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The first rose petal landed on Castiel Novak’s shoulder approximately one hour into his flight.

He’d already given up on catching any sleep --- the stale, circulated air really wasn’t conducive to rest, much less the low hum of noise from the engines and passengers around him --- so he immediately noticed the sudden appearance of a tickle between his neck and the collar of his shirt.  When he raised his hand to investigate only to pull out a bright scarlet flower petal, his first reaction was complete and abject confusion.  What the hell was a flower petal doing in a plane?

His second reaction was to twist around in his seat, eyeing the person directly behind him.  He had a full rant brewing in his mind as he pivoted, mouth already opened to deliver it… And then the words died as he processed that, contrary to being awake and his usual annoying self, Dean Winchester was slumped over in his seat, asleep.

He ignored the slight flash of disappointment --- Disappointment?  Come on, Castiel, pull yourself together.  Why the hell are you disappointed because Dean Winchester of all people isn’t throwing flower petals at you? --- and settled back into his seat, dropping the petal to the ground and dismissing it as a mystery that would simply have to go unexplained.

– – –

The second rose petal landed on his shoulder about three and a half minutes later.

That time, he actually recognized the tickle, so there was no surprise to pull another perfect red petal from his collar.  Instead, the surprise was mingled with annoyed confusion as he turned again, scanning the faces of those seated around him.  The seat to his left was empty, temporarily abandoned as Gabriel wandered around the plane, probably stealing sweets from the hostesses’ carts and chatting with the other passengers.  The people in front of him and to his right were strangers, and neither had moved.  And the people behind him, well… Sam wouldn’t do anything like this and Dean was asle-

Castiel turned to double-check his assessment, frowning with narrowed, suspicious eyes at the man seated behind him.  Was he asleep?  It wasn’t that hard to fake, was it?  Sure, he looked asleep --- really asleep, head lolling on one shoulder, eyes closed with easy relaxation, breaths soft, deep, and even --- but maybe he wasn’t?  To test, Castiel took the petal and flicked it, grinning with satisfaction as it landed directly against bare skin, cupped in one of Dean’s hands as they lay loosely in his lap… And yet he didn’t react to it, seeming insensible to the new decoration.

Castiel turned back, grinning.  He might not know Dean was the one tossing the damn flowers, but he’d been a pain in the neck enough times in the past that a little retribution was only fair.  

– – –

The grin didn’t fade until approximately five minutes later, when another bright red petal dropped down, bouncing off his shoulder and floating down into his lap.

Castiel didn’t waste any time on contemplation before turning around, hoping to catch Dean in the act.  He was simultaneously disappointed and intrigued; sure, Dean wasn’t moving, but he had moved, judging by the rose petal now missing from his hand and the slight shift of his head where it rested on his shoulder.  The first flare of competitive fascination was swiftly waning, and Castiel irritably flicked the rose petal back --- Did Dean think him an idiot?  That he wouldn’t notice the missing petal and the way it matched so exactly the one that had just landed on him?  It was insulting. --- feeling not at all bad when it hit directly at the bridge of Dean’s nose before fluttering back into his hand.

Castiel settled back with a humph, crossing his arms and vowing to ignore anything else from the annoying occupant of the seat behind him.

– – –

The next rose petal touched down about two seconds later, landing like a persistent itch in Cas’ hair and refusing to leave until he ran his hands through it violently, mussing it into a tangled, bed-head-like mess and accidentally crumpling the flower piece into a mass of confetti.  He didn’t even look as he tossed the entire handful over his head, letting it shower over the “sleeping” man behind him without even a glimpse backwards.

– – –

About thirty seconds passed before the next petal landed, bouncing off his trenchcoat on the way down like a rock skipped across a lake.

Castiel growled in frustration, picking up the offending bloom and twisting, hurling the petal as hard as he could towards the man behind him.  Then, he growled again as the thing merely spiraled gracefully in the air, coasting on the stagnant air and landing in a delicate perch on Dean’s knee.  It wasn’t what Castiel had intended, but it satiated him enough to turn back around and settle into his chair, ignoring the churning annoyance taking root in his head.

– – –

He was turning around again a few seconds later, two --- two --- rose petals in hand.  They’d landed tauntingly, one on each shoulder, and he’d almost crushed them with how violently he’d pulled them down, but he didn’t care.  His fuse was fast approaching completely burned through, and he was going to explode if Dean threw another piece of flower at him while still having the gall to pretend at sleep.

Castiel dropped the two petals on Dean’s head and grinned as they sank into spiky, brownish-blonde hair; revenge was sweet.

– – –

When the next piece of flower hit Castiel, it wasn’t a petal.  It wasn’t even two petals.  It was roughly the petal count of an entire red rose pulled from its stem and dropped, all at once, into his lap from somewhere behind him.

He saw it, that time --- the flash of red cascading over his shoulder accompanied by a flash of tan skin --- but he didn’t turn immediately.  Instead, he waited, gathering up each and every red petal as carefully as he could, condensing them into two loose handfuls before turning around for the nth time that flight.  He didn’t bother trying to “wake” the totally-awake Dean from his fake slumber; instead, he opened his hands, letting the entire bunch of petals fall between his fingers.  (And if he let his annoyance filter into the motion, scattering the petals everywhere instead of just on Dean’s lap, well… he’d put up with enough, so it was deserved.)

Castiel sat back again --- he was getting tired of the motion, and he expressed that with a huff of breath --- and gloried in the memory of Dean-freaking-Winchester in his leather jacket and flannel covered in rose petals.  Serves him right.

– – –

Castiel finally gave up on maintaining his composure when the next petal landed, flopping directly into his right hand with an insolence that was simply the final str- petal.

And so, without further ado, he turned, the most recent rose petal crushed in his hand as he set his face into the most holy-wrath-righteous-anger glare he could manage and barked out, “Dean!”

The man in question jerked “awake”--- it really wasn’t very good acting, to Castiel’s mind because he woke far too suddenly, but he let it slide --- and floundered for a second, spitting out one of the rose petals where it had worked its way from his hair into his mouth.  “C-Cas?  What the-”

“Don’t you dare, Winchester .”  Castiel pushed out his hand, revealing the mangled petal and dropping it on top of the others.  “I am not amused.  Keep your… flora to yourself."

"Wh-"  He shifted, finally looking down long enough to see the flower petals positively blanketing him before having the audacity to glare at Castiel and demand, "What the hell, Cas?"

"You should know."  Castiel kept his voice as staid and proper as he could.  "You started it."

"Started what?"  Well, he'd say one thing for Dean: he was a good actor.  Looking at his wide, bewildered green eyes, Castiel would almost think he'd made a mistake if he weren't so sure he hadn't.  "I don't kn-"

"Stop lying, Dean, you're not very good at it."  Castiel ignored how his words stuttered lightly partway through, his own tongue not wanting to lie even as he commanded it to.  "Just… just stop, okay?"

"Wh- Cas, I think there's been a misun-"

" A misunderstanding?  You throw flower petals at me for the past thirty minutes and it's a misunderstanding?"

" Yes! "

Castiel paused, glaring at him for a few more seconds before turning around and tossing over his shoulder: "I don't care.  Just stop."

– – –

The petals did stop… for all of two minutes.  Then Dean tossed an entire, red, long stem rose over Castiel's shoulder.  Castiel didn't turn around.  He simply picked it up, eyed the blossom and its thorny stem, and tossed it blindly backwards.

Dean practically yelped before kicking at Castiel's seat.  "What the hell was that for?"

He didn't turn around.  "You know."

"No, actually, I don't, so what the hell?  Rose petals not enough?  You needed a deadly weapon?  That freaking hurt!"  A pause, then, “And what the hell’s with the roses, anyway?  A bit on the nose, ain’t it?”

Castiel ignored the latter half of his comment ---  he picked the flowers, so he should know why they were chosen --- and snapped, “ I know it hurt.  Serves you right.  Just desserts for throwing it at me in the first place.”

“I- wha-”  Dean was practically sputtering by then, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the twinge of satisfaction he felt at the sound.  “I didn’t throw anything at you, Cas, I was asleep.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, tilting his head silently.  A few seconds passed in uncomfortable silence before he finally uttered a clearly final “Stop.” and faced the front of the plane again.  The sound of cloth shifting against plane seat drifted forward from just behind him, and Castiel could make out some disgruntled grumbling before everything fell silent.  Good.  Finally some peace.

– – –

Castiel had pulled out his laptop and started looking over some work documents when four pristine red petals flickered into view, flopping down from his shoulder and landing on his computer.  He couldn’t stay seated, not after the sheer impertinence of the gesture, so he shot to his feet and walked down the aisle, dumping the petals onto a now-indignant Dean as he passed by.  His grin from earlier was nowhere to be found and no sense of satisfaction zinged through him at the spluttering, “Hey!” rising up as the petals were shaken off of jean pants.  He headed to the plane bathroom and shut himself inside, locking the door before propping himself up against the sink.

The frustration-bordering-on-anger that had been building up within him cracked as soon as he was alone, dropping away and leaving behind only miserable demoralization.

Come on; get a grip, Castiel.  It’s just some flower petals.  Let it go.  It’s just like any of Dean’s stupid humor: it doesn’t mean anything.

It should have been reassuring to hear.  Sure, it was his own voice running through his head, but hearing that Dean Winchester’s annoying prank was a harmless, meaningless thing intended to annoy should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?  You want it to mean something.  You want him throwing flower petals at you on flights to business presentations, and surreptitiously giving you roses.  You have for a while, now, haven’t you?  Before this whole fiasco?  

Castiel reached out and turned on the water, splashing some of his face and doing his level best to drive out the voice in his head.  There was something symbolic, he decided, in his own voice staging a mutiny and turning against him, but he didn’t look into it because that would mean dwelling on the completely and totally acc- inaccurate words it was spitting at him.

That’s why it bothers you so much when he calls you Cas, isn’t it?

It wasn’t a question.

Because nicknames aren’t what coworkers do, it’s what friends do, and friends are just a little too close for comfort, right?  Why?

And then the voice promptly shut up, leaving Castiel alone in a cramped and silent airplane bathroom.  Part of him was grateful for the silence.  The other half was all-consumed by that one word ---  why? --- especially because… Well, because he didn’t actually know.  

It was confusing and frustrating and infuriating because Castiel couldn’t explain the surge of fondness beneath his annoyance every time Dean made some stupid reference to a film, or, no matter how much he protested and rolled his eyes, the way he couldn’t stop smiling when Dean sang --- badly… oh, so badly --- some old classic rock song at the top of his lungs in the office.  And he definitely couldn’t explain why it hurt so much to contemplate the idea that the flowers raining down on him were just a joke: a meaningless prank.

Whatever the reason, though, it was the last thing he needed now, of all times.  Their presentation the day after next was huge --- apocalyptically huge --- for their company, and Zachariah Adler, head of Research and Development at Heaven Industries certainly wasn’t one to practice leniency for mistakes.  When he chose Castiel as project manager, it was because he expected good results; he wouldn't be happy if he didn’t get them.

Castiel wasn’t nervous, per se.  He trusted Team Free Will --- Dean had christened them shortly after they formed their little project group, and, silly as Castiel might have found it, the name had since invaded his head and wouldn’t leave --- and knew they’d done good work, but the chill of anxiety coursing through him was enough to undermine that certainty and trigger his need to double- and triple-check their results.  It was definitely enough to distract him from whatever was going on between him and a certain green-eyed electrical engineer.

One deep breath and a scrub of his hands across his face later, he turned and unlocked the door, walking past Dean --- who had the gall to look at him with actual concern in his eyes --- and settling back into his seat.

– – –

Half an hour passed with Castiel deliberately engrossed in his laptop, reading over the same project documents over and over.  It wasn’t necessary --- after all, Gabriel was their main spokesman, the one giving most of the presentation --- and Castiel had their entire project well-nigh memorized by then, but it was better than acknowledging the steady stream of rose petals that kept appearing.  He let them drop unheeded to the floor or shook them off when they refused to disappear on their own, but otherwise remained focused on his work.

“Hey, man, that’s the fifth time you’ve read over that code and I know you’re not catching any mistakes there ‘cause Sammy’s a freaking genius with computers.”  Castiel turned, eventually catching sight of Dean… or, rather, Dean’s head and shoulders where he’d peeked around the seats dividing them.  “And I know for a fact that you know that thing damn near to heart ‘cause you’ve been helping him and you’re… well, you’re you .”  A pause, as though he wanted Castiel to say something, then, “C’mon, Cas, what’s up?”

“The presentatio-”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, his expression a rival for one of Castiel’s own.  “No.  No, that ain’t it.”

“Oh, ‘cause you know so well?”

He huffed out a brief laugh.  “Buddy, you’ve been ready for this presentation for weeks.  Circuitry’s done.  Code’s ready.  The testing’s been smooth, and it ain’t like we cut any corners.  Gabe’s… well, you know your brother better than anyone; I don’t have to tell you he’s a showman straight through, so our presentation’s gonna be fine.”  A pause, then, “Now, what’s really goin’ on?”

“Dean.  I get that you and your newfound enjoyment of botany might not understand this, but this project has to be perfect.  Adler expects good things.”

“Oh, c’mon, Cas,  I’ve told you, I didn’t throw anyth-”  He broke off, then said, “You know what, forget it.  More importantly…”  He grinned, lips tilting into a slightly crooked smirk with an oddly tense, almost worried, undertone.  “Zach and his standards can go to hell.  You need sleep, Cas.”  He held up a hand as soon as Castiel opened his mouth to protest, interrupting.  “Don’t lie, man, I know you.  I’ll sell my car if you’ve gotten more than three hours sleep past few days.”

Cas didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought.  So.”  He paused, reaching over and gently easing shut the lid of Castiel’s laptop.  “Let it go, man.  And get some sleep, yeah?”

Semi-reluctantly, Castiel nodded, returning his laptop to its carrying case and settling back.  He could hear Dean moving back to his seat as Cas closed his eyes and welcomed sleep.

– – –

Cas awoke to the sound of a voice playing over an intercom, made slightly tinny by the quality of the speakers.  Pardon the interruption, but we’re heading into some light turbulence.  Captain Shurley will see us safely through, but it might get a little bumpy.  Thank you.

As he pulled himself the rest of the way from his sleep to the sound of Dean making some reference to Sam that Cas didn’t get --- You think the captain ever gets tired of his last name?  Poor dude probably lives “don’t call me Shirley.” --- he slowly became aware of something scratching against his neck.  He reached up, expecting his hand to close around another annoying red petal.

Instead of soft, silky flower, however, his fingers met the rough and textured feel of paper --- more than paper: actual parchment --- where a square of the stuff was propped up on his chest.  With sleep-numbed fingers, he pulled it down, flipping it over until he could read the words scrawled out on it in neat print.

As soon as he processed the words --- and before he could dwell on the sudden shift in emotions as his hopes first rose into the air, then dashed themselves to the ground, heart wrenching before being buried beneath a throbbing beat of anger --- he was whirling around, trying to keep his balance as the plane hit the first rough patch, throwing the paper at Dean.

It smacked him firmly in the face and floated to the ground, sounding almost like laminated paper flapping as it fell.  Dean’s eyes --- previously tightly shut --- shot open, staring in confusion for a second.  Then he pulled one hand from its white-knuckle grip on his seat and reached up, removing an earbud from his ear.  The thin sound of some Metallica riff playing on his iPod rose from the tiny speaker.  “What the hell?”

Cas didn’t know what to say and ended up with, “Seriously?”

“Wh-”  Dean broke off as the plane shuddered, eyes rolling closed for a second before the flight stabilized again and he looked back at Cas.  “What do you mean, man?”  He reached down, one hand scrabbling against the ground as he tried to pick up the parchment, blunt nails trying and failing to get purchase.  “What is this?”

“Seriously? ”

“Yes, what the hell?”  Dean’s attempts to pick up the paper didn’t go well, especially not as the plane jolted again.  “And what’s with the ‘seriously’s, huh?   You auditionin’ for Dr. Sexy or something?”

Sam, sitting at Dean’s left, stopped his curious eavesdropping, leaning in with an amused expression on his face.  “Dr. Sexy?”

If the burn of anger weren’t still mixing with the oddly painful, insulted feeling Castiel couldn’t push aside, he might have laughed at Dean’s distracted side-eye of his brother as something he’d almost call a blush rose on freckled cheeks.  “Uh… Guilty pleasure?”  He turned back to Castiel quickly, though, finally getting a good grip on the paper and flipping it over to read the words, damning in black and white.  Panic filled his eyes by the time he looked up again, mingling with fear and defensiveness.  “I didn’t write this.”

“Really, Dean?  Because I’m not seeing anyone else who could have.”

“Cas, no, I’m telling you that.”  He turned, looking at his brother.  “Sammy, tell him.”  He didn’t even wait for Sam to nod before adding, “I’ve just been sitting here, man.  Listening to music, that’s it.”  He gestured with the iPod.

“He was.”  Sam nodded, and something almost ---  almost --- made Castiel believe him…

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to accept it, not with the way he’d practically felt like crying since he’d seen the damn note, not with the way he was sick of all the roses and ‘Cas’es and everything that, though he couldn’t say why, he wanted, but not like this.  Not with Dean not meaning it, and certainly not with him pretending not to be behind it all.

“Yes, because your brother is a reliable source.”  Castiel frowned, then shook his head once.  “I’ve asked you to leave me alone; I feel the need to reiterate this again.  Stop.  Do you understand me?”

“Cas-”

“Castiel.  My name is Castiel, not Cas.”

For a second, Dean actually looked stunned, an edge of something like hurt passing into his eyes.  Then, he nodded, hands raising slightly in surrender before returning to their tight holds on the armrests.  “O- Okay.  Castiel.  But it wasn’t me, man.  I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t m-”

“Made me uncomfortable?”  Castiel scoffed, hiding his pain --- not discomfort, no, but a mourning the thing he wanted but could never have, not with Dean joking about… about this --- behind a bitter laugh.  “Don’t worry, it didn’t.”

“Well, good.  I’m glad.”  Castiel grudgingly acknowledged that the words seemed honest.  “But it wasn’t me, I swear.”  The disbelief on his face must have been obvious because Dean tilted his head almost pleadingly as he added, “C’mon, man, I wouldn’t lie about this.  Not now that it’s gone this far.”

“It’s irrelevant.”

Dean’s eyebrows promptly jumped towards his hairline and drew together.  “Y- Cas, thi-”  He swallowed heavily.  “Castiel, this isn’t irrelevant.  Not if you’re all het up like this.”

“I told you, Dean, it matters not.”  He considered just sitting down, but he stopped himself.  “Although, I would add that convincing me to sleep solely for the purpose of this… this prank is beyond the pale of funny.”

Castiel watched horror --- surprisingly well-feigned, honestly --- seep into Dean’s expression.  “Dude, I didn’t do that.  And I told you to get some sleep because the circles under your eyes were winning the war.”

Any fondness that Castiel might have started with was long gone, hidden underneath as cold a mask as he could produce.  “I’m not going to fall for any joke, Dean.”

“What joke, Cas?  I didn’t-”

“What joke?”  Castiel echoed with a laugh, the sound still bitter.  “That I’d ever --- ever --- answer that note with anything but a no.  That’s a hilarious idea.”

The words left his mouth before his own aversion to lying could take over and prevent them, and, for a second, there was nothing but a thrill of satisfaction.  And then he actually registered the look in Dean’s eyes, the one that seemed to mirror what Castiel, himself, was feeling: pain and hurt and disbelief and sadness and grief rolled together into a pool of turbulent green. Eventually, they shuttered, turning just as cold as Castiel’s face.

Dean closed his mouth abruptly, teeth practically clacking against each other before he forced something that might have been a smile if… well, if it had been a smile, because nothing about that expression was his usual devil-may-care grin.  “Right.  Yeah, of course.”

A harried-looking flight attendant reached them, clearly having hurried from the front of the plane section upon hearing raised voices.  “Sirs?  Is… is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, just as Dean said, “No.”

She looked to Dean, smile false and shiny.  “How can I help?”

“He-”  He turned, looking at Castiel for a second before turning back, clearly changing tactics.  “I’m not good with flying.”  He tossed his head towards a seat several rows back, the window seat still empty.  “Any chance that I could take that window seat?  Does me good to see what’s coming.”

It was a lie.  Cas knew it was a lie; Dean hated the window seat.  It was why Sam usually took it, letting Dean have the middle or, as with that particular flight, the aisle so that he didn’t have to see what was coming, didn’t have to remember that they were flying who knew how many miles in the air.  If it weren’t for the feelings still thrumming just under Castiel’s skin, he’d feel a flash of remorse about it… but they were, and he didn’t.  (Really, he didn’t.)

The flight attendant accepted it, though, and went to talk to the people sitting near the seat, conversation muffled.  When she returned, she smiled and nodded.  “Sure, sir, no problem.”  

She reached up for the carry-on compartment, but Dean stopped her.  “Nah, it’s fine, I’ll get it later.”

She nodded.  “Lovely.  Let me know if you need anything else.”  The look in her eyes as she walked away screamed that she strongly hoped that no one on the plane wanted anything else.

Dean stood, hand still holding the note as he bundled up his iPod and slipped out into the aisle.  He met Castiel’s eyes only once before looking down, fiddling with the music player and headphones as he said, “Look, I’ll, uh… I’ll get out of your hair.”  He turned to go, but aborted the motion quickly, adding, “Uh… sorry.”  And then he’d walked off, heading a good nine rows back before sitting down.  When he sat, Castiel could see him introduce himself to his new seatmates, shaking hands even as his grin was still not his normal one.

Castiel sat back, arms crossed over his chest as he tried to smother his still-burning anger, failing as he oscillated between putting it out and stoking it further.  Okay, fine, maybe he felt a little bad about how he’d reacted, and fine, maybe he felt like he wanted to carry out some combination of screaming and crying because damn it, what the hell did he just do...

But Dean was so damn infuriating that he couldn’t fully blame himself either, not with the way he felt completely empty after seeing that note and realizing it was a joke, not with the way those words flashed in his head in mocking, jeering script.

And he was certain it was a joke, because it wasn’t like Dean had ever actually shown interest in Cas.  Yeah, he sometimes crossed strictly professional boundaries, and yeah, he had a habit of giving Castiel nicknames --- like Cas or, on one notable occasion, “huggy bear” --- and yeah, he was pretty damn insistent that Castiel take care of himself by actually sleeping and eating, but that was just Dean being Dean.  He flirted with everyone --- Cas had long lost count of the number of lovers he’d taken on, and he’d given up trying to remember the names of every Lisa, Anna, Nick, and Benny passing through --- and pretty much everyone he knew had at least one nickname.  And the caretaking was basically just Dean incarnate.  It was just what he did, rooted in childhood and twined deeply into his soul.

Castiel was pulled rudely from his thoughts by something both soft and sharp dropping on his head and rolling into his lap.  It took him a few minutes to recognize the remnants --- about nine in number --- of a red twelve-rose bouquet.  The object’s fall was swiftly succeeded by a voice from somewhere above.  “Well, that was a little rude, Cassie.”

He looked up, head tilted in confusion.  “Gabriel?”  And yet all he could see was the roof of the plane, the same whitish-tan stretching interminably.

Castiel was about to dismiss the sentence as him going insane or hallucinating from exhaustion, but then Gabriel’s head appeared suddenly, somehow popping down from the ceiling.  And then he was sliding out of somewhere --- a distant whisper (before he dismissed it as insane) told Cas that Gabriel had been hidden in the luggage compartment over his seat --- and landing easily on the ground before taking his earlier seat at Castiel’s left.

Castiel couldn’t manage to say anything beyond repeating himself.  “Gabriel?”

The man in question grinned, wiggling his fingers in a playful hello.  “In the flesh.”

Castiel’s brain was still mid-erroring out, trying to reconcile his common sense with the image of his brother climbing down from a luggage compartment over his head.  “Gabriel?”

“Damn, Cassie, you sound like a broken record.  Yes, it’s me, Gabriel.”  He grinned, mock-bowing to an invisible audience.  “Yes, yes, thank you very much.”

“Wha-”

“Oh, come on.  If you haven’t figured it out by now…”  Gabriel looked over at Castiel, then laughed.  “I swear, I give up.”

Castiel might have figured it out by now but his brother just climbed out of the damn plane and he couldn’t focus.  “Were you the one throwing the flowers?”

“Yes, give the man a prize.”  He applauded, theatricality filling the motion.  “Congrats, Cassie, you figured it out.  The flowers were from me.”  A pause, then, “And so was the note.”

“But why were you-”

Gabriel shook his head.  “Nope, not telling you.  You’re oblivious, you know that?”  Another shake of the head and a grin later, he added, “Figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”  Castiel frowned, watching as Gabriel raised his hand and pulled the old, childish gesture of zipping his mouth and then locking it.  Then, because Gabriel was Gabriel, he also dug a hole, dropped the key in, and dropped a nuke on it… at least from what Cas could tell of his sign language.  “Gabriel, tell me.”

Gabriel --- honestly, he was still a child, despite all the years that had passed since then --- pretended to try to speak through his closed mouth, shrugging cheekily when he “couldn’t speak.”  Another mumble --- something like sorry, but hummed rather than spoken --- and he fell silent, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes as though sleeping.  Cas didn’t believe it for a minute, but he let the illusion stay anyway.

About five minutes later, it finally occurred to Cas that maybe --- just maybe --- he was wrong about the whole rose-petal fiasco, and he turned, contemplating just walking back those distant nine rows and outright apologizing to Dean, but, when he looked back, he swiftly aborted the plan.  Dean was sitting there, leaning against the wall with its window firmly shut, iPod back in his ears, eyes closed too tightly to be natural and grip too strong on the plane seats, and Cas couldn’t bring himself to make things worse.

Instead, he settled back, closed his eyes, and tried to script out what he’d say.  He didn’t count on the siren song of sleep, though, and his thoughts swiftly died down to a low hum as he drifted off again.

– – –

The second time Cas woke up, it was to someone shaking him, slightly rough and a tad noisy.  Damn it, Gabriel.   He didn't want to open his eyes, not with the bright aircraft lights beaming down on him, bright red through his eyelids.  He definitely didn't want to have to get up, to walk out and deal with all the rigmarole of checking into their hotel and getting their rooms.  He resolutely decided to go back to sleep.

Gabriel shook him again.  "Rise and shine, Cassie.  Time to go."

Grumbling, Castiel stood, taking the case Gabriel handed him.  He hated the feeling of trying to hold onto something while still half-asleep, the odd inability to grip that came with unconsciousness, but he managed to keep a hold of it as they left the plane.  Too late did it occur to him to ask, "Where are the others?"

Gabriel looked at him, something like weary amusement in his expression.  "Dean's heading to the hotel to get the rooms.  Sam's with him, though I doubt he's why you were asking."

Castiel met Gabriel's eyes unflinchingly, ignoring how right he was.  "Sam is just as much a part of the project as Dean, Gabriel.  Of course I was asking about him."

Gabriel winked.  “Uh huh.”  He heaved the bag over his shoulder, sauntering away.  “C’mon, let’s go.”

– – –

Sam was standing in the lobby when they reached the hotel, his gargantuan frame out of place in the rush of people occupying the lobby.  He still grinned when he saw them, walking over as one hand dug into his jean pocket, eventually pulling out a keycard.  “Hey, guys.  Sorry to rush out of there… Dean was kinda tired.  The plane ride was a little rough.”

Castiel considered saying something, but decided against.  Gabriel took one look at him, then, while still looking pointedly at Cas, said, “He alright?”

Sam nodded.  “Yeah, I think so.  He crashed on the bed, but you know how he is… that won’t last long.”  He handed over the keycard.  “There’s the key.  Room’s this way.”  

He turned, leading the way, Gabriel chatting with him.  Castiel followed after, ignoring the flash of concern that had filled him and refused to go away.  It was okay, though; he’d apologize in the morning.

– – –

Dean wasn’t at breakfast the next morning.

Gabriel had asked that they head down early --- Cas certainly wasn’t complaining, not when it’d give him an opportunity to talk to Dean, who never missed a meal --- but he was also regretting his agreement the closer they got to the dining hall.  Sure, it was an opportunity to talk --- to bite out an apology no matter how uncomfortable it was --- but he would much rather avoid the awkward situation of hey, you remember how I blew up on the plane yesterday?  Well, I was wrong, my brother was playing a prank on me for reasons unknown, and I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed.  Whoops!

He definitely would rather avoid the follow-up questions that he couldn’t even answer to himself, much less to Dean.  The kind of question that asked about why exactly it had hurt so much to contemplate the letter, to read those words and know that Dean hadn’t --- well, or wouldn’t have, since he didn’t actually send the note in the first place --- meant them.

The sole positive of the whole damn thing was that Castiel’s rationale still stood; they’d only ever been friends, so it wasn’t like anything he’d said --- aside from the whole getting pissed about something Dean hadn’t done thing --- had been that much of a surprise.  He could get through this if he just… didn’t elaborate too much.  Just gotta keep it simple.

Except simplicity in that particular conversation became even easier when they found Sam reserving a table for them, food already in front of him and a suspiciously used, yet empty, plate beside him.  He didn’t even wait for them to sit down before preemptively saying, “Dean’s setting up the presentation.”  Some kind of look passed between him and Gabriel, though Cas couldn’t decipher it and Sam resumed speaking before he could try again.  “We aren’t due for a few hours, so we’ve got some time to kill.”

Gabriel grinned, hands practically rubbing together in glee as he contemplated a wide table of breakfasts on the sweeter side.  “You gents stay here… That table’s calling my name.”  He flashed a wide grin and he was gone, evaporating into the crowd.

Sam looked over at Cas, who still stood motionless by the table.  A few seconds passed.  Then, “Hey, Cas.  What’s up?”

“My brother confuses me.”

The comment earned a grin, even though it hadn’t been intended as a joke.  “I know the feeling.  What’s going on between you and Gabe, then?”

“He was the one responsible for yesterday.  The roses.  The note.  Not Dean.”

Sam nodded, shifting lightly.  “Yeah, man, I told you, he barely even moved.”  A pause, then, “What’s your point?”

“Why?”  The question had been thrumming through him ever since his minor crisis in that cramped plane bathroom.  Most of the time, it was asking more about Castiel’s actions than about Gabriel’s, but Sam didn’t need to know that.  “I don’t… I don’t understand the point.”

Sam looked away.  “Why didn’t you ask him?”

“I did.  He won’t tell me.  He says I must ascertain the answer for myself.  The answer is… unhelpful.”

A shake of Sam’s head sent overgrown hair flipping wildly.  “No, not Gabe.  Dean.  Why didn’t you ask him about the roses, the note?”

“I did-”

“Cas.”  Sam’s tone brooked no argument.  “I was there.  You threw it at him and assumed he’d written it, same as you assumed he’d been throwing flower petals at you.”  A pause for Castiel to absorb the information, then, “And, anyway, that note didn’t even sound like Dean.  I gotta know right now; do you love me?   C’mon, Cas, Meatloaf ?”

“I don’t understand what an entree has to do-”

“No, Cas, Meatloaf .  The singer.  Paradise by the Dashboard Light.”  Sam seemed to despair, shaking his head.  “It’s a song, man.  They’re song lyrics.”

“That… I don’t follow.  Sam, explain.”  Then, “Wait.  I don’t understand.  When did you see the note?”

“Uh… I don’t… I mean-”  He stuttered a little more before settling on a disingenuous, “Dean showed me.”

“I don’t believe you, Sam.  I know your Dean and he wouldn’t show that to you, not after what happened.”  Castiel darted a glance over at Gabriel, still standing at the table, then back at his conversation partner.  “Did you know of my brother’s plan?”

“What?  No!”  For a part-time salesman, Sam wasn’t a good liar.  “I don’t know what-”

“Sam.  Stop.”  He did.  “Answer me this, then… Why?”  And there was that question again, just as loud and persistent as it had been for the past twelve hours.

He sighed, passing a hand through his hair and wincing as it caught on a tangle.  “Fine.  Because you two are such idiots you weren’t gonna do it yourselves.”

If a computer’s blue screen of death were personified, it would be Castiel’s face.  He knew that without even having to see it, could tell from the Windows error boxes popping up in his head.  “Huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “See?  I swear, you two are the most oblivious people I know.”

“Obli- Sam, I am hardly oblivious.”

He made That Face --- the one that was part bitchface, part confused moose, and part fighting a smile --- then nodded, mouth forced serious despite the corners trying to tick upwards.  “Okay.”

Gabriel started to return, then, plate loaded with at least part of every single thing from the table, grinning widely as he returned.  “Hey, folks, what’s up?”

“Cas isn’t oblivious.”  Sam fought the grin for about half of the sentence, eventually surrendering part of the way through.  “He just told me so.”  It was a little insulting that they both burst out laughing at that, but Castiel simply shrugged it off.

Gabriel looked over, the aftershocks of his laughter still visible in a wide, slightly --- highly --- sarcastic smirk.  “If you’re not oblivious, then you should have no trouble with that pesky little question you asked.  Why?”  He said it like he knew just how frequently that one word was running through Castiel’s head… and, hell, they were brothers; maybe he did.

He definitely knew what he was doing, though; the question didn’t leave his head throughout the entire breakfast, long after the plane trip dropped away from conversation to lurk beneath talking research shop.  It didn’t even leave his head as they walked out of the dining hall to get ready for their presentation.  Hell, it was still ringing in his head when they reached the main part of the conference, striding through the double doors and preparing for their presentation.

Why?

– – –

The question buried itself shortly thereafter.  As much as Castiel wanted to speak to Dean and repair things a little, the opportunity never presented itself.

First, there was the rush of racing against the clock to actually set up their display, made easier by Dean having already gotten most of the way through the process during breakfast, made harder by the rush of people swarming the halls.  Zachariah had pulled strings to get them to present on the first day of the conference, which ensured interest would be high, but also basically guaranteed that the halls would be jam-packed.  They got the display done with a little time to spare, but there also wasn’t any time for chit-chatting.

Then came the actual presentation, and there was definitely no time for long, drawn out, emotional conversation.  When Zachariah had first assigned them their project, it had been daunting --- there was nothing easy about designing a new innovation on drone technology --- but actually presenting the information in front of other researchers and investors galore was worse.  It was a good thing Gabriel did most of the presenting, his natural charisma winning over the audience better than Castiel’s stiff way of speaking would have, especially when Cas was halfway to cringing with embarrassment every time Zachariah’s name for the aircraft ---  angels; he’d chosen angels --- was mentioned.

And then, after all of the speaking was done and all the questions were answered, when Cas finally had a spare moment to talk to Dean… Well, then Dean didn’t have a moment to talk because he was busy talking animatedly with someone with long red hair --- a little less red than Anna’s had been, but far too close for comfort --- from the front row of the audience.  Cas turned away.

– – –

Dean wasn’t at lunch, either.  Sam said he’d gone up to their room immediately after the conference --- Cas bit back the urge to ask if the mystery redhead was with him by focusing on why the hell that question had been on the tip of his tongue in the first place --- and probably wouldn’t be down for a bit if the way he was yawning was any indication.  It was about then that Cas dismissed the entire thing as a lie --- Sam should know that Dean doesn’t yawn no matter how tired he was, that Dean wouldn’t show that much about himself --- and ignored the brief twinge of something negative that he didn’t want to address in favor of more pleasant topics.

Sam was the one to turn the conversation serious again, to wreck the façade of enjoyable companionability and ask, “Hey, man, you ever gonna patch things up with Dean?”

Cas shrugged.  “I will apologize to him when the opportunity arises.”

“Uh, Cas…”  He broke off with a sharp, amused rush of air.  “I think you might want to speed that up.  You know how he gets with stuff said in the heat of the moment.”  He paused, shuddering lightly.  “Okay, nah, scratch that: your brother’s made me sick of that song.  You know what I mean, though.”

“Dean is well-familiar with my brother’s idea of a joke.  I doubt any particular urgency is required.”  Cas said it --- and yes, he meant it --- but he still followed it up with, “But I’ll explain to him what Gabe did as soon as he’s finished… sleeping.”

“Uh…”  He laughed awkwardly, fiddling with the cup of water in front of him.  When he did, it was easy to see the resemblance between him and Dean, to see the way he distracted himself with the drink in much the same way his brother fiddled with a bottle of beer.  “I think it might take a little more than just ‘Gabriel did it; sorry.’  He’s kinda… accepted what you said.  I think.  I could be wrong, but… I know my brother.”

“I was wrong to accuse him of something he didn’t do, I admit.”

Sam blinked.  “Yeah, Cas, but that’s not all you plan to say, right?”

“What do you mean?”  Sam didn’t answer, simply staring at him in disbelieving confusion until he added, “Is this about whatever goal you and my brother sought to achieve?”

“I mean… uh…  Kinda?”  He almost looked like a kid when he said it, out of his depth and fumbling for words with an expression that looked vaguely like a WiFi signal had etched itself into his forehead.  “Do you… do you really not get it yet?”

Cas shook his head.  “I do not understand what result you and my brother wanted to come from this meaningless prank.”

“Meaning-”  It was muttered under Sam’s breath, his voice giving out halfway through as he shook his head.  The look in his eyes suggested that he was contemplating slamming his head into the table.  “Dammit, Cas, I swear… Do you really not see it?”

Castiel was well getting fed up with his perpetual vagueness, and he let as much frustration seep into his voice as he could.  “See what, Sam?”

“The way he looks at you, for one?  I mean, we made this whole thing up because, if I’d had to see one more longing gaze between the two of you, I was going to lock the two of you into a room and leave you there.”  Cas was still trying to process that sentence when Sam continued.  “I swear, if you pine any louder, NASA would hear you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talk-”

“Oh, come on, man, I’m not blind.  And you’d have to be blin- Wait, no, because even Pamela can tell.”  Sam snorted.  “Hell, she’s the one who pointed it out to the rest of us.”

“Sam-”

“Don’t even try, Castiel.”  Cas couldn’t help stiffening at the use of his full first name --- and that brought to mind the question of when he’d started thinking of himself as Cas, as that familiar nickname over his true name --- but he didn’t interrupt.  “I’ve practically needed eye bleach to get some of your staring out of my head.  Scarred for life.  You won’t convince me otherwise and please, please don’t try.”

“Even if --- if, Sam, if --- I had a… passing infatuation with your brother…”  Sam’s snort and more than passing, but you do went unaddressed.  “Even if … it wouldn’t matter.”

“Wouldn’t-”  Sam’s somehow managed to fit blinking in triplicate into a single flap of eyelids.  “What?”

“Your brother hardly seems interes-”

“Mutual staring, Cas, mutual.”  His head fell back, overgrown hair flopping just as melodramatically over the back of his seat.  “I swear, you’re both oblivious.  More fool me for thinking you’d be a little more observant than my dumbass brother.”

“I-”

“Shut.  It.  And listen because I can’t go through this again.”  And then Sam was staring at him with an expression that Cas really, really didn’t want to try crossing.  “Talk to Dean.  Please.  For my sanity, if nothing else.”

The sound of a chair scraping against the ground interrupted their conversation, and, all of a sudden, Gabriel was just there, lounging easily as though he’d been there the whole time.  “What’re you doing to poor Sammy’s sanity this time, Cassie?”

Whatever Castiel might have said vanished between the long-suffering sound of a sigh that somehow managed to verbalize his trademark bitchface.  “He doesn’t get it.”

Gabriel turned his head to look at Cas, the melodramatic motion made more so by his eyes rolling as he did it.  “Really?  Come on, bro, you’re smarter than this.”

“He won’t talk to Dean because Dean- oh, wait, sorry…”  And there, Sam’s voice dropped into a rough, gravelly interpretation of Cas. “‘Dean hardly seems interested.’”

Cas couldn’t hold his tongue, not after that.  “He doesn’t.  Not with the way he was flirting with the young lady on whom he bestowed his affections after the presentation today.”

Sam looked at Gabriel, then back at Cas.  “Charlie?”

“Perhaps.  I didn’t know her.”

Cas was surprised Gabriel didn’t get hit in the face by errant locks of hair with how vigorously Sam shook his head.  “Dude, they’ve been best friends for years.  They were probably geeking out over Star Wars or Lord of the Rings or something.  And anyway, she’s got a girlfriend.”

Cas raised an eyebrow.  “You expect me to believe that Dean Winchester went to his room at one o’clock to sleep?  He averages four hours of sleep every two nights, Sam.”

One corner of Sam’s mouth threatened to morph into a crooked smirk.  “You know his sleeping habits, and you still say there’s nothing between you?”

Gabriel grinned, digging around in his pocket for something crackling suspiciously like a candy wrapper.  “But you’re right, Cassie, he’s not asleep.”  Cas felt whatever his brother was fiddling with hit him squarely on the forehead, and only instinct had him recognize a starlight peppermint before his brother snatched it back.  “He’s sulking in his room right now ‘cause he thinks it’s what you want.”

“Why would he-”

Gabriel actually did slam his head into the table, letting the silverware rattle, muttering give me strength under the clatter before looking back at Cas, his eyes holding that intense look Cas knew better than to ignore.  “Because you told him you didn’t love him.  And that you never would.  And that he was annoying and should stop.”

“I didn-”  He broke off, his own annoyance-inspired words flaring in his head.  What joke?  That I’d ever --- ever --- answer that note with anything but a no.  That’s a hilarious idea.   He winced at the memory.  “Oh.”

“He gets it now!”  Gabriel grinned, extricating the mint and popping it into his mouth.  It muffled his next words, but Cas could still make out: “Now go talk to him and spare us all the incessant oblivious mutual pining.”

– – –

Cas’ journey went well until he actually stood outside the room Dean shared with his brother, hand raised and poised to knock but frozen in midair.  No, he couldn’t do it, not after what he said, which was way, way too overly harsh, and Dean probably didn’t even want to see him --- and yet he was knocking anyway, hand striking against wood in three short beats before his brain caught up to the motion.

Cas could hear muffled movement from inside the room, followed by Dean’s voice.  It was slightly rough, and quieter than usual thanks to the door, but he could still make out, “Dammit, Sam, forget your key again?  Seriously, man, we gotta get you a bungee or something with how often you lose it.”  Tumblers clicked as the lock disengaged, words still coming until the door opened too far.  “It’s getting ridicu-”  Dean’s eyes widened to approximately the size of a deer in the headlights before he stuttered out, “Oh.  What’re you doing here, C-Castiel?”

“Hello, Dean.”  Truthfully, Cas didn’t know what to say, but his brain shut down enough at Dean calling him Castiel that he heard himself say, “Can we talk?”

Dean chuckled, once, the sound flatter than usual.  “You’re not making this less ominous, man, but sure, c’mon in.”  He stepped back, motion oddly stiff given his usual, relaxed way of walking.  There was an edge of sadness to his voice as he waved out an arm, indicating the hotel room and adding, “Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”  Cas did walk in, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down, so he simply hovered, standing aimlessly in the center of the room.

Dean shut the door again, pointedly leaving it unlocked before walking over to the bed and sitting down, hands clasped as they rested loosely in his lap.  A beat of silence stretched out between them before he interrupted it, hesitance stretching out his words.  “Uh… Look, not that… you know, you’re not welcome, but… what’re you doing here, man?  You said… You said you had something to say?”

“Yes.”

Another beat of silence.  “You wanna elaborate on that?”  There was a flash of frustration in the words before he snapped his mouth shut again, eyes flicking down to the floor as he returned to awkward, uncertain quiet.

“I’ve come to realize that Gabriel was responsible for what happened on our flight.  I accused you incorrectly and unfairly.  My apologies.”

Dean opened his mouth.  He shut it again.  Then, he managed, “Thanks.”  A shrug.  “Not that big a deal, though.  Forgiven and forgotten, man.”  If it were any other day, he would have slapped a hand onto Cas’ shoulder and moved on.  If it were any other day, Cas’ hasty words wouldn’t hang between them, an artificial distance that never should have existed.  “Was… Was there something else?”

“Yes.”  A pause that, were it any other day, Dean would long ago have interrupted.  “I, uh… I don’t know what to say.  I mean, I said some things that were… harsher.  Than I intended.  And I didn’t want to leave them unaddressed.”

Dean was standing before Cas even process him starting to move, the motion causing enough of an air current that the trench coat he wore flapped against his leg.  “Look, man, I get it.  We don’t gotta talk about any of it.”

And wasn’t that just like Dean, moving past what needed to happen --- Cas apologizing, because what he said was… he couldn’t dwell on it, not now, not when he had to address it, but it was bad --- to keep the status quo, as though pesky emotion didn’t exist.  “We do, Dean.  I can’t let this sit without saying something.”  He didn’t know how to put it --- what if Sam and Gabriel were wrong, after all? --- but he sought the words as delicately and deliberately as he could.  “We work together, and we’re friends, but I think that maybe there’s something… more.  Am I right?”

“Uh…”  Dean swallowed, the gesture heavy.  “Cas…  Er, sorry, Castiel… Look.  I might be a selfish sonuvabitch, but I ain’t gonna make you uncomfortable or anything.  Yeah, we work together right now, but, uh… I mean, it’s not like y’all need me on the project or anything.  Prototype’s done and all, and even if it weren’t, I didn’t add that much in the first place… And Zach wouldn’t care if I asked to work with a different team; he’s been nagging me to help Michael on some other thing for a while now.  If you don’t want to deal with my shit-”

“Dean-”

“And, yeah, I’m not that smart, but I’m not an idiot or anything; I’m not expecting a fairy tale or some shit like Sammy wants, so don’t worry about that.”

“Dean-”

He was rambling enough that Cas wasn’t even sure he’d heard the interruptions.  “And I don’t know what Gabe and my brother were doing with that whole paper thing, but I’ll talk to them and get them to let it go… I get what you were saying about it being ridiculous, so it’s the least I can do to try and get them to leave you alone-”

“Dean!”  He finally fell silent, mouth snapping shut as he flopped back into a seated position on the bed, shoulders hunched a little more than usual even as he faked his usual posture.  “I have a question for you, and it’s very important that you answer it honestly.”

Dean looked at him, something akin to trepidation sitting unfamiliar in familiar green eyes.  “Yeah?”

“I know Gabriel was the one with the flowers and that note…”  He paused, eyes closing as he steeled himself to ask, “But if you had written that question…  Would you have wanted me to say yes?”

The trepidation was replaced by panic verging on fear.  “Castiel, I don’t really think-”

“Dean.”

“C’mon, man, it doesn’t matter, honest-”

“You said you’d answer honestly, Dean, and I need to know.  Yes or no, would you want me to say yes?”

The room was deathly quiet for a second.  Then, “Honestly?  No.”  Cas didn’t even have time to register the sinking knot in his stomach, the voice in his head whispering they were wrong, you were right, get out of here, leave, don’t embarrass yourself more, go, go, go before Dean let out a far-too-bitter laugh and was talking again.  “I mean, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Cas’ encroaching spiral of negativity ground to a halt.  “...What?”

“Look, man, I’ve got no illusions, alright?  I know there’s a lot of shit wrong with me, and it doesn’t take a genius --- obviously, ‘cause I figured it out ---  to get that I’m annoying as shit and not exactly cut out for anything… long-term.  So…”  He shrugged.  “No, I wouldn’t want you to say yes.”

“Dean…”

“Even without what you said on that plane --- and I’m glad you said it, really… I appreciate the confirmation of being certain --- I always knew this…”  A floppy gesture encompassed both of them with little more than a flick of his wrist.  “Didn’t exist beyond my own head.”  He paused, then, seeming to only then realize what he’d said, he leaned forward again, a staying hand outstretched.  “Look, man, I ain’t sayin’ this as a guilt trip, all right?  I don’t expect anything back, is all I’m saying.  Or want it, ‘cause I’m not tryin’ to make you deal with my shit even more than you already do.”  Only then did he fall back into his uneasy silence, eyes still not meeting Cas’ as he pinned them on his hands.

Part of Cas wanted to address the words Dean had just said.  It was the same part of him that had recoiled the second the words started, dripping in self-loathing; Cas had heard Dean impassioned and ranting about various topics, but he’d never sounded like this, with something barely diluted from hate dripping from every syllable and aimed solely at himself.  It was the same part that was screaming at Cas to rebut each and every thing Dean had said, even if it took hours on end.

The other part of Cas was far too concerned with back.  Back, uttered so carelessly, spilling out in a flood of other words because, otherwise, without the mind-numbing nature of impassioned speech, Dean wouldn’t have said it at all.  Back, uttered quietly and still somewhat cautiously, as though it were one of the worst possible fates a person could have.  Back, because Sam and Gabriel were right.

Back, because Cas wasn’t alone.

That part was so in control, that Cas couldn’t stop himself.  “...Back?”

Dean blinked, eyebrows furrowing as he looked over at Cas for real, for the first time since they’d really started talking.  “What?”

“You said you don’t expect anything back.”

Another blink.  “Did I?”

“Yes, you did.’

“I don’t think I did.”

“You did.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?  I think you should have.”  Dean was about to say something, but Cas didn’t give him the space to speak.  "You should have."

“It doesn’t matter, Cas.  Castiel.”

“You can call me Cas.”

“Nah, you don’t like it.”

“I didn’t like it, you’re right.”  Dean nodded, as though taking it as confirmation of his point, conveniently neglecting the past tense as he absorbed the words.  “It was something I knew I couldn’t have.”

“You- What?”

“I knew --- or, well… I suppose, I thought I knew --- that it didn’t mean what I’d hoped it meant.  That you were just using it as a… a friendly nickname.”  He laughed, the sound quiet and soft and somewhat self-deprecating.  “I didn’t expect anything back.”

Dean’s voice held a questioning softness --- Cas was inclined to call it hope --- when he spoke again.  “Back?”

Cas nodded.  “Back.”

A pause, in which Dean looked almost convinced… then, “You can’t know what you’re sayin-”

“I do, Dean.

“That makes no sense.  What the hell do you mean, Cas?”  A pause as he passed his hand through his hair, leaving it standing spiky and uneven.  “Look, I’m fine, okay, you don’t have to lie-”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then…”  He fumbled about for a word, hands grasping at thin air just as much as he tried to find what to say.  “Exaggerate, whatever.  I’m fine, okay?  And I won’t make things awkward; you don’t have to do this.  Don’t freaking… sacrifice yourself for this, okay?  I’ll speak to Zach when we get back.”

“No.”  The word came out harsher than intended, but it successfully stilled Dean’s disjointed muttering.  “I’m serious, Dean.”

“What you said.  On the plane-”

“That was an unfair lie and it shouldn’t have been said.  I was… Well, I thought you were mocking me.  Teasing, as you do-”

“I wouldn’t, not about that-”

“Yes, I know that now.  But I… Well, I didn’t then.  I didn’t think there was a back.”

Dean didn’t look fully convinced, but he still nodded.  “There is.”

“I know.  Or, well, I know that now.”  Cas couldn’t hold back a little chagrin from soaking into his words, a little guilt at what he’d said still present.

And, if the way Dean shifted on the bed, hands wringing lightly, was any indication, he noticed.  “Look, Cast- Cas…”  He looked up for a moment, scanning Castiel’s expression as though looking for any sign of negativity before looking back down and finishing his sentence.  “I’m gonna be honest; I think you’re making a mistake.  I ain’t got that much to contribute, man.  You’d probably be better off with that chick who’s always flirting with you.  The one downstairs.”

It took Cas a minute to figure out who he meant, but then he could hardly hold back his incredulity.  “Meg?  You called her a demon last time we talked about her.”

“Fair point.”  He shrugged, adding, “But what about Amelia, huh?  She’s good wife material, man.  Long term, white picket fence, apple-pie life with 2.5 kids… Better than the alternative, that’s for damn sure.”

“I disagree.”  The way Dean rolled his shoulders back made it clear he didn’t agree, but at least he didn’t interrupt.  Of course, his silence was substantially aided by Cas not giving him a moment to speak.  “Haven’t we waited long enough?”  Another look of sheer disbelief from Dean, still sitting on the bed, and Cas added, “Honestly, Dean?  It doesn’t matter what you think I deserve.  This-”  He mimicked Dean’s earlier gesture, indicating them both.  “-is what would make me happy.  And I think it’s what would make you happy.  Isn’t that what matters?”

Dean frowned, but he couldn’t very well disagree, not when --- Cas did know him, miscommunications aside, and he could see how --- every fiber of his being screamed protect, protect, protect.  Cas had known it was true for Sammy, that Dean would never let anything bad happen to his brother; he just hadn’t quite realized --- not until that particular moment in that particular hotel room after that particular flight --- that it extended to him as well.

The idea was staggering, and yet Cas somehow managed to stay standing and semi-coherent through the epiphany.  He made a mental note to talk to Dean more seriously at a later date, once the abatement of tensions and fears --- for, yes, he could see remnants of distant dread in Dean’s eyes, as though looking for something to go wrong --- made them both more willing and able to talk… Then, Cas would sit Dean down and make him listen as he rebutted each and every self-deprecating thing he’d spoken during their confession-filled conversation.

But, at that particular moment in that particular hotel room after that particular flight, Cas merely stepped into the slightly confused, slightly awestruck hug Dean gave him.

– – –

One year later

The first rose petals --- and there were five of them --- landed on Dean Winchester’s lap approximately one hour into his flight.

When he turned, he didn’t look behind him, or in front of him, or across the aisle.  Instead, he turned to his left, to where Castiel Novak sat beside him, aimlessly fiddling with a red rose.  And, if Dean let himself focus on something other than the plane’s gonna crash, we’re all gonna die, if he picked up the petals thrown at him and tossed them at Cas beside him… Well, that was their business.