas was saved from replying as Sam, Charlie and Kevin walked over to them, with Charlie's holler of "Dreamy!  Where'd you go off to?" Sharp relief flickered on Cas's face as he saw them, and Dean sighed. There would be a better time to talk about this.

    ------------------–----–-––--

    It turned out that Charlie had to leave the next day; Gilda was taking advantage of the winter solstice to show Charlie her home, "and I've got a surprise for her too, if you know what I mean", she told Dean in private, nudging him and winking.

  "TMI, Red", Dean pretended to gag and ruffled her hair.

  After putting most of her bags in her rental, they gathered at the base of the stairwell to bid her farewell as she gave them her presents.

  ("When did you get the time to go gift shopping for me and Cas?", Kevin asked. "You've got your powers, I've got mine", she grinned. He gave her a pointed look. "Fine, it was during the grocery run last week", she said before flicking his nose.)

  Dean got a katana from the last Comic-Con she had been to ("Sweet", he whistled, and pretended to hack at Sam with the sheathed weapon); for Sam, an ebook reader ("Charlie", he blurted out, eyes wide with gratitude); Kevin, a set of various gourmet coffee and tea blends and organic hot chocolate mixes ("Thanks, Charlie!", he said as he deeply breathed in the aroma); and a holiday cookbook for Cas.

  "Wait, I almost forgot!", she yelped as Cas was about to thank her too. She rummaged in her knapsack before she got out what looked like a pile of white fluff, which she straightened out and slapped onto his back. "Ta-da! Saw it on that grocery run. Sam said they've never actually seen the color so sorry if it's off, but still, perfect timing, eh?" She beamed, not noticing everyone else as they froze or looked stricken or, in Cas's case, smiled at her sadly and touched what part of the fluff he could reach.

  It was a pair of wings.

  Her phone began to beep and she looked at the built-in clock. "Shoot, gotta go, the stuff I need's gonna take a while to get. Later, bitches!", she said, hurriedly giving everyone last-minute hugs before climbing up the stairs and out the door. 

  No one spoke for a while.

  Sam, ever empathetic, tried to break the ice. "Cas? Um, are you ok?", he unwittingly parroted Dean's question from earlier.

  "I'm fine, Sam. Thank you." Cas gave a tired smile. "I'm going to go rest for now, if that's alright. Pardon me."

  It was a reasonable excuse since Cas insisted on cooking up a feast before Charlie had to leave, but Dean knew where to look, and the quiet dejection in Cas's eyes and subtly slumped shoulders said otherwise.

  He knocked on Cas's door a while later, and on hearing a low "Come in" opened it to find him lying on the bed with his hands clasped together, staring at the ceiling. The cookbook was set on his desk with the wings piled neatly on top of it.

  "Kevin made you some cocoa with cinnamon and cream". Dean raised the steaming mug he was holding.

  "Please give him my thanks", Cas mumbled. 

  Dean put the mug on the bedside table and sat down at the foot of the bed near Cas' socked feet. Cas made no sign of noticing.

  Dean gave him a few minutes.

  "I killed an innocent girl because of her parentage, and took the power and passion of one of my sisters who only wanted to help. Most of my sisters and brothers are now locked out of the only home they have ever known because of what I've done, and now they're slaughtering each other for it." Cas's jaw hardened. "Losing my grace is less than I deserve."

  So Dean was right in guessing that Cas was bearing guilt more than he was mourning his grace. He had an answer ready.

  "You didn't know. Everything you've been doing up until that sonuvabitch stole your grace, you were doing for those other dickwads. It wasn't your fault."

  Cas quickly sat up and glared at him. "Regardless of my knowledge at the time, I'm responsible for them. For those who didn't survive the fall. For the ones who haven't been on the earthly plane for long, who were thrown into humanity without knowing what to do. Even for the humans those intent on power are taking up as vessels and injuring in the process. I was the one who caused it."

  Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, moved closer, and covered one of Cas's knees. "You know you can't leave, Cas. We don't know who's out to get you, or who to trust, and there are too many angels out there to risk it. You won't be much use to them dead anyway, even if they don't know it. And Metatron's been planning this for some time; if it wasn't you he would've found some other angel to do the dirty work for him."

  Cas mulled it over and sighed. "I can't fix it from here, Dean. If Kevin's accurate about there being a counter spell, I understand that I have to be a part of it."

  As sudden as his outburst, Cas crumpled towards Dean, sagging and looking exhausted. Dean drew nearer and wrapped an arm around him.

  "I just don't know what to do", he said defeatedly, his words muffled on Dean's shoulder. "I've busied myself with meaningless tasks to avoid thinking about leaving, and when Sam and Kevin told me of the human traditions during your Christmas, well." He looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "I suppose you could say that bringing "holiday cheer" has become a bit of a vice for me."

  Dean squeezed the hand holding onto Cas's shoulder and smiled gently. "We'll find a way out of this mess. Kevin's nearly done translating the tablet. We'll rally up the angels once we've got evidence that they need you, and with all of them and their grace together we'll get Metatron. I promise you, we will fix this."

  Cas was still for a few seconds before looking up at Dean, some of the desperation gone from his face, and reaching over to cover the hand Dean placed on his leg with his own. "Thank you, Dean. This was never your burden, or Sam's or Kevin's, to bear. I owe you everything."

  Dean flipped his hand so that they were palm to palm. "You owe me jack. We're family, that's how it works. I'd do anything for you. You got that?"

  Cas blushed and bit his lip. "Yes, I do." Dean's smile grew wider as he got up from the bed. "Good. Just so we're clear."

  He was a few steps from the doorway when Cas said, "I would, too." Dean turned around. Cas was now standing, still slightly flushed but looking him dead in the eye. "I would gladly give up my life for you, Dean Winchester. You're worth more than you'll ever know." 

  Dean stared and blinked at the abrupt pooling of heat at the corners of his eyes. Hastily wiping at them, he went over to press his lips against Cas's forehead.

  "And you're more than I'll ever deserve", he murmured. He pulled back, beaming. "Happy holidays, Cas."

The first thing Dean notices about the man are his hands.

They're clearly rough hands, working hands by the way they're built and calloused, but there's a delicateness about them, too, a strange, soft elegance. His fingers somehow look both sharp and smooth all at once, as they fold and cut the seasonal wrapping paper in front of him at his station.

Dean never does this, uses the mall wrapping stations that is. He’s always been very much of a do-it-yourself kind of guy, even though he does know the wrapping services are usually donating towards a good cause. Dean would rather just donate money and do his own wrapping at home, though, if given the choice. But, well, when you buy your brother a present last minute without any time to wrap it yourself, that’s what you kind of have to settle for.

Luckily, the ordeal is rendered slightly less arduous by the fact that the guy running the wrapping station at two hours to close on Christmas Eve is extremely, distractingly, ethereally hot. Dean thought his hands alone were something to marvel at, as he first spied the man’s movements out of the corner of his eye as he approached the wrapping station from around the corner, but when the guy finally looks up to serve Dean, his mouth almost instantly goes dry. His hands are something, but his eyes--his eyes are something else.

“Can I help you?” the man asks, staring straight at Dean with an unsettling earnestness. Dean notes that the man’s voice is deeper than he would have expected, but he’s certainly not disappointed by his misconception being overturned. Dean prides himself on a very good imagination, but it doesn’t take much at all, really, to imagine the words voice could make quake and curl around that tongue.

“Yeah, um, I have this book set to wrap?” Dean finally manages to find his voice, tearing his gaze away from Handsome Man’s face to look down at the pristine, hardcover tome collection in his hands, as he sets it down on the wrapping table between them. It’s a stupidly nice set, a collection of fairytales Dean knows Sam loved when he was younger, from tales of King Arthur’s knights to Rumpelstiltskin, and everything in between. Dean’s known for some months now that Sam has a baby on the way with his fiancée, and he thinks Sam will be touched by the thought of passing down his favourite stories of his own childhood to his son.

"It's for, uh-- it's for my brother,” Dean adds at Handsome Man’s blank look. “Normally I go for the whole classic sly sibling thing of wrapping it in three rolls of duct tape, you know,” Dean laughs self-consciously, “but didn't have time this year... ‘cause obviously I'm a terrible person who just bought their brother’s gift literally at the last minute," he chuckles again, and rubs the back of his neck to avoid the self-directed grimace that threatens to overtake his face.

"I wouldn't say that makes you a terrible person,” the man finally says, as he takes the book set into his beautiful hands. He looks at Dean, eyes serious but open--honest. “Merely a busy one."

"Haha, yeah, well, I wish. I'm only as busy as the next poor sap,” Dean shrugs, and then stuffs his hands in his pockets as he watches the wrapper get to work. “Truth is I just forgot,” he adds, when, though the man is no longer looking at him, Dean can tell he still has the man’s rapt attention, by the way he keeps glancing up, and angling his ears. The set of Dean’s shoulders loosen up.

“Who forgets about Christmas? I spent something like 10 hours last week making snowflakes with 8 year olds and I forgot it's Christmas. I even got Christmas cards from those kids and I still forgot. Maybe I'm just busy and terrible," Dean huffs, shaking his head in admonishment at himself. When he sees the man has paused in his work, Dean waves his hands in a motion as if physically attempting to erase what he just said. "Shit, and rambling, sorry. I'm, uh, Dean by the way."

The man points at his name tag, which Dean had entirely failed to notice until now, and recites what’s written on the label. “Hello, my name is Castiel," he offers dryly, but punctuates the statement by a small smile, so small, indeed, that Dean might have missed it, peeking in at the corner of his mouth, if his eyes hadn’t been straying to the shape of that mouth for the last five minutes.

Dean coughs. “Nice gig, you have going here,” he offers back by way of small talk as Cas finishes up the cutting and folding and gets out some nice, shiny ribbon.

“It is,” Castiel agrees. Wow, Dean thinks, certainly a guy of few words.

“This a volunteer thing for you, or…?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, though upon seeing Dean’s expression of disappointment at his failure to elaborate, is quick to continue, “It’s for the local shelter, as you might have seen on our banner. I’m an administrator there, but I like to volunteer my time here during our fundraisers, especially on the nights I know some of our other volunteers would like the night off.”

Dean smiles, genuinely impressed. “Wow, volunteering your time on Christmas Eve? You must be a saint.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Far from it,” he says, short and firm. He clips the ends of his ribbon, tied in a pretty little bow. He smirks ironically. “I’m just… a less busy sinner.”

Dean laughs. There’s something… refreshing about this guys, Castiel, that he can’t quite put his finger on. Maybe the phenomenon is unnameable to Dean because it doesn’t have a name, never having been before encountered. Castiel--Cas--is more captivating to Dean than anything or anyone has been in months, caught in the weird funk that he has been, and that is worth nothing. Castiel is something.

“How much?” he asks as Cas finishes up.

“It’s a five dollar donation fee,” Castiel says. “But if you would like to contribute a bit more, we’d be very grateful--”

“Here’s ten,” Dean cuts him off, brandishing his most charming smile. He was always going donate more anyway, but putting that surprised smile on Cas’ face in return certainly is a great bonus.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says as he takes the proffered bill, and Dean feels lit with a giddy feeling that immediately takes him back to high school.

The guy remembered his name.

***

Because Dean is hopeless, and already without plans on Christmas Eve, he buys something else before he leaves the mall, and then immediately goes back to Castiel’s station.

“I figured, I’m going over to my brother’s tomorrow, right? You never go to dinner without wine,” he says by way of greeting holding up the bottle he’d just bought, grinning as Cas glances up at him in surprise to see his return. By the look on his face, Dean would bet, he never thought he would see Dean again, but Dean would also guess Cas is very happy to be proven wrong.

“You don’t strike me as the person who often drinks wine at dinner,” Castiel says instead of the generic ‘hello’ that had been waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“You caught me,” Dean concedes, as he sets the bottle down on the table between them. “No, I’m not. But my brother is, and I don’t hate it,” he shrugs.

“You also don’t often wrap wine, as a general rule,” Cas points out.

“Well,” Dean grins again, feeling especially, absurdly flirty. He blames it on the eyes. And the hands. And the whole general… everything of Cas. “I’m all about breaking the rules, Cas. Wanna break a little one with me?”

“Only if you buy me coffee first,” Cas deadpans, and as Dean barks a genuine laughs, he gets to work.

***

Dean, because he’s both a fool and a sap, does come back with coffee later as the stores in the mall start closing, and Cas starts packing up his wrapping booth. He holds the paper cup up to Cas as he approaches, and sees Cas’ face crumple in gratefulness. Cas takes a huge swig of the steaming cup as if the biting heat of the beverage is no barrier between him and his caffeine. Dean admires him a little more.

After he’s helped Cas clean up for the day, Dean offers to walk out with him. It’s a nice night out, Dean knows, and if he’s lucky he maybe can get Cas to share a coffee with him out on the curb of the parking lot as if they really are teenagers.

“I suppose this counts as something like a first date, then?” Cas asks, a few hours later, when their coffees are long finished and left forgotten in trash bins by the now locked mall doors. It’s been hours but it almost feels like mere minutes, for all Dean has happily lost track of time. Dean thinks he could stare at Cas for days and not feel a second pass, there is never enough time for it. By the way Cas stares back at Dean, he would almost guess it’s the same for him.

“Um, well, ” Dean coughs, trying to hide his blush. He’s lucky it’s closing in on midnight, for the dark of the sky helps cloak some of his embarrassment. “Yeah, if you--if you want it to be.”

Cas shifts, and his shoulder grazes Dean’s. Dean holds his breath. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says quietly, after a beat, and Dean lets a shuddering breath out.

“Good,” Dean says, looking down at the pavement between his legs, as he tries to get a handle on the curious, delighted feeling swirling up within him, feelings he hasn’t felt in so long. “That’s… good.”

Cas smiles, warm, inviting. “I’m inclined to agree.”

God, it’s  fucking luminous, Dean thinks, unapologetically romantic. “Fuck it,” he sighs. “Can I kiss you?” He asks it in a determined rush, but his heart beats hesitatingly, steeling itself for heartbreak.

Gloriously, Cas lets him live on relieved. “Please do,” he says, and Dean needs no further invitation.

He kisses Cas like it’s a first kiss--because it is--but also like it’s a last, nervous already that it might very well be so. He's been burned far too many times in the past, so  he milks it for all he can. He presses his mouth into Cas’ mouth in this dirty parking lot in the middle of the night, and thinks recklessly that this softness, this plush, pink warmth and give is the only place he ever wants to be.

He kisses Cas and it’s wonderful and tantalising, and too, too short.

The break away for breath, but do not pull apart far. Dean can see Cas’ pupils are blown wide in this dim light. If he’s honest, though, he likes to think that he had a little to do with that, too.

“It’s midnight,” Cas finally says after a moment, when he breaks Dean’s gaze to check his watch.

“Jesus, that late huh?”

“Not that late for me, really,” Cas explains, as if trying to reassure Dean that he hasn’t kept him from anywhere he might otherwise needs to be. “I only meant to say it’s midnight, so that means it’s officially Christmas.”

“Oh,” is all Dean can find in him to say to that.

Cas put a warm hand on his knee, and those deft, delightful fingers curl around Dean’s kneecap in an overly familiar way that only makes Dean yearn more for more breaking of boundaries. “Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says, and it feels like the palm of his hand grows suddenly warmer.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” he says softly, leaning his thigh into Cas’ leg.

Cas takes a moment to pull his cell phone out of his coat pocket, and then frowns down at it solemnly, trying to come to a decisions. Finally, after a terrifying beat, he asks, “If I--if I gave you my number, would you consider that too forward?”

Dean laughs, delighted. “I’d consider it my best Christmas gift yet,” he admits.

Cas frowns, not quite receiving that for the compliment Dean meant it to be. “It’s your only Christmas gift yet.”

“Mark my words, it’ll still be true tomorrow when I call you,” he says, as he grabs Cas’ phone from his hands and begins in putting his info.

“So soon?” Cas raises an eyebrow, playing along. He’s really not so bad at this flirting gig, after all. “You must really like me.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, throwing Cas’ phone back to him, to land in his lap. Cas instead catches it expertly out of midair. “I might text you even earlier while I’m drunk with my brother after Christmas dinner.”

“What a day I have to look forward too, then,” Cas chuckles, standing up. Dean supposes he must have a car or something parked somewhere around this desolate parking lot, even if the only vehicle he himself has eyes for is his 1967 impala parked a few yards away/

“All part of the Winchester package,” Dean jokingly boasts as he stands up with him, stretching his legs and his shoulders with a grateful pop. “Drunk texts and midnight kisses.”

“Kisses plural? I’ve been short-changed, then,” Cas says, his face schooled innocent, impassive. “I only got one.”

Two can play at that game. “Maybe I was waiting for you to take the next for yourself.”

Dean spots a satisfied glint sparkle in Cas’ eye, and is absurdly glad for putting it there. “Well,” Cas says, moving back in closer, and putting a hand on Dean’s cheek. “That I can do.”

This kiss is softer this time, gentler, but no less determined. Dean positively vibrates with the knowledge, too, that Cas has taken his number: he might very well get to do all this and more  again very, very soon.

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel says when they part, and Dean is really starting to love the way Cas says his name. Jesus, he’s only known the guy for a few hours.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, forcing the smile that cost Crowley two hours and countless grey hairs to train onto his face.  He almost misses the days when he was just another anonymous face filling out the ranks in big-budget fight scenes, the days before his breakthrough role starring alongside the Dean Winchester in an action-adventure flick about angels and demons.

“I hear that there’s going to be a steamy bedroom scene with the boy’s teacher, played by Meg Masters.  How did that go?” the little blond host asks, flashing a pretty smile full of bright white teeth, a smudge of deep pink lipstick on an incisor mostly hidden by the curve of her lip.

“I won’t spoil the surprise, but it is not what you would expect.”  He fights to keep his own smile on the thin line between “you look like you just shat a brick” and “dear god who do you plan on murdering after we’re done here?”.  Hopefully his own makeup artist managed to miss his teeth.

The blond woman purses her lips and raises her eyebrows in scripted surprise.  “Now, won’t Dean be jealous?” she teases.

For the first time since the cameras turned on, he feels a genuine smile (“how do you have more gum than teeth?”) cross his face.  He and Dean had started ‘dating’ as a publicity stunt for the sequel to their debut movie.  The writers on this little internet production were obviously still out of that particular loop.

“We have a very open relationship,” he replies.  Crowley had also spent two hours teaching him to wink suggestively, but he always just ended up looking like someone had stuck him in the eye.  Casanova he most definitely is not.  It’s a good thing his acting career relies more on punches and flips than smiles and kisses.

The next day, he spots Dean sitting in their usual booth in the corner of the cafe on East Street.  Breakfast is one part of their routine that hasn’t changed from before they started their fake relationship.  They alternate meeting between the French coffee shop and the greasy diner down the street to gripe at each other about their respective lives.  

The only difference is that now, before he slides into his half of the booth, Castiel leans down to give Dean a quick peck on the corner of his mouth.  Crowley had been delighted when one of those moments had shown up in E! magazine.

This time, however, Cas’ lips are only met with a scowl and the back of Dean’s hand.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demands, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring across the table once Castiel takes his seat.

Castiel is bewildered.  He frantically catalogues his actions since the last time they’d spoken.  He hasn’t eaten any of Dean’s pie or touched the Impala or insulted the action scenes in any Eastwood films.  

He had gotten into an argument with Sam over the parameters of Pascal’s wager, but Dean was more likely to roll his eyes and call them nerds than get angry.

“The interview you did with that Bela chick,” Dean spits out, green eyes practically glowing in the morning sun.

“You watched that?” Castiel says, surprised that Dean had found the clip.  The website was fairly obscure and Dean was never vain enough to frequent celebrity gossip sites.

“What, were you hoping I wouldn’t?  Is that why you told everyone that we were in an open relationship?” Dean snarls leaning forward, hands uncrossing to grip the edge of the table.

Is that why Dean is so angry?  That he had decided an aspect of their “relationship” without consulting him first?  “I thought you would appreciate the freedom while we were ‘involved’,” he said slowly, frowning.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Dean’s eyes fly open from their narrowed glare.

“I assumed you would want to find sexual fulfillment,” Cas tries to explain.

“What, I can’t keep it in my pants?  Is that what you think?  That I can’t wait for you?”

“But,” Castiel says, truly confused now.  Did Dean think that they would reach that step?  They’d kissed, of course, whenever they’d gone out on their ‘dates’ in whatever high-profile restaurant Crowley had picked out for the occasion, but even his twisted little manager couldn’t possibly think he’d have sex with his friend just to get better box office numbers.  “Why would you?  You’re acting like this is real.”

Dean’s face contorts itself through a range of expressions before settling into a steely cold mask.  “Well, fuck you too, Cas,” he bites out, calm betrayed by the slight wobble of the name, before he stands up and storms out the door.

Castiel sits stunned, staring at the coffee Dean had left behind.  What just happened?  Was something else causing Dean’s negativity or was he simply misunderstanding the situation?  Either way, Crowley is going to chew him out for ruining this opportunity and he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.

“Sweetheart!  And to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected and inconveniently timed interruption?”  Crowley’s voice lilts sickly sweet in its derision.  

“I think that Dean has broken up with me.”

“What?  You can’t be serious.  The premier is in two months!  You’re not supposed to break up until the day before.  The masses are so fickle with their attention.”  A dramatic sigh.  "Let me call Gabriel and we’ll figure this out.  Don’t worry your pretty little head about this.  Damn that redneck backwater -”  Castiel hangs up as Crowley continues the stream of insults and slumps into his recliner.

He picks up the manila files set on the coffee table and flips through the papers.  Two years ago, he was picking up stunt roles, playing the nameless fighters in the background of action films and the faceless double of famous actors with no training.  Now he has his choice of half a dozen major roles and his training has expanded from mixed martial arts to method acting.  One and a half hours as a stoic angel of the lord has changed his entire life.  Sometimes he wonders if Crowley is a little too good at his job.

As ambiguous as he feels about this new life of interviews and premiers and appearances, Castiel knows that one good thing came out of Lazarus Rising.  In Dean and his brother, Sam, he has managed to find a family here in LA, one that is closer than any of his blood relationships and one that he may have inadvertently ruined.

A few pages into the first script, his cell vibrates against the polished wood of the table.

“Crowley.”

“Well, Cassie, seems we’ve got ourselves quite a little mess here.”

“What happened?”

“Apparently, Gabriel decided it would be a fun prank to keep Ken Doll in the dark and watch you make an arse out of yourself.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas frowns.  His cousin is notorious for his practical jokes, even on his own clients.  Was it something Gabriel said to Dean that had him so riled up that morning?

“It means,” Crowley drawls out, “that Gabriel never told Dean that you two were only playing a couple on tv.”

Castiel blanks before he makes any sense of the declaration.   “But it’s been three weeks,” he protests weakly.

“Yes, well, Gabe has never been known to be tasteful in his meddling,” Crowley says.  In the background, Castiel can hear the dull thud of darts hitting the portraits of Crowley’s competitors hung up around his office.  The last time he’d been there, Gabriel’s face was so riddled with holes that he could barely recognize his cousin.  “Bugger the fool.  He’s gone too far this time.  Lazarus is too big to go down because of a little prank.”

For once, Castiel completely agrees with his manager.  Gabriel has gone too far, even if it was only meant as a joke.

Castiel has been complicit in perpetuating a lie for three weeks and he feels terrible.  Every single action he has made, from suggesting their first date at Satche Grill to each casual kiss to holding hands as they walked down the street has been a blatant infraction of Dean’s trust.  He knows it wasn’t his fault, but he still needs to make amends.  “I have to call you back,” he says quickly and hangs up on Crowley mid-rant.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean growls as soon as he opens the door and sees that it’s Castiel who is there instead of whomever he was expecting.

Dean’s house has become as much of a home to him as his own apartment in the past year, so it stings now to be denied access, even though he knows that Dean has every right to be angry with him.  “I am here to apologize and explain,” he says, trying to put as much sincerity into his voice as he can.

“Fine,” Dean says, easier than Castiel expected.

“It was a publicity stunt,” he starts, then pauses.  He should have thought this through on his way here, but every speech he’d composed in his head ran somewhere along the lines of groveling at Dean’s feet and begging for forgiveness.

“Saying you’re open to cheating on your boyfriend in the dark corners of the internet is a crappy publicity stunt,” Dean snarls, crossing his arms and planting his feet in the doorway.  This is not going well.

“That’s not what I mean,” Castiel says, shaking his head.  A shrill laugh reminds him that they’re speaking out in the open where anyone could be watching.  “Can I come in?”

Dean hesitates, but another delighted shriek from the group on the sidewalk has him stepping back and heading into the kitchen.  Castiel follows him inside, closing the door behind them and watching as Dean grabs a beer from the fridge.  He waits until Dean has popped the top off and downed half the bottle before speaking.

“Crowley and Gabriel decided that a relationship and subsequent fall-out would place our names and, by association, Lazarus Falling on the front page of celebrity and entertainment news sources and Gabriel was supposed to inform you, but he didn’t - I suppose he thought it would be amusing to see me make a fool of myself or to see your reaction to my unsolicited advances - and I swear to you I did not know or I would have told you immediately,” he blurts out in one breath.  Dean gapes at him, beer swinging loosely from his fingers.

“But- that- what?” Dean stutters, eyes unfocused as he processes.

Castiel takes a deep breath and repeats his most important point.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  This should never have happened.”

Dean swallows hard before he says hoarsely, “So it was all an act.”

“Yes,” Cas murmurs, looking down at his feet.  He never wanted to put that devastated look on his friend’s face, never wanted to lie about something so intimate, to toy with someone else’s feelings.  He would strangle Gabriel if he were here.

Dean is silent for a long time, long enough for the lump in Castiel’s throat to sink down into his stomach and hang there ominously. He had hoped the explanation would let him salvage their friendship, that they could learn to put this entire fiasco behind them, but with each passing moment, that hope dims a little more.

He barely hears it when Dean finally speaks.

“No.”

Castiel looks up, eyes flying to Dean’s face.  “What?”

“I said, no.”  Dean strides around the island and plants firmly in front of Castiel with one hand on his shoulder and the other pointed between his eyes.  “You are a terrible actor.”

Castiel stiffens, stunned.  Dean can be crass and crude but Castiel has never known him to be cruel.  Dean knows his hesitance to pursue acting at all.  It was Dean that encouraged him to audition for more dramatic roles, even if they were smaller and received less attention than the action films he used to book.

The insult claws its way into his chest and settles there like a festering wound, and though he came here filled with remorse, he can’t help but feel wronged.  The situation, at its root, is not his fault.  He still feels awful for having any part in it, but he doesn’t deserve this treatment.  The anger he harbors towards Gabriel and the hurt he now feels towards Dean leave him raw and resentful.

“Well, I fooled you didn’t I?” he spits, turning to leave, but Dean doesn’t let go of his shoulder.

“That’s what I mean!” Dean says, frustrated.

Castiel is trained in tae kwon do, kung fu, krav maga, full contact kickboxing and at least a half-dozen sword-fighting techniques, but he doesn’t use a single move to prevent Dean from backing him up against the cabinets.

“Just listen, okay?” Dean sighs, bright green eyes mere inches away, pinning him down more effectively than the hands on his wrists.

Castiel nods dumbly, because what else can he do with Dean’s breath skating hotly over his lips and Dean’s nose just barely brushing his own and Dean’s presence stifling the very air in the room?

The anger melts away from Dean’s face, leaving something open and honest and too complicated for Castiel to understand.  “You could kick my ass in two seconds flat.  Hell, you could probably take Chuck Norris down in half that time.”

The abrupt turn around from before leaves Castiel even more confused.  Is this Dean’s way of apologizing?  But then why is he still holding him here?

“And your voice, that fucking growl,” Dean’s own words take on a deep rumble, “I started copying that during Rising and now everyone wants me to do it.”

“Dean, I don’t-” Cas starts, but Dean steamrolls right over him.

“Oh man and the way you can deadpan any joke, no matter how ridiculous, it makes the flattest lines seem hilarious.  You can pull of badass-motherfucker so well that seeing you angry almost makes me piss myself.  I cried during your monologue in Toreno Nights.”

These were compliments.  At least they sounded like compliments.  But Dean was so warm and so close that it was hard to think.  All he could process was that there were mirrored flecks of gold and bronze in Dean’s eyes.

“But,” Dean says, harsher, jolting Cas out of his reverie, “you are complete shit whenever you have to do romantic crap.  When you had to kiss that girl in Nightwatch?  I wanted to stab my own eyes out I was so embarrassed for you.”

With that, the anger floods back to the surface.  “If you think I’m going to stand here and be insulted-”

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean interrupts again.  “You can not do chick flicks for your life.  You couldn’t fool a blind man into thinking you actually want any of those random actresses that they pair you off with.  You know Anna was actually supposed to be your love interest?  They switched her to me because you suck at faking chemistry.”  

Dean takes a deep breath and lets go of Castiel’s wrists only to move his hands up to cup his face.  “But I believed it, Cas.  Every time you smiled at me and laughed at my dumbass jokes and held my hand and kissed me, I believed that you lo- that it was real.”

Castiel inhales sharply.  Staring into Dean’s wide green eyes, filled with so much hope.  He doesn’t know what to say.  Dean is attractive, beautiful really.  There’s a reason he tops nearly every list of heartthrobs and sexiest men and most eligible bachelors.  So he has no trouble admitting to himself that he’s thought about it, having a man like Dean in his home, his heart, his bed.  He just never thought it was a possibility.  He was no one, a friend at best and a charity case at worse.  Even now, when Dean’s proximity is obviously more than a means to trap him in the kitchen, Castiel finds it hard to believe that someone with the most beautiful individuals in Hollywood throwing themselves at him would choose him.

But Dean seems to take his hesitance as reluctance.

“Please, Cas, just think about it.  Tell me it was real,” Dean murmurs, words blowing softly against his lips.

Then every minute from the last three weeks floods back.  Every time Dean said yes, not just with his words, but with his hands and his eyes and his lips.  To Dean, every moment had been genuine.  There had been no acting or subterfuge or gimmick on Dean’s part, and for three weeks he had been happy.  With Castiel.

And now that he looks back through a different lens, he knows that he wasn’t faking his affection either.

“Yes,” Castiel breathes, looking Dean straight in the eyes.  “All of it.”

Dean is fire that burns through Cas’ clothes and sears through his skin.  All of that intensity that he shows onscreen stems from somewhere and Castiel suspects that it is here.  It is here in Dean’s hips pressed forward into his, their pants pulled down just far enough that they can feel skin against skin, in Dean’s lips hard and wet, ghosting over his own mouth and cheeks and jaw latching onto his neck, leaving marks that can not be denied, in Dean’s voice murmuring “Don’t you fucking dare take that away from me,” in Dean’s hands buried in his hair, kneading his ass.

Castiel can’t do anything but let himself be consumed, riding Dean’s thigh as he rubs his own against Dean’s arousal.  Pleasure doesn’t spark or flare, just builds and builds with every touch, with every word, with every inhale of Dean’s sweat and skin and aftershave until Castiel comes shouting Dean’s name.  Moments later, he feels something warm and wet paint the exposed skin of his stomach and they both slide down to the floor, slumped against Dean’s dark wood cabinets..

Once they’ve both caught their breaths, Dean lifts his head from Cas’ shoulder to say, “Hey, Cas?”

Castiel is still just a little too blissed out to make anything more than a humming noise in recognition.

“This isn’t an open relationship, okay?” Dean says, surprisingly vulnerable from where he’s sprawled over Cas’ chest.

Castiel can’t help but smile, running a hand through Dean’s sweat-spiked hair.

“I’m going to have to do another interview, aren’t I?”

“Well bollocks, the hell they’re breaking up on schedule now,” Crowley snarls, slamming his tumbler of scotch against the mahogany table in Gabriel’s study.  “This could have gone ten ways to hell,” he accuses, glaring at the other manager.  “We’re going to have to come up with something else and it’s all because I am forced to work with an overgrown child.”

“Oh come on, Crowls!  I knew Dean would say yes even if he didn’t know it was for the greater good of our wallets,” the slick golden-eyed man says.  The wink he throws at Crowley is positively obscene.  “You know, this was a lot of fun!  We should work together more often,” Gabe crows, leaning back into the massive red leather sofa.  “Maybe we could get them to stage a fake break-up.  I’ll even tell Dean about it this time!  Or fake pregnancy!  Imagine the scandal when one of them shows up with a baby bump.”

“I can see now why your cousin wouldn’t have you manage him.  You’re insane,” Crowley mutters, annoyed yet strangely amused.

“I’ll take that a compliment coming from you,” Gabriel says, tipping his drink at the other man.

“Speaking of working together,” Crowley starts, smiling into his drink.  Gabriel honors him with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“I hear you’ve taken on Dean’s little brother.  I may have a rather juicy prospect for him.  If we team up, we could turn him into something big.”

Sam shrugged apologetically at Castiel and Dean as he grabbed his uniform and headed for the door. “Let me know when you guys are out, okay?” he asked. “I want to discuss Charlie’s update specs for the armory when you’ve got a minute. I’ll be with Kevin in my ready room.” The door slid open.

“Oh, and Dean?” Sam turned. “It’s your turn to walk Riot tonight. Don’t forget.”The doors to decon slid shut behind Sam and Kevin, cutting off the conversation they were having about updating the universal translator so that it would be more useful for the next day’s diplomatic meetings. Dean wasn’t too sorry to see them go; four was a crowd in the small room.

“Damn it,” he muttered.”Isn’t it beneath my rank to be assigned dog walker? I know he’s busy being Captain, but I totally would not have taken that bet if I knew losing meant dog-sitting duty.” He sighed. Castiel remained impassive, one eyebrow raised imperiously, so Dean decided it was time for a change of subject.

“Did he say Gel D this time?” Dean asked, hauling himself up off the bench regretfully and looking for the appropriate gel.

“That is correct,” confirmed Castiel, remaining seated on the bench. Dean handed him a tube of the stuff and they got to work in silence. Dean was always glad that they were allowed to leave their underwear on in decon - that would be more than awkward, depending on who was in the room - but Dr. Lafitte required that his decon gels be spread over the skin quite thoroughly. Once Dean had managed to coat all the places he could reach, he turned to Castiel.

“I could use a hand,” he said, jerking his head to indicate his back. Castiel stood up, squeezing some of the gel into his hands. Dean turned around obligingly, but  jerked away when Castiel’s hands touched his shoulders.

“Christ, your hands are ice cold,” he grumbled, scowling and bracing himself for the cold. But Castiel rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm them up before placing them on Dean’s shoulders and beginning to spread the gel over the skin of his back.

“So.” Trying to fill the silence, Dean asked Cas the first thing he could think of. “You reviewed Charlie’s specs for the armory? I thought they looked pretty awesome, but as Science Officer, they <i>do</i> need your sign-off.”

“They were quite impressive,” said Castiel. “I’m sure the modifications will improve armory efficiency. And her calculations were quite thorough. Charlie is a very capable engineer.”

“Great,” said Dean. “I was hoping you’d say that. I think we’re going to try and get started on them tomorrow, if we can get Sam to agree to it. I know that he doesn’t like being so heavily armed, but when we’re making first contacts on the regular -”

“Security is a necessity,” finished Castiel. “I know, Lieutenant. Your concern is quite logical.”

They lapsed back into silence while Castiel carefully smeared the gel across the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean tried not to focus on the feel of someone else’s hands on his bare skin for the first time in what felt like years.

Abruptly, Castiel’s hands were no longer touching him, and Dean realized that he must be done. He turned to look at Castiel, who was still facing him.

“I believe I require assistance with my own back,” he requested quietly, turning to face the wall to give Dean access. Dean reached for the tube of gel and squirted some into his palms, grimacing at how cold it was. He imitated Cas and rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm it up, before reaching for Cas’s shoulders.

Dean had seen the Vulcan shirtless a few times - mostly in decon, granted - but he’d never been given the opportunity to touch him. Castiel’s shoulders were smooth andn well-muscled, and Dean couldn’t decide if he should try to savor the opportunity, or complete this particular task as fast as possible to save himself from any potential embarrassment.

“There is no need to hurry, Lieutenant.”

Castiel said it in a perfectly level voice - he could have been commenting on the weather, except that he was clearly commenting on Dean’s emotional state. Dean swallowed hard.

“Uh, excuse me? Sub-commander,” he tacked on hastily at the end.

“I apologize, Lieutenant. Vulcans sometimes have the ability to sense others’ emotions, by what you would call touch telepathy. I typically ignore what I do sense from the crew, but since we are in rather close physical contact….”

“Right,” was all Dean could think to say. “So, um -”

“Please, by all means continue, Lieutenant. I am finding this quite...enjoyable. Your admiration is flattering.”

“Uh…. yessir.”

Dean took that as an invitation to explore Castiel’s muscles with his fingers in a light massage. He ran his hands over Castiels’ back, neck, and sides, until he couldn’t possibly justify doing it under the guise of applying gel anymore. He sat down on the bench, yawning. Castiel stretched luxuriously, reminding Dean of a cat woken from a nap, and then joined him.

“You know, I always whine about decon, but really, it’s so relaxing in here,” mumbled Dean, leaning against Castiel’s shoulder. They were sticky with gel, but in the warmth of the room, neither of them were really inclined to mind it.

“I must agree,” said Castiel. “The ambient temperature of the ship is much cooler than that of Vulcan. I find this… pleasant.”

“It’s winter on Earth now,” said Dean thoughtfully. “Christmastime in a few weeks. Guess you forget about stuff like that in space.” Castiel didn’t answer him, so he asked, “Do Vulcans celebrate anything like Christmas? I mean,” he backtracked a little, “like a holiday associated with the winter season or something.”

“On Vulcan we partake in the Tal-Shanar,” Castiel said slowly, “but it is very different from your Christmas. It’s a religious ritual that we consider to be very sacred and private. Outsiders are rarely allowed to participate.”

“So, no parties?” asked Dean, a bit glumly.

“No parties,” Castiel confirmed.

“Maybe we should have a party,” mused Dean. “Seems a shame to let Earth’s holiday season pass us by without even a party.”

“It would be good for morale,” agreed Cas. “Humans derive an intriguing sense of camaraderie from imbibing alcoholic beverages together.”

Dean laughed. “I’ll ask the captain about it,” he decided. “He loves Christmas. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

They dozed, leaning against one another, until Dr. Lafitte’s voice over the intercom woke them.

“Okay, you two are clear to go. Looks like that took care of it.”

Castiel sat up straight, stretching. “You know, Doctor,” he said casually. “I seem to have developed a slight headache. I believe it would be wise for me to go through another decontamination cycle.”

“Me too, Doctor,” Dean chimed in. “I think we should, you know, in case we picked up some kind of disease -”

Dr. Lafitte sighed; Dean could picture him shaking his head at the two of them even as he was saying over the intercom, “All right, you two. One more cycle, and we’ll see if those headaches have gone away.”

He hugged himself tightly, staring at the snow-covered landscape in front of him. It was cold, but the burning sensation the cold left on his fingertips, the numbness that spread throughout his body, made him forget everything for a short moment. He closed his eyes, lifting his chin to the sky when it started snowing, concentrating on the feeling each snowflake left behind on his skin. There were no words that could describe this feeling, now that he was thinking about it. The burning of the snowflakes on his skin, almost too short to perceive before the heat of his skin was melting them was almost... pleasurable. It was something he never actually noticed as an angel. Heat and cold had been dimmed versions of what he was experiencing now, as a human, or as close as he could get to being one. He opened his eyes again, staring at the sky, wondering for a moment if the light grey he could see were the clouds that covered almost every part of the sky or the masses of snowflakes coming down to earth, an indistinct mass of grey and cold.

The door behind him opened and Castiel didn't need to turn around to know who it was, standing behind him. Judging from the small sigh he could make out in the otherwise almost complete silence, it was Dean. It was always Dean who was looking for him.

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice quiet. He made a few steps forward, until he was standing right beside him. The first thing Castiel noticed was the jacket and scarf Dean was wearing, until his eyes trailed down to Dean's feet. Winter boots. He must've thought Castiel was gone.

“Did you come out to look for me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice soft. For a second, he could see a small, almost helpless smile on Dean's lips, but his face hardened a moment later.

“You were gone, Cas. For an hour. Kevin said you went out.” There was a frown on Dean's face when the other man ran his hand through his short hair.

“I'm not going anywhere, Dean. You don't have to worry about me.” He was actually smiling now, and the feeling of the corners of his mouth moving upwards was somewhat relieving.

“I... I never,” Dean started, before he cleared his throat. “So what are you doing out here?”

Castiel's smile fell again, and once again he moved his gaze to the sky.

“I was thinking about all the things that are... different now,” he started. He paused for a moment, but Dean just looked at him, his eyes full of understanding. “I miss it, Dean. I miss having my powers, I miss having a purpose, I miss feeling useful, not feeling like a burden. I miss having my wings.”

Dean didn't say anything at first, then he moved closer to him and pointed to the ground.

“Lie down,” he said, his voice unreadable.

Confused, Castiel looked at him, his eyebrows lifting. “What for?”

“You'll see. Just... do what I say.” As if to prove his point, Dean went down to his knees, waiting for Castiel to do the same before leaning back and letting himself fall into the snow. Hesitating, the angel did the same, wondering what they were doing before hitting the snow.

“Stretch out your arms now,” Dean told him then. He stretched his arms, feeling the snow soak his awful red Christmas sweater Sam had made him wear, although he couldn't quite understand the humor in wearing an uncomfortable, oversized sweater with little trees on it. His fingertips brushed Dean's when stretching and he awkwardly moved his arms a bit up.

“Now,” Dean started and Castiel moved his head to look at him, “move your arms up and down. And your legs – like a jumping-jack.” He grins at him and moved his arms and legs. “Just like that.” The snow made a crunching sound when Castiel moved his arms just as Dean did.

“What are we doing, Dean?” he wanted to know, moving his arms above his head and down again, the snow completely flattened by this time.

Dean said nothing in response, only got back on his feat and waving Castiel to do the same. After a short moment he held out his hand to aid him standing up and Castiel grabbed it, only to end up much closer to Dean than he had intended.

“Look at them,” Dean said, pointing at the snow. The two of them had left imprints in the snow, Dean's marginally larger than Castiel's.

“I remember Mum and me playing in the snow when I was little. She would show me how to do snow angels. That's what we did here, Cas, snow angels.”

Dean made a step forward, pointing at where Cas had moved his arms.

“Here, do you see it? Wings. Not as majestic as yours were, but nevertheless, wings.”

Dean moved back to Castiel, turning around to him again, smiling, but his smile fell the moment he saw tears welling up in the former angel's eyes.

“Cas... I, I'm sorry, did I say -” he started, but Castiel only shook head. He brought up one finger to Dean's mouth, nearly touching his lips.

“Don't. Just...”

He moved closer to Dean, grabbing his jacket and hugging him tightly.

“I really appreciate it.”

Dean turned his head so he could look Castiel in the eyes, awfully close to him. Castiel almost waited for Dean to scold him about personal space, but Dean only grabbed his sweater and pulling him closer.

“I'm so sorry about what happened, Cas. But we'll go through this, together. We'll make it.”

Castiel felt more tears well up in his eyes; some of them were already hitting the skin of his cheeks. He let his face fall forward until his forehead touched Dean's. The tips of their noses almost touched like that, but it didn't matter to Castiel – in fact, he had to admit he liked being close to Dean. He felt Dean's hands brushing over, almost caressing, his back, but the other man took his hands from his back eventually, only to cup Castiel's face with them.

He opened his eyes in surprise and stared at Dean, who blushed slightly at it.

“Let me tell you this, Cas. You're not a burden.”

Dean kept his eyes open when his face moved closer, when his lips found Castiel's, and Castiel didn't even dare to blink as he felt Dean's lips on his own, Dean's hands in his hair, and for a moment he could see panic in Dean's eyes when Castiel didn't move, but he visibly relaxed as soon as the former angel kissed back. And then, Castiel closed his eyes, but not before letting out a small sigh. Dean chuckled against his lips before moving his head out of Castiel's reach.

He quickly planted a kiss on Castiel's nose, at which the former angel blushed.

“You're not a burden. In fact, I am glad you're here, Cas.”

He stretched out his hand, smiling brightly when Cas took it.