Written for downfall35 for oxoniensis' Fall Fandom Free for All

SPOILERS for SPN 5.03.

Dean was gathering supplies, not that they would do much good if their lead was correct. Sam was in the motel room doing research on the demon. Supposedly one of the most powerful, more so than Lilith.

Cas was hanging around, mostly just looking glum or curious, depending on his mood. He had been doing that a lot lately, to Sam's annoyance. But he couldn't really blame the guy; after all, Cas had given up everything for them. The least they could do is let him crash with them.

Cas still looked at him strangely sometimes, though. Like he still wasn't sure that Sam was on their side. Like he was a threat to their cause. Like Sam was a threat to his precious, precious Dean.

Sam told himself to stop being petty. He knew that Cas was probably right to be wary of Sam. Hell, Sam was even scared of himself, of what he might end up doing. And the weird thing was, he wasn't jealous of Dean for being chosen by good. If anything, he felt that regression to when he was a kid, and his big brother would ditch him to chase girls. Like he was annoyed that Cas was the stand-up loyal one that Dean depended on, and Sam was just a big damn burden.

But again. Not that Sam could really disagree. And besides, of course Dean looked at Cas like he was the most amazing thing to ever happen to them. He literally was. Powerful. But not evil. Better than human. And Sam was awed by Cas, he really was. Awed and grateful. But he still was pretty clear on the fact that the only reason Cas protected Sam was because he knew that Sam and Dean were pretty much a package deal.

But that was okay. Again, not anything that Sam didn't earn and then some. That was the worst part, Sam thought. Seeing Cas look at you like you were some kind of monstrosity. And knowing that you deserved it.

Still, it was hard sitting there calmly as an angel silently paces the motel room, occasionally glancing at you, and since it's Cas, that glance feels like a burning hurricane of a stare.

Finally, he just had to speak. To say anything. "So, Cas... if this is our last night alive, is there anything you want to do? You know, steak dinner, movie?" He knew it was a silly thing to say. But at least he was saying something.

But the look Cas gave him.... Horrified. Revulsed. And he said, "I am not interested in having relations with you, Sam." And then he disappeared.

Sam was stunned. What the fuck just happened?

Was he really that much of a freak? Does Cas just jump to the most perverse conclusion whenever Sam says anything? He must think of Sam like most of the other angels think of all humans - that he's disgusting, a mudmonkey, an animal run by his base desires with no redeeming qualities. Why else would Cas think Sam was ... hitting on him? It made no sense.

And really? Sam thought, as he grew angrier and angrier at Cas, and also at himself for falling to such a low point that even an angel couldn't see the good in him, Why would Cas think I was trying to seduce him? Like I'm such a sicko that I can't wait for the opportunity to jump whatever supernatural being is nearest. I mean okay, there was Ruby, and the werewolf and the - you know what ? It doesn't matter. Cas had no right to think that about me. And if Cas thought of something dirty, then maybe Cas was the messed up one. And seriously, why would Cas even think that I would use such a cheesy line? Who in this entire world would try to get an angel into bed by saying, 'Hey, babe, this might be our last night on earth'? Seriously, who would do that?!

....Oh.

Yeah, this was good.

Really good.

Good enough that Sam wanted to make it last.

The lead on the big bad demon had turned out to be false. Bad news, in that they didn't have any clue what he was up to. Good news in that they weren't all dead. Good news also in that Sam got to have a little fun with Dean. He waited until Dean was asleep in the ratty old motel bed.

The next morning, Sam pretended not to hear Dean wake up and give a confused grunt.

"Sam? You awake?" Dean called from the other bed in the motel room.

Sam did his half-asleep voice. "Whatizzit Dean."

"There's... a feather next to my pillow."

"Why'd you put a feather there, Dean?"

"I didn't. That's why it's weird. It's like a really big white feather."

Sam rolled over to face Dean and rubbed his eyes. "It's probably from the comforter."

"You think a rathole like this has down comforters?"

"Who knows? These blankets are probably a hundred years old."

"Yeah, they smell like it," Dean grumbled as he got up to head to the bathroom. Apparently he decided Sam's explanation was good enough, because he tossed the feather in the trash on the way, and didn't seem to give it a second thought.

It took all of Sam's self-control to wait a couple of days for the next step.

They were driving around, flipping through the local radio stations. Dean, of course, wanted to go right past any station that wasn't classic rock or heavy metal. But when a Maxwell song came on, Sam gave a little jump, as if suddenly awake.

"No, go back! Go back, Dean, that's a really good song."

"What? Dude, we are not listening to a chick song!"

"Just let me listen to this one song, Dean, and I won't complain about your music for a week. Or your table manners. Or your dietary choices."

"Geez, you must have a big crush on the singer, Sam."

"Oh, a gay joke. How very interesting."

"I'm not making a gay joke, I'm making a you're-a-girl joke," Dean said but reluctantly turned the station back, and added, "Seriously, Sam, not a word about my burgers for a week!"

Sam tapped his fingers along with the song, trying to look happy but not too gleeful. When the refrain started, Sam immediately began to sing along, carefully not looking at Dean as he belted out, "Pretty wings, pretty wings," again and again.

When the song was finally over, Sam gave Dean a big innocent smile. Dean just kind of stared at him. But all he said was, "Dude, you are not allowed to listen to music without my supervision any more."

Sam looked at him slyly. "Hey, Dean? Did I tell you about the hot dream I had last night?"

"Ew. Why the hell would I want to know about your night stiffie?"

"Come on, it was a dream about Roma Downey and Emma Thompson getting it on."

"Ew. Wait, not ew. That's actually a really hot image. If I can erase the fact that it came from your imagination, that's a damn hot image."

"Yeah, I figured it's exactly the kind of thing you're into."

"Hot chicks with accents doing it? You know me too well, Sammy. Though, honestly, you should probably not tell anyone else about your dream. It's embarrassing for a grown man to know who Roma Downey is."

They soon got a call from Bobby. He politely requested that they investigate some weird occurrences in Minnesota. With courteous words like "get yer asses in gear" and "try not to die again, you idjits."

The "job" turned out to be just a local not-quite coven in over their heads, but when they found the book, they decided to bring it to Bobby to see if he could make heads or tails of it. They figured it would be okay to take a night halfway through the drive and get some rest.

So they sat the hotel room and tried to relax.

Dean was antsy.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Hear from Cas lately?"

A smirk. "No. Why would Cas contact me when he could contact you just as easily?"

Dean shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask."

"Why, something important you want to tell Cas?"

"No, just hope he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine."

"Yeah."

"Any other reason you want to see him?'

"Nope."

"'Kay.... So you know, Dean, we passed a strip club just a couple of blocks up the road. I'm surprised you're not there already."

"Oh... didn't notice it I guess."

"Maybe... we should go."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Seriously? YOU want to go to strip club?"

"Hey, I like to have fun as much as the next guy."

"No, Sam, you enjoy fun much, much less than the next guy. Than any guy."

"What you object to going to a strip club?"

Dean balked. "Of course not. It's just..."

"What?"

"Why are you acting so weird Sammy?"

"What do you mean?"

"You never want to see strippers. Plus, you keep staring at me. And every time Cas comes to see us, you find excuses to go do research or to get dinner or something. It's weird."

"You're reading too much into things, Dean. "

"Am I?"

"What you think I'm evil because I don't want to hear the two of you argue about angel politics again?"

"No, I don't think that."

"So you trust me now?"

Dean was silent, so Sam continued, "I get it. You don't trust me, but you think you would know if I were going all Vader on you."

"Are you?"

"No. And if I'm acting funny, it's only because you're acting funny?"

"I'm acting normal. And cool. And badass-ish."

"Not a word, Dean."

"Is now. Wait - what do you mean I'm acting weird?"

"You always look like you're hiding something. And you're always finding excuses to leave the hotel room."

Dean blushed to his own annoyance. "You're being dumb, Sammy."

"Yeah, okay. I'm dumb. Look, do you want to go to that club or not?"

Dean smiled, relieved at the deceptively easy change in subject. "Naked ladies? Greasy foods? You don't have to ask me twice."

"Actually, I did," Sam mumbled as they grabbed their coats and headed for the door.

Once they were there, Dean did his best to look casual and to avoid staring at the dancers as he ordered chicken wings and beer.

"What's the matter, Dean? Are you feeling guilty for something?"

"No," Dean said quickly, "Why would I feel guilty?"

"I mean it's not like you have a girlfriend or anything," Sam said, flashing that innocent smile again.

"Right..."

"And so you might as well enjoy yourself tonight. Come on, Dean, we work hard. We deserve this."

"Seriously, Sam, what has gotten into you?"

"Nothing. I just think it's about time we had some fun again. If we're engaged in a futile battle against overwhelming odds, I sure as hell want these last weeks or months or years to be memorable. So I think it's time we had some fun, us Winchesters."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I'm with you. I mean, screw what's proper. Let's go for what we want."

"That's a beautiful sentiment, Dean," Sam smiled, "Maybe, if the apocolypse spares the Hallmark factory, you can work there."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

They laughed together, the first time in a while. But when an attractive dancer with a cute pixie-ish haircut named Tina came over to talk to them, Dean once again looked awkward and uncomfortable and just a little bit guilty until Tina decided to try another table.

Sam kept a straight face as he asked, "Hey, Dean? You know who would like this place? Cas."

"Not funny, Sam."

"Oh, come on, some of them are wearing cute little angel wings on their backs. How sexy is that? Probably reminds Cas of some good times."

"Hey, don't talk about him that way," Dean said before looking sheepish and saying, "Because, you know, you never can tell if he's listening. Or watching." Dean looked around, suddenly a bit paranoid.

"You know what Dean?" Sam said, "Wait right here. I'm going to see if Tina is free to give you a lapdance."

"No, Sam, forget it, I don't -" Dean started but Sam had already gone in search of her.

A few minutes later, Dean was objecting to Sam dragging him into a private room where Tina would meet him soon. 'It's just a lapdance' Dean told himself, oddly nervous.

Soon, Dean saw a figure in the doorway. The silhouette looked strange, and Dean realized she must have borrowed her friend's wings. As she walked toward him, he noticed her big blue eyes looking sexily at him and he began to forget his reservations. But then he noticed that over her fishnet stockings she was wearing a white collared men's shirt, under a trench coat, and a loosened disheveled tie.

Already sensing the answer, Dean said, "Why are you dressed like that?"

She looked confused. "That guy you were with said that this is what you're into."

Dean smiled politely, gave her the money, and left without his lapdance. As soon as he was in the hallway, though, his voice bellowed out in an angry roar, "SAM!!!!!!"