A/N: Sorry this is coming so late, but I was worried FF was about to take down all my porn after ten years of ignoring their own rating system. Only time will tell, but fear not, if they ever go down that path, like they've been saying, I have backups.

As promised, here's a little porn epilogue for you all.

Dean hadn't taken the pendant off once. Well, once—to shower. But even then he had felt as if he was missing a limb to have it gone from its once-again usual resting place against his chest. He still couldn't believe they were home, and he had been making a conscious effort to forget everything about Purgatory the same way he had with Hell.

Though maybe that was a bad example.

And he didn't actually want to forget everything.

There were so many things to think about now that he was back. Sam. Kevin. Crowley. Monsters everywhere, though that wasn't anything new at any point in his life. He just didn't want to think about any of that right now.

Sam, at least, he knew was okay. They had added another tick to their miniscule hug-meter and were good. Dean had almost had to force a set of stolen keys into Sam's hands and tell him, Seriously, dude, you can go off to check in with Jody without me, let me get a good night sleep for the first time in…too long, and I'll join you tomorrow.

The world wouldn't end if they spent another night apart. At least, Dean sure hoped not. He was getting pretty sick of the world trying to end.

Dean sat on the end of the motel room bed, in his boxers and a T-shirt, with his necklace back in place, and sighed, burying his face in his hands and taking a few deep breaths.

"Dean."

Dean barely tensed at all at the interruption. He had grown too used to Castiel's sudden arrivals, and had missed his voice the past couple of days. Dean looked up and had to stare. "Dude, you went casual."

Castiel was wearing what might have been the slacks and white button-down from Jimmy's original ensemble, but no suit coat, or tie, or trench. "I placed it in the Impala's trunk, if that's all right," Castiel said, as if sensing Dean would focus on the trench coat's whereabouts. "It would seem…wrong to be rid of it. But I thought this more appropriate."

Dean gave a shaky laugh and smiled. "Definitely better than the scrubs."

It was impossible to track time in Purgatory. There weren't days, there was only night, endless and deadly. Dean and Castiel were not there as descended spirits, but inside actual bodies, and yet, being in that land, much as it would be for a body in Heaven or Hell, they did not need to eat or drink or sleep, and so there weren't even hunger pains with which to tell time.

Something like a day or two passed—or maybe it was only hours—when they realized Castiel was fully human and cut off from Heaven. He had managed to transport them safely out of harm's reach several times, but finally faltered, leaving them to fight with all they had against surrounding enemies, somehow managing to limp away. They healed faster than usual in Purgatory too, but any injury was a liability and risked they wouldn't survive the next fight.

Their lives quickly became a constant cycle of running and hiding, barely giving them time to actually look for the way out they were seeking. Dean wasn't sure how much time had passed when he first thought with certainty that they were never going home.

Castiel must have sensed the change in Dean, somehow knew, because he turned to him at that exact moment and said unabashedly, "I love you."

"What?"

"If we die today…I want you to know that."

"Yeah…I love you too."

Of course Dean did. He had basically admitted that to Castiel once before, when he told him he was family, like a brother, and Dean had meant that. But he got the feeling that maybe Castiel meant those words differently.

Slowly, over the course of their indefinable time in Purgatory, it became routine. Every time they were too exhausted to move and had to stop to catch their breaths, Castiel would tell him, "If we die today…I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Cas."

Dean had never gotten into the habit of saying that to Sam. Not as often as he sometimes wanted to. But actually starting to say it regularly made it easier to say it the next time. And the next.

And the next.

Dean unconsciously licked his lips.

"Sam is gone, then?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah. At Jody's. I'm s'pposed to head there tomorrow."

"So we are alone?"

"Yeah."

It shouldn't have been strange, but it was. They hadn't been alone together since their escape. Now they were in achingly familiar, normal territory, and it just felt constricting, like this would be easier somehow if they were surrounded by trees and beasts.

Dean watched this new trench coat-less outline of Castiel move across the room toward him and sit beside him on the end of the bed. When he had first discovered that Castiel hadn't died after the Leviathan rode him to Earth, Dean had been angry. Somehow it was easier to forgive someone who had died trying to make things right. But a Cas that didn't remember was harder. A Cas that sacrificed himself again only to suddenly seem unapologetic, insincere, and...just plain crazy was hardest of all.

Oh, Dean knew, even in the beginning, that he would forgive Cas eventually of everything that had happened, because he had to. There were too few people in his life that mattered for him to hold grudges. Maybe he had forgiven Castiel already by the time they went after Dick. Maybe it took having some semblance of the real Cas back when they were cast to Purgatory.

Maybe it was that moment the first time Castiel said, "I love you."

Now, in the motel room, Castiel was simply sitting beside Dean, the silence companionable. He didn't try to move too close or reach out. He allowed Dean his 'personal space'.

But then Dean turned to look at him. And Castiel turned to look back. And there was just blue and emotion so deep, Dean thought he might drown.

The first time it wasn't softly stolen after a poignant moment or deeper confession, or an eruption after a long, hard fight, with passion fueling their actions—that would come later. The first time it was quiet, but no particularly important moment.

Dean was cleaning a blade. Castiel was pacing. Dean was chattering on about something, maybe plans, maybe frustration, maybe nothing at all. There was no lead-in, no chance for Dean to prepare. One moment he was talking, then he glanced up and Castiel was just there.

The angel kissed him, climbed onto his lap and clung. It seemed like such a natural thing so Dean didn't push him away.

This time it began the same, inasmuch as Castiel reached for Dean.

A thin, pale hand touched the curve of Dean's face, and as it so often happened with them, 'personal space' lost its meaning. Castiel leaned forward, and Dean closed his eyes before the blue could get too close, before the first press of soft lips on his lips. When they did touch, he couldn't feel anything else for a moment, not even the bed beneath him, just those lips, gently moving.

Dean was struck by how...different it felt, so soft and unhurried. Castiel was enjoying the moment, taking things slow, and taking his time remembering the contours of Dean's lips before he even considered pushing his tongue past the open line of Dean's teeth. Dean pressed closer, deeper, as their mouths met more passionately, and he heard a soft whimper sound from Castiel's throat. Their tongues tangled in such a familiar way, but it was different, being here, being home.

It was as if everything else had been a dream, and being home made it real. Dean felt like now he had to be careful, like any wrong move would ruin everything, when before, in Purgatory, he had been so sure that any kiss might be the last he ever knew. Now there was hope. Now there was time.

It was terrifying.

Dean trembled as he pulled away. "You still sure you want to do this?" He didn't open his eyes until after he had asked the question.

There was apprehension in Castiel's eyes, nervousness, anticipation, but not fear. "I am sure."

It never happened in Purgatory—too dangerous, too vulnerable. Stolen kisses and heated moments were all they could afford to offer each other. Sometimes it was maddening, never really getting what they both clearly wanted. But it also fueled the fight in them.

"When we get home…"

"Once we're back…"

"One day, when we've got a real bed again…"

It was a promise—motivation.

Pressed up against a tree, having just survived their thousandth close call, hands gripping each other and mouths moving, with too much clothing in the way that were too risky to discard, Dean would tell Castiel everything he really wanted to do to him, and Castiel would shudder, wanting nothing more than for that promise to be now.

"Please, Dean," Castiel said, toeing off his shoes and scooting further up the bed to lie back. It was such a wholly trusting act, with nothing but faith and passion in his gaze.

Dean was already barefoot, already only half-dressed. Despite any remaining knots in his stomach, much like with their first kiss, it all seemed so natural that crawling up the bed was suddenly...easy. Settling in between Castiel's legs was easy. Leaning down to kiss him again, bodies pressed tight together, with a long ago promise echoing around them both—One day, when we've got a real bed again—was easy.

"I don't need to explain the mechanics, right?" Dean asked, mostly joking, as he kissed along Castiel's lightly stubbled jaw.

There was a small sound that may have been a laugh—or a gasp. "No."

"Do you wanna...flip a coin or something for who's pitching?"

A definite laugh responded this time, but Castiel stopped the trail of Dean's mouth by grabbing both sides of his face and lifting it up to look at him. "You," he said simply. "You show me. I trust you, Dean."

Dean stared, agape and silent for a moment, and feeling a bit like he had all those years ago when his baby brother was placed in his arms and he was told to run—like the most precious thing in the world had just been given over to his care, and damn it, he was going to do right by that.

"What do you mean you didn't 'consummate the marriage'?"

"It wouldn't have seemed right. Besides, she married me to protect me, a wayward man with strange abilities and no identity. She thought me too holy to...defile in such a way. I had no such urges for her. It was a pleasant arrangement."

Dean shook his head. He hadn't meant to bring the conversation here, but he had been so curious, and they were safe for the moment from the beasts of Purgatory, with time enough to breathe, to talk.

So they talked.

"You mean...after everything, dying twice and almost dying a third time from the Leviathan...you're still a virgin?"

Castiel tilted his head at Dean and there was a sadness about him that rarely betrayed itself so close to the surface. "I suppose occasion…still hasn't presented itself."

Castiel's breath hitched when Dean's fingertips brushed past his ribs as he tugged the shirt out of Castiel's slacks and started to unbutton it. Cas was a full-on angel again; he could probably will away their clothing or perform any number of miraculous acts as part of this experience, but he wanted to know what it was like as a human knows it, and Dean was happy to oblige.

The only time sex had ever been unhurried and meaningful for Dean…was with Lisa. But despite how much Dean had cared for her, and Ben, she wasn't the love of Dean's life. She couldn't accept everything Dean was, much as she had tried, and Dean didn't resent her for that.

It seemed fitting that the only person who might actually fit Dean wasn't human, but was, instead, something he hadn't even believed existed a few years ago.

Dean's more recent sex life before Purgatory had been disastrous at best, and usually non-existent. He felt brand new now, new to the world, new to this feeling of skin and desire. Maybe because it was Castiel's skin, and Castiel's desire.

For Cas, it was all new—wholly new. Dean watched the angel's face, eyes closed or at least heavy-lidded, looking drunk with sensation when they hadn't even gotten very far yet.

Dean tossed his T-shirt over his head, before returning to kiss down Castiel's chest toward the clasp of the angel's slacks.

Castiel was asleep—well, passed out from exhaustion and a bad wound on his leg, since they didn't really sleep here. Dean leaned back against a tree, keeping watch. They were well-hidden, but they couldn't stay that way for long. They were close to finding real clues that would lead them home, and Dean was having a hard time accepting the flood of hope that had returned to him.

Holding his pendant between his fingers while the cord still remained secure around his neck, Dean studied the small figurehead. He had never really thought about what it was, what it was really supposed to represent. It was from Sammy, and that's all that mattered. Family mattered.

When Sam had first left for Stanford, Dean found himself often clutching at the pendant, as if his desperate clinging could somehow make it all untrue and Sam would suddenly be home again.

Now, Dean clung in the hopes that somehow he and Cas would suddenly be home again, with Sam, safe from this place and free again. Free to eat and sleep and…

Dean glanced again at Castiel, seemingly sleeping and so…serene. He clutched the pendant tighter. He had been given this pendant twice in his life now, both times by men he loved more than anything else in the world.

Or the depths of every corner of the universe.

Dean removed Castiel of his slacks and boxers, leaving only the now rumpled and unbuttoned white shirt, which stirred up passion and want in Dean more than the sight of Castiel simply naked ever could. If he had been wearing his tie today too, Dean would not have been able to control himself.

He didn't really think about how his pendant was dangling from his neck, trailing cool and tickling along Castiel's skin as he kissed and licked his way across the angel's body. The sensations must have been overwhelming for Castiel, because Dean had only just taken him into his mouth, licking long slow strokes and bobbing his head experimentally as he listened to Castiel's reactions, when he suddenly found himself staring up at the ceiling.

And at Castiel straddling him.

The angel was flushed, his pupils blown, and as his hips bucked unconsciously against Dean, he seemed very quickly annoyed that Dean was still wearing his shorts. Castiel remedied that, and then the only thing between them was skin, aside from the shirt still hanging from Castiel's shoulders…and the pendant, which neither of them could ever dream of removing.

Dean never imaged that the most prominent feeling he would know when they found their way out of Purgatory…would be terror. Terror that all the good that had come with the bad would somehow disappear. That maybe stepping through the doorway…would change them.

Castiel had become himself again, being in Purgatory. Would he change back to a rambling fool with no true sense of humanity once they were on the other side? Would he forget what had happened between them? Would he forget their promises and stolen moments?

Would he forget that he loved Dean?

Then, the first thing Castiel did once they were standing in a bright open field in the middle of the day…was kiss Dean hard and possessive.

"Dean…if we die today…I love you," the angel said with a wide smile.

Dean beamed.

Dean's brow furrowed at the expected but still sudden tightness as Castiel lowered himself onto him from his straddled position. The gasp of surprise that left Castiel was full of worship and awe, and Dean didn't feel he deserved such raw praise. He wanted to earn it. So he grasped Castiel and rolled them back into their previous positions, easing Castiel onto the pillows and lifting the angel's legs so that he could best guide the friction, keeping it slow and controlled, and watching how Castiel's mouth no longer knew how to close for all the sounds leaving his lips.

Castiel wasn't breakable, or anywhere near as fragile as his smaller body might allude, and Dean soon realized that not only did he not need to maintain a gentle rhythm, but Castiel didn't want him to. Dean let his fervor take over, let himself take Castiel as deeply as he had ever imagined, and the world trembled beneath them.

It was relief more than release that undid Dean, the sense of accomplishment that they had made it here, that they were connected and nothing could change that now, not ever. That they would make mistakes and be fools together, but they would be together. And that didn't have to be terrifying.

Not when they were home.

"You need time alone with Sam. With yourself."

"But you'll be back, right? You'll come back?"

"Of course, Dean. Tomorrow night." Castiel smiled. "We have some promises to keep."

Lying in the afterglow, the discarded sheets a mess on the floor, Dean fingered the fabric of the shirt Castiel had never fully lost, while the angel held Dean's pendant.

"That isn't the only cherished part of me, you know," Dean said, waiting to continue until after blue eyes met his. "All the important things are part of me. Sam. You. Baby," he added wistfully.

Castiel simply smiled and nodded.

"But thanks. Really. For giving it back to me. For keeping it…safe."

"I will never forget that duty again, Dean. I prayed for an answer and I was given you. An answer so deafening, I couldn't listen. I couldn't hear…all the right things you were saying that night, before I sealed my fate with the Leviathan. I am sorry for that. Sorrier than words could ever express. I would give anything—"

"You've given enough," Dean broke in. "We all have. It's about time we got to have something…"

With Castiel's gaze locked on his, Dean leaned forward and captured the angel's lips again, amazed at how it always felt new and thrilling to kiss him.

"If we die today..." Castiel said when they pulled apart, with hints of a smile.

"If we die today...and if we don't," Dean said, remaining close, "I love you."

THE END

Thanks! Sorry the porn got caught up in so much plot. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? :-)

~Crimson