Short (for me) and romantic. Entirely human AU that has pretty much nothing to do with the show, so... woops.

A little change-up with my style, just trying it out. Kind of started as PWP, so yeah, rated M for a reason. "Utter filth!" the church-ladies protest! But, romantic filth. So that shaves off some of the indecency points, right...?

Something Unexpected.

It's been a long time since Dean's last girlfriend.

He's handsome enough to do well in finding himself a bedfellow, and he's got the tried and true methods of seduction to prove it. But for some reason, despite the growing internal itch of loneliness, Dean hasn't brought anyone home in quite awhile.

There was one, after his last relationship ended, that he spent a few sleepless, very athletic nights with. But once the nakedness was no longer inspiring enough to cover the fact that they really knew nothing about each other they'd started to talk. And they quickly realized they had absolutely nothing in the way of compatibility.

It was a nice rebound, Dean thinks, after his big relationship with Lisa. Amicable and fun and blissfully meaningless. It was a welcome change after the heavy, emotional end to him and Lisa's disastrous love affair.

Of course it didn't start off heavy and disastrous, but it ended there nonetheless. They'd had fun at first, thought they loved each other, and Dean was crazy about her little boy. But now he thinks maybe Ben was the whole reason they'd stayed together so long to begin with. Maybe, he realized a little too late, he didn't love her, so much as playing Daddy to her son.

He felt guilty, leaving the five year old behind once he and Lisa realized with bitterness that their relationship was more empty than full. They'd been compatible in bed, shared a few laughs, and convinced themselves that was all they needed. But they were wrong.

Seeing Ben now and then was bittersweet. Dean missed him, missed being there for him, but he knew that with every passing day he became less and less his surrogate father. And he knew that with time, Lisa would hopefully find a good man who would fill that role in Ben's life completely and also be able to love her as fiercely as she deserved. Dean felt enough for them to be willing to give Ben up.

But the love Dean had for the little boy, had sparked something in him. He looked at love, at relationships, with a new weight after having been someone's everything, even for that short time. Since then he'd considered his potential lovers seriously, giving real weight to their compatibility, and not just their sex appeal.

Full, glossy lips around a cocktail straw and revealing, skin-tight dresses hugged around a confident curvy body were just as alluring as ever, but in a distracted, secondary kind of way.

He wasn't so happy go lucky anymore when it came to love and sex. He'd seen unconditional love, felt the idea of a happy forever with someone he couldn't do without, and he wanted it.

Unfortunately he went from wanting fun one night stands to wanting true love and eternity far too fast for his life to catch up.

The girls he knew still treated him like a playboy. And the girls he didn't know, who he came across in bars or at parties or one time pumping his gas, simply didn't inspire that spark of what could be.

It was a long year after Lisa, spent alone, looking for something he couldn't explain, hunting for a feeling he couldn't describe other than to know it had to happen naturally. A long year of wondering if maybe he was getting a little cold inside, and worrying about his dissipating appetite.

Until he saw him.

It wasn't intentional, and it wasn't expected. Dean wasn't even actively looking for completion in the romantic sense anymore; after six months of that he'd just figured that always searching and being let down was too painful, so he decided to take a hands-off approach, hoping that if he let it, it would find him.

He was right.

He walked back into the catalogue room, hefting a heavy piece of machinery back onto a shelf. He sighed when the thing wouldn't sit evenly, and went around to the other side to shift it from the back. When he turned the corner, he saw someone standing maybe ten feet away, cataloguing serial numbers. Despite the brevity of that first glance, Dean found himself utterly stuck - when his eyes found him again, he couldn't look away, and he didn't know why. He was simply, frozen, as if by powers beyond his control.

The man tracking serial numbers with no amount of fervor was pale and sinewy, a look of fastidious concentration furrowing his brow. A long moment drew out where Dean could feel he was staring, acknowledged that it was not appropriate, but couldn't move away. And the man felt it too. He turned his head, catching sight of Dean, his brow immediately smoothing out. The man's eyes were piercing blue, his lips pink and parted.

He was... devastatingly handsome, hauntingly so, and Dean's heart rocketed against his ribs. He couldn't understand his body's reaction to something attractive, yes, but completely foreign to him until now. Still, he couldn't deny the iron knot of fire tightening in his gut.

It was the first spark.

Dean knew the man's name was Castiel. He'd heard the new guy talked about in the break room around coffee and cheap deli sandwiches on lunch hour. The consensus was that he was quiet, odd, but tough. He was respected, mysterious, though Dean's fellow workers did seem to find his pretty face and slighter build as something of an amusement.

They seemed to all agree that he wasn't built for machine-work in the physical sense, but that he'd get along just fine in spirit. It seemed that one of the rougher guys had tested him on his second or third day. A kind of initiation, to test the waters and see just what kind of man this Castiel was. He'd teased him, trying to get a rise out of him. Dean found he instantly no longer liked this man because of it. And when he heard that when the teasing came to no avail, failing to get a rise out of the stoic novice, the man had shoved Castiel, to gage a reaction. Dean found himself oddly furious. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone putting their hands on Castiel, even as he told himself such a reaction was unwarranted.

He didn't even know him.

But the men quickly quelled his rage by laughing on about how Castiel had turned on the man, jaw tight, ready to fight, and something in his stance was almost mighty. Mighty Mouse, one of the men joked. Another giving his shoulder a shove saying, He's not that small.

The man who'd shoved Castiel had apparently backed off with a laugh and a friendly slap to Castiel's shoulder, never meaning to fight him anyway.

The men respected any new guy willing to take on someone twice their size. Castiel was tough, and that made him alright by them.

Dean smirked, he felt proud. And again he told himself that he didn't know Castiel.

What right did he have to be proud...?

Castiel is a thinker.

That's what Dean has decided at least. Their lunch break is at the same time, and though they don't sit together, Dean can see Castiel go about his routine the same way every day - with his eyebrows set into this stern look that Dean thinks seems to indicate is mind is otherwise engaged.

Castiel goes to his locker, thinking deeply, pulls out his brown paper bag, thinking deeply, closes the locker, thinking deeply, and then heads out to the back lot where he heats his lunch in solitude, Dean presumes, thinking deeply.

Dean knows this because he often finds need to make a trip to his car now a days, when Castiel also happens to be eating his lunch outside. Despite the fact that Dean never comes back with anything from the car, he doesn't think he's too obvious.

Dean watches him, silently embarrassed by his own behavior. But he can't seem to help himself. He finds the man so interesting, fascinating even, and yet, when Dean heads back into the building, he ducks his head so not to make eye contact with Castiel.

He wouldn't know what to say to him anyway. He doesn't want to seem stupid. And for some reason, how he seems to Castiel is of grave importance to him.

The trimmer was broken. Dean had been sent to assist in getting the work done manually despite that. He goes into the small, enclosed workshop, greeted by the sound of metal grinding on metal, and a faint grunt.

He rounds the gigantic piece of machinery to see Castiel, sweating, overshirt cast over by the control panel, using all of his strength to push the machines arm forward in an attempt to kickstart it.

His pale, strong arms are smudged with grease, his gray t-shirt sweated through down the valley of his back, his jaw set in stubborn determination as he bared his teeth every time he reaches the end of a long push.

Dean swallows hard, entirely lost in the sight of Castiel.

The man stops suddenly, standing up straight, and then turning, calmly toward Dean, as if he'd known somehow that he was there.

He turns slowly enough that Dean could have covered his voyeurism, he has time enough; he could have looked down at his clipboard or taken a step toward the control panel. But he doesn't. He can't. And when Castiel finally turns and those blue eyes take ahold of him, Dean finds himself more lost than ever.

They stand, staring, for a long moment. Castiel tilts his head to the side, as if Dean were vex-some, as if he were trying to figure out how he knows him.

Dean feels his heart in his throat.

The guy from Quality Control bursts in already yelling about the broken machinery and his tight and now destroyed work schedule.

Dean startles at the suddenness of the sound, his shoulders giving a slight jolt and his cheeks pinking as he looks down at the ground. When he works up the courage to look at Castiel again he sees that the man remains unmoved, still staring at him, until finally the Quality Control man's bellowing requires some actual response.

Dean finds that Castiel turns away from him with the slightest bit of irritation.

Dean is a nice guy. Victor Henrikson will officially swear to it, now that Dean has agreed to take on his hours during third shift because he's finally got a date with Nancy, the girl from accounting.

Honestly, Dean doesn't mind. Henrikson deserves to find a nice girl, and Dean quite likes the occasional third shift. It's quiet. A ghost crew. Him and maybe two other people. It gives him time to think and work at his own pace, as if the whole place is his.

He sings to himself sometimes while on third shift. There's no one there to bother really, so why not. He's halfway through his whispered second chorus of I'm burning for you when he looks up and sees impossibly blue eyes and a ghost of a smirk.

He freezes.

"H-hey," he stutters with false confidence.

Castiel smiles, a friendly, closed-lip smile, and nods at Dean. "Good song," he says cheekily.

Dean's cheeks warm and internally he kicks himself, because he knows he's blushing. "Oh, yeah. Sorry..." he says before he can work out why he is apologizing at all.

"Don't be. You've got a nice voice. Gets too quiet around here at night anyway."

Dean blushes further, clearing his throat in a ridiculous attempt to distract from it. "You, uh, work the night shift a lot?"

Castiel nods, "Need the money. Just moved here."

And Dean is saying, "Where from?" before his brain can tell him that it feels quite a lot like they're on a first date.

"Illinois."

Dean nods. There is a long moment of silence in which Dean's heart thunders (he hopes not audibly) in his chest while Castiel seems to simply watch him, as though he has every right to stare as long as he wants, social cues be damned.

Finally Castiel offers his hand, "I'm Castiel by the way. I know we've been working together for two weeks, but I never really introduced myself."

Dean swallows hard and takes Castiel's hand, his voice coming out scratchier than only a moment ago, "Dean."

"Dean," Castiel repeats with a full smile, as if he could have guessed that would be his name.

They don't so much shake hands as just... hold onto each other. Too long, Dean's mind tells him, whilst at the same time demanding he not let go.

Castiel brings his other hand up to Dean's wrist, tentatively resting his fingertips on Dean's now burning skin.

"This is uh... an interesting scar," he says too evenly, tracing his fingers over the darkened mark.

Dean knows it isn't. It's not an impressive scar at all. He knows that Castiel is using it as an excuse, to touch him, and Dean can't help the skip in his heartbeat at the contact. "Sheet metal," he barely gets out, "wasn't paying attention."

Castiel nods, slipping his fingers up further Dean's forearm, slightly under his sleeve.

Dean's chest heaves with his stuttered, heavy breathing, and he knows it's obvious.

Castiel's brow furrows for a moment while his eyes drop to where their hands meet. "Do you... would you like to come home with me, after the shift?"

And Dean's heart seizes in his chest. His mind screeches to a halt, and something inside him says, Of course not. He's got the wrong idea.

But he stares into Castiel's eyes, and nods shakily.

Castiel smiles shyly then releases his hand, and Dean holds his breath until Castiel is out of sight.

Dean shakes through the rest of his shift, his coffee only making it worse. He's warring internally, not understanding why he wants both to go home with Castiel, let him instigate whatever he wants, and to punch Castiel in the face. Or maybe it's himself he wants to punch. Either way, Dean thinks about Lisa, he thinks about the gorgeous girl after Lisa - the one he'd made shake and scream until she nearly passed out. He thought about how good she'd felt, how good she might still feel. She was a good memory, he could probably still call her, still have a good time. But then he thought about Castiel and his heart leapt, the very core of him warmed like it never had for any girl no matter how much fun, and it was all very confusing.

Dean doesn't see Castiel at all until he's punching out at the end of shift, and Castiel is leaning with an easy smile against the wall by the door.

Dean follows him out and gets into his car.

Castiel's apartment is small and unimpressive - dark and cramped and at an obvious lack for furnishing. It has all the necessary things - a fridge, a couch, a tv. But it doesn't feel like anyone's home.

Yet there's something about it... maybe it's the fact that it smells like Castiel, clean and masculine and intoxicating. Dean is comfortable here.

"Drink?" Castiel asks.

Dean nods, "Sure, thanks."

He watches as Castiel pulls out two rocks glasses filling them each with a generous splash of whisky. Castiel comes close to Dean, dropping one glass on the counter beside where Dean is leaning, and bringing one up close to Dean.

Dean takes the glass in hand, his fingers brushing over Castiel's, sending a jolt through his bones.

Castiel sees Dean's breath hitch at the slightest touch. He can't hep himself, he takes the risk and leans in close. Dean's breath comes in hard puffs against his face.

Somewhere in Dean's mind there an inkling of doubt, telling him this isn't right, this isn't what you want. But Castiel's proximity serves to overrun that thought. Castiel isn't thought or doubt, he's solid and he's here and now.

Castiel's lips brush Dean's, light and dry and soft, hint of stubble slightly rough against his own skin, their joined hands and the glass of untouched whisky between them.

Castiel pulls away, seeing Dean's eyes still closed, his brow slightly furrowed. His eyes open slowly, green sparkling but glazed over. And this time when Castiel leans in Dean leans too, meeting him, pressing his lips to Castiel's more insistently. But he falters when Castiel parts his lips, slightly against his own.

Castiel pulls away, "You've never done this before, have you?"

There's no judgement, and Dean is thankful. But his throat is still dry and tight, and he has no words.

Castiel smiles slightly. "I don't know what it is about you..." he states with a kind of wonder.

Dean swallows hard. He gives a half shrug and Castiel laughs. Dean finds the sight and sound of it entrancing.

Castiel comes forward then, confidently taking the glass from Dean's hand and placing it on the counter next to the other, and he comes in close, pressing the length of his body to Dean's with no preamble.

He lets his hands fall to Dean's hips, where they rest, a warm weight, as he let's his face come as closely to Dean's as he can without kissing him, until their breath is mingling and Dean is wetting his lips in anticipation.

When Castiel kisses him again it's like everything else is gone.

When he leaves playful nips at Dean's bottom lip, coaxing him to open to him, slipping his tongue into Dean's mouth, it's like Dean has never known how to do this with anyone else.

When he slips his hands underneath Dean's shirt, Dean's muscles twitch and his breath rattles. Castiel brushes dry lips against Dean's throat and Dean fists his hands in the man's shirt.

Castiel presses his body against Dean's more insistently, pinning him against the counter, and sucks a dark mark into the crook of his neck. Dean runs desperate hands up and down the length of Castiel's back.

Dean is barely aware of the decision for more - more skin, more Castiel - but when his hands slip up inside the man's shirt he feels a step closer to a relief he can't put a name to.

Castiel's bedroom is a blur, even with the lamp on, because all Dean can think about is him, and he's concentrating very hard on ripping the other man's shirt off, buttons be damned.

When he falls back on the bed he pulls Castiel down on top of him, letting the man settle between his thighs like it is the most natural thing in the world to him, like Castiel was made to rest there.

The feeling of Castiel's now-bare skin against his own naked chest is spurring him forward with no chance for doubt. He's shaking but undeniably wanton as Castiel pops the button on his fly and unzips it in a hurry. He hadn't realized how hard he was until Castiel's fingers bumped against him. Even the slightest touch almost painful in its pleasure.

They're naked together, limbs sliding and hips grinding in delicious friction before Dean can work out how they managed to get their pants off so fast. He knows he threw his to the side with such eagerness that they smacked into the wall, and Castiel smirked before sealing himself to Dean's mouth again.

Castiel reaches down an grips them both in his one hand, and Dean groans at the feeling of them, sliding together. They're both dripping and Dean is throbbing hard.

When Castiel's hand disappears Dean whimpers, startling himself with the sound. But Castiel doesn't judge him - he is preoccupied, on a mission. Castiel reaches over and yanks open the drawer on the nightstand so eagerly that the entire drawer flies out, and Dean hears it and all of its contents thud to the floor.

"Fuck," Castiel mutters, and Dean can't help but huff a laugh. Castiel smirks back at him muttering, "Shut up..." and Dean smiles widely, as he watches Castiel reach over the edge of the bed with zero coordination. He comes back up, lube in hand, clicking open the top as Dean, unable to stop touching him, runs his hands up and down Castiel's thighs, and experimentally over his cock. Castiel inhales sharply with a hiss, refusing to be distracted from the task of coating his fingers in lube. When he's done he positions himself, bringing his hand down to Dean's entrance.

Castiel doesn't ask him if he's sure, he doesn't stop and doublecheck that Dean's ok, and Dean is truly glad for it. He doesn't have time even to nod yes - he wants Castiel now.

What might have terrified him only yesterday is now something he doesn't even think twice about - Castiel penetrates him with his finger, and Dean closes his eyes, hands clutching Castiel's thighs, ready to feel whatever Castiel is willing to give him. Relieved when the intrusion is soothed over by the feeling of Castiel's lips at his navel.

Castiel prepares him slowly and steadily, his face getting more and more flushed with every passing moment, his eyes trained sharply on Dean. Dean likes, with a startling fervor, knowing how much Castiel enjoys watching him. The man's lips are parted and his eyes intent as he catches every detail of Dean, every move; Dean can see Castiel hold his breath when he finally and very deliberately brushes his prostate. Dean's eyes snap shut as he gasps, and in that moment he knows, like he knows that if he doesn't breathe he'll die, that from now on, he's at Castiel's mercy.

When Castiel brushes the weeping head of his cock against Dean's nervous pucker, Dean's breath stutters for a moment. Castiel takes his time pushing in, letting Dean swallow him up at his own pace, slow and hot and hungry until finally he bottoms out inside him.

Castiel groans toward the ceiling, his eyes closed, and Dean is transfixed.

When Castiel starts a slow rhythm Dean winces and bites his lip at the pain. "Hold on," Castiel promises quietly, his voice rough and deep, his breath hot against Dean's ear. He changes angles and raises up to watch Dean's face as he slides all the way in, dragging against Dean's prostate.

"Oh, my God," Dean whimpers, as if he can't quite believe it. His body shudders involuntarily, his thighs caging Castiel tightly.

Castiel groans and then steals a kiss before pressing in again.

They move, faster and faster, louder and louder until Dean can't take it - he seizes up and explodes in a fit of indescribable, ecstatic pleasure. He feels it in every bone, every cell, and it's all consuming, until he can't see, can't hear, all he can do is feel what Castiel has done to him.

Dean's eyes stay closed but he can feel Castiel slow to a gentle, almost lazy pace. He can hear his own voice drawing out in quiet breathy moans with every long sink of Castiel into him, though he can't register the decision to make such noises.

Castiel moves slowly, smoothly, until finally he begins to falter, his whole body shudders and Dean can feel hot breath against his abdomen saying, "Oh God, Dean..." He can feel Castiel's heat shooting up inside him and he opens his eyes to watch the man as it happens.

They both collapse - Dean's head goes straight back onto the pillow, Castiel comes down on top of Dean, nestled between his thighs, his head on Dean's chest.

Now that it's over, Dean is only mildly aware that he's got a stripe of his own come up his abdomen, until Castiel is licking and sucking a lazy stripe down its path.

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet collected around his waist as an afterthought, staring into nothing. He's been quiet, and still, for a long time.

Castiel is laying, half propped-up on his elbow, behind him, watching the man with concern.

He's not sure how they went from panting together in the afterglow, to Dean having some sort of... episode, but here they are.

Castiel realizes suddenly, that he isn't entirely sure how any of this happened at all. He runs through the whole thing in his mind again and sees that yes, he and Dean are all but strangers. He realizes with a dry swallow, that they haven't said ten words to each other.

He wonders how then, they are so magnetically drawn together.

Not knowing what to say, feeling that he has just discovered something heavy, (which is perhaps also the cause of Dean's distress) Castiel stutters a few aborted thoughts before wondering if in addition to everything else maybe Dean is distraught because Castiel had been a little too over eager with the green-eyed virgin-adonis. He could tell easily that Dean had never been with another man. And Castiel, for all of his intentional smoothness during the act, had gotten carried away despite himself.

Dean was, after all, wielding of some sort of power over him. Intoxicating.

Castiel didn't know what it was inside him that made him feel suddenly so desperate not to have the man run off on him.

"I didn't... hurt you...?" he asks nervously.

Dean shakes his head no, but offers Castiel no calming words. He simply lets his eyes glaze over as he stares, hard, toward the baseboard.

"I hope I didn't... freak you out," Castiel offers awkwardly. "I mean, you didn't seem freaked - I mean," he adds quickly, not wanting Dean to have a big gay panic he seemed so on the verge of. "You were... I... it was really good for me, I mean -"

"Really good," Dean whispers, barely audible, nodding slightly and staring forward at nothing. "The best," he adds, with a pained expression. "How could I not...?"

"Dean?"

"I keep wondering if maybe I've been this way all along. But... but I can't..." he shook his head like it was all too much for him. "I've never... there weren't any other guys I ever... felt like this about. I've never wanted... Never. How is that...?"

He looks to Castiel for an answer, but the sight of him flushed and round-eyed and with such inexplicably sexy bedhead, causes a pang of attraction so deep he has to look away again.

"People don't just change like that," he states.

"Maybe..." Castiel starts nervously, "maybe it doesn't matter as much as we think." He can feel Dean looking at him from the corner of his eye. "Maybe it's like... a person to person basis. Not so much about 'gay' or just women or just men or always both but... just one person. No matter how they think they... identify. Maybe we just fall for people, individually. And all the other stuff is just kind of..." he shrugs, running out of words.

Part of Dean wanted to rail against him, feeling a sudden bout of denial. But what he feels for Cas is stronger than that, and he can't. What Cas says, is kind of... perfect. It was beautiful. And just maybe, it was true.

He didn't become gay. He just, fell in love, unexpectedly, with the right person. Like getting struck by lightning.

Dean turns, suddenly shaky, and looks Cas over in a way that has the other man feeling like he's under a microscope. Then he meets Castiel's eyes, like it's the hardest thing in the world.

"You look scared," Castiel admits out loud, not sure if it's a good idea.

Dean swallows hard and says, "I think I like you too much."

Castiel's heart thuds at the words. "Yeah, you kind of came out of nowhere for me too..." He tries to laugh, but he's distracted by Dean, by how handsome he is, and how utterly sincere. "I like you a lot too. Since the moment I saw you... I don't really know why..." his brow furrows, as if trying to untangle the exact moment he fell under Dean's spell.

Dean looks shyly down at the sheets, then reaches a hand out tentatively, touching his fingers to Castiel's chest before sliding his palm against it. He can feel Castiel's heartbeat.

Castiel threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Dean's head and pulls him in, uncertainly, until their lips touch again. It feels so right to both of them, they don't bother to question it any further.

Castiel is sitting on the kitchen counter, newly showered and dressed, in a worn t-shirt and some oversized drawstring sweatpants. Dean is leaning against the adjacent counter, redressed in his work clothes from the day before. He is nervous all of a sudden, staring down into his coffee, heart thudding in his throat. He realizes that now that they're out of the safety of the bedroom, everything they'd said to each other might be void. He worries, with an astonishingly deep panic, that Castiel might feel different now. He thinks that if this was some freak incident, then he doesn't want things to go back to normal.

Castiel clears his throat, and Dean looks up to see the man furrowing his brow, also looking down into his coffee.

"I've never done this you know..."

Dean looks at him with raised eyebrows.

"Not this this," he adds with a hurry. "I mean... I've never, just, brought anyone home before."

Dean believes him.

"I'm glad I did," Castiel adds after a moment, eyes trained on Dean, waiting for a response.

Dean can't help it, he smiles. And it's so genuine, so full of obvious relief, that Castiel smiles back.

The next morning Dean offers to take the third shift whenever it's open from now on, citing that he could use the money. And every night he works it he goes home with Castiel.

They talk, sometimes they drink, they make love, then they lay until they're hungry and either eat cold leftovers or Dean makes them something in the frying pan.

They watch old episodes of MASH on Castiel's old TV, situated someway or another on his old futon couch, and Castiel cards his fingers through Dean's hair or kisses the back of his neck, and Dean plays absently with Castiel's fingers, awing as he sometimes does at how he'd never found anyone's hands so beautiful.

Castiel keeps expecting the other shoe to drop - for the magic to disappear. He expects that the more he finds out about Dean, the more the mystery is killed, the less he will like him. But it doesn't happen like that, and Castiel can't understand what's happened to cause him to become so lucky. He grows, in a startlingly short amount of time, to love Dean deeply. Not just his intoxicating sexuality, but the way he hums when he cooks, the way he talks about his brother with love and pride, the expression he makes when he's thinking, the sound of his laugh. The way he looks at him, Castiel himself, as though he is really something.

In the fourth week of their new routine Castiel admits that he might be addicted to Dean.

Dean admits that he's never felt the way he feels for Castiel for anyone else, that he can't imagine ever feeling this for anyone else, that he doesn't think he ever will.

Three days later Dean brings Castiel to his weekly breakfast outing with Sam. A brotherly tradition instituted by their mother years ago. Dean is a little too vehemently his usual self, offering no explanation to his brother as to who this blue-eyed new guy is, leaving Sam and Castiel amicably floundering in the social awkwardness of the situation. The two strangers, who have nothing but Dean in common, head up to the juice machine together as an excuse to interact without Dean there tensely watching.

Sam begins, "So..." And immediately looses his nerve.

Castiel is similarly plagued, wanting to explain, wanting to say clearly and concisely that yes, Sam's straight brother is now his and his alone and they are very much together. But he can't. No words come out except, "Yep... Um..."

It's Sam who pony's up finally, with a deep breath and a stubborn (and, Cas notices fondly, very familiar) set to his shoulders, and says, "You're with Dean, right? I mean, you guys are like, a thing?"

Castiel smiles slightly at the stuttered but not at all judgmental way Sam puts it. He nods with certainty.

Sam simply takes a quiet moment to think it over before saying, "Huh..."

He gets his juice and stays by Castiel's side until he is done doing the same and they walk back to the table together.

Sam watches Dean's body language as they sit back down. The way his tense shoulders relax a little once Cas is beside him, the way his body cheats toward him ever so slightly, the way his arm twitches toward Castiel's in some subconscious desire for contact.

Sam can't help but smile. He tries to hide it, but he just can't. Dean gives him a hard look when he notices, as if he's angry that Sam might be making fun. But Dean's glare softens when Sam's smile continues regardless of his piercing, big-brother I'll kick your ass-eyes.

Sam gets it, Dean realizes. And his chest relaxes in unmeasurable relief. Castiel can all but feel Dean let go of his tension, and he knows immediately that he is going to like Sam a great deal.

They don't talk about Dean and Cas, how sudden it all is. How entirely out of the blue. Not today. The story can wait for another morning.

They have a pleasant breakfast as though they'd always all been friends. The first of many.

The ache of loneliness Dean had felt, is gone. The intangible something he'd been looking for, it turns out, is very solid after all. Sitting right beside him, drinking black coffee and tilting his head at his brother in a moment of miscommunication that Dean chuckles at, somehow knowing it will become commonplace.

Please review if you like. I hope it was enjoyably lovey-dovey. I was in the mood for some fluffy, romance.