Archive of Our Own

So, looking back on it now (and Dean has spent an embarrassing amount of time looking back on it) it all started with him simply noticing that Castiel existed.
Not in any meaningful way. Just... noticing, somewhere on the periphery of his vision.

Oh, here's Cas.

Hi Cas.

Oh, there he is, standing in the corner like a dork.

A rustle of feathers — and just like that... a-a-and he's gone.

Hey, Cas.

Oh, hi. He's back again…

Dean didn't pay any attention to it. He'd grown so accustomed to that drilling gaze on the back of his head that he'd stopped registering it altogether.

Besides, Cas usually showed up at moments of high tension (like, say, when Dean was actively getting killed) so there wasn't exactly a window to stop and analyze how he felt about any of it.

What he can say now: Cas showed up a lot.

***

“‘Hello’?” Sam turns sharply in his chair, pissed. “‘Hello’?! I spent all that time trying to get through to you. Dean calls once, once! and now it's, 'Hello'?!”

“Yes”.

“So, what, you-you like him better or something?”

To his credit, Cas looked mildly ashamed. He glanced at Dean.

“Dean and I do share a more profound bond.”

Wait, what?

“I wasn't gonna mention it.”

Dean sighed. That’s Cas for you. Says the most out of pocket thing and then tries to burn a hole in Dean’s skull with his gaze.

“Cas, I think what he's trying to say is that... he went to Hell for us.” Dean cleared his throat. “ I mean, he really took one for the team. And then he comes back, and you can't take five minutes to give him some answers?”

Cas finally tore his gaze away from Dean and turned toward Sam.

“If I had any answers, I might have responded but I don’t know…”

Dean shrugged. Sam shot a venomous look at them and turned to his laptop.

Back to work.

***

There were dozens of situations like this.

Who gets healed first? Dean. Who gets found first? Dean. Who gets shouted at “I rebelled, and I did it for you!” while being pinned like a bug against the wall? Dean.

At some point, Cas developed the annoying habit of responding only to Dean’s prayer; a quirk that not only gave Dean the opportunity to mock Sam’s inferiority, but also forced him to act as a Heaven’s 911 dispatch.

“I’m not his babysitter!” Dean shouted, throwing his arms up. “Call him yourself, I don’t know where Cas is!”

“I’m behind you,” the voice said. Dean jumped and banged his knee against the table while Sam and Bobby exchanged a meaningful glare.

Cas always singled him out so blatantly that Dean had started to wonder if this was some kind of angelic bullying – a deliberate campaign to embarrass people. Cause it was embarrassing alright.

But deep down (and he’s only admitting this now, under duress, years later) he actually liked it.

That attention.

It feels good when someone cares, doesn’t it?

***

“I already buried two bodies over there, Dean,” Sam grimaced, rolling his shoulder and leaning on his shovel, “So no, I will not ‘help you out real quick with this one’, do it yourself.”

“I’ll do it, let me grab another shovel.”

“Cas, I love you man!” Dean sang, theatrically pressed his dirt-stained hands to his heart and shot Sam a vengeful glare. “You’re the only one around here who actually gives a damn about me.”

He didn’t notice that, at those words, Castiel stumbled.

***

Other little things happened too. Their grandfather turned out to be a real dick. Sam got his soul back. Nothing special, just business as usual.

Cas sulked at him for a while “you shouldn't have done that, it was dangerous, blah blah blah” and Dean found it funny, honestly. He'd done the right thing, Sam was okay, everything was fine. It wasn't the first time he'd gambled with fate for the people he loved, and if it came to it, he'd do it again. Cas should have been the first to understand.

***

Slowly, some things started shifting.

Dean began to feel a simple sense of joy whenever he saw Cas. Well, he'd always been glad to see him before — especially when a werewolf was chasing him down an alley, or when a wendigo was trying to eat his face off. In his line of work, an extra pair of hands was always welcome.

So he'd always been grateful. Always, even if he never said it out loud.

But this was different. Dean was happy just to see him, even when Cas wasn't saving his life. Even when he was just... there, right beside them, doing absolutely nothing, saying the funniest things with the straightest face.

There. He'd said it. Dean liked having him around.

That's what friends were for, right? Making your life better. Making you happy.

Wait, what?

***

So the next time, when Cas, narrowing his eyes, declared:

"Peanut butter and jelly? Why would anyone mix them together? After all, they have completely different physical and flavor characteristics"

– and Sam burst into laughter, Dean couldn’t help but snort into his coffee mug.

What a dork!

And somehow, all his dorkiness, his dorky trench coat, and unironed suit and his tense expression on an otherwise quite pleasant face – all of it made Cas someone who warmed something deep inside Dean. Someone who gave him a feeling very much like the one Sam gave him, or Bobby when he called him son, or Mom when she held him close at night, so many moons ago.

***

Then it became something different.

One late motel evening, with him hunched over a newspaper, and Sam muttering something under his breath, doing his dark magic over the laptop, Dean suddenly thought how nice it would be if Cas were here right now. The stale burger and floppy fries from the local greasy spoon had been shit, he hadn't managed to pick up a single girl at the bar, and he was tired, and drained, and just...

It would be nice. That's all. Just to hang out. He'd even let Cas burn a hole in his head. Figuratively speaking.

Cas could brew them some coffee — undoubtedly the most disgusting coffee of their lives, since Cas had absolutely no taste — and Dean would mock Sam's desperate attempts to explain proper brewing techniques, and Cas would stand there like a fool and maybe even write down the recipe, squinting in concentration.

Or Cas would lean over his shoulder, reading the newspaper in the dim glow of the desk lamp, completely ignoring Dean's pleas to respect his personal space. Maybe he'd even put an arm around him (platonically, of course) and say in that low, raspy voice: "We'll handle this, Dean. You go get some rest. You've done such a good job…"

Dean jerked and lifted his heavy head from the newspaper.

The neon digits on the clock read three in the morning.

Cas's voice in his ear had felt so real that Dean actually glanced around the room, half-expecting to see a tense familiar figure standing in the corner shadows.

There was no one there.

Of course there wasn't. Cas was a soldier of the Lord, fighting his Heaven wars, killing bastards left and right. He wouldn't have time to whisper in Dean's ear, let alone stand in the corners.

Or would he?

Dean listened closely one more time. Nope, nothing, complete silence, just the steady sound of Sam’s breathing from the other bed. It seemed Sam had covered him with a blanket and Dean nearly wept at this generous act of care.

Yes, looking back at this memory, he knew he was a moron. He should have realized that wanting your friend to be close to you, to hug you, to whisper something in your ear, is a bad sign. A bad, bad sign. If he'd stopped to think about it for even a minute longer, maybe he could have asked himself why he wanted it. But he didn’t, obviously.

Collapsing onto the bed, teeth unbrushed, Dean closed his eyes. The last thought that flashed through his mind was that he liked the feel of Cas's lips next to his ear.

***

"It's love."

"I beg your pardon?"

The old hag squinted at Dean and his dusty rented suit.

"They were intoxicated by love," she declared. "And believe me, I know what I'm talking about! I'm a fourth-generation witch."

You're no damn witch, Dean thought. We already checked.

Behind him, Sam raised his eyebrows respectfully and took the lead.

"You believe that being 'intoxicated by love' is the reason your neighbors attacked their husbands?" he asked, sitting down next to the hag on the porch. "That's an interesting theory. Could you tell us why you think so?"

The old woman, wearing a frilly bonnet, turned toward Sam and instantly melted.

Go get her, Sammy, Dean thought. I'm not her type.

The sun was blazing mercilessly. All Dean wanted was a cold beer, a soft couch and a blowing AC, but you don't always get what you want. This was their seventh conversation with acquaintances of the victims, and so far they hadn't come a single step closer to cracking the case.

Three women, of different ages and social standing, with absolutely no connections to one another, had one day simply grabbed the closest kitchen tools and gave their husbands a thorough thrashing. The husbands, in a remarkable coincidence, had died. The women were then thrown in jail and couldn't remember a thing afterward.

Fantastic.

Dean listened to the conversation out of the corner of his ear.

"Love potions are the most potent curse one can cast," the hag was blabbering. "When in love, you are ready to do anything! Even kill. Someone poisoned them, and the poor souls fell into sin."

"They killed their husbands because they loved them too much?" Dean asked, unable to hold back. "What kind of logic is that? If you love someone, you protect them, you don't bash them over the head with a frying pan."

Sam shot him an irritated glance. The old woman shook her jowls and bristled.

"I can already see that you've never really loved anyone, boy. Only someone hollow could not get it."

"Oh, come on," Dean chuckled. "I never loved anyone because I didn't want to kill them. Okay."

"Also, it was well-deserved." The hag continued, "I know for a fact Bella's husband Roy was a WHORE!"

Dean and Sam jumped. Birds flew from the trees.

"He chased after every skirt!"

***

"Wow," Dean said, after some time, when he and Sam were passing through town in the Baby heading toward the diner. "She was very passionate about it. Put her whole chest into that 'whore!'."

"She might be onto something. Jim, and Linda's husband too, now that I think about it," Sam said, flipping back through his notes. "All three. Suspected cheaters, all of them."

Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel. "So that's the connection."

"Hm. Maybe they all cheated with the same person?"

"We should check."

The town did its town thing outside the windows. Birds were chirping, cars were passing by, kids were laughing. Dean let his thoughts drift.

He wasn't hollow, not at all. He was a very passionate guy. He loved, and loved a lot. For example…

Dean frowned.

...For example.

Cassie, for example. He'd loved her, missed her for a long time afterward. Then there was Lisa, who he'd been crazy about for a while. Bobby – of course, he loved Bobby – and Sam. But it wasn't the same thing, Dean sighed. Not the same thing at all.

And then there was Cas.

What exactly was Cas to him?

Dean thought of the recent dream. Cas and his low voice in Dean’s ear; his large, warm hand squeezing his shoulder, maybe going down his chest, slipping under his shirt–

Something twitched in Dean's pants.

Oh no.

Dean hit the brakes. The Impala screeched to a halt, stopping dead in its tracks. Sam, god bless his soul, tumbled out of his seat in a beautiful circus motion, his gigantic legs flying out the window.

Pedestrians turned and stared. Dogs started barking.

"Have you lost your mind?!" Sam screamed, spitting his notes out of his mouth. "You almost killed us!"

"A c-cat ran across the road," Dean mumbled, seeing nothing before him, stunned by his own revelation. "And it's a reminder to wear your seatbelt."

Sam, swearing, rotated himself back to the position designed by nature with legs firmly on the ground, but Dean didn't laugh at him.

It was no laughing matter.

Was he…

Was he in love with Cas?

The old hag in the bonnet giggled in his head. Damn witch.

***

The case was resolved when the local siren — a gluttonous girl with a D-cup — smashed her head into Sam's baseball bat. A bit of silver was involved too.

To be honest, Dean wasn't really paying attention to any of it. He was completely absorbed in his own internal struggle.

Late at nights, tossing and turning, he could think of only one thing:

Cas.

"Oh, god!" Dean kicked his pillow in frustration. "Stop it, you damn brain!"

But he couldn't help himself. The gravitational pull he had been feeling for the last few months finally found a name and a trench coat – and now Dean was in a state of complete and total internal denial.

Maybe he needed to test it. Just because he couldn't stop thinking about Cas didn't mean he'd suddenly changed his entire sexual orientation.

He needed to check. He'd deal with the rest later.

Nodding to himself, Dean turned over and finally drifted off to sleep.

***

"Here it goes."

Dean knew they had about thirty minutes to spare, that's how long it would take Sam to go to the library and come back, and he decided not to waste a minute. He didn't need any witnesses for his experiment.

He stepped forward and pulled Cas into a strong (very manly and very friendly) hug. Cas froze.

He awkwardly yanked his hand from between their bodies and patted Dean on the back.

"Do you want me to do anything?"

"Nah."

Cas's arm dropped. They stood like this for another minute, in complete silence.

Dean thought they must look like total idiots.

He also thought he simply couldn't pull away. If he did, Cas would see his blushing face. Dean knew it was flushed because he could feel his cheeks burning.

He couldn’t believe it.

His heart was pounding wildly.

His palms were sweating.

It’s not possible.

Absolutely insane.

He could smell the salt of Cas’s skin, his natural musky scent; he could smell the grass and dust stuck to him. Cas’s coarse hair tickled his ear.

He liked it.

He liked everything about this situation, except standing like idiots of course, also his legs were getting tired…

He was fucked.

Dean should pull away. Any second now. He was definitely about to pull away.

But all he wanted now was to bury his face deeper in Cas's neck, right between the three-day stubble on his cheek and the worn collar of his trench coat, and take long, deep breaths. He wanted to taste his skin. He wanted to undress him slowly, get his hands on what was underneath all that clothing and righteousness; lick him all ov–

Abort! Abort!

Dean yanked himself away and looked at Cas with horror. Cas looked back, bewildered.

"Dean?"

"The test is over, Cas! The null hypothesis was rejected! Don't worry about it, better yet, forget all of it. I have things to do now, so."

"But you called me yourself."

"I did? Damn, I must have dialed the wrong number. I'm getting old, man, talking nonsense, doing god knows what, you know how it is."

Cas looked at him with pity.

"No, I don't."

“Ah, right, cause you’re like a bazillion years old and you don’t age. Forgot about that, but thanks for reminding how fragile and short a human life is compared to yo…”

“Dean, you’re red. Did something possess you?”

This man was too incisive. Dean cursed under his breath.

Until now, the idea that Cas was a creature of flesh and blood had remained something purely theoretical to Dean. What Cas felt like had been left entirely to Dean's imagination, and his imagination, truth be told, wasn't exactly his strong suit.

But now he had discovered firsthand what Cas felt like and how he smelled, and oh boy, did he like it. He'd even brushed his hand (accidentally!) down Cas's back, receiving physical confirmation that Castiel did, in fact, possess an ass, hidden beneath all those sand-colored folds. Dean fought the urge to ask him to turn around and lift the hems of his trench coat, so as to verify it visually and conclusively.

“I got the dolphin’s flu,” Dean blurted out, trying to shake him off. “A very contagious thing, but I heard that angel hugs help a lot.”

"Oh!" Cas nodded, expression dead serious. "I've never heard of it. It must be a new disease."

"You bet it is," Dean assured him. "Thanks a lot, Castiel, for saving my life. I owe you one. Well, see ya!"

Cas pursed his lips, apparently attempting to pass it off as a smile.

"You could probably use another hug, Dean. You've turned even redder since we started."

***

Tonight's motel sat in a small New England fishing town on the seashore. Its design featured a nautical motif, meant by the decorator to immerse the guests in the oceanic depths; the kind of depths people don't usually descend into for twenty dollars a night. Dean wished he wasn’t descending either.

He didn't pay much mind to the headboards shaped like a giant seashell, or the shower faucet encrusted with starfish. The picture of a naked, slutty mermaid above the toilet earned his approving smirk.

But what truly struck him, right in the heart, was the massive, five-foot-tall copper fish standing smack in the middle of the room he shared with Sam.

It was so hideous it literally took his breath away.

The fish gleamed with ghastly bulging eyes and a battered tail. Its moronic expression was visible from every corner of the room — Dean could see it even with his back turned, because someone had plastered mirrors over half the walls.

Sam dropped his backpack on the pearlescent bed.

"I knew the day would come when I'd become the third wheel," he muttered.

"Well, now we know why this room was discounted."

The decorator clearly considered the fish his magnum opus and wasn't about to let the guests go a second without witnessing it.

Miniature copies of the fish stood on both bedsides, ensuring this creature would be the very first thing you looked at in the morning and the very last thing you saw before closing your eyes.

"I can't take it anymore, I'm heading out to meet Nash and Stephanie," Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"And you're going to leave me alone with this thing?"

"Hey, you're the one who asked to come along. I came to meet my college friends; I didn't drag you."

That was true. They had no case this time, and Dean figured a breath of fresh ocean air would be a welcome change. He'd been thinking about heading down to the beach — it was too cold for swimming and too late for sunbathing — but he could sit there, listen to the waves, and just think.

Sam washed his face, changed his shirt, and waved goodbye as he shut the door.

***

Dean was alone, for the first time in a while.

He collapsed onto his bed and closed his eyes, listening to the silence.

Since when had being alone started to feel heavy? He had always been independent, even back when he worked with Dad. Sometimes he went months without seeing a familiar face, and he was fine with that. The very thought of marrying someone and seeing them every day, used to freak him out. He was a lone wolf – Woof! – and was proud of it.

But working with Sam had shown him how good it could be to share life with someone. Someone could always run to the CVS if you were sick, and you could always buy cinema tickets at a discount. There was someone who knew you existed; someone who worried when you’ve been gone too long. It was a nice feeling, one for which Dean secretly despised himself for.

But Sam…Sam was his own man. Even though he loved Dean, he always stood between their chaotic hunter life and a normal one, never afraid to put himself first. He had his own friends; his own interests, separate from Dean’s. Hell, he had an entire life before a demon ripped it away. But Dean knew: someday, Sam would leave. And Dean would have to live on his own.

What did Dean really have that was his own? His job was Dad’s job; his car was Dad’s car. His friends were Dad's friends, Sam's friends, Bobby's friends. Even the damn cassette tapes belonged to his Dad, too.

Then what was his?

Castiel.

Cas showed up for him. Not for Sam, not for Dad — him. Pulled him from Hell. Always found him first. Always came when Dean called. Always…

Dean opened his eyes.

Was he ready to risk (and possibly ruin) this bond? To take a step forward and hope Cas would bother to meet him halfway?

Well, he wasn’t much of a longing type. What happens, happens.

He stood up and fished out (Ha! Fished out! You get it? It’s a fish!) a bottle of whiskey from his bag, poured himself a generous portion at the counter. Then he drank, counted to ten and said loudly:

“Cas, I need you here. If you’re not busy, could you come down here for a minute?”

A second passed and then –

Woosh.

“Hi Dean,” came the familiar voice behind him. He spun around.

Cas stood there, awkward as ever, eyes flicking to the hideous cooper fish beside him.

“Is that… a monster you’re working on?”

“Oh, it’s a monster alright,” Dean said, taking another sip. “But we can’t do anything about it at the moment, unless you want to decorate your heavenly office.”

“I’ll.. pass for now,” Cas said, squinting at the fish like it might start talking. “Then what is it?”

Dean straightened, deciding to go for it. “Cas, I need to know something.” He felt like a coward, trying to read the hand before playing his own, but he couldn’t stop. “What do you… feel about me?”

Cas looked like he never thought about it before. That’s okay, Dean thought, I’ll get it out of you, I’ll drag it from the depths of your head if I have to.

“In which…plane?”

“In the whole spectrum of it. You, like, really care about me.”

“Yes, of course, Dean. I do.”

“But why? I mean, you saved me from Hell and all that, but... Why?”

Cas blinked, scanning the room for inspiration, but kept returning to the fish, taking in all its ugly angles.

“Well, I value you, Dean.”

“Right.”

“And I care about you and Sam.”

“You care about us both the same.”

“Yes.”

“You’re shit at lying.”

Cas sighed and glanced towards the window. Dean took a step closer.

“Hey, I dare you, if you fly away now…”

“The moment I pulled you out of this pit,” Cas said, finally turning back, “I felt a sense of protectiveness over you… over your fate. You may call it love. Though, linguistically, Enochian has a more precise word, closer to… affection, and…”

“You…You love me?”

Dean gaped at him. Cas looked taken aback.

“Of course I love you. I thought it was obvious.”

Silence.

Even in his wildest dreams, Dean couldn’t have imagined hearing those words from Cas, spoken so easily, so casually. He hadn’t hesitated for a second, as if loving Dean were the most natural thing in the world.

“Wait, hold on,” Dean’s head was spinning. He stepped back and focused on the hideous fish.

Yeah, maybe Cas was joking.

“You… you can’t just say you’re in love with a friend like that. There are rules, man. A playbook for confessions. Like… standard operating procedures, OSHA thing.”

Cas looked at him with anxiety.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware. Can we fix it?”

He’s not joking.

“No way,” Dean said, grinning; happiness slowly but surely filled him to the brim, and he wanted to savor this rare sensation, “But we can make it better.”

“I will do whatever it takes,” Cas answered bravely, and clenched his fists.

“Then say it again.”

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean, still smiling, looked him up and down.

This man, this creature – whatever you want to call him – this Cas, his Cas, just said he loved him.

Loved him, Dean!

Him, of all people. Just him, exactly as he was.

How does Cas kiss? How does he moan? How does he murmur, how does he hug? What’s his favorite color? What is his scariest memory? Favorite song? Dean wanted to lunge at Cas and devour him right away, own him, hold him tight, but he held back, enjoying this sensation of love being reciprocated.

His hands were shaking with excitement.

“What would you like to do, Cas?” Dean asked softly and took a step forward.

“What would you want me to do, Dean?” Cas echoed, calm and steady.

“Well,” Dean slowly closed the distance and looked right into those blue eyes. He could see the color flecks in the irises, he could count every lash. Then his gaze drifted to Cas’s cracked lips, and he thought he should hit a gas station for a chapstick next time.

“You see, I love you too,” Dean said. “So we can start with exploring each other's bodies, whatcha think?”

Slowly, as if afraid to startle him, Dean cupped Cas's face, and moved closer. He closed his eyes, feeling the breath on his lips…

“Why would we need to explore our bodies, Dean? I’m familiar with mine, and you’re familiar with yours, aren’t you?”

Dean blinked. Cas squinted at him, trying to comprehend what Dean was doing. This was not the look of someone diving into a passionate embrace of their loved one.

Something was… off.

“What?”

“Why do we need to explore the bodies?” Cas repeated, “Don’t they stay the same? Or are you sick, and need me to examine you?”

Dean froze. Was he… sick? He took a step back.

“Wait a second, Cas,” he said, “What are you talking about?”

“We are talking about love, don’t we?” Cas frowned and tilted his head like a bird, “We were talking about love, Dean, did you forget?”

“Oh, I remember alright,” Dean began, suddenly realizing that they might have been having two completely different conversations. With Cas, it was always better to clarify things to the point of absurdity. “Um, can you please tell, what is your definition of love?”

“It’s exactly how you would define it,” Cas chuckled, as if defining love was ridiculous. “It’s a pure, continuous flow of energy and devotion. Despite the complicated history between Heaven and Earth, Angels - the vast majority of us, at least - love all earthly beings; even if we don't always know how to express that love properly."

“Pure, continuous flow of energy”, Dean echoed, dumbfounded, "Yeah, right. Of course."

“Yes,” Castiel’s face lit up with a broad smile that made Dean’s chest ache, "That's why I'm so happy that you love me too, Dean. I treasure it very much and will cherish your affection."

Yeah.

Dean knew this was too good to be true. Way too smooth for their standard conversation. Cas had a way of bringing someone down to Earth (pun intended) and Dean figured he had to do the same now. He braced himself.

“Cas, I think we’re talking about different types of love. My love is not very pure. Actually, not pure at all. Pretty damn dirty.”

“Love can’t be dirty, Dean.”

“Well, my love is kinda… sinful. You’re not going to be talking about what I want to do with you at Sunday church service.”

“Do what?”

Oh god. He really had to say it.

“Well, kissing? On the mouth?” Dean winced. Who knew that dissecting his stupid confession is more embarrassing than whatever happened between him and that hot chick from Missouri.

“Hm!” Cas kept smiling at him. “Angels kiss humans all the time. There is nothing sinful about it, De-”

“With a tongue?!”

“Tongue,” Cas was at a loss, “Why would you need a tongue, will you be at a distance?”

“Dist- what?” Dean took a second, trying to decode how Cas would even conceptualize a kiss on a distance with a tongue. “What about sex?! Do angels have sex with humans all the time too? Also not sinful?”

Cas opened his mouth and forgot to close it.

Finally, it seemed like he caught up with what Dean was trying to bash into his head. Dean watched, fascinated, as Cas went from confused to horrified to a cheerful tomato-red.

“You want to have sex with me,” he croaked.

“Well, not only that, but that’s a good start,” Dean sighed, defeated.

“Bu-but, I’m not even a human!” Cas spread his arms; the trench coat flopped around his knees.

“You look human enough.”

“I’m also,” Cas looked down at himself, checking if anything had changed since the last time, “I’m also not a woman!”

“I noticed,” Dean sighed again, then walked to the table and poured himself a double whiskey. “It took me a lot of internal work, okay? To break off my shackles of shame and all that. Geez. Very inconsiderate of you to point it out.”

Cas deflated.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to…”

“I’m joking,” Dean said flatly, and took a shot. God knows this day drained him. “It took me a lot of internal work to confess to you because you’re my friend and I don’t want to lose you, idiot.”

Cas stood silently, staring straight into Dean’s soul with his stupid, sad, beautiful eyes.

A minute passed. Dean poured himself another double, drank it, and looked pointedly at everything in the room except Cas.

Yep, that was his luck. Who knew the only person he’d ever truly fall for had no human concept of romantic love? Whatever angels called ‘love’ was so ethereal and cosmic that Dean and his dirty human nature could not even comprehend it; therefore, had no space in it. Castiel, an angel, loved humanity as a whole, and loved Dean as a part of this whole.

Dean’s heart sank lower. Yep, his luck alright.

“Okay,” Dean put his glass down with a thud and turned toward Cas, who was still watching him, “Let’s wrap it up; the show is over. I know you’re a busy guy - you've got a war to fight and all that - so I don’t want to keep you any longer. Let’s pretend none of this happened. Forget what I said and what you heard. And don’t even think about telling Sam, or I’ll kill you.”

“Dean,” Cas said quietly, “Why are you upset?”

“It doesn’t matter, Cas.” Dean leaned heavily against the counter and let his eyes drift to the fish again. Fuck. “I’ll be fine. Just… give me a couple days to lick my wounds, and I’ll be good as new.”

“Dean, did I say someth..”

“Drop it, please.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to look at Cas again, so he studied the glints of light on the empty glass in front of him. “Go.”

Another second passed.

Then a soft rustle of feathers and a light gust of wind.

Silence.

Dean looked up.

He was alone again.

Slowly, Dean walked over to the bed and sat there for a while, gazing at his clasped hands. He didn't notice when the morning light filled the room.

***

Bam!

“Ahhh!” Sam yelled in pain.

He was sitting on his bed, peacefully browsing the protein recipes, when something big - and very heavy- landed on his knees. Hissing, he pushed the tangle of arms, legs, and coat off himself and looked closely at what had fallen.

Who.

It was Cas.

Moaning and clutching his head, Cas struggled to his feet and swayed. He looked even more disheveled than usual, if that was even possible: hair sticking out in every direction, trench coat slipping off one shoulder. He reeked of alcohol. Cas swept his bloodshot gaze across the room of yet another cheap motel, and finally, settled on Sam, who was watching him with undisguised interest.

“Sam.”

“Cas.”

“How are you?”

“Better than you, obviously. Are you okay?”

“Not exactly. I planned to land over there but missed by two feet. Sorry.”

With a groan, Cas flopped heavily onto the neighboring bed, clutching his head.

“Let me guess, you drained yet another liquor store?”

“...I found Walmart.”

Sam whistled.

“Do you need a bucket, or?...”

“No, it’s fine,” Cas waved him off.

Sam nodded, not sure if Cas even noticed. He stayed alert, waiting for him to share any news, if there were any.

“I’m a horrible person, Sam.”

Well, that’s news.

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked, moving closer.

“I… I want to do good things, but I always bring pain. I’ve killed angels, friends, humans—you can’t even imagine, Sam.... I don’t deserve human affection, no sympathy, but I always want to do the right thing.” Cas lifted his head, eyes locking on Sam. “Do you believe me?”

“Of course I do, Cas,” Sam said quickly, patting his back. “I know you mean well. You always help us, me and Dean, when we need you.”

Cas made a strange half-sob half-chuckle.

“I couldn’t even cure the dolphin's flu.”

Sam grabbed the headboard to steady himself.

“I’ve hurt you both even more than most,” Cas continued, “It’s very kind of you to say I’m helping you, but perhaps you’d be better off without my help. I’m of little value as an ally.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. He was ready to listen, support, and protect Cas from himself. Whatever had happened, Cas clearly needed to talk; and Sam wasn’t sure if Heavens’ health insurance plan covered therapy sessions; god only knows (or rather doesn’t) that was what they needed most.

Sam walked to the small humming fridge, grabbed a cold bottle of water, and returned to Cas.

“Tell me what happened.” Sam said, handing him the bottle.

Cas took a greedy gulp and coughed.

“I can’t… I promised not to tell.”

“Promised who?”

“Dean.”

“Dean?”

So it wasn’t another global emergency.

“He said he’d kill me if I told you. Not that he is capable of killing me. By the way,” Cas spun around in his vantage spot, scanning the room once more, “Where is Dean?”

“What happened between you two?” Sam grabbed Cas and turned him back with an iron grip. “He was acting weird recently. Is that why he hasn’t called you in weeks?”

“I don’t know why he wasn’t calling me, but it did hurt my feelings a bit,” Cas muttered, “So, where is Dean?”

“Shopping,” Sam said quickly. “What happened?! You hurt him?”

“I think so. Dean looked really hurt, and I… I couldn’t understand why. I said tactless things. Now I don’t know what to do. Why didn’t you go shopping with him?”

“I stayed to guard the toad, don’t change the subject,” Sam cut him off, “You said something that upset him? He never tells me things like that, always keeps everything to himself, that jerk! Is that why you’re drunk?”

“I was told alcohol relieves internal pain and tension. I’ve been deceived yet again,” Cas signed, ignoring the painful grip on his shoulder, “The toad? What toad?”

“A money toad we caught", Sam nodded to a large glass jar in the corner. A huge, brown, three-legged toad was sitting inside of it, scrutinizing both of them with profound contempt.

“Oh,” said Cas.

“Yes, Jin Chan,” Sam added, “Two people died this morning trying to steal it for luck and money.”

“You can’t keep her in that corner, it brings bad luck. Face her the other way,” Cas kindly advised, still clutching his head.

“We think it’s safer to return it to the owner but we haven’t figured out how to do that yet.”

Cas suddenly raised a hand and snapped the fingers in front of Sam’s nose.

Sam went silent.

“What was that? Your way of asking for another drink?”

“I returned her,” Cas croaked, “I returned her to Liu. He was looking for her everywhere; I am glad they are back together.”

“Right,” Sam glanced at the jar. It was empty, “Thanks, buddy. One less thing to worry about. Now, back to what you were saying - you never help us? Got it.”

Cas shook his head, defeated.

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two, and I can’t make you talk” Sam looked closely at Cas's pitiful face. “But I know Dean trusts you and he values you in his life. I know he misses you. He’s a grown man, just talk to him, tell him how you really feel, and I am sure he will understand. And by the way,” Sam chuckled and adjusted the trench coat on Cas’s shoulder, “We all value you. I know we’re not great with words, and even worse at expressing our feelings with words, so don’t take it as a “you” problem. You’re great, Cas.”

Castiel made an unintelligible sound and slowly stood.

“I have to go. Th-they are calling for me. Thank you,” Cas said to the floor. “ Thank you, Sam.”

Sam smiled at him.

“Anytime, dude.”

***

“Dean.”

“Yes, Sammy.”

“Listen.”

“I’m all ears.”

“About this whole thing. It's time to call Cas.”

Dean and his chair jumped. The turkey sandwich got stuck in his throat, and Dean almost died, coughing it out. Great, Dean, very inconspicuous. If Sam didn’t suspect anything before, he sure as hell does now.

Dean finally got back to life, still coughing and wiping tears with a napkin.

“Wh-why do we need Cas again?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

Dean teetered on the back legs of his chair, avoiding Sam’s gaze.

“Cas, pfft! Why do we need him? We don’t need to call him, he’s no help! Cas! Who’s even Cas? Also, everything’s fine, all is peachy, all problems solved. We spoke to him, we cleared things out. He’s great, I’m great, you're great! We don’t need Cas for anything. At. All. Ha!”

Sam graciously let him finish this little performance and said,

“Cause we know a cherub is involved in this case? And Cas is, like, their boss now. Don’t you think that’s a good reason to call him?”

“Ah, right… The case.” Dean breathed a sigh of relief, tossing the sandwich aside and taking a sip of Pepsi. “I think we can manage it ourselves, Sam. No need to bother Cas.”

So Sam doesn’t suspect anything. Good.

“You surprise me, Dean.”

Or maybe he does?

“You were calling for him for every little thing, to the point where his secretary lady had to come in person and tell us to stop. You called him for your karaoke night. You wanted him to check your new boots! And now, when we clearly need his help, you refuse. What’s going on?”

“Well, you see, Sammy…” Dean interlocked his fingers, leaned against the grimy table, and looked very serious. “When people grow up, sometimes they move apart. Not because they don’t care, but their interests… drift.”

“Is that a divorced-parent speech?” Sam snorted. “Doesn’t work on me. Tell the truth.”

“It is the truth! We rely on him too much, but he’s got his own problems. Let him breathe!”

“We’re on this case for three weeks, Dean - three weeks! - and we still can’t find the guy! How much longer are we stuck in this town? Planning to settle down here and work on this case for another year?”

“Ah, I see the problem,” Dean grinned. “You hate this place ‘cause they don’t have a Whole Foods! You’re out of your organic toilet paper and vegan carrots and locally sourced paper clips. You’re pissed, I don’t blame you-”

“That’s it!” Sam slammed the table. “Cas, are you here? Cas, please come over!”

Silence.

“Now look at this,” Dean smiled softly, sitting back in his chair. “He’s not here, is he?”

“Dean.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean sighed. He knew Sam was right. And he knew he wasn’t postponing the meeting with Cas out of concern for his free time. They hadn’t seen each other since the last confession fiasco; seeing him again would be embarrassing, weird, and a little painful. But Dean was used to facing problems head-on. He could do it.

He also wanted to see him. Just a little.

Dean smoothed his hair and tried to remember the last time he shaved.

“Cas, we need you. Please… come.”

A familiar whoosh of feathers signaled his call was answered immediately. He turned to greet Cas, but the words stuck in his throat.

Cas sat to his left, gazing at him with a piercing intensity Dean had never seen before. He looked exactly the same, same tie, same expression, everything down to the last wrinkle, but Dean could feel waves of energy radiating off him. It was almost suffocating. Dean reminded himself again: this wasn’t just a middle-aged man with a questionable haircut. This was an ancient, powerful Higher Being, once ruler of oceans, mover of stars.

Lifting his chin, without a hint of a smile, Cas said:

“Hello, Dean. Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” Dean rasped. “Yeah… very long. How, um… how is Heaven doing?”

“Bad,” said Cas. “But that’s none of your concern.” He turned to Sam. “How can I be of help?”

“Um…” Even Sam was taken aback. “We got a case. A couple ate each other.”

“Not in a kinky way,” Dean added. “We think it’s a—”

“Cherub,” Cas interrupted him, “I felt his presence immediately.”

Without warning, he grabbed them both by the elbows. A split second later, they were transported into a back room that, by the looks of it, was used as a break room. It smelled like acetone and paint.

“We left without paying,” Dean said, trying to lighten the mood. Cas released his elbow immediately. “Will your conscience let you sleep at night after this?”

“I don’t sleep, Dean.”

“Well, now I won’t be sleeping either…”

“Quiet!” Sam peered through a crack in the open door. “Someone’s coming.”

“That’s him,” Cas said. “Get ready.”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances and pulled their guns.

A second later, the door creaked open. A man in an apron and pink overalls - bald, round and smooth like an egg - carried a McDonald’s bag with the tenderness of a mother embracing her newborn.

Dean tripped him.

The man hit the floor with a squeal and fries scattered everywhere. Sam held a gun to his head.

“Well?” Dean demanded. “These were your tricks, weren’t they?”

“Huh?” The man blinked, confused. “What tricks?”

“Don’t play stupid, Cherub! Did you kill them!”

“Who?”

“Matthew Rogers and Ivonne Garcia!”

The man gaped, then slowly rose, rubbing his side. “Ivonne? Is that why she wasn’t coming to her appointments? I knew her cuticles would be out of control by now! So… what?” He turned to Sam and Cas. “She’s dead?”

“Yes, thanks to you!” Sam waved his gun irritably. “Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Cherub exclaimed. “I work here quietly and peacefully. I don’t interfere with the natural way of life at all! Please let me go.”

“Then why would they tear each other apart, smartass?” Dean said.

“I… oh!” Cherub's eyes widened in horror. He pressed his little palm to his mouth. “She told me she got a new job! And I-I congratulated her… and she… hugged me…”

They all stared at each other.

“His leaked powers seeped through during direct contact with the victim,” Cas finally said, frowning.

“Is it even possible?” Dean asked skeptically.

“If he didn’t use his powers for a while, yes,” Cas said. “All Heavenly creatures have this problem. We must release our energy, our grace; otherwise, it overflows and floods everything around us.”

Dean remembered the waves of power he felt when Cas landed in the diner today and wondered if Cas hadn’t used his grace for a while either. Would explain his bitchy mood.

“Hm. So that means…”

“That means, Cherub, you must return to Heaven’s business, at least part-time, if you want to keep your day job here on Earth,” Cas said. Cherub nodded quickly. “Or I’ll burn you away.”

“Ah, Cas,” Dean chuckled, tucking the gun behind his back. “About as diplomatic as a sledgehammer. No need to be so nice to people.”

Sam snorted.

“Now,” Cas said, yanking Cherub by the apron, “I have something to discuss with him.”

“Sure,” Sam said, turning to leave. But Dean noticed Cas’s eyes darting around the room. Cas looked guilty for no reason at all. Suspicious.

“Okay, see ya? Don’t leave without saying goodbye, Cas,” Dean said, though he didn’t believe Cas wouldn’t fly off at the first opportunity. Cas looked up and gave a small smile, the first in a long time. Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“I won’t.”

***

"It's very inconsiderate of you, just so you know," Sam said suddenly, turning a page of Dad’s notebook.

Dean looked up from his beer. "What are you talking about?"

"Cas," Sam said simply.

They decided to wait for Cas in the bar right next to the motel. Bobby already sent the new case details, and Sam was already digging into Dad’s notebook before they headed out to the next town.

"What about Cas?" Dean asked, suspiciously. Sam hadn’t dropped the subject since the morning and it started pissing him off.

"He showed up one day, drunk off his ass, talking about things." Sam turned another page without looking up. "I want to know why."

"Really." Dean got a little offended. “I didn’t know he was visiting.”

"Fifty bucks." Sam said, deadpan. "I'll give you fifty bucks if you spill."

"Fifty bucks." Dean mumbled and twirled the glass. "You really think my love life is only worth fifty bucks."

Sam's head snapped up so fast he nearly broke his neck.

"Love life." He said it slowly. "Interesting word choice, Dean."

Dean realized he was in trouble, but it was too late.

"Figure of speech."

"Sure." Sam closed the notebook. Dean recognized this as a bad sign. "Did he confess something? Did you two-"

"No."

"-or was it you who-"

"No."

"Can it be that you rejected him?" Sam's eyes narrowed. "Because if that's the case, that's what I mean by inconsiderate. That's all I'm saying."

"What?" Dean straightened up. "That is not - at all! - what happened. You don't know what you're talking about. Do me a favor and stay out of it."

"Out of what?" Sam spread his hands innocently. "You just said there's nothing to stay out of."

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it.

"There is nothing between us," he said. Firmly.

Sam clicked his tongue. "I'll make sure to remember that."

They sat in silence for a while. Dean finished his beer and signaled for another. Sam reopened Dad’s notebook, looking very pleased with himself, which was somehow worse than if he'd kept pushing.

The door swung open.

Dean didn't need to look up to know. He could feel it, that particular shift in the air, like pressure changing before a storm.

Cas stood in the doorway, scanning the bar until he found them. He walked over, stopped at their table, and looked directly at Dean.

"I need to speak with you," Cas said, without preamble. "Privately. Can we go to your room?"

Sam leaned back in his chair with the most insufferable smile Dean had ever seen on a human face.

"Sure," Sam said pleasantly. "Take all the time you need."

Dean shot him a look that could curdle milk. Sam's smile didn't waver. With a sigh, Dean pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Don’t you even say an-" he started.

"I'm not saying anything," Sam said, opening the notebook again. "I'm just sitting here."

Dean grabbed his jacket and followed Cas out the door.

Behind him, he heard Sam's chair creak as he settled in comfortably.

Smug bastard.

***

“I was thinking about it,” Cas turned to him, after Dean closed the door behind them and turned the key for good measure. “About what happened between us. And I think I did you bad.”

Cas went straight to the point, like a raging rhino. Dean kind of respected that.

“No, you didn't,” he said. “We had a minor misunderstanding.”

“It’s not a misunderstanding, Dean!” Cas exclaimed and threw up his hands. “I hurt you!”

“You’re taking it too seriously.”

“I consulted with a few very wise people, and they all say it’s you who took it too lightly.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean tensed up, “And who you were consulting with, your dumb brothers?”

“I spoke with Cherub.”

Dean groaned.

“This oily giant baby in an apron? So that’s what you were whispering about in the corners, about my broken heart?!”

Dean blurted out, but immediately bit his tongue when he saw the look on Cas's face; it was too late, though.

Cas’s lips trembled.

“I broke your heart…” he whispered. “So that’s what it was. I’m very sorry.”

“Hey, don’t,” Dean quickly said; he wanted to approach Cas but stopped. “You don’t owe anything. My problems are my own.”

“The council felt otherwise. They decided I am held accountable.”

“Council?”

“Yes, I convened a council, invited everyone who I considered experts in the field, and presented our case in all details. You see, I am not very good at this,” Cas waved between them, as if this would explain it, “But I think you deserve my thoughtful response.”

Dean decided not to comment on it.

“So, there was a lot of discussion, it took us some time. Dr Jung had a few interesting ideas that I am inclined to present to you but Confucius advised to get back to basics first. Vatsyayana agreed and lent me this.”

Cas pulled out a book in a leather cover. Dean looked at it. It was clearly old and smelled like palo santo.

“What is it, your diary? I should have brought mine, and we could have sat and braided our hair and read through each other's secrets.”

“I already know all your secrets,” Cas said and Dean choked. “As for our hair, it might be too short for braiding.”

“You know all my secrets?” Dean asked, “This part needs a bit more clarification, Cas, you can’t just shru-”

“I know about Rhonda's pink underwear,” Cas said, brushing him off as he shoved the book into Dean’s hands. "Check it!"

Dean scrutinized Cas closely. Cas was fidgeting, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, and drilled Dean with an expectant gaze, smiling as he alternated his glance between the book and Dean. He looked like a child who had brought his mom his very first gift and was now waiting for exclamations of delight.

He really cares about me, Dean thought. He really wants to make things right.

Dean looked down at the book.

Old leather cover, worn soft at the corners. The kind of old that meant actually old, not flea market old. He turned it over carefully, almost against his will, like a man who already knew what he was going to find.

He opened it.

Flipped a page.

Went very still.

"Cas."

"Yes?"

"This is the Kama Sutra."

"Yes!" Cas exclaimed, with the passion of a good car dealer. "Vatsyayana's original manuscript. I thought it might help clarify what you meant. I've marked several sections I found particularly-"

"You marked-" Dean snapped the book shut. Opened it again. A white feather fell out from between the pages. He stared at it on the floor for a moment. "Is this a bookmark?"

"Confucius recommended the chapter on-"

"Cas." Dean closed the book. Set it down very gently on the table like it might detonate. He pressed both palms flat on the cover and took a breath. "You convened a council. Of dead people. About me."

"And interrogated Cherub."

"And interrogated Cherub." Dean nodded slowly. "By the way, he did your nails while he was there, or—"

“No, he wanted money.”

“I’m glad that’s the only thing that stopped you. Anyways,” Dean rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t have to do any of that. Yes, I did say what… I said. And I even wanted to take things further. But, I really,” Dean suddenly felt his legs weakening, “I truly value you, Cas. And I sure as hell don’t want you to be obligated to do anything. So don’t worry about me, let’s pretend it never happen-”

"Dean."

Something in Cas's voice made him stop. Dean looked up.

“I told you, I thought about it a lot too. And I wanted to say that I truly value you too, Dean.”

Cas wasn't fidgeting anymore. He stood very still, watching Dean with that expression - the one that made Dean feel like the only thing in the world worth looking at.

"I don't understand all of it yet," Cas said quietly. "I want to be honest with you about that. But I understand that it matters to you. And," he paused, like he was choosing the words carefully, "I would like to try. With you. Whatever that looks like."

Dean stared at him for a long moment.

"Whatever that looks like," he repeated.

"Yes."

"Even the stuff that's not very pure?"

Something flickered at the corner of Cas's mouth.

"Especially that."

Dean exhaled. Looked at the book. Looked at Cas. Felt that warm, stupid thing in his chest doing something complicated.

“We can start with a kiss”, Cas proposed, “On the mouth, with the tongue, since that seems so important.”

"Alright," Dean said, and took a step forward. "But we're not doing it at a distance."

Cas smiled, slow and certain; and looking back, Dean can admit it: he was a moron. All this time, it was him, Dean, who was catching up.

"No," Cas agreed. "I suppose we're not."