Archive of Our Own ^beta

Reaching into the box, Dean pulled out the mail, glancing at it as he made his way to the door. He unlocked the door and carried the mail with him into the kitchen. Abandoning the stack of envelopes on the table, he pulled open the fridge. He'd love a beer, but he really needed a shower, and there was no point in wasting good beer by gulping it.

He grabbed the lemonade instead, pouring himself a small glass. He sipped at the lemonade as he sorted through the mail. The flyers from the politicians went in the recycle bin, along with a promise of better cable prices. He didn't need the flyers. Cas would tell him who was worth voting for; Cas paid attention to that stuff.

All that was left were the bills. Downing the last of his lemonade, he picked them up, dropping them in the bin marked bills on the desk as he walked past and up the stairs.

Stepping into the shower, he dropped his head forward and let the water cascade down over his back. Tilting his head to the side, he turned so the water was beating down on first one shoulder and then the other.

A hot shower was definitely the best way to end the day.

Reaching for the shampoo, he squirted some into his palm. He'd barely begun rubbing it into his hair when a voice said, "Thought I'd find you in here."

Pulling the curtain aside just enough for his head, Dean looked out. Cas was leaning against the doorway. With his tie askew, he looked damned sexy. "You could join me."

"If I do that, it'll be nine o'clock tonight before we even start dinner. You get cranky when you're hungry."

"Not if I'm hungry because of shower sex and post-shower sex."

Cas walked across the bathroom and kissed Dean far more briefly than necessary. "You'll have more stamina when you've eaten."

"I have plenty of stamina," Dean said. And he did. He just didn't have Castiel levels of stamina, which were sometimes downright inhuman. Not that Dean objected.

Cas kissed him again, though it felt a little patronizing. "I'll fire up the grill."

"I'll be out soon."

Dean found Cas on the back deck, clad in jeans and an ACDC t-shirt that had migrated to Cas's side of the dresser years ago, glancing through the newspaper.

"Grill's almost ready," he said when Dean handed him a beer.

His own beer in hand, Dean walked over to the grill. It did look ready. Opening the container sitting on the side of the grill, he placed both steaks onto it and closed the lid.

"How was the staff meeting?" Dean asked, taking the seat across from Cas. Cas's department always met on Wednesdays and Wednesday nights tended to be very lucky for Dean. Either Cas would come home amused at his fellow academics, in which case they would have playful, fun sex, or he would come home irritated, in which case they would have unrestrained, letting-off-steam sex. Either way, Dean won.

More than once he'd considered sending Cas's colleagues a thank you note.

Before Cas could answer, Dean's phone rang. Pulling it from his jeans pocket, he glanced at the caller ID, then flipped it open. "Sammy." He could practically hear the eye roll.

"Congratulations, Dean."

"For what?"

"Three years, you and Cas, living together."

"Is that today?"

"Sunday. A reminder came up on my Blackberry."

"Thanks for the heads up," Dean said. Not that he needed it. Cas paid as much attention to that stuff as Dean did, which was almost none. It wasn't like a missed anniversary was going to result in a night on the couch.

"I've got a gift for you, if you want it."

A gift. That was something else entirely. Dean sat up a little taller. "What kind of gift?" Cas looked up from his paper and Dean lifted his eyebrows to show his own puzzlement.

"Legal services. An old classmate of mine has set up shop in your area. He'd be willing to do a power of attorney, medical proxies, wills, all at a discount. You guys have let this go for too long."

"You know me and commitment."

"You live with Cas in a house the two of you bought together. You've been together five years and living together for three."

Okay, so maybe he was committed to Cas, but that didn't mean they had to formalize it. "I'll talk to him about it and let you know." Leaning back, Dean lifted his legs onto the closest chair. "How's my namesake?"

"Robert Dean is fine."

"Is he crawling yet?"

"He's only three months old."

"I don't know when babies start doing this stuff," Dean said, getting up and carrying the phone over to the grill.

"He's still pretty much at the eat, sleep and shit stage."

Dean flipped one of the steaks. "That sounds charming."

"It'd be more charming if he actually slept at night. I thought your children weren't supposed to make you cry until they were teenagers."

"You need help?" Dean asked, flipping the second steak.

"We're just tired, that's all. I hear babies eventually sleep through the night."

"The semester ends in two weeks. We're happy to come out and stay a few days, get up with the kid, give you guys a chance to sleep."

"Jess is still breastfeeding, so--" Sam said. He sounded distracted and Dean could hear crying in the background.

"Not much we can do to help there," Dean said, picking up the container the steaks had been in and brushing the remaining marinade across the top.

"I gotta go."

"I'll let you know about the present."

"See you, Dean."

"Bye, Sam." Dean clicked the phone shut.

Cas was looking at him. "What's this about a present?"

"Sam thinks we should get all the legal paperwork taken care of, power of attorney, that kind of stuff."

"We probably should," Cas said, folding his paper. "If something should happen to one of us the other would be in a bind."

Dean knew that, but he couldn't shake the feeling that by preparing for something awful to happen they were inviting it. "You want me to tell Sam we'll talk to his friend?"

"Sure," Cas said, picking up the paper and carrying it with him into the house.

Picking up his forgotten beer, Dean leaned against the deck railing and told himself he hadn't just agreed to get married.

Five Years Earlier

The woman who handed him his coffee was looking a little harried so Dean gave her a grateful smile as he took his cup. Turning, he looked around. He must've picked the right place for breakfast, since there was only one empty seat in the place. It was across from a dark-haired guy who was bent over a book.

He narrowly avoided getting hit by a briefcase as he crossed the cafe to the empty seat. "Mind if I sit?"

The man looked up with what had to be the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. "No, of course not."

"Thanks." Sitting, Dean took a drink off of his coffee. It was smooth, with an almost nutty undertone. "This is good."

"It is," the man across from him agreed. "I've been coming here every day since I moved to town. Although that was only three days ago."

"I just moved here myself," Dean said, holding out a hand. "Dean Winchester."

The man took Dean's hand in his own. He had a solid grip. "Castiel Smith."

"So, Castiel, what do you do?"

"I'm an historian."

"I fix classic cars. Guess that gives us something in common." Dean was flirting. He just wasn't sure why he was flirting.

Castiel smiled at him. It was a small smile, almost private. "My specialty is ancient history. There weren't many cars then."

"Chariots, right?" Dean asked, before taking another drink of his coffee.

"And feet. They walked." Castiel leaned over to the side, far enough that he could see under the small table. "You have feet."

Dean grinned. The guy was odd, but interesting. "I do. So something in common after all."

When Dean got to the coffee shop the next morning, it wasn't quite as crowded and he found a table without any problem, what he didn't find was Castiel. Taking a seat at an empty table, Dean reminded himself that he'd come here for the coffee, not to meet some historian.

He'd eaten half of his danish when Castiel walked in. He was wearing a tan trench coat over a dark suit and his tie was loose. The guy was going to get jumped by half the women on campus looking like that, and probably a bunch of the men, too.

Dean watched as Castiel went through the line, turning his head when Castiel finally had his coffee and pastry. He didn't want it too look as though he'd been watching.

Castiel came straight to Dean's table. "Good morning, Dean. Mind if I join you?"

"My table is your table," Dean said. That would have sounded a lot more suave if he'd known how to say it in Spanish. "How was the first day of school?" Dean asked as Castiel sat across from him.

"Same as always. You hand out the syllabus, advise them to stay on top of the reading, hand in rough drafts of their papers for feedback, and take advantage of office hours."

If Castiel were Sam, Dean would have asked if there'd been any cute women in the class, but Dean had the feeling Castiel would disapprove of even noticing that kind of stuff about his students.

"How are things at the garage?"

"Great. A guy called me yesterday. He's bringing in an actual Model A for me to work on."

Castiel frowned. "A Model A?"

"The first car made by Ford. This baby is more than 100-years-old."

"Really? It's strange to think cars have been around that long."

"Strange?" Dean asked, because who wouldn't.

"I tend to think of them as more recent than that."

"You're an odd guy, Cas," Dean said.

Finishing his drink of coffee, Castiel put the cup on the table. "Thank you."

Smiling, broadly, Dean leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. Castiel was definitely odd, but the blue eyes made up for it. "You're welcome."

Castiel nodded once and took a bite of his scone.

As much as Dean loved his work, he'd never been a big fan of Mondays, but he found himself humming along with Howlin' Wolf as he drove to the coffee shop. He spotted Cas through the window on his way in. With a quick wave at Shirley, who was manning the register, he slid into the seat across from Cas and picked up the coffee Cas pushed toward him. "Thought it was my turn to buy." The first couple of weeks, Dean had bought his own coffee, but the entire past week he'd come in to find Cas with an extra coffee and pastry.

"You snooze, I buy."

"At this rate, I'm going to have to take you to dinner just to even the score," Dean said, setting down his coffee and picking up his raspberry cheese danish.

"I'm not keeping score," Cas said. "But I wouldn't object to dinner."

"You busy Friday?"

"No."

"It's a date," Dean said. Eying Cas's pastry, he asked, "What are you having?"

"It's a chocolate and peanut butter danish. Apparently, it's an experiment."

"How is it?"

"Good, although, honestly, it tastes more like a dessert than breakfast." Cas pushed his plate across the table. "Try it."

Dean picked up the danish and took a bite. It was good, but definitely sweet and rich. "We can switch, if you want." Seeing Cas's hesitation, Dean pushed his own plate toward him. "Go on, I know you like the raspberry."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Dean said because it was easier than arguing thanks weren't necessary. "Murphy, the guy with the Model A, recommended me to a friend with a Chrysler Thunderbolt. He's bringing it by today."

Cas took a bite of Dean's former danish, returning it to his plate before speaking. "It's not surprising Mr. Murphy recommended you; you did a good job with his car."

"How do you know? You never even saw it."

"No, but it was clear from the way you spoke of it the care you were taking with the repairs."

Oh, well, there wasn't much Dean could say to that. "What do you have planned for today?"

"I am giving a lecture on why marijuana is more acceptable in Arab cultures than alcohol."

Dean paused with his cup to his lips, and blinked. "That'll keep their attention."

"I suspect so." Cas took a drink from his own cup.

Resting his elbows on the table, Dean leaned a little closer. "So why do the Arabs prefer pot to alcohol?"

"They're trading cultures. Alcohol lowers inhibitions, making users more likely to make a bad trade. Marijuana doesn't have the same effect. If anything, it creates a mild paranoia that makes one less likely to make a bad trade."

It made sense, Dean supposed. "So to see an uninhibited Cas, I should ply you with alcohol?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't believe I have any inhibitions."

Sitting back in his chair, Dean eyed his breakfast companion closely. "Really?"

"Mmm-hmm," Cas answered around a bite of danish.

Cocking an eyebrow, Dean watched as Cas took a second bite. "Everyone has some inhibitions."

"What are yours?" Cas asked, putting down his danish and looking directly at Dean.

"Water sports," Dean said, because it was easier to explain than 'relationships.'

Cas frowned. "You don't like swimming?"

With anyone else Dean would think they were pulling his leg, but not Cas. "No. Water sports are..." Dean stopped. "You know what, just Google it."

"Very well," Cas said, nodding agreeably.

"I believe we share an inhibition," Cas said when Dean took his seat across from Cas the following morning.

"Looked it up, huh?"

Cas nodded. "I don't understand why anyone would wish to combine urine and sex."

Just in time, Dean stopped himself from saying 'there are worse things.' There was no way he was explaining scat to Cas. "Me either," Dean said. "Some bodily fluids just shouldn't be included in sex."

"I agree." Cas's expression was solemn, like they were making some kind of pact never to give someone a golden shower.

"So how early do I have to get here to be the one to buy breakfast?" Dean asked, picking up his muffin.

"I like buying breakfast," Cas said, and Dean let it go.

Cas answered the door to his apartment in jeans and a t-shirt with a navy blue jacket. The look was a decade, or two, out of date, but Dean manfully resisted making any Miami Vice references. They'd only go over Cas's head anyway. "Hello, Dean," he said with a warmth that completely distracted Dean from his clothes.

"Hi."

Cas stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "How do you feel about Italian?"

"Italian's good."

"Great," Cas said, walking past Dean toward the stairs.

Dean fell into step beside him.

"It's just a couple of blocks," Cas said as they stepped onto the street.

A couple of blocks meant walking and Dean looked at his baby, silently apologizing for leaving her.

"You can take me for a ride in your car later," Cas said.

"Promise?"

"I promise," Cas said. That was good enough for Dean.

Aunt Toni's, the restaurant Cas led him to, had red and white checked table cloths and one of those drippy candles on the wall next to each booth. Apparently they kept changing the color of the candles, because there was a build-up of multicolored wax beneath the candle.

"Nice place," Dean said, looking around.

Cas had been looking around as well, and he shifted his gaze to Dean. "I've only had the takeout, but it was quite good."

"Pizza?"

"Pasta."

"Want to try the pizza?"

Cas tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing. "That depends."

"On?"

"Toppings, of course."

Dean grinned. "I like pepperoni."

"Unsurprising."

"And sausage."

"Also unsurprising."

"Meatballs. Ham. Bacon."

"I suspect nothing containing vitamins ever graces a pizza eaten in your presence."

Dean laughed. "I'm willing to include onions." At Cas's steady look, he added. "And mushrooms."

"Green peppers," Cas said, sounding like he was negotiating a peace treaty instead of just pizza toppings.

"Deal." Dean pointed at Cas. "But I'm only doing this because you keep sneaking in and buying breakfast before I get there."

Cas smiled at him. He had a small smile and it had taken Dean a while to recognize it. Now, he could spot it at twenty paces. "I believe you like it when I buy you breakfast," Cas said.

Dean was spared having to answer by the arrival of their waitress. They ordered a supreme pizza without the olives and two beers.

"I gave a surprise quiz today," Cas said after she left. "I believe it is your influence."

"My influence? The last thing I'd do is influence someone to give a test, at least a school test."

Shifting back slightly, Cas picked up his water glass. The guy always had such perfect posture. It was kind of weird. "When we were discussing the origins of imperial Rome you grasped the implications of Crassus' death immediately. I wanted to see if my students could do the same."

"Could they?" To Dean it had seemed obvious that with Crassus dead, Caesar and Pompey would be headed to war.

"I haven't graded the quizzes yet, but I suspect most of them will not have."

"Huh," Dean said, mouth curving briefly downward. Cas thinking Dean grasped things more quickly than his students was kind of flattering.

The waitress arrived with their beers and Dean waited for her to leave before taking a drink. "What other trouble have I inspired you to get into?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Because of you I now know that Led Zeppelin inspired cock rock."

Dean choked, barely managing to keep his beer from spewing out of his mouth and across the table. He'd been been having breakfast with Cas for more than three weeks and Dean had never heard him swear or say anything remotely sexual, and here he was saying 'cock' in the middle of a family restaurant.

"I believe the term applies to masculine forms of music such as heavy metal," Cas added.

"Yeah, I get that." Raising an arm, Dean rested it along the back of the booth, tilting slightly in his seat. "Where did you hear it?"

"I didn't hear it. I read it."

"You've been reading about rock and roll."

Cas nodded. "Led Zeppelin specifically. You like them and I thought it would give us something to discuss during dinner."

Cas had researched Led Zeppelin for him. That was either creepy or really flattering. Cas was gazing at him intently, clearly wondering if he'd done the right thing. Dean decided it was flattering. Leaning forward, he cupped his beer in his hands. "So what have you listened to?"

"Listened to?"

"They're a band, Cas. Reading about them is all well and good, but you have to actually listen to them to know what they're about."

"I haven't listened."

"That settles it." Their waitress was walking past and Dean signaled her. "Could we get our pizza to go?"

"Sure. It should be ready in another five or ten minutes," she said and left.

Cas was frowning at him. "I thought we were going out to dinner."

"Now we're eating at my place, where I can properly introduce you to the joys of Jimmy Page and Robert Plant."

Grateful that he was a pretty neat guy, unlike his brother, Dean unlocked the door to his apartment and led Cas inside. Cas looked around while Dean tossed his keys on a small table by the door and kicked off his shoes. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing at the couch a few feet away. "I'll get us a couple of beers."

When he came back, Cas had left the pizza on the coffee table in front of the couch and was standing in front of Dean's CD collection, head turned to the side as he read the titles. "Looking for the Led Zep?" Dean asked, handing Cas a beer.

"No," Cas said, glancing up at him. "I'm attempting to discern the method behind your filing system."

"That's easy," Dean said, smiling at Cas for no reason other than that he could. "It's by genre, then period, then artist."

"So is Led Zeppelin in the cock rock section?" Cas asked. Dean could've sworn there was something suggestive in the way he said cock.

"Led Zep are in a class by themselves." Pulling Led Zeppelin II off the shelf, Dean said, "I'll show you." Putting the CD in the player, he pressed play, his head and shoulders moving with the familiar riff's of Page's guitar as he turned back toward Cas. "Want a 'Whole Lotta Love'?"

Cas tilted his head to the side, lips pursing as he considered the question. "Doesn't everyone?" he asked after a moment.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, they do."

Cas grinned back. His grins were only a little bigger than his smiles, but they made his eyes light up in a way that was kind of intriguing. Dean really needed to study it further.

"We should eat," Cas said when Dean didn't move.

"Right," Dean said, leading the way to the couch.

"There is a great deal of dissonant noise in this song," Cas said as Dean dropped onto the couch next to him.

"That's what makes it great."

"If you say so," Cas said, sounding doubtful.

Flipping his phone open, Dean glanced at the caller ID before pressing talk and lifting it to his ear. "Sammy!"

"I'm going to find a way to take away your caller ID."

"Is that anyway to greet your brother?"

"Hello, Dean."

"Sammy." Dean could almost hear Sam grinding his teeth on the other end. Grinning to himself, he dropped onto the couch and lifted his feet onto the coffee table. "So, how's things?"

"Things are good."

"How's Jess?"

"She's good."

That much was obvious from the tone of Sam's voice. "You gonna marry her or what?"

"Dean."

"What? You're crazy about her. She's crazy about you."

"I thought maybe I'd finish law school first."

"Got to get accepted first," Dean pointed out.

"I applied for early admission here at Stanford. They want me."

"That's great, Sam. Really. Congratulations, dude."

"Full scholarship."

"That only covers tuition, though, right?"

"Dean. I can manage."

"I'm not saying you can't. The business is doing well and --"

"I get it. Thanks," Sam said. There was genuine gratitude in his voice, but Dean wasn't surprised when he changed the subject. "So what have you been up to?"

Dean relaxed back into the sofa. "Apparently, I inspired a pop quiz on Caesar."

"Julius Caesar?"

"You remember me talking about Cas, right?"

"The history professor," Sam said.

"Yeah, him, he gave his students a quiz to see of they could grasp the implications of Crassus' death as quickly as I could."

"Did they?"

"Don't know yet. He's still grading."

"You guys are pretty tight, huh?"

"He's interesting," Dean said, figuring that was enough of an answer. "He brought up Led Zep at dinner last night and get this, he'd read essays about them but never actually listened to them."

"Which you corrected."

"Well, yeah. Never having heard Zep? That's just a travesty."

"What'd he think?"

"He didn't like all the noise on II, but he thought Physical Graffiti was okay."

"Just okay? You mean he didn't go home and immediately construct an altar to Jimmy Page?"

Sometimes Sam said things it was better just to ignore. "I played him ACDC. You'll never guess his reaction."

"Can't imagine," Sam said, clearly humoring Dean. But, hey, he was the little brother. It was his job to humor Dean.

"He couldn't understand why anyone would boast about having big balls, given that they're aesthetically displeasing."

Sam burst out laughing. "He actually said that?"

"Yup."

"I think I like this guy."

"Yeah," Dean said, "me too."

Determined to beat Cas to the coffee shop, Dean pulled himself out of bed a half hour early Monday morning. Arriving at the shop, bleary-eyed and desperate for coffee, he still grinned when he couldn't find a single sign of Cas.

Dean studied the pastry assortment carefully. Eat the wrong breakfast and you'd start the whole day off on the wrong foot. He'd settled on an orange scone when Lori came out of the back carrying a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Dean ordered two, along with their favorite coffees.

The door to the shop opened just as Dean was sitting down and he looked up to see Cas coming toward him, trench coat flapping around him. "You got up early this morning," Cas said.

"I did," Dean answered, feeling a little smug about it.

"A cinnamon roll?" Cas asked, taking the seat across from Dean's.

"Fresh from the oven."

"It looks sticky."

"That's what makes it good," Dean said with a grin and picked up his own roll. He took a bite, making a small humming sound at the combination of warm dough, cinnamon and sugar melting over his tongue.

Cas was watching him closely, so Dean took another bite, making a show of enjoying it. Still watching Dean, Cas picked up his roll and bit into it, lips parting to show very white teeth.

He chewed thoughtfully, his expression considering, like he was evaluating the roll's worth. "It's good," he said at last,

"Told you," Dean answered, leaning back in his chair, thoroughly satisfied with his victory.

"I have noticed that you base your views of food on the amount of pleasure you get from eating them rather than their nutritional value," Cas said.

"If you can't enjoy it, what's the point?"

Cas frowned slightly. "I'm fairly certain there are other reasons for eating."

"Sure, but are they good reasons?" Dean asked before taking another bite of his roll.

"Certainly providing your body with the fuel and nutrients to perform well is a good reason," Cas said.

Roll finished, Dean stuck a sugar-coated fingertip in his mouth and sucked it clean. Grinning at Cas's expression, he leaned across the table. "If that's the case, why do you eat pastries and drink coffee with me every morning?"

"Because I enjoy your company." Cas looked quite pleased with his answer, leaving Dean wondering if he'd actually won.

Since greeting him with a distracted 'good morning,' Cas had been staring out the coffee shop window. Dean had followed his gaze, but hadn't been able to find anything worth looking at. "What's on your mind?" Dean asked, and Cas blinked at him as if surprised to find him sitting there.

"My department."

"Your department?"

"The dean of humanities is hosting a gathering for new faculty this weekend. I've been attempting to determine the price of not attending."

"Isn't he your boss?"

"Indirectly, yes."

"Not going to a party thrown by your boss is never a good idea," Dean said.

"I know," Cas said, sounding almost morose about it. "The prospect of spending an evening with my colleagues is... not pleasant."

"What's wrong with them?"

Dean had imagined they were all like Cas, quirky but interesting.

"They're petty. They bicker over stupid things." Cas rested an arm on the table and leaned toward Dean. "My first department meeting, they argued for twenty minutes over how to pay the department phone bill."

"The phone bill." Dean frowned. "Don't they have accountants for that?"

"Yes, but there has been some budget tightening recently and they are all being asked to pay for their personal calls." Cas shook his head. "It was ridiculous. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something impolite."

"I'll bet." One thing Dean had noticed about Cas was that he wasn't the most patient guy in the world. Or polite. Not that he was ever deliberately rude, and he was always nice to the staff in the coffee shop, but there was something Dean couldn't quite put his finger on. Like maybe Cas didn't think rules were worth following. Like he was nice to people because he wanted to be and not because society said he had to be. "I doubt they'll talk about the phone bill at a party."

"No, unfortunately. Instead, they'll no doubt make snide comments about one another's work. Valid criticism is one thing, but they focus in on things that are entirely unimportant while overlooking major flaws."

"I can see where that would be annoying," Dean said, and the weird thing was, he kinda could. "Would it be easier if you had someone to bitch to?"

Cas looked up at him. "Are you offering to come with me?"

"Sure. Might be fun."

The corners of Cas's mouth softened upward. "Perhaps," he said, like maybe having Dean along would make it fun.

Dean smiled.

"What should I wear to a faculty party?" Dean asked as soon as Sam said 'hello.'

"What?"

"Faculty party. What should I wear?"

"A university faculty party?"

"In twenty minutes. I got caught at the shop and now I'm running late."

"Have you tried asking Cas? Doesn't he teach there?" Sam asked.

"Called. He's not answering. Probably in the shower," Dean said, pushing the shirts in his closet aside so he could get to the suit in the back. "Would a suit be too much? Cas teaches in a suit most days."

"So where a suit," Sam said.

"Blue or black?"

"Blue."

Den pulled out the blue suit, eying it critically. "It might look like I'm trying to match Cas's eyes."

"What?" Sam choked.

"He's got seriously blue eyes, like the bluest eyes I have ever seen."

"I doubt people will think you're trying to match your date's eyes."

"What if Cas wears his blue suit?"

"So wear the black one."

"What if he wears black?" Dean tossed the suit onto his bed. "Maybe I should just wear my tan pants, and a button-down shirt."

"Yes, wear that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How should I act? These aren't really my kind of people, you know?" So maybe that was why he'd really called Sam. He was a mechanic and these guys all had fancy degrees. It wasn't that he thought they were better than him. He didn't, but he figured they would think they were better than him, and he didn't want to make Cas look bad in front of his co-workers.

"Just be yourself, Dean."

Dean frowned. That was the last thing he'd expected Sam to say. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"All right, but if they fire Cas because I was myself it'll be your fault."

"Go. Have fun."

"Thanks, Sam. Talk to you tomorrow," Dean said and snapped his phone shut, dropping it onto the bed and grabbing his green button-down shirt.

"You look nice," Cas said, opening the door to let Dean into his apartment.

Cas looked like he always looked, hair in slight disarray, but not so much that anyone would notice on first glance, tie loose and the top button undone. "Isn't that what you wore to class?" Dean asked.

"What's wrong with it?" Cas asked, looking down at his suit.

"Nothing. Here," Dean said, stepping close and buttoning the top button on Cas's shirt and then tightening the tie, brushing his hands over the lapels before stepping back, not that it was enough to erase the impression of wrinkles. Dean wasn't entirely certain how Cas managed to look wrinkled even when he wasn't, but along with the non-existent wrinkles came the impression that clothes were one of the many things beneath Cas's notice.

"I feel like I'm being strangled." Cas looked Dean up and down. "Maybe I could wear something like you're wearing."

Dean shook his head. "I'm just along for the ride. You're a guest of honor."

Cas snorted. "Fine. Let's go." He led the way out of his apartment and out onto the sidewalk. "This way," he said, tilting his head to the right when Dean started to go left.

"My car is down here," Dean said, still heading left.

"It's easier to walk."

"Walk?"

"I walk every day."

"You walk to work?"

"It's only a mile."

"Just because you study the past, that doesn't mean you have to live it," Dean said, grudgingly falling into step beside Cas.

"I like walking. It gives me time to think."

"So does driving."

"I wouldn't know."

"You've never driven?" Just when Dean had thought Cas couldn't get any stranger.

Cas shrugged. "I've never felt the need."

"To drive?"

"There are plenty of buses and taxis, and most of the places I go are within walking distance of my apartment."

"But--" Dean tried to wrap his brain around the idea of a grown man who couldn't drive. "You should know how."

"Why?"

"What if there was an emergency and you needed to drive?"

"I'd call you."

"What if I was injured and you needed to drive me to the hospital?"

"I'd call an ambulance."

"What if we were out in the middle of nowhere and it was going to take too long for them to get to us?"

"Why would we be out in the middle of nowhere?"

"I don't know. We were cow-tipping or spelunking or something."

"Are you suggesting you would tip a cow over on yourself?"

"No, I am not suggesting I'd tip a cow on myself." Dean stopped walking. "You need to learn to drive. Just trust me on this."

Cas turned toward him. "It's important to you that I learn to drive."

"Yes," Dean said, although honestly he had no idea why, other than that a grown man who couldn't drive was just disturbing.

"I'll consider it."

Dean smiled. "Good."

"Although I don't see why we'd go spelunking," Cas said as he resumed walking.

"Could be fun. Exploring the unknown. You never know what you might find, right?"

Cas's eyes narrowed, and Dean got the feeling he was thinking about something other than caves. "Right."

The dean reminded Dean of that guy from the toilet paper commercials, Mr. Whipple. But when Dean whispered "Please, don't squeeze the Charmin" in Cas's ear, all he got was a puzzled frown. Seriously, had the guy never watched TV?

"Marxist," Cas said nodding at one of colleagues.

Dean turned to see the guy dressed pretty much like Dean himself. Only he was shorter and skinnier and looked like he hadn't combed his hair all day, even though it was short. "How can you tell?"

"His work. He thinks that the economy is the most important aspect of a society, that the entire shape of the society is determined by how it makes and distributes goods and services."

Marxist or not that seemed like a reasonable proposition to Dean. "It is pretty important, Cas. The economy determines who eats and who doesn't."

"It's important, yes, but is it the most important thing?"

Dean was inclined to say 'yes,' but he wanted to hear Cas's argument first. "What would you consider the most important thing?"

"Morality."

Eyebrows lifting, Dean said, "Morality? Seriously?"

"A society's conception of right and wrong determines how people are treated. A society in which it is considered wrong to allow people to starve will organize its economy so no one starves."

Dean frowned. He was pretty sure there was something wrong with that argument. "But don't people just make up right and wrong? If it benefits me, I say it's right. If it hurts me, I say it's wrong."

"You think right and wrong are relative?"

"No. But I think most people make them relative."

Lips pursed, Cas nodded. "What is your definition of right and wrong?"

"If it hurts someone, it's wrong. If it helps, it's right."

"What if something hurts you, but benefits me?"

"Then it would depend on how much it helped."

"And how much it hurt," Cas said, his eyes locking on Dean's.

For some reason, it felt like there was a second conversation going on under or maybe above this one. "Obviously," Dean answered, letting some sarcasm slip into his tone and shifting his gaze away from Cas's. Leaning closer to Cas, he nodded at a tall man with a shock of white hair, standing across the room surrounded by shorter guys in suits. "Who's that?"

"Dr. Clemons. I was told he and Dr. Richards haven't agreed on anything since they were both hired in 1986. If Clemons said it was a nice day out, Richards would argue it wasn't."

"That sounds annoying."

"It makes for very long, very trying meetings." Cas shifted so he was once again looking at Dean. "To be honest, I don't understand why they feel compelled to spend so much time discussing things." His mouth twisted as he said the word 'discussing'. "Someone should make a decision and everyone else should do as they're told."

Dean drew back slightly. "Isn't talking things to death the whole point of college?"

"Apparently," Cas said in a voice containing more than a hint of a growl.

"You don't enjoy talking?"

"What they do isn't talking, it's wasting other people's time."

This was a side of Cas Dean hadn't seen, and hadn't expected. Cas had always been willing to discuss pretty much anything and everything with Dean, and Dean had assumed he enjoyed it. Apparently that wasn't true of everyone Cas talked to. "So is there anyone in the department you do like?"

"Not particularly," Cas said.

Lips pressed together, Dean nodded. "Okay."

"They assumed we're sleeping together," Cas said as they walked home. The night was clear with a slight chill, a perfect fall evening.

"Figured they would."

"That doesn't bother you?"

Once upon a time it might have, but Dean was too old to be bothered by that kind of crap now. "Should it?"

"I suppose not," Cas answered.

The moon was full, illuminating the buildings around them more than the streetlamps were. "So you're not like your colleagues, huh?"

"Not much, no," Cas said, sounding pleased Dean had noticed. Stopping, he looked past Dean, at something out beyond the streetlight, before shifting his gaze to Dean's face. "Do you ever feel as if you don't fit into your life?"

"Sure," Dean answered easily. "Everyone feels that way sometimes."

"I..." Cas paused, pressing his lips together as if he was trying to stop himself from speaking. "I have dreams. I'm in a battle. I have no idea where, or who it is I'm fighting, or why, but they're very real, almost like I'd lived them."

"But you were never a soldier," Dean said.

"No," Cas agreed, but he was frowning as though dissatisfied with his answer.

"So what's so real about them?"

"The emotions. I feel resolute. Whatever it is I'm fighting for, I'm absolutely certain I'm doing the right thing."

"You're not afraid?"

Cas shook his head. "Sometimes I feel fear for others, but I don't know who they are anymore than I know who I'm fighting."

Dean wished he had something useful to say, but he was coming up empty. "We all have strange dreams."

"What are yours?"

"I once dreamt I gave my brother a Barbie doll for Christmas." Compared to the seriousness of Cas's dreams, it sounded stupid, but it had felt real when he was dreaming it. "There was just the two of us for Christmas and I stole presents for him."

"Did Sam like the doll?"

"He was kind of disappointed, but I think he appreciated the effort."

"I'm sure he did," Cas said, completely solemn, as if it had really happened instead of being some stupid dream.

"Come on," Dean said, nudging Cas with his shoulder. "Let's go." They resumed walking. "So when are we going to start your driving lessons?" Dean asked.

"I never agreed to driving lessons."

"I have time tomorrow."

"I have papers to grade."

"Sunday then."

"Fine," Cas said, but he didn't sound all that grudging.

Cas eyed the car, skepticism written in every line of his body. "Don't I need some sort of license to drive?"

"Only if you screw up," Dean answered, opening the passenger side door. "Which I won't let you do. Now get in."

Opening the door, Cas slid into the front seat, frowning and looking around as if he'd never seen the inside of a car before.

Leaning over, Dean pushed the key into the ignition. "First thing you want to do is make sure the seat isn't too far forward or back. We're almost the same height so you shouldn't have to move it much."

"How do I tell?"

This was going to be harder than he'd thought. "See if you can push the pedals without having to strain."

"I can."

"Good. Now check your mirrors. You want to adjust them so you can see what's behind you with a quick glance."

Cas dutifully adjusted the mirrors.

"Now put your foot on the brake and turn the ignition."

"Which one is the brake?"

"How can you not know which one is the brake?"

Cas glared at him. "What part of 'I've never driven a car' eluded your understanding?"

"No need to get pissy," Dean said, although Cas was kind of amusing when he was pissy. An observation Dean was smart enough not to share. "It's the one on the left. The long pedal on the right is the accelerator. You press them both with your right foot. That way you don't risk pressing the gas and the brake at the same time."

Cas turned the key and the Impala roared back to life. Dean smiled, even though he'd only turned her off a few minutes earlier to change places with Cas after driving them out to one of the less used roads. "Good," Dean said. Reaching over his put his hand on the gear shift, moving it forward before pulling it down into drive. "She's in drive so all you have to do is press gently on the gas and steer us back onto the road."

Settling back in his seat, Dean watched as Cas guided the car back onto the road and set off a lot more slowly than Dean would have.

Once he stopped being pissy, Cas proved to be a quick study, mastering forward, reverse and turning with ease. Although something told Dean teaching Cas to drive in traffic, with other drivers around, wouldn't be anywhere near as easy.

The sun was going down, and Dean pointed toward a small parking area off the side of the road. "Pull in there." Dean had found it during his third week here, when he'd decided to spend his Sunday afternoon checking out the area, mostly because driving relaxed him. It seemed a little too remote for a parking area, but the view was fantastic.

Cas drove into the parking area, and Dean smiled at him. "Not bad for your first time."

"It was less unpleasant than I imagined," Cas said, making Dean smile even more, despite the fact that both his baby and one of his favorite pastimes had been kind of insulted.

"Put her in park and turn her off."

Turning off the car, Cas opened the driver's side door and climbed from the car, stretching as he stood. Then stopping when he caught sight of the mountains beyond the guard rails. "That's beautiful."

"Yeah," Dean said, glancing at the view then back at Cas. "It is." He held out his hand. "Keys."

Passing him the keys, Cas walked toward the railing. "Sometimes I forget how spectacular God's creation can be."

Cas had never mentioned God before, and Dean decided he wasn't going to get into it now. Opening the trunk, he took out a cooler and set it on the ground next to the Impala's hood. Removing a bottle of water, he carried it over to Cas. "Here."

"Thank you."

Dean looked out at the view while Cas took a long drink. The mountains were old and rounded, nothing like the Rockies. but with the light from the reflecting sun making the tops glow orange and red they were definitely worth looking at. "I brought sandwiches."

Cas nodded as if he'd expected no less and followed Dean back to the car. "Turkey or ham," Dean asked, bending over the cooler.

"Turkey."

Dean handed him a sandwich and Cas leaned against the side of the Impala, looking out at the mountains as he unwrapped it. Taking the other sandwich, Dean joined him.

"It's good," Cas said between bites. "Thank you for bringing dinner."

"You're welcome."

They ate in silence, watching as the sun sank below the horizon.

Sticking a finger in his mouth, Cas sucked it clean of cupcake frosting then smiled at Dean. "This was a good day."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It was." The driving, dinner, the view, it had all been good. The night was shaping up to be pretty good, too. The sun was long gone, but the night was clear. Tilting his head back, Dean looked up. The sky was filled with stars. "Ever wonder what's out there?"

Seated next to him on the car's hood, Cas followed his gaze. "If there's other life?"

Dean nodded.

"I believe there is."

"Me too." Dean turned to look at Cas.

Cas looked back, the low light making his eyes appear to be a darker shade of blue.

Dean was pretty sure they'd looked at one another too long and he was about to turn away when Cas pressed his lips to Dean's. Cas had soft lips, soft, full lips. Dean should've pulled back. Cas was a guy and Dean wasn't in the habit of kissing guys, even guys he liked. But this was Cas, and he didn't want to hurt Cas's feelings, and a single kiss wasn't likely to harm anything.

The second kiss was harder to explain. Except Cas's first kiss had been a little hesitant and Dean couldn't be blamed for wanting to know what it would feel like to kiss Cas without the hesitation.

It felt really, really good. Cas's lips moved easily against his, giving soft caresses and easy tugs that went straight through Dean.

When Cas started to pull away, Dean slid an arm around his waist, keeping him close, and kissed him again. Cas had done such a good job of kissing him, it seemed only polite to return the favor.

By the time they moved on to kiss number four Dean had stopped making excuses.

When Cas finally did pull back, Dean let him go.

Cas was looking at him warmly, maybe even fondly, and Dean looked back out at the mountains. "It's getting late. We should probably get back."

"Of course," Cas said, but when Dean glanced back at him some of the warmth seemed to have faded.

Pushing himself off the hood of the car, Dean picked up the cooler, carrying it to the back of the car and returning it to the trunk. When he slammed the trunk closed, he found Cas sitting in the passenger seat. Dean opened the driver's side door and climbed in. Cas didn't say anything. Dean rested his hands on the steering wheel. "This was fun."

"Yes," Cas said. "It was."

Cas's voice was rougher than usual and Dean glanced at him. The warmth was back in Cas's face and Dean smiled at him before turning the key and shifting the car into gear.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Cas said when Dean slid into the seat across from his.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You seemed a little... uncomfortable... last night."

Wanting to hide his discomfort, Dean took a drink of his coffee. Yeah, he'd been uncomfortable, but then he'd been kissed by his only friend who wasn't a relative. His male friend. And he'd liked it. It was the liking it that had left him awake and staring at the ceiling half the night. "I'm bad at relationships. Every time I've tried it, it's gone south. Fast."

Cas's eyes narrowed. "So your discomfort was not caused by me being a man?"

"Maybe a little," Dean admitted.

Cas nodded.

Dean hated being a stereotype, because he wasn't. He'd done things with guys, if you counted trading handjobs when you were fifteen. "Which doesn't mean I didn't like it."

Leaning across the small table, deep into Dean's personal space, Cas said, quietly enough that only Dean could hear him, "I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"We remain friends."

Dean nodded. He wanted to remain Cas's friend.

"Only sometimes, we kiss."

Bizarrely, Dean was disappointed. "Just kiss?"

"Unless you wish to do more?"

Cas voice was rougher when he was speaking quietly, and the sound of it created a vision in Dean's head of the two of them naked and doing more. "Kissing's good. I like kissing." Dean sounded like an idiot -- come on, who didn't like kissing -- but Cas shifted back in his chair, a pleased look on his face.

"Me too."

"So it's settled then?" Dean asked. "Friends with kissing?"

"Yes."

Dean pressed his back against the back of the chair. This was doable. He'd be able to keep Cas's friendship and he'd get to kiss him now and then. Definitely doable.

And if kisses sometimes led to other things, there wasn't any need to think about that yet.

The rest of the week passed normally. Dean worked and met Cas for breakfast. Cas taught and met Dean for breakfast. They didn't talk about kissing. Or driving.

But on Friday, Cas was sitting forward in his chair, hands curled around his coffee cup, his raspberry danish mostly untouched. He glanced at Dean, then back at his cup, then up at Dean.

"Something on your mind?" Dean asked.

"I was wondering if you might want to hang out later."

There was something really entertaining about Cas using the words 'hang out' -- his voice even changed when he said them -- and Dean found himself grinning. "Sure, Cas, I'll hang out with you."

Cas shifted his gaze back up to Dean, only it was sharp this time.

"What do you want to do?" Dean asked, making sure the amusement was gone from his voice.

Cas shrugged. "We could get some dinner, listen to music."

"Your place or mine?"

"Mine," Cas said.

Dean had never been inside Cas's place for more than a couple of minutes. Being invited over meant he had time to actually look at the books on Cas's shelves, most of which, unsurprisingly, were about history. "You need to read more fiction," Dean said.

Cas, who had just put his phone down after ordering Chinese, turned to look at him from his spot on the couch. "Why?"

"It's good to read about other places, other times."

"I'm an historian. My work is studying other times and places."

"Yeah, but you're reading the facts, all the dry stuff, not imagining what it felt like to be those people."

"You think I should imagine what it felt like to be Caesar."

"Why not? You might learn something." Leaving the books behind, Dean took a step toward Cas. "People are more than a collection of facts. They're heart and blood and gristle."

"Gristle?'

"Gristle," Dean said. "The stuff that makes you tough."

"So is there any fiction you'd recommend?"

"I'm partial to Vonnegut myself." Taking a seat on the couch, he added, "He was a soldier in World War II." Cas sat up a little straighter at that. "He was captured by the Germans and imprisoned in Dresden. He wrote about it in one of his books, but it's kind of there in all of them. I think you'd like him."

"Since you've recommended him, I'll read some of his work."

Dean still found it hard to believe that someone like Cas, who didn't give a damn about most of his colleagues, would care what Dean, of all people, thought. "I can loan you my copy of Slaughterhouse-Five."

"Thank you."

"So," Dean said, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch, "what music are we listening to?"

"Ever since you pointed out that I should listen to music, not just read about it, I've been researching and acquiring some of the most important musicians in a variety of styles."

Dean's heart sank. He could just imagine what was coming.

"Have you ever listened to Louis Armstrong?" Cas asked.

"Isn't he the guy who sang 'It's a Wonderful World?'" Dean hadn't much cared for the song until he'd seen Good Morning, Vietnam.

"I believe so, although I was going to play his instrumental music."

"Go ahead." Never let it be said Dean Winchester wasn't up for trying new things.

Louis Armstrong turned out to be surprisingly good, like blues only with a trumpet instead of vocals. Some of it was downright sexy, and that was the only reason Dean kept glancing sideways at Cas. Cas appeared to be completely focused on the music.

Dean wondered if he was thinking about kissing. After all, Cas was the one who'd propositioned Dean. He should be thinking about making good on that proposition, not leaving Dean to think about how soft Cas's lips were, and how he kissed like every press of their lips was something to be stored away somewhere safe.

"Cas."

Cas turned toward him. "I like this music. It's very... earthy, grounded. Like he's telling you something real, even when he doesn't sing."

"Yeah, it's definitely like that," Dean said, not adding that the real stuff Louis was telling you about all seemed to involve nudity and touching and having someone special in your arms.

The song ended and for a moment Dean was grateful. Then the singing started. Did the guy have to sing the word yearning like that, all gravely and intense?

"He's an interesting vocalist," Cas said.

Giving up, Dean put a hand on the side of Cas's neck, fingers curling around the back and pulled him forward.

Cas's lips were as soft as he remembered and Cas made it even better by pressing into Dean, his lips parting in welcome.

With a soft groan, Dean accepted the invitation.

Their kisses echoed the music, sensual, unhurried, fearless.

By the time the CD clicked off, Dean was hard and aching. Resting his forehead on Cas's, he breathed deep.

"I definitely like Louis Armstrong," Cas said, a small smile in the corner of his lips.

"Yeah," Dean echoed.

"And kissing."

Dean chuckled softly. "That too."

With a pat to Dean's chest, Cas started to move away. Dean let him go. "Want to try Billie Holiday?" Cas asked.

"Sure," Dean said, leaning against the back of the couch and staring at Cas. "Why not?"

Picking up his phone, Dean thumbed his way through his contacts to Sam. Then he turned the phone off and tossed it onto the couch next to him. If he called Sam about this, his brother would never let him live it down. Not to mention Sam would use words like 'sexual identity crisis,' and Dean would have to fly to California and hurt him.

Because Dean wasn't having a sexual identity crisis. He was perfectly comfortable with his arrangement with Cas. Friends with kissing. It was --

Something straight out of ninth grade.

They'd gotten together on Saturday night for more music, supplied by Dean this time. The fact that Robert Johnson lacked Louis Armstrong's sensuality hadn't put a damper in the making out. Not even a little.

And on Sunday another driving lesson had led to necking in the car while the sun set, which really was something a couple of teenagers would do.

Maybe that's what this was, a chance to discover sex all over again, only with a male partner this time. Now that was something Sam would suggest.

Picking up his beer, Dean took a drink and considered the idea. He had really liked being a teenager, at least the parts that had to do with sex. The being an orphan raised by a friend of your dad's part hadn't been so great, even though Bobby had been a good guardian. The best really.

Maybe he should call Bobby.

Dean tossed that idea aside as soon as he was finished thinking it.

He was a grown man. He could deal with his own sex life without help. He liked Cas, Cas liked him. It was simple really. So Cas was a guy. It wasn't as if Dean didn't know what to do with a dick. He had his own, after all.

Touching Cas's dick wouldn't be a problem. He could probably even manage a blow job. The other stuff, well, they could sort that out when the time came.

If he was completely honest with himself, it wasn't the sex that made his palms sweat. It was the part where he liked Cas. A lot.

Dean took another drink. Sam and Bobby were all he'd needed, at least since the crash that killed their parents. He was pretty sure the few women he'd tried to have more than a couple of fun nights with had sensed that.

Now Sam was in California building a life for himself; Bobby had kicked him out of the nest, telling Dean if he wanted to run a business, he should get his own.

Now it was just Dean and a guy who kissed like his mouth had been built for it. And probably a few other things.

Not bothering to push that last thought away, Dean closed his eyes.

"Vonnegut distresses me," Cas said as soon as Dean sat down across from him.

"You finished it already?" Dean had only given him the book two days earlier.

"I stayed up late last night reading it."

"Always a sign of a good book," Dean said, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. He had no idea how Cas had figured out exactly how much cream and sugar to add, but he had.

Cas shook his head. "Do you agree with him? Do you think the only way to be happy is to continuously relive the happy moments of our lives?"

It was way too early for deep thoughts. Dean hadn't even eaten his breakfast yet. "It's a nice concept in fiction, but it's not something we can actually do, so I think it's kind of moot."

"If you had a choice, would you choose to live only the happy moments?"

"Who wouldn't?" The chance to avoid living through the loss of his parents, Dean would jump at that.

"But doesn't that strip life of its meaning?"

"You think there's meaning in suffering?"

"I think there's meaning in struggle, in trying to be better than we are, to do better than we have, to leave the world a better place than we found it."

Dean agreed with him, in principle. In practice, struggle tended to hurt, and Dean had had enough hurt for one lifetime, thank you very much. Not that he didn't expect more. That was the nature of life. "Don't you think we reach a point where we've suffered enough, struggled enough, and maybe just deserve a rest?"

"Possibly," Cas said, but it was clear he wasn't happy with the idea.

"What did you think of the Tralfamdorians?" Dean asked, just to change the subject.

"And their belief that our lives are predetermined?" Sitting back in his chair, as close to slouching as Cas ever got, he picked up his coffee.

Dean nodded.

"I... " Cas hesitated. "I don't think our paths are set in stone. I believe we've been given the ability to choose our own fate."

"Me, too." Not that it was a terribly comforting belief. "I think Vonnegut thought so, too. After all, Dresden was the result of human choice."

"As was the Holocaust."

"Okay, now I'm depressed."

Cas smiled slightly. "He's your favorite author."

"What can I say? I'm deep." To Dean's surprise Cas's smile actually broadened into something someone other than Dean might recognize as a smile.

"So," Dean said, when he'd eaten his pastry and finished his coffee and could no longer avoid talking to Cas, who was watching him rather intently. Yesterday, he'd managed to avoid the subject with talk of Vonnegut, but Cas apparently hadn't had any deep thoughts he needed to discuss today. "Any plans for this weekend?"

"It's only Tuesday."

Dean knew what day it was. "And that means you can't make plans for Friday?"

"What would you like to do on Friday, Dean?"

"I don't know." Dean knew exactly what he wanted to do on Friday. He just wasn't willing to say it out loud. Now that he'd made a decision, he wanted to just get on with it, but waiting for the weekend seemed like the best option. If it went badly, they'd have Saturday and Sunday to get over it before meeting for breakfast on Monday, and if it went well, they'd have the whole weekend to enjoy themselves.

"We could watch The Lord of the Rings."

"The Lord of the Rings?"

"Did you know the author of the novels on which the movies are based created an entire fictional world, complete with its own languages and history?"

Dean did know. It was just weird that Cas didn't know. "Sam loved those books when he was a kid. I think the Tolkien phase is mandatory for geeks."

Cas frowned. "I wasn't aware that they were children's books."

"They aren't. You should read them if you're interested. In fact, you should probably read them before watching the movies."

Nodding, Cas said, "I believe that's a good suggestion."

"I'll get us a movie," Dean offered, preferably something short and unlikely to hold Cas's interest.

"And I'll get the food."

"Great," Dean said, both relieved and more anxious than he'd been before.

"Dean."

Sliding his hands over Cas's back, Dean sucked at the spot beneath Cas's ear, the one that always seemed to make Cas groan. Hot Shots played on the television behind Cas, completely forgotten.

Right on cue, Cas groaned, grinding his hips down into Dean's. Tugging on Cas until he had straddled Dean's lap had been one of Dean's better ideas. Cas's erection rubbed against his. Make that one of Dean's best ideas.

"Please tell me you want to do more than kiss," Cas said, arching his neck back, offering Dean even more skin to mouth.

"I want more," Dean admitted, and Cas's lips covered his. Cas was the most sensual kisser Dean had ever known, and he kissed with absolute focus. But this kiss was nothing like Cas's usual kisses. This kiss was a whirlwind of lust and need. Caught by surprise, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and tried to give back as good as he was getting.

The need to breathe forced them to part and Dean found himself staring up at Cas, who was looking back with wide eyes and parted lips, his breath faster than usual. Lifting a hand, Dean pressed it to Cas's cheek, and Cas closed his eyes, pressing into the touch. "This is--"

"Yeah," Dean said and guided Cas into another kiss.

This one was gentler, but the passion was still there, right below the surface, threatening to spin out of control.

Dean slid his hands up under Cas's shirt onto smooth, warm skin. Cas pulled at Dean's t-shirt and Dean let go of Cas's skin long enough for Cas to pull the shirt over Dean's head. Then his hands were back on Cas.

Resting a hand on each side of Dean's neck, Cas bent down for another kiss, deep and almost wild. Dean moaned into the kiss, and Cas moved his hands over Dean's shoulders. Cas's hands were strong and his touch was sure. Dean liked it.

"What's this?" Cas asked, touching the slightly raised scars on Dean's shoulder.

"A scar. No, I don't remember how I got it." The last thing Dean wanted to talk about was his weird scar.

Cas frowned, but all he said was "okay."

Feeling absurdly grateful, Dean kissed him then took hold of Cas's t-shirt. Dean had gotten a pretty good sense of the size and shape of Cas's body during all those make out sessions, but this was his first chance to actually see some skin. Easing Cas back, he took a long look, taking in the curve of his shoulders, the tightness of pink nipples, the hint of strength in his biceps. It was different from what he was used to looking at, but not unappealing, not by a long shot.

While Dean was looking, Cas went back to feeling, sliding a hand down Dean's chest before tracing the edge of a pec with his fingers.

Wanting to touch too, Dean moved his own hand along Cas's side then up to brush across a nipple. The hardness of it was too much of a temptation to pass up and Dean ducked his head, taking it between his lips.

Cas arched, sliding his hands into Dean's hair.

He sucked lightly at first, then harder. "You like that," Dean whispered.

"Yes, I believe I do."

Grinning, Dean licked at the other nipple before closing his lips around it.

When Dean raised his head, Cas pressed against him, his mouth covering Dean's. Cupping the back of Cas's head in one hand, Dean slid his other hand lower, onto Cas's ass.

A small noise escaping his throat, Cas rocked his hips against Dean managing to press against the head of Dean's cock.

Wrapping his arms around Cas, Dean lifted him and eased him onto his back on the couch, stretching out over him. Cas held tight to Dean, hips arching into Dean's. Dean pushed back, rubbing his own erection against Cas's through two layers of denim.

"Dean," Cas gasped.

Dean latched onto the side of Cas's neck, sucking hard as he rocked his hips.

Cas's hands moved over Dean's back, his whole body responding to Dean's. It was hot, incredibly hot.

Cas pushed at Dean's jeans.

Releasing Cas's neck, Dean lifted himself up onto one arm. Cas looked incredible under him, disheveled and wanting. "You have to unzip them first."

Taking Dean's advice to heart, Cas grabbed Dean's jeans, undoing the snap then fumbling for the zipper. Dean's cock sprang forward, stretching the cotton of his briefs. Cas rubbed it, his palm pressing along the underside.

It was Dean's turn to groan, loudly.

"I like this," Cas said, startling a laugh from Dean.

"My dick?"

"Not just your dick."

Dean pressed his hand to Cas's cock, feeling the curve of it through Cas's jeans. "I like this."

Cas looked down at Dean's hand. "Penises are surprisingly likable."

Laughing, Dean kissed him. Cas's free arm circled Dean's neck, keeping Dean close as lips and tongues met and pressed and touched. Dean had no idea how Cas's kisses could keep getting better and better, but at this rate it wouldn't be long before he never wanted to do anything else.

With a frustrated growl, Cas pulled his lips from Dean's. "Your pants are in the way."

Dean glanced down between them. Cas's hand was half inside his briefs. "I can fix that," Dean said, letting go of Cas and rising to his feet. It meant losing contact with Cas's hand, but Dean was certain it'd be worth it. Pushing his pants to the floor, he stepped out of them before bending down long enough to tug off his socks.

When he looked up Cas had pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch and was slowly moving his gaze over Dean, like checking Dean out was something he wanted to make last.

Dean swallowed.

Cas's eyes reached his face. "You're beautiful," Cas said, rising to his feet.

Dean knew he was good looking, but beautiful wasn't a word he'd ever have applied to himself. He didn't think most men would have called him beautiful either. But Cas wasn't most men.

Cas raised a hand to Dean's cheek and Dean turned into the touch, brushing his lips across the inside of Cas's wrist. A single step and Cas was close enough to kiss. Dean sank into it, getting lost in the feel of Cas's lips on his, Cas's bare chest pressed to his, Cas's arms tight around him, Cas's scent filling him.

When they parted, it took Dean a few breaths to find his voice. "You're overdressed."

"A situation that can be remedied."

"So remedy it."

Instead of taking off his pants, Cas took hold of Dean's hand and began leading him toward what Dean assumed was the bedroom.

Cas's bed was only a double. It was covered with a big navy comforter. Cas was going to look amazing naked and spread out across it. There was a stack of books on a small table next to the bed. Dean ignored them in favor of getting Cas out of his jeans and spread out where Dean could look at him.

After shoving Cas's jeans to the floor, Dean took hold of Cas's shoulders and guided him back to sit on the bed. Kneeling, he pulled Cas's jeans over his feet, followed by his socks, then leaned in between Cas's parted legs for another kiss.

Cas gave it to him, and Dean somehow managed to rise to his feet and bend over Cas all without breaking their kiss.

Still kissing, he used his hands and body to lead Cas back onto the bed, until Cas was spread out just the way Dean had pictured him. Pulling away from Cas's lips, Dean sat back on his heels and looked. Cas was slender where Dean was muscular, but there was an undeniable strength to the man, and it showed in his body, in the curve of muscle in his thighs, arms and shoulders.

The dark color made his skin look paler than it was, but it also made those beguiling eyes stand out even more.

His cock wasn't pale. It was flush with arousal, hard and angling up from Cas's belly. Dean curled his hand around it.

"Dean." Cas's eyes fell closed, his head tilting back, exposing the long line of his neck.

Dean didn't know where to look first, at the cock sliding back and forth in his hand, the long stretch of Cas's body, or the bliss filled expression on his face.

He'd been right about one thing. Touching Cas wasn't a problem. It wasn't a problem at all. Dean liked the way Cas's cock felt in his hand, the solidity and weight of it. He loved Cas's response, the shift of his hips, his quiet sounds of pleasure.

"Cas, look at me."

Cas opened his eyes, and Dean found himself moving forward, his mouth finding Cas's for a kiss. Cas's arms tightened around Dean, his entire body seeming to shift toward him. Somehow, he managed to keep his hand going, stroking Cas firm and steady, just the way Dean himself liked.

"Dean," Cas gasped.

Dean stared down at him, pressing short, quick kisses to Cas's lips when he couldn't decide whether he wanted to look at Cas or kiss him.

Cas was breathing hard, lips parted, his expression dazed. He was close. Dean wanted it to happen, wanted to make it happen. Cas gripped Dean's face in his hands.

"It's all right," Dean whispered. "I got you."

A half-nod and Cas was coming, hands falling from Dean's face as his body arched, his cock pulsing in Dean's hand, fluid shooting onto them both. Dean loosened his grip and slowed his strokes, but he didn't stop. He kept stroking Cas until Cas gave a final shudder and relaxed into the bed.

"You're smiling," Cas said, voice quiet and filled with something that might be awe or possibly amazement.

"I'm happy." Dean didn't think he'd ever said that before.

"I think I can make you happier," Cas said, his hand curving around Dean's cock.

"I doubt it, but knock yourself out."

Cas was stronger than he looked and when he pushed Dean onto his back, Dean went. Cas kissed Dean's neck and collarbone, sucked hungrily on his nipples, sat back and cupped Dean's balls in his hand, and the entire time he kept stroking, his touch firm and steady, just like Dean's had been on him.

Cas drank it all in, watching Dean's reaction to every touch, every brush of his lips to Dean's skin. The weird thing was, instead of feeling like a bug under a microscope, Dean felt valued, like he mattered, like his pleasure mattered.

When he came, he gave into the sensations, groaning and stretching toward Cas's touch, not holding anything back, letting Cas see it all.

Dean woke to wiggling. Someone in the bed was wiggling. He opened an eye. Cas was reaching behind himself, trying to scratch his back. Lifting a hand to the place Cas was obviously trying to reach, Dean began to scratch.

"Thank you," Cas said, only it came out more like a blissful moan.

"Itchy?"

"My shoulder blades itch sometimes. It's very uncomfortable."

It must be some itch to wake Cas out of a sound sleep. "I can tell," Dean said, working his way along Cas's right shoulder blade before switching sides.

"That's much better. Thank you," Cas said, and Dean pulled his hand away. Cas rolled onto his back.

There wasn't much room in the bed, and Cas's body was now right up against Dean's. In the light from the street lamps coming through the window, Dean could just make out Cas's face. "Think you can sleep now?"

"No."

"No?"

"While you were kindly scratching my back, I started thinking about how we ended up in my bed in the first place."

"You mean the part where you kissed me, propositioned me, and then tried to seduce me with Louis Armstrong records?"

"I was not trying to seduce you. I simply wished to hear his music."

"Uh-huh," Dean said, even though Cas was probably telling the truth.

"I was thinking about the part where you were naked and I was touching you."

Leaning in, Dean nuzzled his way to Cas's ear. "What about the part where I touched you?"

"That was a very pleasant part, as well."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, it was."

"Want to do it again?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Dean said and kissed him.

The Present

Stretching lazily, Dean rolled over. Cas was still asleep beside him. Smiling to himself, he stroked the hair behind Cas's ear before pushing himself to a sitting position.

Today was Sunday, and Sundays were the best day of the week. Dean didn't sneak off to the garage like he usually did on Saturdays and Cas didn't grade papers. Sundays they spent together.

Usually in bed.

Sundays were for naps, lazy, unhurried sex, and pizza delivery.

Dean loved Sundays.

But Sundays required sustenance, as Cas would say. Slipping on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, Dean headed for the kitchen. There were frozen blueberries at the back of the freezer and Dean pulled them out, along with a package of breakfast sausage.

He had just finished mixing the pancake batter when Cas wandered into the kitchen, yawning and absently scratching at the hair on the back of his head. He'd put on a pair of blue and white striped pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. After five years, Dean still hadn't figured out why a guy who slept naked owned, let alone wore, pajama pants, but since this pair had gotten kind of thin in all the right places Dean wasn't about to complain.

"You're up," Cas said.

"Thought I'd make some breakfast."

"Blueberry pancakes," Cas said, coming close and looking down into the bowl. Pressing his body against Dean's, he added, "I like blueberry pancakes." Then he brought his lips to Dean's. It was a good kiss, unhurried and full of promises of fun things to come.

Cas let him go and Dean smiled. "I know."

"There isn't much protein in pancakes."

Cas had the worst come-ons ever. He always had, yet Dean's cock was taking notice. "I was going to make some sausage, too," Dean said, and Cas smirked, which was all kinds of wrong. Cas was a classy guy, he didn't smirk at juvenile sex references that weren't even sex references. Although he had been with Dean for years, and that was bound to change a guy.

"Oddly, I am in the mood for sausage," Cas said, but he couldn't get the words out without laughing.

"What happened to the classy guy I moved in with?"

"You," Cas said, and slipped to his knees, right between Dean and the counter, where there was barely any room.

"Um, Cas." Cas was easing his sweats down over Dean's erection. Dean wanted to ask what Cas was doing, but he was afraid the answer would involve the word protein. Cas's lips closed around the head of his cock. "Oh," Dean said, clutching at the counter.

"Mmmm."

Dean choked out a moan. Cas knew exactly what it did to him when he made noises like that when Dean was in his mouth. Cas's mouth slid along his shaft and Dean closed his eyes. They rarely did it like this, no preliminaries, just right down to it. Sex was too much fun to race through in Dean's opinion, and luckily for him, Cas shared that view.

Not that mixing it up once in a while wasn't good, Dean thought as Cas swallowed around him. Opening his eyes, he found Cas staring up at him, Dean's balls resting against his chin. Dean had no idea how Cas managed to take him so deep. It was like he didn't need to breathe. The first few times Cas had deep throated him Dean had worried about Cas choking, but eventually he'd gotten over it. Once he had, he'd had to admit feeling Cas's throat around the head of his cock was damned hot.

Putting a hand on Dean's hip, Cas slowly guided him back, until only the tip of Dean's cock was in his mouth. Then he urged Dean forward, and Dean pushed, watching his shaft disappear between Cas's sinfully curving lips.

After a couple of strokes, Cas dropped his hand to his side.

Cas wanted him to -- oh, God. Even as Dean's mind whirled with the idea that he was fucking Cas's mouth in the middle of their kitchen, his hips moved, pushing in and in and in, then drawing gently back.

Cradling the back of Cas's head in one hand, cushioning it from the counter, Dean braced himself against the counter top with the other.

He kept his movements slow, steady, staring down at the peaceful look on Cas's face, at the sight of his own cock moving in and out of Cas's mouth, feeling like he was somehow making love to Cas, caressing Cas with his dick.

It was crazy, but that's what it felt like.

Dean was half-convinced it was going to last forever, even though every stroke was taking him closer.

Cas swallowed around him as the head of his cock slid into Cas's throat and Dean groaned. He didn't draw as far back the next time or the time after that, and Cas just sucked harder, took him deeper, until Dean was emptying himself into Cas.

Shaking, he clutched at the counter as he pulled back until his cock left Cas's mouth with a small pop. "Wow."

Cas gazed up at him, looking like the cat that had swallowed the -- Dean wasn't going there.

As Cas rose to his feet, Dean used one hand to guide him into a kiss while sliding the other between them. His hand curled around Cas's cock at the same time Cas's hand curled around Dean's wrist.

"Don't," Cas said.

"Why not?"

"Because those pancakes are full of empty calories and you're going to need to work them off somehow."

"When did you become a nutritionist?"

"I'm not. I'm the guy whose going to let you use him to work off all those calories."

Dean dropped his head to Cas's shoulder. Seriously, worst lines ever.

"We can do it in the kitchen, the bed, the shower, wherever you want, however you want."

That was a much better line, especially when Cas said it in that low, rough whisper. "Okay," Dean said. He had no idea where this whole submission thing was coming from, but it was damned hot.

"Thought you'd agree," Cas said, kissing the side of his neck right where he knew Dean liked to be kissed.

"If you want to eat, you're going to have to move."

"Very well," Cas said, stepping away, leaving Dean's whole front feeling a lot colder. Of course that might have been because his dick was still hanging out. After fixing his pants, he picked up the batter and carried it to the stove while Cas sat at the kitchen table, the Sunday paper spread out in front of him.

"I've been thinking," Cas said, causing Dean to look up from his nearly empty plate. Morning sex gave him an appetite. "If we combined our savings, we would have enough for an adoption, maybe even a surrogate." Cas said the last part without looking at him.

Dean dropped his fork, which clanged against the plate. "You want to have a kid?"

"I hadn't planned to, but we have a home, stable employment, and you would make a good father."

It wasn't a secret that Dean loved kids. "Yeah, but it doesn't work unless you want it too, Cas."

"I do. I never expected to, but I think it would be rewarding to care for a child."

"Little Dean got to you, didn't he?" The look on Cas's face the first time he'd held their nephew had been priceless. He'd looked at little Dean like he was the most awesome thing Cas had ever seen.

"His name is Robert," Cas said with a stern look he had no hope of maintaining. "And, yes, his birth made me realize that we aren't getting any younger, and we have a lot to offer a child, and perhaps--"

Dean covered Cas's hand with his. "Cas." Cas stopped talking and Dean squeezed his hand. "Let's have a kid."

"Do you want to adopt or--"

"Adopt." As much as Dean would love to have a kid with Cas's eyes, because there needed to be more eyes that color in the world, there were plenty of kids out there already. "Like you said, we have a lot to offer, and there are lots of kids out there who need a home." Dean hated to think about what would have become of him and Sam if they hadn't had Bobby.

Cas smiled at him, the smile that said Dean was special, which was crazy. Dean was just an average guy with an average life who'd somehow lucked into a really cool boyfriend, partner, whatever the term of the week was. Letting go of Cas's hand, Dean picked up his fork and finished his pancakes.

The house rule was that whoever cooked didn't clean up. Most of the time they cooked together and cleaned up together. But this time the clean up was all Cas. All Dean had to do was sit at the table, flip through the paper, and drink his coffee.

Which would have been easier if Cas hadn't been right there. Who needed to flex their ass that much while doing dishes? He was constantly shifting, moving to his right to pick something up, moving to his left to put it in the strainer. And those pajama pants left nothing to the imagination, not that Dean would've had trouble imagining Cas's ass.

Screw it. He didn't need any more coffee and the paper was boring. Moving up behind Cas, he rested his chin on Cas's shoulder and slid a hand around to rest on Cas's stomach. "Once we adopt a kid we won't be able to have kinky kitchen sex anymore."

"True," Cas said, leaning against him and tilting his head for a kiss.

"None of that. You have work to do. Keep washing."

Cas looked at Dean like he could read Dean's mind. Hell, he probably could. "All right." Cas resumed washing the plate in the sink, and Dean copied the circular movements with the hand on Cas's stomach. "Thought I had to clean," Cas said.

"You do. I don't."

"So that's how it is."

"Yup," Dean said, cupping Cas's ass in his free hand. Cas had a great ass, firm and curving, and pretty much made for Dean's hands. Sliding the hand on Cas's stomach upward, he brushed a nipple with his fingertips.

"If you're going to insist on fondling me while I work, I might have to take longer to finish the dishes."

"You do that." Dean didn't have a problem with Cas taking a nice long time to finish the dishes. He didn't have a problem with that at all. He kissed the side of Cas's neck, trailing his lips from the spot under Cas's ear to the collar of his shirt.

Cas stopped washing and Dean responded with a slight scrape of teeth. "You stop washing, I stop fondling."

Cas made a grumbling noise but he rinsed the plate and put in the strainer, his ass shifting against Dean's palm as he moved, giving Dean a very naughty idea. He glanced to his right. The vegetable oil was right where he'd left it. Letting go of Cas, he picked up the oil and a small bowl. Cas watched him, but didn't say anything as Dean poured oil into the bowl. Dipping two fingers into the oil, he slid his hand under the waistband of Cas's pajama pants and down along the space between his cheeks.

"Dean," Cas said, when Dean found the place he was looking for.

Circling crinkled skin with his fingers, Dean pressed his chest to Cas's back. "Yeah?"

"That's--"

"What?" Dean asked, easing a fingertip inside, past the first ring of muscle to smooth skin.

"Um."

Dean slipped his finger past the second ring of muscle, into the softness beyond. "Wash, Cas."

"You can't expect me to finish the dishes while you --"

"While I what?" Dean turned his finger, hitting exactly that spot.

"Finger my ass," Cas said, sounding almost annoyed about it.

Chuckling, Dean captured the back edge of Cas's ear between his lips, giving it a gentle tug before whispering, "You're just mad because I have a better imagination than you do."

"Yes, that's it exactly." Sarcasm sounded strange coming from Cas, always had.

He kept his hand still, letting Cas shift on his finger as he moved, which was way hotter than it should have been, and he was pretty sure Cas was moving more than necessary. Dean definitely had the best imagination ever.

"Dean," Cas said, dropping his head forward, his body going completely still.

Dean kissed the back of his neck, rubbed his lips across a sensitive spot. "You've only got the skillet, then you're done," he said to Cas's neck, letting his breath ghost over the skin he'd just kissed.

Picking up the skillet, Cas dropped it into the water, rubbing the dishcloth over it once before rinsing it and stacking it with the other dishes next to the sink. "There. Done."

"Are you sure it's clean?"

"Dean."

He loved it when Cas said his name like that, impatient, annoyed and turned on all at the same time. He wasn't sure what it said about him that he got turned on when his boyfriend was pissy. Nothing good, probably. "Now the question is: upstairs or here? Decision, decisions."

Cas sighed.

For any other couple the kitchen might've been a novel location, but they'd done everything they could think of on every surface they could think of a long time ago. Short on variety, their sex life wasn't. Pretty much the only thing that hadn't worked was Cas tying him to the bed. Dean had freaked. He still wasn't sure why he'd freaked. Cas had been Cas, calm and reassuring and acting like panicking over a sex game wasn't weird or even a big deal.

Cas was the best thing in his life. The best thing he'd ever had, and Dean loved showing him that. "Upstairs."

Cas shifted to look at him. "I'm not walking up the stairs with your finger in my ass."

"Spoilsport," Dean said and slipped his finger free and pulled up Cas's pajama pants, giving his ass a gentle pat for good measure. Dean moved to the side and Cas turned to meet him. Face-to-face it would have been impossible not to bend down and take those lips with his. Cas leaned into him, pressing hard, and Dean softened his own body, molding it to Cas's.

They were both hard, and Dean had to fight to keep from rocking his hips, from rubbing his cock against Cas's. Even through sweats and pajama pants, Cas's cock felt perfect.

Taking a step back, Dean grabbed both of Cas's hands, pulling Cas after him as he backed toward the stairs. Maybe it was kind of romantic, but if you couldn't be romantic with your boyfriend, partner, whatever, who could you be romantic with?

Cas smiled at him, clearly enjoying the shift in Dean's mood.

When they reached the stairs, Dean put a hand on the small of Cas's back and gave a gentle push, not that he stood a chance of making Cas go somewhere he didn't want to go. Cas was at least as strong as Dean, maybe stronger. Cas started up the stairs and Dean watched him climb for a moment before starting after him.

Cas stopped at the side of their bed, and Dean put his hands on Cas's waist, giving into the temptation to kiss Cas quickly before tugging Cas's t-shirt up and off. Dropping it onto the floor, he reached for Cas's pajama pants, sinking to his knees as he tugged them down. Cas stepped out of them without having to be told and Dean slid his hands up the back of Cas's legs, getting a twitch when his fingers brushed the back of Cas's knees.

His hands reached Cas's ass, and Dean cupped it in his hands as he leaned forward and captured Cas's cock with his mouth.

Cas made a low, happy sound.

Dean knew how he felt. Sucking softly on the head of Cas's cock, he swirled his tongue around the head. Cas loved that, and Dean loved doing it for him.

"Thought you wanted to fuck me," Cas said. Cas's voice got even deeper and rougher when he was turned on and the sound of him saying 'fuck' in that voice never failed to go straight to Dean's dick.

With a kiss to the tip, Dean released Cas's cock and looked up. "Who says I can't do both?"

Cupping the side of Dean's neck in his hand, Cas traced his thumb along Dean's jawline and then over his lower lip. "I want you to fuck me."

Incapable of arguing with Cas when he sounded like that, when he looked like that, Dean scrambled to his feet. He made quick work of his t-shirt and sweats, and when he slid his arms back around Cas it was bare skin to skin. Lots of skin. The shock of that first touch hitting him almost as hard as it had the first time.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, tugging him into a kiss.

At some point, Dean still hadn't figured out precisely when, Cas had become a sinful kisser. Even his slow, sweet kisses were sinful and the ones he intended to be sinful were downright combustible. This was one of those kisses that said Cas didn't have anything better to do than stand here all day, his naked body pressed against Dean's, and kiss.

Dean was good with that, he really, really was, which is why he fought to keep his hips still while giving into the urge to cup part of Cas's ass in his hand and use it to pull him even closer, getting a startled, partial groan from Cas in answer.

Sliding his lips along Dean's neck, Cas stopped when he reached the skin under Dean's ear, scraping with his teeth.

This time Dean couldn't stop his hips from jerking.

"I need you," Cas said, his voice low and quiet, yet the sound still seemed to reverberate in Dean's head.

Cas needed him. Needed Dean to hold him, kiss him, fuck him. But Cas needed more than that, and Dean needed to give it to him.

Dean kissed him. If Cas's kisses had become sinful, Dean's had become raw, like Dean was somehow ripping up the layers that lay between him and the world, creating a Cas-shaped hole every time he touched his lips to Cas's.

A small needy sound escaped Cas's throat before being lost in their kiss, and Dean let go, loosening his hold on Cas. "Lay down on your stomach," Dean said.

A single nod, and Cas turned away, stretching out in the center of their bed, arms angling upward, legs parted. Dean was half tempted to kneel next to him and jerk-off while staring at Cas stretched out in front of him like some kind of offering to the god of sex.

He didn't. He grabbed the lube off of the nightstand and knelt between Cas's legs. Cas had the best ass, firm and curvy. It was like a magnet, pulling Dean forward until he could rest an unshaven cheek against it. He rubbed.

"Dean," Cas said.

"Sorry." Lifting his head, Dean kissed the reddened skin. "Wasn't thinking," he muttered, kissing some more, slipping a little tongue into the kiss and licking his way toward Cas's crease.

"I forgive you." Since Cas loved having his ass played with as much as Dean loved playing with it, Dean wasn't surprised by the forgiveness.

Still kissing, Dean slid lower on the bed. This wasn't the best angle for rimming, but Dean was reluctant to have Cas shift to his knees. He liked Cas flat on the bed, spread out for Dean to enjoy. Sitting up, Dean cupped one of Cas's cheeks in one hand and slid the other along the back of Cas's thigh. Cas had nice, solid thighs. Dean liked the feel of them.

Bringing his hand to Cas's balls, Dean curled his fingers around them and rubbed his thumb lightly across Cas's hole, getting an audible hitch in Cas's breath for his efforts. There was still some lingering slickness from the vegetable oil and Dean eased the tip of his thumb inside.

The skin between the two rings of muscle guarding Cas's entrance was one of the smoothest things Dean had ever felt, and he lingered, moving the pad of his thumb back and forth, enjoying the smoothness of it.

Cas was making small noises, hips shifting in tiny circles. Dean squeezed the cheek beneath his hand and Cas stilled. Sliding his thumb free, Dean squirted lube onto the end of it, not caring when some dripped onto the bed. This time Dean pushed until the pad of his thumb was right over the inner ring of muscle. He eased his thumb back, then forward again, and Cas clutched at his pillow.

Bringing his free hand to his mouth, Dean slicked two of his fingers with saliva, while staring at Cas's ass, at the way his thumb was opening Cas up.

Dean slid his thumb free and pushed the two fingers in with one long press.

Cas gasped.

Dean moved his fingers with steady, even movements, bringing them all the way to the edge of Cas's entrance before pushing them back in.

Spreading his legs wider apart, Cas tilted his hips upward.

Dean replaced his fingers with his thumb, this time pushing past both rings of muscle and straight onto Cas's prostate.

"Dean." Dean loved it when Cas said his name like that, desperate and turned on and like Dean was the only thing in the world he needed.

Leaning down, Dean kissed a rounded buttock, rubbing small circles with his thumb, until he felt an actual tremble pass through Cas. With a last kiss, he pulled his thumb free and upended the lube over the center of his hand.

He forced himself to slick his cock thoroughly. Then he stretched out over Cas, bracing himself on one arm and using his other hand to position the tip of his cock at Cas's entrance.

"Dean," Cas said again, and Dean kissed the back of his neck before closing his eyes and pressing forward into the softness and heat that was Cas. Cas's body gave way as Dean pushed, muscles stretching to let him in, welcoming him. No matter how many times he did it, sliding into Cas never felt ordinary; it was always a shock, every damn time.

He stopped halfway in and drew back before thrusting gently inward, going a little farther the second time. Cas could take him all in one thrust, but Dean liked to take his time, build up the anticipation for them both.

When he finally let himself push fully, blissfully into Cas, Dean stopped and just savored the feel of Cas surrounding him, soft and clinging, and so damn perfect.

Dean pressed a kiss to the back of Cas's shoulder, then the place where shoulder and neck met, before rubbing the tip of his nose playfully across Cas's neck. With a small sound of protest, Cas started to lift himself up.

"None of that," Dean whispered, lowering himself onto Cas's back and forcing Cas to still. "You said however I wanted it, remember?" Capturing Cas's hands with his, Dean kissed Cas's neck. "I want to feel every bit of you," he whispered.

Cas turned his head, resting his cheek against the bed, his fingers squeezing Dean's. Dean groaned as he felt Cas relax beneath him.

With a slow roll of his hips, Dean drew back and slid inside, Cas's low moan telling him everything he needed to know. It didn't take him long to find the rhythm, slow and easy, with Cas still and wanting beneath him. Tucking his face in the crook of Cas's neck, he inhaled, filling himself with Cas's scent.

Dean was only pulling partway out before the downward roll of his hips took him back inside, but it was enough; it was more than enough. Cas was open and accepting beneath him, letting Dean set the motion, the pace, his quiet sounds of pleasure the only sign of his need.

Except Dean could feel Cas's desire, even with Cas keeping still, Dean could feel it. Cas's pleasure was there, in the give of his body, the rush of his breath. Dean didn't think he'd ever been more aware of anyone than he was of Cas; every twitch, every tremble, however slight, Dean felt.

He could feel the tension building in Cas, knew what it meant. He wanted it, wanted Cas to come, wanted to feel it, but he didn't want it to end. He wanted to stay inside Cas like this for freaking ever. Slowing the rolls of his hips, he tried for both, tried to give Cas pleasure while making it last, not letting it end.

But Cas's entire body went stiff anyway and Dean couldn't stop himself from pushing in deep, from giving Cas what he needed. Cas jerked beneath him and Dean brought their joined hands closer, as if he could wrap their arms around Cas in this position.

Cas tightened around him, squeezing then releasing, then squeezing again. Dean held still and let it happen.

When Cas stilled, Dean kissed him, sliding his lips along Cas's cheek.

Cas shifted beneath him, legs spreading even more, silently encouraging Dean to move.

Dean started moving, rolling his hips even more slowly, determined not to come, breathing in time with his movements. Cas was close around him, drawing him in, and Dean lost track of everything but the feel of Cas, the smell of him.

He couldn't stop his body from responding, the pleasure building in his cock, his balls, his spine. Cas's body caught at his, caressing him in all the right places, and Dean came, gasping into Cas's shoulder as the intensity of it took him somewhere else for a brief blissful moment. Then he was spurting, groaning, shaking, his control shattered and lost.

"Dean," Cas whispered.

"Mmmm?" Dean asked, not yet willing to return to the land of the fully functioning.

"I would like to kiss you."

A kiss sounded nice, good. "Will it be sinful?"

"Only if you want it to be."

Dean wasn't quite up for sinful again, but after a nap... Drawing his hips back, he eased his cock free and rolled onto his side.

Cas turned toward him. Sated was a good look on Cas, a really good look. Leaning in, Dean touched his lips to Cas's, lingering because it was obvious Cas wanted this kiss to last awhile. And it wasn't like Dean had a problem with that.

Drawing back, Dean rested his head on Cas's pillow and smiled. "Hey."

"Hi," Cas answered, smiling softly himself.

"Sore?" Dean asked, moving closer and resting a hand on Cas's hip.

"No." Cas was never sore. If Dean had been on the bottom that long he'd have been headed for a warm bath, but not Cas. Still, Dean usually asked. One day they had to hit the limits of Cas's tolerance, especially if they kept having days like this. Sliding his fingers across Dean's cheek, Cas moved closer. "That was very, very good."

"Yeah," Dean said, chest puffing slightly.

"I came twice."

Dean glanced at Cas's cock. It was soft.

"You were kind of distracted for the second one," Cas said, edging closer, until his chest was pressed to Dean's.

Taking the hint, Dean wrapped his arm around Cas's waist, holding him close. "Not my fault you distract me," Dean said, getting a relaxed smile in answer. "When do you think the sex stops getting better?"

"When we're sixty."

"Why sixty?"

"By then even our imaginations will have been exhausted."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Dean said, squeezing Cas with the arm around his waist. "I want that," he added, purely on impulse. "To grow old with you, to be together so long the sex gets ordinary, to raise a kid or two, to--"

"Me too," Cas said, his gaze locking on Dean's. He still had the most amazing eyes Dean had ever seen.

Swallowing, Dean asked, "So that's it then? Till death do us part?"

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health," Cas answered.

"Yeah," Dean said, pressing his lips clumsily to Cas's. "Yeah."

Stretching his legs out, Dean put one foot and then the other on top of the coffee table and wiggled his toes.

"Could you at least put the pizza away first?" Cas asked, but he seemed more amused than anything else.

Great sex and a long nap followed by their favorite pizza, green peppers included, had left them both feeling pretty mellow. Reaching an arm out along the back of the couch, Dean settled it around Cas's shoulders. "Nope."

Cas shook his head, turning his attention back to Top Gear. "Jeremy is a jackass."

"I know." Jeremy was a jackass, and if Dean hadn't managed to figure that out on his own, Cas made it clear every single episode. Ignoring the screen, Dean rested his forehead against the side of Cas's head, above his ear. Cas was his partner guy, and Dean was allowed to snuggle if he wanted to.

The doorbell rang.

"I got the pizza," Cas said.

Whoever it was knocked.

"Fine," Dean muttered and rose from the couch.

He opened the door to a short guy with brown hair that needed a trim. "Do you have any idea how hard you are to find?" the guy asked, moving as if to come inside.

Dean blocked his way. "You sure you've got the right place?"

The guy stopped, frowning as he looked at Dean. "You don't recognize me?"

"Should I?"

"Yes. Where's Castiel?"

"You know Cas?"

"Of course I know Cas. He's my brother. A younger, annoying brother with a tendency toward self-righteousness and moral superiority--"

Dean had heard enough. He started to shut the door only to find a surprisingly strong hand curled around the edge of the door, stopping him.

"We need to talk, Dean. It's important."

Dean didn't like this guy. He wanted him gone. "Cas doesn't have any brothers. He's an only child. You need to leave. Now."

"Or what? Since you don't remember me, I doubt you remember how to get rid of me."

Coming up behind Dean, Cas placed a hand on the small of his back and looked over Dean's shoulder at the man on the step. "What's going on?"

"Hello, Castiel," the guy said.

"This guy says he's your brother."

"I don't have any brothers."

"That you remember," the guy said. "I'm Gabriel."

Cas frowned. "I don't know anyone named Gabriel."

"You used to. If you let me in, I can prove it to you."

Cas turned toward Dean. Everything in him was screaming not to let this guy anywhere near Cas, but Dean knew that look. Cas wanted to know what was going on, and Dean had to admit he did, too. Dean took a step back, opening the door slightly. "You're leaving as soon as I tell you to."

"Sure thing, Dean-o," Gabriel answered, stepping inside and looking around. "I always suspected you had a secret craving for the domestic life."

"You said I used to know you," Cas said, stepping in front of Gabriel and drawing his attention. "You said you could prove it."

"I knew both of you. I know how Dean over there got that scar on his shoulder, the one in the shape of a hand."

Dean shot a startled look at Cas, but Cas's attention was focused entirely on Gabriel.

Eyes narrowing, Gabriel took a step toward Cas. "It's easy to see what he did to Dean, all it would take is a little tinkering with some memories, but you, what he did to you was much harder."

"Who?" Dean asked.

"Lucifer," Gabriel answered without looking at him.

"Lucifer." That cinched it as far as Dean was concerned. The guy was crazy. "That's it. You're going," Dean said, grabbing Gabriel's arm to tug him toward the door.

An instant later his arms were tied to his sides and there was a gag over his mouth. Instinct and panic kicked in at the same moment, and Dean struggled against the bonds, needing to be free right the fuck now.

"Release him. Release him now," Cas said in a tone Dean had never heard him use before. It sounded... deadly.

Gabriel snapped his fingers and the ropes fell to the floor. "Sorry," he said to Dean. "I should've realized your little sojourn in hell had left a few scars."

Dean pulled the gag free, but before he could say anything, Cas had stepped between Dean and Gabriel. "Who are you?" Cas said.

"I'm Gabriel. The archangel Gabriel."

"Haven't earned your wings yet?" Dean asked.

"They wouldn't fit in your house," Gabriel answered.

"Who do you think we are?" Cas asked, drawing Gabriel's attention back to him.

"You are the angel Castiel, and he," Gabriel nodded in Dean's direction, "is a pain-in-the-ass hunter named Dean Winchester."

"And Lucifer?"

"My brother wanted the two of you out of his way. You've been missing for weeks. Sam contacted me when he and that friend of yours, Bobby Singer, couldn't find you."

"I talked to Sam an hour ago," Dean said.

"He wasn't real."

"Sounded real to me," Dean said. This guy was getting crazier by the minute. They needed to get him gone.

"Lucifer created a fold in reality and dropped the two of you into it," Gabriel said.

"Why would Lucifer care what we do?" Cas asked.

Dean shot him a look. There was no need to play into the guy's delusions.

"It's the apocalypse. You're trying to stop it. The two of you, Sam, Bobby Singer."

His family was trying to stop the apocalypse. Right. That made perfect sense. "That's it? Just the four of us? No one else wants to play a part in the apocalypse? An angelic choir maybe?"

Gabriel glared at Dean. "Who do you think started it?"

"You're saying angels started the apocalypse?"

"They think they can win."

"And you and Cas rebelled and decided to try and stop it?" This story was getting crazier by the minute.

"Castiel did." Gabriel's gaze shifted away.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"You said you could explain Dean's scar," Cas said.

"Most likely he's just some crazy stalker who saw me at the shop without a shirt on," Dean said, moving so he was standing behind Cas and to his right, where he could glare past him at the intruder, ignoring the fact that the crazy stalker could make ropes appear and disappear with a snap of his fingers.

"He got it when you pulled him out of hell," Gabriel answered, ignoring Dean completely. "I'm guessing Lucifer got rid of the others, the physical scars, but he couldn't remove that one."

"Why not?" Dean asked.

"Because it's on your soul."

"Let me get this straight, Cas left a mark on my soul in the shape of a hand when he pulled me out of hell."

Gabriel nodded.

"So I died and went to hell."

"You made a deal," Gabriel said, locking his gaze with Dean's. "Your soul for Sam's life."

Dean looked away. That actually sounded like something he'd do. "If Cas is an angel, where are his wings?"

"It's not his wings I'm worried about," Gabriel answered, slowly circling toward Cas's left. "They're tucked away, though I bet they itch like a bitch some days."

Cas glanced back at Dean, who looked away. Cas's back itching didn't prove a damn thing. Lots of people had itchy skin.

"What concerns me is that he somehow managed to cut Castiel off from most of his grace," Gabriel said. "If I can figure out how he did it, I can undo it."

"What if he doesn't want it undone?" Dean asked. "What if he likes this life?"

Surprise registered on Gabriel's face, like he hadn't even considered the possibility that Cas might be happy.

"I don't get sick," Cas said. "I'm stronger than I look. I never bruise."

"Cas--"

"It's true, Dean."

"You're just a... a what do you call it... an outlier, a genetic freak." Cas was human. He was Dean's human lover. And this guy was some kind of nut job.

"How long have you two been here?" Gabriel asked, his sharp eyes moving between Dean and Cas.

"In this house, three years," Cas said.

"You don't have to tell him anything."

"Dean," Cas said, somehow managing to put an equal blend of affection and annoyance into that one syllable.

"Before that?" Gabriel asked.

"We met five years ago."

Gabriel whistled. "He has got you two trapped but good. At the rate time is moving in this place you'll be dead of old age in less than a year." Gabriel looked at Dean. "At least he will. Gotta give the devil credit, he is a clever bastard. Hiding you away where you'll likely die before anyone can find you. It's a good thing I'm so smart, or you two would never have been found."

"Yeah, 'cause we needed to be found by a crazy guy spouting tales about Lucifer and the apocalypse." Dean took a step forward. "Didn't you agree to leave when we asked?"

Gabriel's chin dipped as he looked at Dean, making him look insolent. Dean wouldn't be surprised if the guy had been kicked out of heaven on his skinny ass, not that Dean believed he was an angel.

"If Lucifer wanted us dead why not kill us?" Cas asked.

"If he kills Dean, the angels will just bring him back, and if he kills you, there's a good chance our father will just bring you back," Gabriel said.

"Our father?" Cas asked.

"God," Gabriel said, head tilting and eyes widening as if he was trying to be convincing. "Raphael smote the hell out of you after you rebelled, but someone brought you back. You think it was God. The angels think it was Lucifer."

"What do you think?"

"I think Lucifer wouldn't have been stupid enough to bring back Dean's strongest ally," Gabriel said.

"Let me get this straight," Dean said. "Not only is Cas an angel, he's an angel who rebelled against heaven, was killed and then brought back from the dead by God?"

"You got it, kid."

Dean shook his head. "This is insane." Looking at Cas, he added, "You realize that, right?"

"Yes," Cas answered, but then he looked back at Gabriel. "Why did I rebel?"

Gabriel looked at Dean.

"Now you're an angel who rebelled for his boyfriend," Dean said.

"I'm pretty sure you and Cas were still stuck at the longing looks stage at the time," Gabriel said. "If that makes you feel better."

"You leaving would make me feel better."

"Could you give us a minute?" Cas said to Gabriel.

"I'll just go watch a little TV," Gabriel said, smirking as if there was something funny about that. Then he sauntered toward their living room.

Dean took a step forward, but Cas stopped him with a hand on his stomach. "You can't believe this guy."

"He tied you up with a snap of his fingers," Cas said.

"Which doesn't make him an archangel."

"No," Cas said. "But it does mean he may not be human."

Turning away, Dean ran a hand through his hair and pulled in a breath. He needed to convince Cas that this guy needed to go.

"He knew about your scar," Cas said, resting a hand on Dean's back.

"I don't care," Dean said. He didn't. The scar didn't mean anything.

"That's not all."

Dean turned toward him. Cas's expression was troubled. "Your itchy skin doesn't prove anything."

"There is something about him that feels familiar, like I know him."

"You don't," Dean insisted.

"What about my memories? They've always been fuzzy, unclear. And the dreams."

"Everyone's memories are fuzzy. They're memories, not a DVD."

Cas looked down at the ground. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to Dean's, and Dean knew from the expression on his face that he'd lost.

"Please Cas, tell him to go."

"I need to know if he's telling the truth."

There was no way he could be telling the truth and when he was unable to prove the truth of what he was saying, Dean would kick him out on his crazy ass. "Fine."

Cas kissed him quickly, before turning toward the living room. "Gabriel," he called.

Gabriel appeared in front of them. Just appeared. He didn't walk or run. He just materialized. Dean took a step back and Gabriel grinned at him. "Startled you, didn't I?"

"What proof can you offer that you're telling the truth?" Cas asked.

Eying Cas in a way that made Dean want to hit him, Gabriel smirked, again. "I can show you your wings."

"So show me." At least Cas wasn't playing nice with guy.

Gabriel tilted his head in Dean's direction. "Dean, here, will have to close his eyes."

"No."

"Seeing an angel's true form can burn your eyes from the sockets, but hey, they're your eyes."

"Dean," Cas said.

Dean turned around and closed his eyes. This was stupid. There was no such thing as angels, or gods or devils. Lucifer was a myth, like the stories about Hercules and Zeus Cas taught his students. Hell, Xena was probably more real than Lucifer. The world outside his eyelids was not getting brighter. It was just his imagination, and when it faded, Dean was going to turn around and Cas was going to be standing there perfectly wingless, and Dean was going to kick Gabriel out of his house and if the guy ever showed his face again Dean was going to get a restraining order. Nobody fucked with Dean's family.

"Dean." There was a panicked note in Cas's voice.

"You can open your eyes," Gabriel said.

Somehow, Dean knew what he was going to find even before he turned around. Cas had wings, big black wings. They weren't even fully opened and they stretched the full length of the entryway. Dean took at step back, then another, until his back bumped into the wall.

"Told you," Gabriel said.

"We need a few minutes alone," Cas said. Gabriel snapped his fingers and disappeared. "Dean?" Cas said, moving toward him.

Dean shook his head. This wasn't real. This was just some crazy-assed dream. Any minute he was going to wake up, and he'd tell Cas, and together they'd laugh about it.

"I have wings." The fear in Cas's voice made it real.

Reaching out, Dean brushed his fingers over stiff feathers. "I can see that." He pulled his hand away. "Just because you have wings that doesn't mean he's telling the truth about the rest of it -- Lucifer and the apocalypse, me going to hell, God bringing you back from the dead."

When Cas didn't answer, Dean put his hands on Cas's hips, below his wings, where Cas's body was known, familiar and safe. "It doesn't."

"It explains a great deal," Cas said, his voice gentler than his words.

"You really think my scar is from you pulling me out of hell?"

"It would explain much. My awkwardness, the stuff I didn't know."

"That's just who you are." Using the hands on his hips, Dean gave Cas a small shake. "Listen to me. This is our life. This. I run a garage and you teach history. We eat pizza from Aunt Toni's and grill steaks on our deck. Bobby's going to call tomorrow and tell us about his date with his cobbler-making neighbor. We're going out to visit Sam, Jess and the baby next month, and we're going to adopt a child of our own. I'm not giving this up, Cas. Not over some crazy guy spouting stories about the devil."

"I have wings," Cas said, resting his forehead against Dean's.

"You've always been a little weird," Dean said, but Cas didn't smile. Not knowing what else to do, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and pulled him close, carefully avoiding the wings.

"I don't want to lose this either," Cas whispered. "But if Gabriel is right..."

"He's not."

"If he is, I've read Revelation. Innocent people die by the thousands, by the millions."

"I don't believe in revelations or god or the fucking devil," Dean said, holding on tighter, eyes squeezed shut so he didn't have to look at the damn wings.

"I know."

"You believe him." It was an accusation.

It was a long moment before Cas answered and when he did he loosened his hold on Dean, pulling back and forcing Dean to look at him and the damned wings. "There are things in this place, this world that don't feel right."

"Me."

"No," Cas said. "No. You feel right, Dean." Cas pressed a palm to Dean's cheek. "You've always felt right, from the first moment I saw you." As if to emphasize his point, Cas kissed him quickly but firmly. "But this world has always felt too small, like there were parts missing, pieces that just weren't there."

"You never said anything."

"What could I say?"

It was obvious where this was going. Cas wanted to leave, go back to some imaginary reality where he was an angel, a reality where he probably wasn't Dean's. "Would you go without me?"

The hurt that flashed across Cas's face was all the answer Dean needed. Cas would go without him. He'd leave Dean behind. Pushing Cas away, Dean pulled himself up to his full height. "Fine. Call him back. But I want some answers first."

"Gabriel," Cas said, and the bastard appeared. He'd probably been eavesdropping.

"Ready to go," Gabriel asked.

Dean stepped between Cas and Gabriel. "You said there's an apocalypse going on. How did it start? How did we get involved?"

"How it started, that's a good question. Depends on how far back you want to go." Gabriel snapped his fingers and a beer appeared in his hand. He took a long drink. "God went walkabout a while back. The demons started working on a way to release Lucifer, putting all the pieces -- mainly you and your brother -- in place."

"What do Sam and I have to do with it?"

"Everything," Gabriel answered in that smug, smarmy way Dean had instantly loathed. "Sam was killed. You made a deal with a crossroads demon exchanging your soul for his life. Once in hell, well, you were in hell. After thirty years or so of torture, you broke, picked up one of those demonic instruments and cut into a soul, breaking the first seal on Lucifer's cage."

Dean hadn't cut into someone's soul. He couldn't have. He wouldn't do something like that. "Thought you said Cas rescued me."

"He did. He was too late." There was something close to compassion in Gabriel's voice.

"So I freed Lucifer."

"No, you just started the process. To free the devil you have to break 66 seals. There are a whole bunch to choose from. Only the first one and the last one are fixed."

"Wouldn't the angels have stopped the other seals from breaking?" Cas asked.

"One would think," Gabriel said, taking another drink of his beer. "But with Daddy gone our brothers decided they could win the apocalypse. They put up a show, but when push came to shove, they actually stopped Dean here from preventing the final seal from falling. That's when you rebelled, Castiel, and cast your lot with the humans."

"So Lucifer is free," Cas said.

"Yes. The destruction is just getting started."

"Is it stoppable?" Dean asked.

"You think it is." Gabriel took a step toward him. "You're trying to stop heaven and hell from turning Earth into a battlefield. To be honest, I kind of admire you for trying."

"But you don't think it's possible," Dean said.

Gabriel shrugged, but his nonchalance seemed forced. "Personally, I wouldn't blame you for choosing to stay here and spend what's left of your life happily shagging my brother."

"Gabriel," Cas said.

"I'll just let you two talk it over." With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel disappeared.

Cas turned toward Dean, hand oustretched.

Ignoring him, Dean strode into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, pulled out a beer and downed half of it in a single gulp. Hearing Cas come up behind him, Dean tightened his hold on the bottle. "He's insane."

"I have wings."

"Which doesn't mean I tortured people in hell and started the apocalypse and am now desperately trying to atone."

"No, it doesn't," Cas said, but Dean could hear the doubt in his voice.

Turning around, he slammed the refrigerator door. "Do you think I did it?"

"Everyone has a breaking point."

"Right," Dean said, lifting his beer and taking a long drink.

"Dean, please." Dean forced himself to meet Cas's gaze. "I can't live in a world that isn't real," Cas said, it that quiet, forceful, devastating way he had. "And I don't believe you can either."

Dean swallowed. Cas knew him better than he knew himself some days. "I'm happy."

"I am, too," Cas said, reaching for him and pulling Dean into his arms.

Resisting the urge to beg Cas to promise he'd still want Dean, Dean nodded. It was all the concession he was willing to make.

Cas kissed him. There wasn't a hint of sin in it.

***

"You found them," Sam said, practically erupting out of his chair and toward Dean. Sam hugged him tightly, almost as tightly as he had when Dean had returned from hell. Or after little Dean had been born and Sam had come out of the delivery room more exhausted than Dean had ever seen him.

But that Sam hadn't been real. Although it was possible that Gabriel was the one inventing realities and this world wasn't real. Maybe if Dean wished really hard... But he was a hunter, he didn't believe in wishing, not unless the wishes were cursed.

A quick squeeze and Dean let go. Sam took the hint and stepped back, still beaming. Bobby rolled toward him -- Bobby was in a wheelchair; Ellen and Jo were dead; his mother had died in a fire set by a demon, not a car accident.

"Glad you're back, son," Bobby said.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Where have you been? What happened to you?" Sam asked, looking from Dean to Cas and back.

Dean glanced at Cas, unsure what to say.

"Lucifer trapped them in an alternate reality. Very clever bit of work. Took me a while to find them," Gabriel said, sauntering past Dean and sitting himself down at Bobby's kitchen table.

Sam was studying Dean, concern on his face, but his alternate life wasn't something Dean wanted to talk about with Sam, or anyone for that matter. The room was full of people Dean didn't want to look at, leaving the refrigerator as the only safe place to look. Crossing the room, he pulled it open and grabbed a beer, removing the cap with a quick turn of his hand and tilting his head back for a long drink. He could feel Cas's eyes on him, but Cas didn't say a word.

"Martin Creaser called," Sam said. "He thinks there's a monster in an asylum."

"An asylum? What does it do? Prey on crazy people?" Dean asked.

"Apparently. I told him you were missing, but that once I found you we'd talk it over."

Nodding, Dean took another drink. A job was exactly what he needed. Get his feet wet again.

"Since you appear to be done thanking me, I guess I'll be moving on," Gabriel said, lifting his hand in the air.

"Thank you, Gabriel," Cas said.

"Yeah, thanks. Without you..." Sam said. Without Gabriel, Dean and Cas would be home right now, in their bed, sleeping the sleep of guys who weren't trying to stop the fucking apocalypse.

"Don't mention it," Gabriel said. "No, really, don't mention it." With a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

They all looked at the place where he'd been, the silence uncomfortable even for Dean. He took a long drink of his beer. A couple more swallows like this and he'd need another.

"I should go," Cas said. "Resume my search."

The God search. Because that was likely to help. Dean looked at Cas. He was back in his suit and trench coat; the broken-in jeans he'd worn at home hadn't survived the trip here. Dean wanted to stop him, but he didn't have a claim on Cas, not here.

"I'll stay in touch," Cas said. Then he was gone.

Dean sucked down the rest of his beer.

Sam and Bobby had gone to bed, but the twin bed in Dean's room was too fucking small. Everything felt too small, like he was trapped in a place that didn't fit, a life that didn't fit. With his big black wings, Cas probably felt free as a bird. Pulling out his phone, Dean typed a single sentence -- Get your ass back here-- and hit send.

He didn't have to wait long.

"My ass is here, along with the rest of me," Cas said, but he didn't sound annoyed, just sad. Perversely, that made Dean feel better.

Dean glanced at him, his hands tightening on Bobby's porch rail. "I want to know something."

Cas waited, but when Dean didn't say anything else, he snapped, "What do you want to know?"

"Us. Was it real?"

"Yes," Cas said firmly, no room for doubt.

Dean turned to look at him, and Cas moved closer, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and pressing until Dean straightened and faced him.

"Lucifer can't make us feel something we don't. He isn't Cupid. His power is limited to the physical realm; time and space, those are things he can manipulate, but not emotion."

"He did something to your grace."

"Yes." Cas slid his hand up until it rested against the side of Dean's neck. Dean wondered if Cas could feel his pulse. For some reason, he'd always liked resting his head on the left side of Dean's chest, where he could listen to Dean's heartbeat. "But not my heart. That's beyond his reach, as is yours."

Embarrassed by the relief flooding through him, Dean looked down. Cas was back in his dress shoes. They were scuffed.

"Our feelings for one another were real, and mine haven't changed."

Dean lifted his face, his gaze meeting Cas's. There wasn't any denying the affection in Cas's gaze or his touch. "Neither have mine," Dean said, wishing he didn't sound so damn vulnerable, even though it had been a long time since he'd cared about being vulnerable around Cas.

"When this is over," Cas said.

Dean nodded, even though he knew the odds they'd both be alive when this was over were slim to none. He kissed Cas; it was rough and needy, and when it ended Cas disappeared in a rustle of wings.

Turning so he was looking out at the field of broken, dented cars, Dean curled his fingers around the railing as he let his head hang and his eyes close, trying to block out a life he no longer wanted and couldn't escape.