AN: (Please read me!): I promised myself I wouldn't cave and write fanfiction for this show, especially slash, and yet, here we are. But what can I say? I just like the idea of awkward sexual tension between these two a little too much, and the idea popped up… Anyway, this will be my first and probably last story for the series. And a couple disclaimers: most importantly, that I've set this at a non-existent plot point to save myself the trouble of coordinating. And then, everything else: that I own none of these characters, that this is, in fact, DESTIEL SLASH, complete with FOUL LANGUAGE and SEXUAL CONTENT (but no actual sex, as is my style). And if you're going to respond, please POSITIVE REVIEWS only. I don't take this seriously, and I really only want to make you perverts smile a little. So with all that aside, I abandon all humility, and hope you enjoy.

Dean simply ignored the first call. After all, how complicated could a motel shower be? Castiel could figure it out on his own if he tried, and Sam had just left to shop for clothes, providing an ideal opportunity to catch up on Dr. Sexy MD without the typical ridicule. He settled into the gaudy pillows at the head of the bed and flicked on the TV, eager for his nice half hour of relaxation.

At least until… "Dean!"

He should have figured the very recently exiled angel would have struggled even with this as he figured out this new human experience. The moment had been nice while it lasted.

"What, Cas?" he asked, standing to walk to the bathroom door. He crossed his arms as he stood, looking at the plain old wood with a kind of annoyed anticipation.

"I need help," came the low voice from the other side of the door.

Dean sighed heavily and let his head hang. "I'm not coming in there."

There was no response for a short moment, but a small shuffling sound and then a light thump over the sound of running water.

"I'm stuck," Castiel said flatly.

On his own side of the door, Dean had to take a minute to wonder just how the man could have managed something like, and found himself chuckling lightly at the thought of him standing in the toilet bowl, a look of perplexity in those big blue eyes.

"Dean?"

He shook his head and sighed again. "Yeah. Is the door unlocked?"

"Yes."

He thought briefly of how very much he might regret doing it, before realizing he really didn't have a choice in the matter, and pulled the door open.

Castiel sat on the lid of the toilet, both arms somehow tangled up in his tie, and otherwise, bare-ass-naked. Dean blushed hard.

"Damn it, Cas!" he threw his hand up over his eyes, "What the fuck-"

"Like I said," Castiel said, in Dean's opinion, entirely too calmly, "I'm stuck. Please help me."

The hunter used his free hand to grope around the counter, grabbing a hand towel that he thrust forward. "Put this down. I don't wanna see that."

Castiel leaned forward awkwardly, reaching a trapped hand out to take the towel, and dropping it into his lap.

"My penis is covered," he announced.

Dean winced. "God, don't say that." He took his hand off his eyes, face still pink with what he was sure was exasperation at the situation, and not the reaction to the startlingly built midsection of the man looking so pathetically up at him.

"Help?" Castiel repeated.

Without stepping any closer to the naked man, Dean reached forward and began struggling with the knot on the tie. After seconds that seemed to take much too long, he grunted in frustration. "How long has this thing been tied?"

"Months," Castiel answered casually, then frowned, "Perhaps if you weren't four feet away from me-"

"I'm not getting any closer," Dean said flatly, "Man law. No touching naked guys."

Castiel paused his attempt to help himself out of the tie and seemed to file this information away with an understanding nod.

Dean's frown deepened. "I can't get this freaking thing."

"If you just-" Castiel began, leaning against the direction of the other's hands.

"No, you're just making it worse."

"I need to get my arms off to the side."

"Stop it, you're just going to-"

"I think I can-"

"Damn it, Cas-"

And the next thing he knew, Dean was flat on his back on the soaked bathroom floor, stunned, and looking up to the very surprised looking ex-angel now straddling his hips.

Castiel, hands now free, reached up to pull the tie from his neck without breaking his wide, petrified gaze with the green eyes staring back at him. He dropped it onto the pile of his other discarded clothes.

Dean continued to gape for a very long, naked, moment before he managed to find his voice again.

"Castiel," he growled, the scarlet color returning to his face yet again, "Get the fuck off of me."

In the next second, Castiel had leapt to his feet, covering himself shyly with his hands, and eyes still resembling terrified blue satellite dishes. Dean scrambled up after him, slamming the bathroom door shut practically before he'd even left.

"Dean?" came the voice again from inside.

"Take your shower," Dean said tensely, "No one knows about this. It never happened."

"Yes. Of course."

Dean shuddered hard and cursed himself for still wearing a vibrant blush.

. . .

When Sam returned from the mall, he found his brother in the motel parking lot, throwing what appeared to be a pile of clothes into the dumpster.

"Those Castiel's?" he asked, locking the car and approaching Dean.

"Mine," Dean said heavily, taking the keys out of Sam's hand, "They're tainted."

Sam made a face as if he were about to ask how, but upon seeing the vicious frown on Dean's face, seemed to realize he knew much better than that.

"Alright, well, how's his first day human going?"

"You ask him," Dean answered dejectedly, "I'm going to buy myself a few gallons of liquor."

. . .

Dean had polished off half the bottle by the time he came back from the state store. He realized, of course, that drinking while he was actually driving was a downright awful idea, but he also realized that earlier in the day, he had caught himself blushing like a freaking little girl at the site of a naked guy, and pretty sufficiently needed it. He took another swig as he opened the motel room door.

"Hey, you're back," Sam said as his brother entered the room, "I just called for pizza, it'll be here soon."

Dean lifted the bottle unenthusiastically as he fell back onto his own bed. "I'm set."

Castiel, sitting stiffly on the sofa as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, met Dean's eye with a firm gaze. The hunter groaned loudly.

"Everything alright?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Castiel replied "Yes" at the same time as Dean told them both to "Fuck off."

Sam looked as if he was about to say something more, before being interrupted by a knock on the door. "Pizza," he said instead, and got up to collect their dinner.

. . .

Once the pizzas were finished (half of one to Sam, two grudging pieces to a drunken Dean, and all the rest to Castiel) the three men found themselves with nothing more to do.

"We'll head to Bobby's in the morning," Sam suggested, stuffing the empty boxes into the garbage can, "Dean, sound good?"

Dean grunted halfheartedly. He wasn't in the mood to talk to the others in the room. In fact, all he wanted to do was sleep until he forgot that he'd touched the former angel's dick earlier, and wake up with a hangover so bad he'd have an excuse to be grumpy and sullen about it all day.

"Sam, will you give me a moment to talk to Dean privately, please?" Castiel suddenly asked.

Sam looked surprised, but stood quickly. "Yeah, sure. Uh, call me when it's safe."

He hastily made for the door, glancing over at Dean's grumbled "Sammy, don't leave-" before doing just that.

Dean cursed his brother loudly in his head, and slurred under his breath.

"Dean," Castiel said calmly, rising from his sofa bed to stand before the slouching hunter. "You seem very perturbed."

"You think?" he asked bitterly. He shook his head, because he really didn't want to think about this drunk, and especially while they were alone in this room and Sam was probably thinking-

"Dean," Castiel repeated. Red-rimmed green eyes looked up at him. "What's bothering you so much?"

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What do you think? I said this never happened. Shut up about it."

Castiel looked a little let down, "I'm sorry. I just thought-"

"You thought wrong."

"I'll go get Sam."

"Damn right you will."

Dean ignored the other man as he left the room, glad to be alone because somehow, his face had gone red again. Still fully dressed, he pulled the scratchy motel blanket over himself and shut his eyes, trying hard to fall asleep before the others came back.

. . .

It must have worked, because the next thing he knew, he found himself in the back seat of the Impala with the waitress from two towns back, a place where he frequently went in these pleasant dreams. This was much better. Long auburn hair, pretty round breasts and pink lips parted as she rocked in his lap. This was much better. His dream-self groaned in satisfaction and grabbed the cute little ass that had gotten her here with him those weeks ago in the first place. His eyes slid shut.

"Dean," the dream-girl breathed. But something wasn't right. The voice was all wrong. Dean's eyes snapped open, and while he hated how corny he was for remembering, he could have sworn her eyes were hazel, not this electric blue…

It suddenly dawned upon him that he was dream-fucking Castiel. His heart stopped.

At least, it felt that way as he snapped up in bed like he'd been struck by lightning, and he thought he could have been, with the amount of electricity shooting through his body. He took a deep breath to steady his heart, trying to ignore the image of Castiel that seemed burned into his mind. As he regained composure, he realized with a sudden gut clenching terror that he was hard.

"No," he muttered desperately, "No no no-"

He jumped from the bed, only now being struck with the hangover headache beginning to set it, and ran to the bathroom, already peeling his clothes off.

The shower couldn't get colder, and Dean couldn't be more eager to wash every trace of the dream down the drain and away from his body, because god damn it, that was not okay.

After a decent half hour, he was shivering, and despite how much he wanted to keep washing himself away, he figured he'd be better off avoiding hypothermia, and stepped out of the shower.

Once he'd redressed himself, he opened the bathroom door, and his heart nearly stopped again. Castiel stood in the doorway, looking groggy from his first real sleep.

"Jesus, man," Dean sighed heavily, clutching his chest after the initial shock.

"I need to-" Castiel scrunched up his sleepy looking face as if thinking hard, then seemed to remember the words he wanted, "Take a piss."

Dean nearly laughed, but his chest felt too full of cotton to let him do it, and he let out a deflated sigh instead as he let him pass, careful to not let any part of their bodies touch. Castiel didn't seem to notice anything wrong.

By the time Dean returned to his bed, his head was pounding and still threatening to force that terribly pornographic image back at him. He was scared of dreaming again, but sleep would feel so nice…

. . .

He woke up thinking of nothing worse than his ex-angel friend shirtless, and immediately hated himself for how this seemed benign. Of course, what he hated more was the half-erection pressed between his body and the mattress, and he rolled over quickly to sit up.

"Morning," Sam said brightly, pulling his belt into the loop. And, naturally, it seemed, he was truly not wearing a shirt. Dean groaned loudly and clutched his still aching head.

"Put some freaking clothes on, man," he begged.

Sam gave him a somewhat amused look as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. "Are you okay?"

Dean only frowned. "I'm fine." Without thinking, he looked around the room, and despite himself, asked, "Where's Cas?"

"Getting breakfast," his brother responded, sitting at the foot of his own bed, "He was all excited about the idea when he woke up."

Dean momentarily forgot everything else in the world and looked absolutely horrified. "You let him drive my car?"

"Relax. No," Sam said calmly, "There's a donut place on the other side of the parking lot." He paused for a moment and sighed before looking up at Dean, "It's something between you two. What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," Dean snapped, standing stiffly to make his way to the bathroom yet again for a chance to wash the stale taste from his mouth and to find something to numb his throbbing head, and wishing that he could believe his own words.

"I don't believe you," Sam called after him. He slammed the door.

. . .

Castiel returned with a very large box of donuts and a wide grin, dressed in an outfit obviously chosen by the younger Winchester brother. Dean, recently emerged from the bathroom, would never admit that it actually suited him quite well. Instead, he sat at the head of his bed silently, watching the others with a frown when he realized that Castiel now seemed to have forgotten all about the last evening's drama.

"I have breakfast donuts," he announced proudly, holding the hefty box forward.

Sam laughed as he took it from him, "Yeah, enough for a small army." He opened the box and raised an eyebrow. "Cas, these are all the same."

Castiel looked back at him as if that should have been obvious. "Yes, strawberry jam filled."

"Alright, well, dig in, I guess," Sam said, placing the box on the table. He picked up a donut as Castiel took one in each hand. "Dean, come on. Eat."

"Not hungry," Dean said, when in fact, he just didn't want to stand close enough to Castiel to get to the food, for fear of throttling him, or even worse, blushing again.

As if to pick on this fact, Castiel turned to him, powder covering his face, and two new donuts in his hands, "Dean, these are wonderful."

"Still not hungry," Dean replied shortly. The ex-angel simply shrugged, and scarfed down his next course.

Dean refused to allow himself to watch, to ignore his brother's obnoxiuosly raised brow, and because the site of Castiel's petal-pink lips closing around donut after donut and tongue licking the tips of his fingers clean was surely just going to make him nauseas, rather than aroused. And any discomfort in the pit of his stomach, he was sure, was just a result of the leftovers of his hangover and the fact that the closest he'd come to getting any ass in the past two weeks was last night's nightmare.

He suddenly needed very badly to leave the room.

. . .

By the time Sam and Castiel joined him in the Impala, Dean had had time to calm himself enough to only flinch slightly as the doors shut, closing all three of them into a very confined space. But he wouldn't think about that.

"Thirteen," Sam said, looking amused as he shook his head, "Cas ate thirteen of the donuts."

Tension or not, Dean had to admit he was impressed. He glanced at the man in the backseat through the mirror. "They were that good?"

Castiel shut his eyes and leaned his head against the window. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Let's get going, I called Bobby, and he says he has a lead on some spirit out his way," Sam said.

Dean, despite how long the ride ahead was going to feel, was happy to leave the motel and its memories behind, and stepped on the gas to peel quickly out onto the road. "Don't have to tell me twice."

. . .

The enthusiasm of the exit, however, only lasted the first forty minutes of the drive.

"Dean," Castiel said suddenly, voice small from the backseat and under the blaring music.

Dean immediately panicked, looking up warily into the mirror and begging the very beginnings of that damn blush not to appear. But the second he met the wide blue eyes behind him, he knew the immediate problem was much more pressing.

"Oh no, Cas, no-" he begged, swerving frantically to the side of the road.

Sam looked up just in time to see Castiel lurch forward in his seat, vomiting all thirteen donuts onto the upholstery, the dash, and a mortified Dean. "Oh no."

Castiel's eyes, if possible, grew even wider. "I- I'm sorry-"

Dean took a shaky breath before cringing at the feeling of half digested donut dripping down the inside of the back of his shirt. "Cas," he turned to him, "I'm gonna kill you."

Castiel made a weak whimpering noise and wiped timidly at his chin with his sleeve.

"Relax, Cas. Dean, don't say that," Sam looked between them both, "There was a gas station a quarter mile back, you guys go clean yourselves off, and I'll clean up the car."

Dean, now completely sure he wanted no more connection to his physical body, threw the door open and began walking immediately. Castiel hurried after him.

"Wait, Dean, please-" he caught up to him, and jumped when Dean stopped short and turned around. His wide eyes melted, "I'm sorry I vomited on you and your- baby."

Dean stared at him for a long, silent moment, explicitly ignoring the wet feeling on his neck and the pathetic blue eyes meeting his and his skin's constant desire to turn a girly shade of pink, to try and find a single comprehensible thought in his head.

Once he had, he started laughing.

Castiel looked worried. "Dean?"

But he only continued to laugh. It was almost pained and nearly humorless, but he was laughing, and it still felt pretty damn good. Castiel just continued to gape.

"Dean, are you alright?"

Dean caught his breath, and gave a weak smile. "I don't freaking know. Let's just go."

. . .

All of the sudden, vomit-induced tranquility that had found him on the walk to the gas station immediately left Dean as he pushed open the dirty men's room door, the same way most of the color drained from his face, as he saw that there was nothing the room offered for the sake of privacy.

Castiel stepped up beside him. "My mouth tastes terrible, may I get through?"

Dean moved aside mindlessly, and watched as he stepped up to the sink. Realizing again that he was still covered in donut-sick, he entered the tiny stall, as well. The door swung shut behind him.

"I feel much better, now," Castiel said lightly, taking another mouthful of water to gargle. Dean nodded, expression blank.

He shrugged off his jacket and wiped it clean with a paper towel, not once taking his eyes off of the man at the sink. He hesitated in his t-shirt, only to meet Castiel's eye when he looked in the mirror.

"Are you going to clean that off of yourself?" Castiel asked, turning around, and already working open the buttons of his own shirt.

Dean felt his stomach clench as he realized exactly how this situation was playing out, and immediately, his entire body went numb again. This couldn't happen. It just couldn't happen-

Castiel frowned, and his voice broke into Dean's panicked thoughts. "Dean, I'm beginning to worry about you."

When he looked up now, the other man had shed his shirt, and was frowning back over his shoulder as he rinsed the fabric under the sink.

He realized he had to speak, or Castiel would continue to ask and eventually he'd snap and shout something of his most repressed sexual intentions.

"You-" he sighed, "You're killing me, Cas."

At this Castiel looked distressed. "What do you mean?"

Dean shook his head, already sensing the inevitable color in his cheeks and the turning in his stomach that he knew wasn't going away this time. Not as Castiel turned off the sink, and took the few steps toward him, and placed his hand on his unsoiled shoulder, and oh god…

He was lifting Dean's shirt. Actually pulling it over his head like he couldn't undress himself, which, Dean realized with a great deal of chagrin, was probably true at the moment.

"Castiel-" he began, shocking himself with how raw his voice sounded.

"There's humor in the fact that I'm newly human and have to help you, isn't there?" Castiel said, smiling slightly. Dean was glad his very unmanly whimper as he lost all hope upon seeing that smile was buried in the shirt passing over his head.

For another moment that seemed to drag much, much longer, they stood and stared at one another, blue eyes wide and curious, and green just as wide with anxiety. Dean took a heavy breath. He had to move. He had to walk away and wash out his shirt and get out of this tiny, dirty bathroom to calm his racing heart and stop thinking about Castiel half naked and half a foot away from him because that wasn't okay, that just wasn't okay. He had to stop.

But instead, he kissed him.

All reasonable thought gone, he pushed him back against the wall and kissed him hungrily. Rationalizing this, he realized while discovering how surprisingly soft Castiel's lips were, would actually kill him.

And then, and his heart nearly stopped, Castiel was kissing back. Sloppy and awkward, but Dean couldn't care about anything more than his body screaming to get closer to the man who had dropped the dirty shirt to the floor to take hold of his shoulders. His hand rested on the scar he'd left in a very different life, and Dean practically gasped.

He panted, hardly a hair from Castiel's beautifully pink mouth that still gaped like he expected more. Their eyes met for an instant before Dean lurched backward.

"Oh god- fuck, Cas- god, I- I'm sorry-" he stammered and dropped his face into his hand.

Castiel looked surprised, but in a moment smiled faintly, "What?"

Dean looked up at him, face crimson and eyes mortified. Castiel's grin widened into a smirk as he bent to pick up the t-shirt from the floor. He turned back to the sink and began rinsing it, looking over his shoulder to keep smirking .

Dean continued to gape, brow creased and blush incessant. "Cas- I'm sorry, I mean-"

"There's nothing to apologize for, Dean," Castiel replied lightly with a shrug, "That never happened, right? Man law."

He turned back and pressed the cleaned shirt into Dean's stiff hand, giving him a very full smile, before pulling his own shirt back on, and buttoning it as he walked out the door.

This, of course, left Dean standing frozen in the middle of the bathroom, trying to remember how to move. But as the reality of the entire situation crashed down upon him, he nearly collapsed, and staggered to the door, barely recalling how to redress himself.

. . .

In the parking lot, Sam leaned against the hood of the Impala, and grinned at his brother as he emerged. "Better?"

Dean could only manage to give a nervous smile back.

"Well the car's fine now," Sam said, standing up to step around to the passenger's side, "As soon as Cas comes out of the store we should get going. It's eight hours to Bobby's. Gonna be a long ride."

Dean tried to form the suddenly complex word "yeah," but lost all composure upon seeing Castiel emerging happily with a plastic bag. He practically fell into the car.

Once they'd all piled in and Dean finally reminded himself of how to drive, they left. Sam seemed oblivious to his brother's distress, or at least, had finally decided to ignore it, and turned back to Castiel. "What flavor's that?"

"Strawberry," Castiel replied, grinning, "I've taken quite a liking to the taste."

Despite everything his recently rebooted mind told him, Dean glanced up into the mirror. Castiel was quite contentedly licking at a god damn popsicle.

Dean nearly sobbed. This was going to be very, very long ride.