Archive of Our Own

The clock reads one in the morning. Sam and Dean Winchester have been drinking inside the local bar of Sioux Falls for over two hours now—but not just.

You see, Dean has that one party trick in store that’s all his pride. He rarely gets to use it to its full potential.

Usually, his nights are always cut short before he has to pull it—or because of it.

Tonight with his little brother though, there’s more at stake; respect and reputation.

“You’re lying.” Sam snickers with furrowed eyebrows. He looks pitiful towards Dean’s self-absorbed, overly cocky and very delusional perception of himself. He tucks his long hair behind his ears before leaning back on the stool at the counter.

Dean downs his mug of beer in one smooth swing. He wipes the foam off his face—only barely, there’s still something akin to a small, pathetic and white moustache stuck to his face. “I’m hurt, Sammy. You think so little of me?” Dramatically, he sharply winces before stupidly smiling again.

Before Sam could wittily respond to his idiot of a brother, a tall woman with long blonde hair interjects first. “Who would under-appreciate such a handsome fellow like you?” Clearly, she’s drunk and blind on both eyes. In Sam’s opinion, at least.

A wider smirk displays itself gratefully on Dean’s already smiley face. “I was just telling my brother of this one secret talent I have, you see.” He explains, pulling a chair down for her to sit on.

Sam was about to stand up—allow Dean to shoot his shot, as he calls it. Dean signals for him to stay put. Annoyed, he does. Otherwise, he’d have to walk home later. Dean has the car keys, after all. He’s the boss tonight.

“Pray tell, what talent might that be?” She coos, sounding only half-hardheartedly actually interested. Sam can see from a mile away that she only wants one thing from his older brother. And Dean must know it as well.

Which only makes it very weird that Dean for once refuses to indulge in his depraved lust and instead earnestly grins. “I told him, that I can make anyone blush with a few compliments.” Dean flags the bartender over, a man in his forties, probably. “Something stronger this time.” He tells him before looking back to the woman.

She laughs. “No way.” Strongly shaking her head, her long hair falls over her shoulders. “But it’s nice you’re so confident, honey.” She smiles belittling.

“I told you it’s unrealistic, Dean.” Sam agrees with her.

The bartender places down another drink in front of Dean. “One on the house for everyone in this bar, if you even can make her blush, mate.” He declares before pointing to the woman.

Immediately, she raises her hands in the air. “He can try, alright.” But she doesn’t seem convinced that Dean would actually say anything noteworthy.

Dean calmly sat on his stool, watching everyone badmouth his skills. When it was his turn to talk again, he made a point to lengthen the tension by slowly sipping on what tasted like a good whiskey. “I’ve noticed you walk in half an hour ago with who I assume your now ex boyfriend.” Dean starts off horrible.

She slowly, yet perplexed nods. “Yeah, we broke up and he left.” She confirms bitterly.

“You know, I bet he didn’t notice but I just have to say it. The shorter hair and lighter roots are beautiful on you.” He smiles softly, as if he wanted to make a genuine compliment.

Taken aback, she gasps. Slow and begrudgingly her cheeks turn red. “How could you even tell? You’ve never met me before!” She exclaims shyly. “Stop that.” She chuckles, hiding behind her hair.

Dean clicks his tongue. “I told you. It’s a talent.” He puts his arm on the bar. “See that? As red as a tomato.” He winks at her before turning to the bartender.

In disbelief, he nods. “Impressive.” Then he licks his lips. “Everyone, this guy just won y’all a free round!” He announces.

Cheers all around, people draw closer—lured in by the promise of free alcohol. Curious faces try to assess the situation to no avail. “What do you mean he won them?” One yells.

The bartender wiggles his eyebrows, by the looks of his facial expression, Sam guesses this was the most fun he had experienced in his own bar for at least two whole years. Otherwise, he wasn’t able to explain what fuelled the middle-aged man to explain what Dean had bragged with and further allow more people to gather and bet.

“Try me!”, a woman from the back begs. “I won’t budge.” She promises the bartender before being let through until she can sit down right in front of Dean like the woman before her had done previously.

Dean doesn’t even need to talk to her. All he does is lean carefully forward. His left hand lands on her thigh and softly, gently squeezes her while maintaining carefree eye contact.

It takes less than two minutes of the staring and silent tension for her head to helplessly grow red. “Fuck.” She gasps before putting her face in her hands. She tries to rub the blush off her face but fails.

Dean lets go off her. “You’re only human. Don’t be ashamed.” He charmingly chuckles.

Almost no one had to walk back to the bar to receive their next free round, because most had already staid to enjoy an entirely free show with no downsides.

After the third willing, and daring woman sits down, a line started forming. Sam can’t believe his eyes and the sanity of all these people in this bar.

The third, Dean played teasingly with her hair while talking about how much he enjoys her beautiful blue eyes that remind him so much of the sky. Something about hopes and aspirations and already she crumbled.

A fourth who seemed to almost manage to withstand Dean’s charms made promising progress by closing her eyes and refusing to open them no matter how much Dean begged. Not discouraged at all, he tries a different approach right away.

His hand curls around her neck. Sam can see how her shoulders immediately tense up—she tries her best anyway.

But as soon as she felt Dean’s hot breath on her lips, she couldn't take it any longer.

Sam’s disgruntled at how shameless his brother is. If that’s always how straightforward he is, how does he get laid so many times a week? Of course Dean now would argue because every flirt just works and the only actual challenge is choosing which type of woman you want to go to town with that day, but Sam doesn’t even want to entertain that idea—his stomach churns and so he decides that despite all the free drinks, he’s rather picking glasses of water when thirsty.

Someone has to stay somewhat sober to drive them back, anyway.

Woman after woman, each seemed so confident to be able to withstand and yet all failed. Honestly, Sam doubts Dean’s talent. It’s more so, that everyone is completely drunk and getting drunker as the night goes on.

How else could this be explained. It’s the only rational interpretation of what’s going on.

The line seemed never ending. Alcohol was a limitless resource and as a price to win, it was all the motivation that Dean needed to not pass out from drinking too much.

Sam had lost count by now and from time to time, he could swear the same ladies lined up twice even after losing.

He wasn't sure if that was because of how dizzy the stiff and unbearable the air inside the bar had become, the women were disappointed with themselves for losing and wanted to try again; or if Dean was actually that attractive to them.

If it was the latter, then Sam was compelled to talk sense into the ladies—it’s not only good looks that define a person. And those are all that Dean has to literally show for himself, regarding how horrible his character is.

Trying to find an answer to the mystery, Sam spaced out and only snapped back into his body when a familiar voice came through.

“Dean, Sam. I have come to pick you up.” It was a dark voice that Sam isn't yet used to hear—that of a perfect angel. “There is work to be done in the morning.” Castiel nonchalantly declares, making sure his sheep were herded and not up to foul business too late into the night on their own.

Castiel is too good-hearted for his own sake in the worst way possible. Offering to pick two hunters up from a bar to ensure they’re doing their job in the morning—how foolish. As if a hunter could work a job without being hangover, if not still slightly inebriated.

That’s half the equipment needed. Alcohol and weapons. That's how you can identify a proper hunter—or a really shitty one. The Winchesters count as both, probably.

As if silently everyone had reached a quick, obvious consensus at the same time, all women still waiting in line made way to reveal Castiel properly. “Do him next!” Everyone requests, even the bartender seems quite to enjoy a change of the game.

Introducing a new kind if challenge.

“Ladies, please.” Dean uses his hands to appease the crowd. He turns around to Castiel. Dean didn’t think he’d stand so close behind him and if Castiel hadn’t taken a step back, he’d have accidentally rubbed his face against the angel’s coat. “Hey there, Cas. Give us a few more moments, yeah?” He asks, looking up to him.

Castiel is confused as to why the many humans were staring intently at the both of them but specifically him. He wonders whether there was something stuck to his face, or if someone noticed how he had teleported inside instead of walking in like a normal human being would’ve done. “Huh?” Castiel hums with a gruff, monotone noise.

Dean chuckles. “Don’t worry about it.” He turns around again to the women and men but before he could fully, Sam’s gaze caught him.

“Do it.” Sam grins with a shrug. “You can’t break him.” It’s a statement—Sam knows that his hotheaded brother will take it as a challenge. Alike the bartender, Sam would like to be a bit amused today. See the world in flames for just half an hour or so—watch his brother struggle and potentially get humbled. All that Sam craves.

Dean hates being told what he can’t do. “Watch me.” Dean stands up to open the circle for Castiel to enter. “Sit down, Cas. Please.” He whispers to him.

Cutting in front of the dispersed line, Castiel slowly walks into the circle. “What am I supposed to do?” He leans into Sam’s direction. His chances of getting a coherent answer are the highest asking the only sober person in the room along with him.

“Just sit there and don’t do anything.” Sam explains before giving Castiel a thumbs up that was supposed to reassure the angel.

Dean and Sam exchange glances. Both wonder the same thing; can an angel even blush?

It doesn’t seem to stop Dean from wanting to give his best, anyway. He seems very overwhelmed but dedicated.

Interlocking eyes, Dean leans ever so slightly forward. His own head grows hot from nervousness. Why is he suddenly so uncomfortable with all the attention? He can’t fathom how Castiel just sits there and only has eyes for Dean despite the hefty crowd he could check out. It almost makes Dean blush first.

“Your tie is a bit askew.” Dean warns Castiel. Before the angel could even understand the problem, his hands had wandered subconsciously to the piece of clothing.

Grateful, Castiel gives Dean a firm nod. “Thank you for telling me.” He attempts to figure out how to fix it himself but, as Dean had anticipated, he had not a single clue.

Castiel didn’t even need to open his mouth to ask for aid, when Dean puts his hands around Castiel’s. “Allow me to fix it for you, sweetheart.” He offers with a smirk.

Shocked, Castiel removes his hands. Somewhat ruining Dean’s perfect plan to initiate physical contact. But this wasn’t a secret talent, if he wouldn’t know how to improvise when a single thing doesn’t go according to plan.

Smooth, Dean pulls Castiel a bit closer by the tie—chocking him ever so little. Castiel’s chin was more or less pressed against Dean’s forehead as he slowly and intricately undid the tie to make it into a perfect, fashionable and tight knot.

Castiel bravely held still as if frozen in time and place. Not a single reaction.

It was any body’s guess as to what might be going on inside his angel brain—Sam’s money is on demon slaying, if anything at all.

For an angel, Castiel comes across as relatively intelligent yet…simple and predictable.

Dean puts his hands around Castiel’s neck, he runs them up to his cheeks as if wanting to check temperature. Only semi surprised that his first attempt hadn't worked upon touching the coldest human skin known to mankind, including corpses.

He chuckles his failure off. “Are you playing hard to get?” Dean teases, breaking the fourth wall to the crowd.

Castiel’s eyes squint in Dean’s direction. “Not to my knowledge.” He answers.

Dean has to bite back on complaining how unfair this is. What is he supposed to do? Flirt with a heavenly being without losing his own cool? It’s damn near impossible.

Studying Castiel, they retort back to the way too intense staring. Those meaningful glances, never-ending confusion and pleasure deriving from staring into the black of the other’s eyes. Dean swallows, he wets his lips at the same time as Castiel does.

“How about something easy.” Dean suggests. “You’re handsome.” He grins.

Yet, it doesn’t work.

And honestly, it would’ve been crazy if it did. Every lady around here got a personalised compliment—something fitted perfectly to her character, that matched her energy and swept her off her feet for finally being recognized and appreciated in the way she wanted to be, but never was.

And all that Castiel gets, is that Dean touches him—which he already does, and Castiel can have any time of the day—and a plain statement about the appearance of his vessel that isn’t even actually him to begin with?

Dean carefully had avoided getting emotionally close to the angel. He’s a risk taker, sure, but this was for his own sake. There are a lot of things that would probably work pretty well on Castiel—Dean would know, because he spent a lot of time on thinking about his personal guardian angel.

There are a million things Dean could tell Castiel to appreciate him the way the angel craved to be—but was it worth it? Was it worth losing his own self-control over? His own self-respect and that of his father, who had ensured Dean that as long as he doesn’t act on his thoughts, they wouldn’t be able to hurt him?

On the other hand, everything is on the line right now. A handful of people watching and observing him—a night that will be remembered. And it’s on Dean, whether it will be a funny or a fun night. One is really bad, one is good.

Dean sighs. He needs something intimate—something real but not too real, that he couldn’t take it back later on.

Bravely inhaling and exhaling, Dean musters up his last courage—something intimate was easy enough. “When you first laid your hands on me, I knew I was saved from Hell.” He confesses. Dean stares at Castiel in await for a reaction. He chews nervously on his tongue.

And yet, Castiel still doesn’t give him anything to work with. Not the tiniest bit of even a crooked eyebrow or a tuck of the lips.

Dean ignores the clueless oohs and awws from around, that were thinking Dean was speaking in flowery poetry. He only angry stands up and turns around to walk it off—catch some fresh air.

He pushes his own chair away—it would’ve fallen to the ground in a heavy thud if Sam hadn’t held it.

When Sam turns to look at his brother leaving, he was about to jump up to follow him outside. Presumably, Dean would want to hit the road and never face Castiel again for unknowingly embarrassing and humbling him.

All eyes were on Dean.

Sam turns around, he wants to assure the angel he did nothing wrong. “Castiel, don’t–.” He halts and his eyes widen. “Holy shit. Dean, you did it!” Sam yells.

Everyone turns back to Castiel. Calm, he sat there—unmoved. However upon closer inspection, one could notice the faintest pink hue on the angel’s cheeks. A very unnatural and almost uncanny sight to Sam, that he had picked up on instantly only because of the untypical extremity.

Innocent and surprised, Castiel swallows. His eyes skim through the crowd that was now once more entirely focused on him. If it weren’t for Dean running back to the circle within a minute after registering what his brother had informed him of, they would’ve probably made Castiel so uncomfortable he’d rather flown away than stay any second longer.

Dean jumps up and down as everyone celebrates his win.

In a matter of seconds Castiel and Dean were solely trapped in the middle of about twenty drunk people yelling and cheering. Sam watched from outside, he can only imagine how suffocating it must be—he’s glad to have stepped back early enough.

Amidst all the people, Castiel and Dean make eye contact. And it was almost as if Dean sobered down from just the sky blue, cold and overwhelmed pupils—he swallows hard and forces a smile back onto his face. “Thank you, Cas.” He whispers loud enough for the angel to pick up on it and silent enough for no one else to hear it.

“What is going on?” Castiel yells back.

Dean smirks. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, angel.” It slips his tongue without thinking about it. All night long, he has flirted with everything sat before him. And especially with Castiel—it came out without needing to think about it.

And it sounded right. It felt right to say. Dean laughs it off and to make sure the angel wouldn’t question it—because with Castiel, you never know—he grabs him by his wrist. “Don’t let go.” He advises Castiel before pulling him out.

No one actually noticed that the main attraction left. Thank God for drunk people and their short, temporary memories and overbearing infatuations that switch sides like a flag tied to a mast in a storm.

Dean feels Castiel’s nails dig into his own the back of his hand as he tries to hold onto him. In pain, Dean is forced to allow Castiel to reach for his hand to avoid bleeding. The angel doesn’t seem to have figured out how to cut his own nails yet and neither how to control his own strength.

Having made it outside, Dean huffs from relief. “It’s so cold out here.” He states in a pant.

Castiel’s ears perk up. “Do you require my coat for additional warmth?” He offers.

Dean laughs. “Dude, I ain’t a fag. I can deal with a bit weather. Besides, it was stinking hot in there. I’m happy about this.” He brushes off the weird, unusual nicety. Instead, he notices how Castiel was struggling with his tie. Dean must’ve made it too tight.

He feels bad about it and without saying anything about it, Dean pulls Castiel closer by the waist. Dean isn’t sure when he has become so comfortable with physical touch like this, but he dislikes it. For the moment, he gives his inebriated state all the blame.

When Castiel jerks upon touch, Dean mutters under his breath. “It’s fine. Lemme just fix it. Sorry for tying it so tight in the first place.” Then, Dean chuckles. He avoids looking up as he keeps talking in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry for the whole night, actually.” Dean apologises.

Castiel swallows hard, smelling Dean—leather, alcohol and something smokey. His body was more like a radiator judging by how hot he made Castiel feel just by standing so close in front of him. “What are you apologising for, Dean?” Confused, Castiel inquires.

The man freezes up. Momentarily, Dean only breathes shallow. Then, he clears his throat and puts both of his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Don’t worry yo–.” Dean abruptly bites onto his lower lip. He awkwardly smiles to himself before trying again. “Don’t worry about it.” He corrects himself.

Dean lets go off Castiel and steps back. “Looks like we lost Sam back in there.” He tries to look at Castiel but fails to maintain eye contact without feeling like he’s freaking out. “I’m getting him. Just…wait outside.” Dean explains before rushing back in.

When the door opens after only half a minute again, Castiel happily expected it to be Dean who had forgotten to include Castiel and wanted to drag him back inside by holding his hand once more. Somehow, the angel had found a liking for it.

But, it was only Sam.

“Cas!” Sam exclaims before hurrying to him. “Hey. How are you?” He runs a hand through his own long hair and smiles.

Castiel nods to Sam. “Where is Dean?” He wonders, ignoring Sam’s question because his own was clearly more important.

Disheartened, Sam smacks his lips. “He went to the toilet, he told me.” Then, Sam laughs to himself and shakes his head. “He was way in over his head. How did you allow him to win?” He complains jokingly.

“I’m not sure what’s going on, Sam.” Castiel answers in all frankness. “Win what?” He wonders.

Sam sharply inhales. “He said he could make anyone blush with a few flirtations.” Just saying it out loud once more, makes Sam chuckle. Sometimes, his brother is such an idiot. How does he get away with it?

“I blushed?” Castiel’s eyebrows were furrowed. “I don’t even know how to do that.” He argues in disbelief.

Sam lazily sighs before shrugging. “Well, you sure did. You’re face is still a bit red.” He teases in a grin. It was dark in the back of the bar, but it was visible anyway. It’s that bad.

“…Why am I doing that? How do I stop it?” Castiel’s voice sounds and looks rattled—riddled in confusion.

Sam laughs at the sight of the clueless angel. Something so pure and innocent. Of course Dean will want to ruin something like that—of course someone like that is attracted to someone like Dean.

“Stop laughing at me.”Castiel sternly demands. “Does the vessel necessitate medical aid?” He panicked asks, his own hands feeling up his suddenly warm cheeks.

Sam rubs his face. “Castiel. You don’t know what blushing means?” He still smirks, but now there was a bit of pity too. Castiel must’ve never experienced a feeling before, judging on how overwhelmed he comes across right now.

Maybe angels are just different from humans—it certainly would make sense.

“…No.” Castiel slowly admits. He had tried to recall memories but there were none attached to the word itself. His knowledge is very limited when it comes to human traditional and biology.

To calm Castiel down, he wanted to put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. The angel takes a step back to avoid being touched. “It’s just a physical reaction to something you like.” Sam vaguely explains, without touching Castiel then. He thinks that this might be the best, simplest summary for what Castiel is going through.

“I’m not dying?” Castiel worries, still.

Snickering, Sam shakes his head. “You’re not dying.” He assures Castiel, kindly and softly.

Castiel’s face still is as pale as before and his eyes are still wide, if not even wider then. “I like Dean?” He asks it in the same kind of voice as his prior questions.

And honestly, Sam can’t blame Castiel for sounding that way. It is a horrible thing. Sam doesn’t even want to imagine the horrors.

“I mean, that you gotta figure that one out for yourself.” Sam wanted to stop talking there but seeing Castiel’s helpless face, he just couldn’t bring himself to. He’d rather doom Dean than allow the angel to frown worse. “But…it’s a sign. Generally, speaking.” He offers, weakly.

Sam does feel like that his older brother deserves to be loved by someone who isn’t strictly family. But does he deserve the affections of an angel?

Castiel blank-faced stares at Sam. “It feels like I’m dying.” He states, as if hoping that Sam would change his mind on the diagnosis.

“I promise you, you’re not.” Sam laughs, not able to believe a thing going on tonight. “But Dean does have tendencies to make people feel like it.” He jokes, trying to brighten the mood but drastically failing.

After a moment’s silence, Castiel lowers his gaze. “What am I supposed to do now?” He halts and then, slowly and confused, adds; “Generally, speaking.” The way Sam had done so, previously.

“Well,” Sam can’t believe he’s giving an angel of the lord relationship advice about and for his own brother, “I guess usually when people discover they like someone, they try to figure out if the other person likes them back.” He proposes in the least recommending tone of voice ever.

The angel nods. “Easy enough.” Castiel states. He crumbles after exactly twenty seconds of silence and his shoulders droop. “How do I do that?” He probes for more answers, like a lamb led astray needing to be shown the light in revelation.

“See if you can make Dean blush.” Sam thinks this to be put easy enough for someone who is new to all of this. If he were to give Castiel a whole talk and plans, he’d have to worry Dean walking in on them scheming and he’d hate that. Sam doesn’t want to risk having to walk on foot back to the motel because he accidentally angered Dean.

Dean hates to be set up, no matter in what way.

Knowledgeable, Castiel nods. It sounds uncomplicated in theory. But as soon as Dean walked back outside—his face ever so slightly wet as if he had splashed water on it—Castiel’s knees grow weak. An overwhelming and unbearable feeling across his chest tightens his lungs and if Castiel was a regular human, he would’ve probably suffocated.

Sam bumps his own shoulder against Castiel’s. “Dean.” He calls his brother’s name. “You can’t even walk in a straight line, are you serious?” He complains in a groan upon noticing his brother’s drunken state.

Dean raises his finger into the air as if he was about to argue back. Instead, he hunches over himself and hurls—it looks as if he’s trying to vomit out his soul, honestly.

The angel next to Sam’s side was about to help Dean, but wiser, Sam stops him. “He hates being touched when puking.” He explains. “Let him suffer, he deserves it.” Sam chuckles meanly.

Castiel intently watches Dean straighten his back again.

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean sarcastically mumbles before brushing past the two in ignorance of what had just happened. He walks in the direction of the Impala. He doesn’t seem to have any intentions of giving Castiel the chance to teleport them nor to let Sam drive.

Sam trudges after Dean. “You’re going to crash us into the first tree on the side of the road, you jerk.” He sighs with a tired voice. “Gimme.” He gestures for Dean to just throw the keys.

Dean halts. His eyes look between the love of his life and Sam only for them to end up stopping at Castiel’s sight. His presence alone makes Dean feel more responsible and he begrudgingly nods. “Fine.” He belches.

Rolling his eyes at Dean, Sam opens the back door for him. “Don’t give me that look. You always throw up on the front seats. And you always beat me up the day after, saying I allowed you to puke.” He argues and forces Dean’s lazy body into the car.

As if forgotten, Castiel watches the two brothers fight. When Sam succeeded in storing away Dean, he sighs. “You want to tag along, or got angel business to attend to?” Sam asks, slowly circling the car to get to the other side.

“I’d like to make sure that you arrive at your wanted destination safely, if that is okay with you?” Castiel requests, his voice uncertain. What he just described sounds like a guardian angel’s job. Castiel is a warrior. A seraphim made by the Lord that should never stoop so low. And yet, he offers to protect the two hunters arguably despised most by Heaven.

Conflicted, Castiel moves towards the car. Sam can see that the angel was headed for the passenger seat up front. “I think Dean could use your company back there more.” He winks at Castiel before sitting down inside the car.

Castiel awkwardly sits down next to Dean then.

Sam’s head turns around to look at the two of them. “Cas, can you make sure that Dean’s seatbelt is actually fastened?” Before Castiel could reply, the engine loudly roars up.

“Careful there!” Dean warns his brother, slumped against the window. He kicks against the seat his brother was sat on and then chuckles.

Castiel turns to Dean, he uses his hands to follow the black strap. Quiet, he feels Dean’s breath against him. When he reaches the end of it and determines that in fact it is safe, he lets go and assumes back a normal sitting positions.

The only noise audible is the wheels of the Impala against the rough road. In the middle of the night and without proper headlights—Dean promised to fix them, but fell asleep beforehand—Sam was forced to drive slow. Unable to bear the silence, he turns on the volume on the latest CD that Dean had inserted into the slit.

Dean yawns a thanks to Sam before snuggling against the frame of the car.

Sam mindlessly enjoys the music while making sure to abide the laws of the road at the same time.

And Castiel just sat there, watching the scenery outside the window—or rather the lack thereof, due to how dark it was. He’s fascinated by how beautiful something can be, that isn’t even visible.

Yet, after two minutes of silent appreciation, his body jumps in reaction to something unanticipated. At first, he thought that the weight on his let shoulder was mere imaginary. But when he turned to check, spit got stuck in his throat. Instead, there laid Dean.

“Uhm,” Castiel awkwardly hums to get Sam’s attention, “what am I supposed to do?” He helplessly asks, trying his best to not cough after choking on the saliva in his throat.

Sam glances into the rearview mirror and then snickers. “Cas, you know that you’re not always supposed to do stuff. Sometimes, you can just do the things you like.” Then he winces, in context to what Castiel had concluded just a few moments ago. Maybe he shouldn’t do Dean just yet. “Let Dean rest, if you’re comfortable. If not, just meanly shove him away. He deserves the latter more, in my opinion.” Sam kindly advises.

Castiel nods to himself. Slowly, his head turns to face outside again. He feels the vessel’s heart beat in a sickly fast pattern but still all that Castiel ultimately could actually worry about, was that Dean might feel uncomfortable. He must’ve had a long day—hunting, stopping demons and monsters from killing humans. Just righteous stuff. Dean Winchester, though a sinner by the books, is a good man, who deserves good things in Castiel’s opinion. If he even is allowed to have one, that’s different form the general populous in Heaven.

Tonight, he shall give himself the liberty of doing so, no matter what his peers will say about it. Just to try it out.

Dean comfortably nuzzles the soft fabric of Castiel’s coat, happy that it’s not as hard and hurtful as the frame of the car.

The angel somehow has the urge to wrap his arm around Dean—pull him closer. Which is ridiculous, because why would he do that? Is that, this liking thing that Sam talked about? Is this what it means to like someone? Then why doesn’t he feel this kind of emotion towards his angel friends, whom he likes? Or God?

Why is this the first time that Castiel experiences something after living for millennia in Heaven? He had been afraid that all his first times were done and in the past. Dean shows Castiel daily a billion things that Castiel had never ever even consider before. And so does Sam. The human race is so utterly beautiful. But only Dean is likable.

Castiel slowly indulges in his want as Sam had encouraged him to. Carefully, he puts his arm around Dean’s shoulder. He tells himself that he is doing it, to ensure Dean’s utmost safety in case Sam had to slam the brakes all of a sudden for whatever reason. But in all truth, Castiel just wanted to make himself blush again.

He likes Dean? That’s what he’s feeling?

What does that even mean? What does it imply and entail? Is he even allowed to, as an angel? God forbid, think of all the tremendous horrors that ensued when angel and human bred in the past, creating Nephilim.

The strongest creatures known to all. Through…love only. By breaching all rules and disregarding everything thought to be right, because of needs and wants.

Castiel’s lips tuck upwards—it was the strangest, positive feeling he has ever sensed within himself. Losing the control of his own body in the best way unimaginable.

It’s comfortable. It’s nice.

But cut short by Sam’s voice. “We’re here.” He checks up on the two by turning around once more and chuckles. “…I’ll give you two some privacy. Just return Dean by the end of the night.” Amused, Sam jokes before stepping outside.

Before Castiel was allowed to pose one more question, Sam was already gone.

Dean groans. He must’ve woken up from the lack of loud, blaring music. As soon as the sounds left his mouth, he jumped to sit up. “What the fuck?” Dean yells, his voice weak since he just woke up.

“You fell asleep on me.” Castiel explains, helplessly.

Fast, Dean undoes his seatbelt and jumps out of the car. He was too late—watching Sam just close the motel door behind him. “Dude, Castiel. I know you’re all new to this Earth thing, but what compelled you to this?” He bewildered asks, his hands on the hood of the car while his head leaning inside to talk down to Castiel.

“…Sam said-,” Castiel starts but stops. Regaining composure, he leaves the car as well. “I must have misunderstood something.” He states monotonously. What was Castiel even thinking, doing something so stupid?

Dean sighs. He lays his tired head down onto his own arms as he gazes over the car to Castiel. “I know I said all those nice things about and to you, and I know that you don’t get all this yet, but–.” Dean stares directly into Castiel’s eyes, “I didn’t mean any of that.” He lies through his half-gritted teeth.

Castiel is deadpanned. He just stands there, eyes wide open and mouth firmly closed.

“I’m not into men. And not even into most of the girls from tonight. Okay?” Dean explains. “Besides, you wouldn’t want this, anyway.” He chuckles, hoping that down-talking himself would ease the situation somehow.

Castiel questions. “Why not?” He tilts his head to the side in an angle, as if it would help him understand everything better.

Dean struggles with his words. He makes a few unintelligible sounds before laughing it off. “Because I’m dysfunctional. I’m broken, Castiel.” Dean closes his eyes. “And I’m not gay.” He emphasises.

“I’m an angel of the lord.” Castiel replies, as if it would solve all issues.

Perplexed, Dean giggles. “Yeah, that too. I guess.” He walks around the trunk of the car and reaches Castiel’s side. He was planning on walking further, to follow Sam into their room and call it a night.

Castiel stops him, holding him by his wrist. “I mean, I am not a man. I’m an angel.” Castiel raises his eyebrows. “And if you are broken, I want to heal you.” He offers earnestly, as if it makes sense—as if it was the obvious answer.

The pain of Castiel holding Dean by his wrist hurts so good. Dean has to withhold a shameful grin. When was the last time, that he has been pursued and not been the pursuer? “That’s cute, sweetheart.” Dean mumbles.

“Can I try to make you blush?” Castiel requests with the most innocent, soft voice ever.

Dean is unused to the angel acting so human. So emotional. It’s as if Castiel just tries to copy as much off of Dean as he can and re-brand it as his own—the touch, the insistent seeking for validation and now this? It’s almost adorable. If it weren’t so threatening to Dean’s straightness.

If he were to decline now, wouldn’t that just make him come across as insecure about his own sexuality? Dean possibly can’t say no, if he is actually convinced himself that Castiel couldn’t make him blush.

“Fine.” Dean indulges, guilty happy. “But you only get one try, because I’m tired.” He prefaces it.

Castiel nods.

He gives it a minute to think about. Castiel remembers all the flirtations that Dean had attempted with women. But they feel too insincere and impersonal. No, it would disrespect the deepened bond the two of them share, even.

Instead, Castiel tries to think of the most human thing he could do. It fits. The most human expression of love and like for the most righteous and earnestly good human that Castiel knows.

Castiel steps closer to Dean, still not letting go off Dean’s wrist. He is a bit more gentle while holding it, though. He doesn’t want to make Dean feel trapped. If he would hate what’s about to come, he should feel comfortable and safe enough to withdraw any second. It was important to Castiel that he didn’t actually overstep any boundary.

The other, still free hand, Castiel curls around Dean’s neck. “Stop me, if you need me to.” Castiel declares, uncertain whether he wanted to stop himself.

Dean’s mouth was agape. Breathless, he nods. His eyes seem entranced, his body naturally is drawn closer by Castiel’s sheer presence as if he was a gravitational force, that demands to be closely orbited.

Never before has Castiel done anything like this. It feels scary. It’s intimidating and it’s paining and twisting his stomach in a way that nothing ever before has managed to unsettle him—and he once had a knife stuck in his bowels, pierced by it from a demon. That means something.

However, as he presses his lips against Dean’s, he loves it.

Both love it.

Both are scared at the uncomfortable, new and too good to be true kind of feeling within their chests, which are pressed against one another in one moment. In the next, both jump away from each other.

Dean wipes his face with the sleeve of his jacket, hoping the embarrassing blush would disappear as well as the delicious taste of angel on his lips. He pants.

Castiel immediately lets go off Dean and touches his own lips with the same hand.

This strong, overwhelming and all-consuming emotion was too great to bear. Too much to allow to be uncontrolled.

“I didn’t anticipate–” Castiel stops himself. His facial expression hardens and he shakes his entire body. “I don’t think I’m supposed to feel what I’m feeling, Dean.” He steps back, because otherwise he might’ve been lead into temptation to kiss Dean again.

Dean nods. “Me neither.” He swallows hard. Dean thought, if he was deep enough in denial and suppressed enough thoughts, like his father had advised him to, something like this would never happen to him.

He realises only too late that he shouldn’t have indulged in his guilty pleasure of flirting with Castiel in the first place—it was a slippery slope into whatever just happened. To try something out he could never have, how foolish he is.

Time passed since they had kissed. First a day, then a week and when after three months, Dean still couldn’t shake the feeling of that singular, world-changing kiss, he felt himself helplessly falling for the angel deeper and worse.

Nights went by sleepless, thinking about Castiel. Days without him felt as if never ending and unimportant at the sane time—no matter how many lives he saved that day—but in contrast on days that they spent together, Dean could swear time was running faster than ever. It felt as if a cruel joke played by the universe itself to force Dean into acting.

It’s torturous, truthfully speaking. He’s left with so little options and so many emotions all at once.

The two of them hadn’t talked about what had happened. A silent, never aloud spoken agreement to ignore and move on—but, moving on felt hopeless if not near to the impossible.

There is no way in hell that Dean could actually one day manage to wipe that taste off of his lips. Not even if he were to scrub them clean with soap—and he tried multiple times in the shower until just the thought of Castiel alone gave him a boner and he shamefully had to leave and try to move on as fast as possible in a different way.

Dean and Sam still went on all the missions that the angels gave them. And the shocking thing, things really didn’t change between Dean and Castiel. Not at all.

It was only put into different light—mutual realisation. The way they were always standing so close to each other without even paying attention to it before. The intense eye contact didn’t change, rather it felt now like they were sharing a secret—it felt comfortable and nice, even. And to top it all off, their banter was also still the same, and they always come back to each other again by the end of the day. It’s worse than hard to ignore how perfect they fit to each other.

One could call it a match made in Heaven. Dean wasn’t yet sure if he was comfortable enough with himself to joke about it so early on.

Dean felt more confused about the whole thing than Castiel did.

The angel meekly assumed that he was in the wrong as per usual—that if Dean is able to act like his usual self, that nothing was wrong and he was just supposed to keep up with him.

It gets to a point, where Dean can’t bear it any longer and he has to act out to ease the pain of frustration somehow. The kind of point has been reached, where it was a decision between whether to tie the knots or burn the bridge.

Thinking all day about Castiel, and how everything he has been taught by his father was wrong in some or another way, wasn’t at all fun and games. Dean was skipping meals, he was losing more and more sleep and it all leads to him performing badly during hunts.

He manages to cover up most well enough—for example, Sam hadn’t yet noticed. But, Dean knows that he will eventually. And it will bite him into the ass, and it will be so annoying and painful.

“Cas?” Dean loudly calls out. He feels stupid each time praying to the angel in an empty room.

The angel sure took his sweet time with appearing, but when he did, it was naturally as closest to Dean as he could. Inappropriately close, obviously. “Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s nose was almost brushing up against Dean’s.

Dean had counted on it.

This way, it was much easier to fill the space and kiss him again. It was completely unprompted and nothing about it made sense—however, if Dean didn’t finally act on his urges, he would have to explode.

Just a single kiss to relieve some tension and scratch that itch that has been getting on his nerves for way too long now. It’s the best sensation in the world—nothing comes close to how good it was, to finally blow off the steam.

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s back, holding him by the shoulder plates, to make sure that Castiel wouldn’t jump back the way he had done so that night.

After a whole minute, Castiel finally kissed Dean back. First begrudgingly but when Dean didn’t deny Castiel, but kept kissing him, it was as if a switch was flipped. His nose shoving itself against Dean’s cheek, trying to intensify the embrace as much as he could. His hands wrapping themselves around anything they could find and grip tight. Pressing his own body as tight against Dean’s as he could, as if wanting to crawl into Dean.

Dean was about to suffocate from the lack of air he was receiving. He waits until there’s white dots in his vision—yes, even while his eyes were shut tight—before interrupting the kiss. Dean firmly nods. “That's all.” He pants, accomplished.

He would’ve been fine with dying in Castiel’s arms just to keep kissing him, but he guesses that would be a bit inconsiderate. Especially because Castiel was the one in the first place who had given Dean a second chance. He knows the angel wouldn’t appreciate to be disrespected in his efforts like that.

“That’s…all?” Castiel confused, laboured breathes. He can’t bring himself to let go off Dean just yet and instead squeezes him by the waist.

Slowly, Dean nods. He tries to think of something else, but nothing comes to mind.

The angel refuses to do what he’s supposed to do—he doesn’t want to leave and so he won’t. He shakes his head. “I am confused, Dean.” Castiel sternly explains. He thinks, he is owed a proper introduction to the emotional world of humans to be on the same level as Dean knowledge wise.

Dean sighs, he runs a hair through his messy hair before nodding. “…that’s fair.” He mumbles before snickering. “I am too.” He admits in all honesty. By now, he feels as if melting into Castiel’s constant touch in the best way possible. Dean can’t believe how nice it is, to be gently held after denying himself such a pleasure for so long.

“Can you…,” Castiel licks his lips, he’s hesitant, “can you do it again?” He whispers, conflicted- Castiel only managed to finish the sentence, because he knows, he would’ve regretted it otherwise.

They stare at each other for a moment. Castiel in anticipation and nervousness and Dean in honest to god surprise.

Dean considers his options before slowly nodding after a while. In twice the pace than he had nodded in, he comes crashing onto Castiel and kisses him intenser than before.

Castiel stumbles backwards, his arms stabilize Dean’s body weight after half a minute. Slinging arms around Castiel, Dean pulls him down to his level.

Everything that he had repressed and stored away, all the pressure and tension came down on Dean all at once and overwhelmed him into wanting more and more of the new, to flush out all the old.

He realises that he has never had much fun in flirting with anyone ever before as much as just natural banter with Castiel.

This is the only thing that actually feels right. All else is boringly numb in comparison. This is not just a guilty pleasure, is it?