*trigger warning – panic attack and a bit of car stuff*

Simple Pleasures – Chapter 11

"Working on Valentine's day must've sucked," Charlie's buzzy voice said through Dean's headset. Her character on Hunters of the Apocalypse ran forward up a hill, its giant axe bobbing into the distance. The axe quickly turn around and bobbed back towards Dean as a red, mountainous troll lumbered into view behind the hill. "Shit shit shit shit shit ruuuuuuuuuuuuun! No don't freeze! Dammit, no!... Aaand I'm a bloody pancake."

"Nah, wasn't anything big. The only holidays that matter to me anymore are birthdays. And Christmas, " Dean replied, taking his character around the hill to try to take the beast out from behind. "I can't believe you talked me into playing this thing again."

"I can't believe you gave this up. Also, I can see the troll from my respawn point – it's tailing you."

"Fuck."

"Hey, that's another way to say he's tailing you!"

"Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"…Okay…"

"…I was kidding."

"Oh… sometimes I can't tell when you're being snarky and when you actually mean what you're saying."

"Me neither – shit DIE YOU OVERGROWN WARTHOG!"

"…You missed."

"I CAN SEE THAT!" Dean roared, grabbing his mouse and yanking it back to throw it, but a five-second timer popped on Dean's screen, centered on the scattered entrails of his character. His arm slackened as burnt rubber smacked his nose and broken glass pricked his skin. He saw the notebook, the dead roses, the manila envelope, and the clock, so he lowered the mouse and swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. "But yeah. Valentine's day. Not a thing."

"…Have you mentioned that to Cas?" Charlie asked.

"No, why?"

"'Cause I'm pretty sure it was a thing for him."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes as his character popped back on screen. He clicked a few times to pick up the items he lost from his last trouncing, skipping over the glass on his skin for the slam of his back against the stands of the Café's storage room. A pillow of cinnamon and butter replaced the oily tarmac, and a blue blush behind two eyes pushed his remaining mental pins out of his mind. "Can't I just play the game?"

"You can, but, like, Dean? I gotta meddle here; you two guys are dating. Valentine's day is a thing for people who are dating. And, like - - HAH HAH, TAKE THAT BIATCH - - a few weeks back something major happened between you two and I know you haven't really gone out since - - shit NO CAMP IN THE CORNER, YOU CANNOT SEE ME BEHIND THIS TWIG NOOOOOOooooo…,"

"What did he tell you?"

"Quiet the troll will get me."

"It's a video game, Charlie; what did he say?"

She sighed. "All I know is that the day after our botched pie and pizza night he was floating on air and saying he was so proud of you, and ever since then it's been a downward slide into ditched boyfriend-ville. I know you guys aren't using that label or anything and, like, that's cool, but you guys are still attached and… you're a cool dude, Dean, but if you're trying to cut things off by distancing yourself from Cas then that's not okay."

"I'm not trying to – look, I honestly haven't been able to get away from work, alright? I took a lot of time off in January and now I've been putting that time back in, but I had a tight schedule to start with, so –"

"GAH! HE FOUND ME! RUN! RUN! YES! GET HIM! IN THE HEAD! HAH HAH, HOW'S IT FEEL TO BE MONOCULAR YOU - - NO NOT OFF THE CLIFF! NO! GAAAH I WILL KILL WHOEVER PROGRAMED THIS TROLL INTO EXISTENCE AND COOK A STEW COMPRISING HIS BLOOD AND CHILDREN!"

Dean listened to heavy breathing for a few moments. "You okay over there?"

"…Violence is always the answer," she said.

"Sure thing, Xenia."

"I'm taking that as a compliment," Charlie replied. "You were saying?"

Dean sighed. "Let's just change the topic."

"Ah, well… okay," Charlie said. "So… what'd you do on Valentine's day then? Aside from working."

"Slept," Dean said.

"Ah."

"You?"

"Booty call with an ex," Charlie said. "That night's probably going on my top ten list of worst decisions ever."

"Sucks."

"Not really with women."

"Heh, yeah I know."

"Oh right! Bi, not gay; I keep forgetting."

"Yeah…," he said, and they fell into a hunter's trance, giving quips on the whereabouts of their target once Charlie respawned from her nose dive off the cliff. They circled around the hill again and then back to the cliff line, but a thunderous crunch to the game's south pulled Dean and Charlie into the untamed forest. They ran at first but slowed into sneak mode as the giant, red troll slipped into view.

"So, uh," Charlie started. "Have you and Cas… you know, tried the hip hop?"

Dean's character smacked into a tree.

"…Dean? You still there?"

"Yes."

"Yes you're there or yes you guys have tailed each other?"

"Yes I'm here and no we haven't."

"Oh… well why not?"

"Charlie—"

"What? A girl can't be curious about her friends' sex lives?"

"We're friends?"

"Duh, MichaelSword124. I like the alias, by the way. Very phallic."

Dean grinned. "Hey, over there, it's going deeper into the forest."

"'Course it is. I'll flank it from the east. And seriously, why haven't you tapped that ass?"

" 'Cause why should I tell you?"

"Cause I got some on V-Day and you two should have had the same chance to have a hilariously awkward, heart crushing experience. Also, Dean? The whole keeping all the facts of your life secret thing? Yeah, friends don't do that. Plus it got old a month ago. Stop it, freshman."

Dean rolled his eyes but smiled. "Are you a nympho or something?"

"Nope; I am sexually empowered and unashamed of it."

He sighed. "It's following you, I'll go for the legs." After a few failed attempts at cutting down the troll, Dean said, "It's not like I'm not interested in him like that, but… he's…,"

"Mormon?"

"What? No, dude… there hasn't been a chance to do anything, and, like… I dunno, he's just…"

"Mormon," Charlie said. "Wants the committed relationship pin before anything sexy happens?"

"No, and since when was that just a Mormon thing? He's just… not into sex that way. Like… fuck, am I gossiping?"

"Kinda," Charlie replied. "Go on though. Pseudo-gossiping is how people figure out their internal crap."

Dean's eyebrows bobbed once as he nodded. "Kay, so… well… we talked about this stuff. Kinda. And he said that he's not… how'd he say it… that he wished that "sex" wasn't in "sexuality," and like… lately I've been real casual about sex and having fun, and I don't want to, you know… push him into doing something he doesn't want to do. And I don't to be casual about it with him, and, like, sex is this awesome, fucked up thing and Cas's – I don't wanna see him like he's nasty or – why're you laughing?"

"Oh man, Dean, oh man, oh boy, oh man," Charlie said. "Whoa, midnight, I should probably log off soon to get my paper done. But right, the topic. Dean, you little complex cutie… Castiel has a friggin shower sex fetish. And apparently has been daydreaming about doing that with you since your guy's' first pseudo-date. He's into sex, just take a little warming up. Whoa, hello there you crimson big boy, time to die."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but his words melted as all the blood in his brain was diverted to create a giga-boner. He eventually managed "gurgle-gurgle."

"What was that, Cthulu?" Charlie said. "Watch it! Saved your ass Dean; head in the game!"

"Right, right, got it—YEAH, TAKE THAT!" Dean roared as the behemoth fell to the ground, one leg successfully sliced off. "Get its arms!"

"One step ahead of you, Winchester!" Charlie yelled. "Aaaand this troll is a rollin'! Wait, is he…? Shit, he's actually rolling down the hill; catch him!"

"Since when was gravity across chunks a thing in this game!?" Dean yelled as he sent his character rocketing off in chase.

"Since update 16.2, dude. NO NOT OFF THE—and he's off the cliff," Charlie sighed. "So much for our Toll-bone armor."

"Fuck," Dean said, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at his watch: midnight. Cas would call soon for their nightly "check up," or chat or whatever. Dean's smile spread wider, reaching the bathroom, the shower and its steaming water, its thick air and slidability… and its just enough space for two. "Yeah…damn."

"Yeah," Charlie said. "I think the troll respawns in fifteen minutes or something if you want to try again."

Dean's fingers unzipped his jeans. His thumb rubbed several inches of strained, black cotton. "Mm… I can hang, just gotta do something firs-"

Dean's cell-phone buzzed on the corner of his desk. He clenched his jaw and said, "Hang on, getting a call," before taking off his headset and grabbing the phone. His smile resurfaced as he read the seven numbers on the incoming call graphic. Dean opened the phone and said, "Hey… I was just thinking about you."

"The television show you recommended is addicting," Dean heard Castiel say. How did the man manage to sound like gravel and velvet simultaneously? "Also, I am finished using your lap-top. You own a surprising amount of porn."

"Oh, yeah, sorry 'bout that," Dean said. He wasn't.

"Please tell me there is more than this one season of Firefly," Castiel asked.

"No can do," Dean said. "Canceled after the one."

"But… but why? The setting is immersive, the characters unique yet relatable, the plots engrossing and human; it's not logical to cancel such an excellent program!"

"Yeah, well, not all choices are made based on logic," Dean said, pushing his free hand back down to his crotch. "They made a movie though."

"I want to see this movie at your earliest convenience," Castiel said.

"You free tonight?" Dean asked while stroking.

"…What are you doing?"

"Hm?"

"You… your voice sounds deeper than usual."

"Ah, well, can't help that," Dean said. He smiled in Castiel's silence because he knew the barista was tilting his head to the side.

"Unfortunately I am not available tonight. I have a meeting with my boss in a few minutes that will likely go late," Castiel replied.

"Your boss?" Dean sat up and frowned. "Lemme guess, you can't say anymore than that?"

"…Even though I want to, you're correct, I can't."

"Damn," Dean said. Dean checked his pants. Supernatural talk seemed to deflate happy things.

"Maybe next weekend? I can pull a free night next Saturday," Dean offered.

"March 7th… that will be perfect," Castiel replied. "Though… Dean, what are you doing up this late after you've been working all day?"

"I'm just, uh… I'm playing on Hunters of the Apocalypse with Charlie."

"That sounds ideal for you two."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Two Kansas natives playing a hunting game? Sounds like an excellent bonding experience."

"It's not actually a hunting game."

"I know. I've seen Charlie play it in the café—wait, do you have a second computer?"

"Yeah," Dean said, squirming into a more relaxed position for his hips.

"How did you afford that?"

"I, uh… I didn't buy it. I found a bunch of junk computer parts around the Yard and the recycling center when I've been dropping off wrecks, so… I just got a lot of them and figured out how to fix one up. No biggie."

"…And you say I'm the paranormal one?"

Dean smiled. "It's not as hard as you think."

"I burned myself trying to fix the milk steamer this afternoon. It only required a new washer. I still burned myself. Building a computer from scrap is quite as hard as I think it is and you are either downplaying your capacities or delusional."

"It's not building anything from scratch, it's just fixing something that didn't know it was broken."

"Hunh…thank you for that, Dean."

Dean frowned. "Uh… you're welcome?"

"That was a beautiful observation of what you do, and it made me smile, so thank you."

"Aww, man, stop it," Dean said. Blush burned his cheeks. He was just starting to get used to the goofy, prickly feeling.

"When I can speak freely and truly, I do."

"You're gonna kill me with this being sweet business."

"Then perhaps I ought to stop now lest I do something irreparable," Castiel said. "Though, you possess impressive skill when it comes to repairing things, so perhaps you need not worry about accepting potentially explosive compliments."

Dean's blood shot downward again. "Explosive compliments," He smiled. "You know, fixing thing's not the only impressive skill I've got."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I've got this set of skills that's similar, not fixing things but definitely putting things together. Repeatedly," He licked his lips. "I should show them to you sometime. Especially in a shower."

Dean heard nothing for a few moments, inspiring worry, but the silence fell to an audible gulp and sharp breath.

"Well, I…,"

"Oh shit, hold on - Valentine's Day. Right, that was a thing, I'm sorry I didn't get to, you know… spend it with you."

"Hm…a month ago, I might've thought… no, sorry, that sentence was… never mind. Thank you for the apology, but you were working. You didn't have control of your location or vocation that night -Ah, I'm being called. But, before I go… you're not the only one with that would enjoy," he gulped. "An exhibition of your skill set."

The elastic of Dean's underwear pulled away from his skin.

"I have to go, but… may your March 1st be wonderful," Castiel said, and hung up.

Dean picked up the head set and tried to say, "Hey, be right back, bathroom," but before he said any of it Charlie said, "Do tell about this skill set, Mr. Explosive Compliments."

A hasty explanation, masturbation break, and week later, Dean once again strained against his jeans as the clock on Bobby's shop wall hit 11:20. His request for the day off that morning yielded only a glare from Bobby, so Dean put in his time over at the Locust shop, finishing six oil changes and claiming a car that had a rattling sound when driven was fixed. It wasn't. He came over here to finish the rest of his time at the clock and now there were just ten… more… minutes.

The phone in Bobby's office clanged, followed by an old sigh and the shuffling of papers. The hoary man stepped out into the front of the building and scanned Dean for a moment before saying, "You sure are antsy."

"Yeah, well…," Dean said, tapping the corner of the particle board counter. He pulled out his phone, checking for a flashing NEW VOICEMAIL banner, but there was nothing. He shut it again.

"Yeah well what?" Bobby said.

"Yeah well I wanna get outta here."

"Uh-hunh," Bobby said in a dangerously paternal tone. "You never did say why you're so itchy to get the day off. Usually I'm the one fightin' you to take it easy but now you're… like a teen princess waiting for her prom date."

Dean flicked his gaze to Bobby. "You tryin' to say somethin'?"

Bobby gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Just that you're up to somethin'. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're back in the land of the living, Dean, but…,"

"Hey if you got something to say, say it," Dean spat. "I'm not going to the café if that's what you're thinking, Mr. Obsessed With Unsolved Murders on Roofs."

"Didn't say you were," Bobby said. "But you're the one that can't seem to stop… getting tea…"

Heavy silence followed.

Dean rubbed his jeans. "What do you want me to say, Bobby? My life's my business."

"Yeah," Bobby said. He pressed his bottom lip up, pushing his old skin into the deep lines Dean sometimes forgot were there. Bobby breathed deep as he shoved a few folders into the boxes for outgoing mail along the wall. "I aint your daddy Dean, don't need to know every damn thing all the time, but just watch yourself, y'hear?"

Dean frowned.

"Now get," Bobby said, flicking the light switches near the mailbox. Dean clapped the top of the front counter and headed out to the Impala, rubbing the back of his neck. He revved the car's engine and Led Zepplin's Boogie with Stu chugged through the speakers. Dean's smiled revealed every tooth as he slipped into a wet daydream. He didn't even realize the new voice-mail on his phone until he pulled into park outside of the Obolus. He grabbed his phone while stepping out, saw the notification, and flipped it open for a quick listen as he walked around the front of the car.

"Dean, it's Sam," the voicemail said. Dean grabbed hold of a light post. "I'm not going to talk about when I got out of there or how it 'should have been' anything. Yeah, I was pissed about the house, but just because I was pissed about not even being consulted about that doesn't mean that I want to have you or anyone in Lawrence in my life again. And I'm still pissed about the house by the way, not that you'll care."

"Ahh, dammit Sammy," Dean breathed. "You sound just like that girl…"

"I don't care that now you want to talk, got it? You missed your chance a long time ago, and you don't get another one. So stop leaving messages, stop calling me – in fact how about you just stop-,"

Dean snapped his phone closed and glared beyond the dark shops across street. He sniffed once and nodded softly to himself. He took a breath, swallowed, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He looked up New Hampshire towards the Kaw, pulling off his coat. The night was warm and humid for March. He stared for a few moments before taking a step forward to feel the wet air on his face and arms. He squeezed his free hand a few times until water gathered between the creases in his hands, warm as tears.

He'd try again in a week, Dean decided. Let himself cool off, let Sam cool off, and then try again. Sometimes people tell you to give up, and you should listen to them, but sometimes you should just give up the way you're doing things instead of the thing you're trying to achieve. Dean had figured that out after the run in with the adolescent ghosts, and had talked it out with Castiel one night. He'd even written it down on scratch paper and duct taped it to the top of his bed so when he woke up he could remember why he was getting up.

But he still glared in the general direction of Kansas City and yelled, "BITCH!"

Dean turned and walked back to the Café, went inside, and found Castiel at the table in the far corner, jumping to his feet and hitting the tabletop with his knees. The barista, ever crisp in his white button down, dark jeans, and apron, sucked on his lips. Dean settled his rough breathing and strode towards the table, holding up his backpack. "Hey there, tea man, ready for some Serenity?"

Castiel's face flushed. His head dipped slightly, and when his mouth opened he swallowed as if being choked. His shivering thumbs and forefingers gripped the bottom of Dean's shirt and tugged, bringing Dean closer. Dean's heart kicked up to thundering as Castiel brought them close enough for Dean to see the dark blue specks inside the rims of Castil's irises. The barista's fingers traced the edges of Dean's jeans, above where a belt buckle would go.

"Hi Dean," Cas breathed.

"Hey," Dean replied. "You're… touchy… tonight."

"I am," Cas said.

"So, uh…," Dean swallowed, grasping at the blood draining from his brain so he could make a few more words. "Hi."

"Hello there," Castiel smiled and looked down slightly.

"Movie?"

Castiel took a sharp breath, licked his lips, and said, "Not tonight."

"Sex and sexuality?" Dean asked. "Not a thing anymore?"

Cas's hands reached up to Dean's pounding chest, grabbed wads of his shirt and pulled him onto Cas's mouth. It took a moment for Dean to register anything beyond aww yeah; when he did he grasped that Cas's lips were hungry. They pushed against his own, nibbled at the edges, Cas's tongue flicking tastes when a gasp of air emerged. A carnal Castiel? That was different.

Dean realized he was spinning a moment before his back pressed up against the wall. He dropped his bag and grabbed at Cas's ribs, happy to bite blue eyes back. He repositioned his feet so he could hold his own weight and pulled Cas against his hips, reaching behind him to untie his apron. Cas's elbows slid up Dean's chest and over his arms as Cas's nails moved into the hair on Dean's temples, curling around until his thumbs gently traced the features of Dean's ears.

"Damn," Dean gasped, pulling away and knocking his head against the wall, eyes closed. "You know what I need before I do."

Dean felt Cas's hot breath pulse over his face a few times before it vanished. Dean opened his eyes to ask why no more making outs? Cas's growing frown instead made him stutter, "Oh don't give me that look, that's the 'I'm not getting any tonight' look, and – no, after that welcome party, NO-"

"What's…," Castiel sighed. "What's been on your mind?"

"Shower sex. And you. There. Possibly doggy-style."

"Dean," Castiel said. "If you would like, we can… continue… but you could also tell me why… physical pleasure is what you need right now."

Dean didn't want to touch that question or its answer. He wanted to touch… wait… this was the sex and sexuality thing. He never said... Dean slowed his panting and let his hands slip to Cas's waist.

"My brother finally called back," Dean said, with a wince. He tried to take a deep breath but it slipped into a yawn. "He wasn't… he was dick about the whole, 'hey, let's have feelings and sing koombaya' thing."

Castiel nodded. "Is that all?"

Dean's jaw clenched for a moment, but he grinned and cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, no biggie."

Castiel gave a little smile before his fingers slipped under Dean's shirt. "Reassuring to know. We should move upstairs."

"I'm fine with wherever," Dean smiled, looking at Cas's lips again. Castiel clambered out of Dean's arms and stumbled over a chair on his way to the front door of the café. As he locked it and pulled dust covered blinds down over the windows, Dean caught a translucent glance at the barista's dark wings. He was going to finally touch those a few minutes. Dean looked down at his filled crotch and muttered, "Okay, buddy, don't mess anything up."

"You said something?" Castiel asked as he moved behind the counter to shut off the lights.

"Eh, nothin'," Dean said, but Castiel popped an eyebrow, so Dean picked up his bag and said, "I was uh… What was your favorite episode of… you know, the-"

"Firefly," Castiel finished.

"Yeah, that one."

Castiel glanced at the cellar doors in the storage room before hitting the lights, then faced Dean with his gaze to the ceiling. "The episode with the fire…"

"Out of Gas," Dean said. "Mal was pretty bad-ass in that one."

Castiel rolled his eyes but smiled, heading towards the stairs. "Yes, as was Inara and all of the other characters. I've rewatched it enough over the last week to appreciate it's deeper meaning. The situation breaks the illusion of safety the characters had. When they nearly ran out of oxygen, it forced them all to realize how dangerous space is, what was truly valuable to them, and… at the end of everything, we're all stranded on a little dot in the middle of nowhere space with just a little bit of air left. Lest someone somehow save the day when the camera isn't looking. It was very poignant."

"Okay, Roger Ebert," Dean said, chasing Cas up the stairs.

"Who's Roger Ebert?"

Dean stopped on the top step and rest his head on the wall. "God Cas, what am I going to do with you?"

"…things that I saw in your collection of pornography, I suspect."

Dean smiled up to his eyes as he leaped into Cas's room, kicking off his shoes. He found a red bottle of lube and red condoms under the lit table lamp, and Castiel leaning on the wall to take his shoes off strand by strand. Dean approached carefully and cupped Castiel's shaking elbow in his hand. "Nervous?"

"Somewhat," Castiel replied.

"You ever…?"

"Had sex with a man? Yes, but… it has been a while," He said. "Given your recent realization about your sexuality, I guess you have not."

"I'm about to," Dean said, pushing his hand under Cas's forearm to steady it. "And hey, the porn taught me a few things."

"Some of that porn was… rather unsanitary."

"Hey, I'm not the cleanest of guys," Dean breathed.

"So your socks indicate," Castiel said. He moved his arm off of Dean's and stepped closer to the bed, fingers on the neck chord of his apron. He pulled it off his head as if in pain, folded it quickly, and set it on the small dresser next to the night table. He finished the turn to look back into Dean with lightning behind his eyes.

"Not for nothing," Dean said. "But last time someone looked at me like that I got laid."

Castiel laughed a grin and said, "I believe this is when I say, 'that's the idea.'"

Dean took one step to catch Cas's smiling lips in his mouth, shivering happily into sin. Dean pulled with his teeth as Cas's hands reached up to his shoulders, turned him and pushed him down onto the bed. Dean's hands fell to Castiel's hips, straddling his own. As Cas's hand shot up under Dean's shirt Dean thrust up, making Cas's forehead collide into his.

"Ow," Castiel chuckled onto Dean's face.

"You like that?" Dean asked. Castiel bent around Dean's face to nip his jaw and murmur "yes" into his ear before tugging at Dean's shirt. Dean swallowed hard as his hips gave another little thump before he pushed himself up so Cas could pull his shirt off. Cas's hand cupped Dean's pec as he pushed in to kiss him, his thumb making small circles over Dean's skin.

Dean grabbed fistfuls of Cas's button down, struggling to pop the buttons. He couldn't just rip them, he had to slow down, focus on his fingers and the smooth, white fabric. Dean frowned. Cas wasn't dirty. Sex was dirty, he was dirty, but Cas wasn't. And Cas was just as much in this as Dean was. That couldn't be possible. The thought stung but Dean pushed it down. He wanted to just enjoy something for once, just have his guy and not have to react to something fucked up. He wanted to do something, dammit, he wanted to be the one doing the fucking for once.

That was the truth, wasn't it? Whenever Dean did choose to do something and find a sliver of connection he just fucked everything up, getting careless or toxic to everything he touched.

But there was Castiel, warm with a dew of sweat, sucking on Dean's neck, and how could the clean and the cursed exist simultaneously? Dean let out a small growl, tensing his legs and slapping his hands onto the bottom of Cas's jeans. He closed his eyes hard when he felt a scratchy smile on his neck. It tickled like the grass on the campus green the night dad died, when Sam ran out.

Dean growled a little louder, forming a loud, internal Fuck in his head. He saw his foot next to the pile of beer bottles, his brother sitting up and starting to stand, but Sam never grabbed his penis. Dean's eyes snapped open as a wet gasp shot out of his mouth. Castiel had shoved Dean's jeans down to his ankles and had a firm grasp on his shaft through his boxers. Cas's thumb slid over Dean's head and tapped the top slightly, pulling away with a thin string of precum.

Castiel started stroking with a tight grip while gnawing on Dean's collar. If he didn't do anything he was going to cum soon and Dean was not okay with that. He had to move. Dean used his hand to hook Cas's rubbing arm up to his shoulder and pulled Cas's head off his chest and up to his face. Castiel's mouth wouldn't stop tearing for Dean's skin, so Dean hushed him a, "Hey…"

Castiel's eyes opened, almost crazed. Dean held his face just outside of kissing range and rolled his thumb over the wrinkle lines on Castiel's forehead. The man was young, but already his skin was showing how much of the world's pain he understood. Dean pushed the rest of his jeans off his legs and bent his knees to cradle Cas's body in his, letting his fingers explore Castiel's face.

They were two paradoxes, weren't they? An angel and a sinner, both young but weary of carrying the weight of age, tangling their limbs in sheets and fingers. This wasn't possible either. How could it be? Dean's forefinger traced Castiel's eyebrows down to his cheekbone. The panting barista's eyes fluttered down to Dean's chest again, then his lips, but his breathing slowed and his gaze got stuck in Dean's. Dean smirked when the wrinkles formed a frown. He used his thumb to smooth them out again. Castiel sighed, and Dean felt his weight fall onto his body.

And there was that blue lightning again, but this time it seemed deep and thunderous instead of desperate. Dean smiled and leaned up to the side of Cas's face. He wanted to whisper something, but that something didn't seem to have words, so he bit down on Cas's ear lobe instead. Castiel gasped and Dean pushed him up, tugging his shirt down and tossing it, moving his mouth down the skin between his shoulder and neck. Dean smiled as Castiel sighed into him, pushing his fingertips up Dean's back as Dean did the same to him. Looking over Cas's shoulder, Dean found his large, dark wings, and he pressed into the grove of muscles on both sides of Cas's spine.

They were tight like Sammy's. The guy was huge, after all. Dean felt the groove through his brother's thick jacket in their pathetic hug. Dad was dead, and they weren't crying, but they were shaking like they wanted to. At least Dean was. Bobby had just called; he'd found the wreck and was pulling the Impala out of the Kaw. Apparently the windshield was the only truly mangled part, what with their father shooting through it and into the river.

"I'm still leaving," Sam said, pushing Dean off.

"Sam… we're gonna have to do a funeral," Dean said. Sam looked up like watching an airplane, pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly.

"He was your father, Sam. A fucked up guy, yeah, but he was still famil—You're just gonna leave me?! To deal with all this shit?"

Sam kept his gaze skyward as he said, "It's not my shit to deal with."

"…So I'm just shit, then?" Dean scoffed. "For a guy that hates his old man you sure sound like him."

"Don't you EVER compare me to that—"

"Hey, there it is again! Don't you ever; don't you dare; always gotta be right all the time,"

"Better than you, just sitting there and taking it all and doing nothing like Mom—"

Dean threw the first punch again, but let it go limp before it made contact, because what kind of person beats their family? People like their Dad. Dirty monsters.

Sam's face barely moved from the impact. He stepped back with an incredulous smile. "The fuck was that, Dean? That was the most pussy-ass punch I've ever seen!"

"Sam… c'mon… Mom's not… She's not gonna—"

"Don't go hiding behind—I mean, yeah, she's about as sharp as Mike Tyson, and she's got one fight left we know she's going to lose. It sucks. But, like, dude, she remembers you. Whenever you go in there she smiles. I go in there and she stares at the wall. So, yeah, sorry if I don't exactly have attachment issues."

"But she's…" Dean started to growl, but what was there to say? Dean turned his head down as his shoulder rose. "Fine. You wanna go? Get the fuck out of here you useless bitch."

"Better words were never said, but one last thing," Sam said, smiling before punching Dean in the jaw hard enough to send him crashing back onto the grass, breaking the remaining beer bottles under his back. Dean groaned and rolled over, a few pieces of glass pricking through his now wet jacket. He rubbed his jaw to make sure it wasn't broken, which it wasn't, but it certainly wasn't happy. After a few moments Dean heard the rev of the Mustang, their shared car, and then its purr vanishing into the night.

"Dick move," Dean muttered as he rolled up onto his haunches. He tried to move from his hands and knees, but his head was spinning from alcohol and a probable concussion, and his back was quivering. He needed help getting up. He needed Cassie, but he killed her, hadn't he? He needed mom to calm him down, or Dad to tell him to shut up and get up.

Dean opened his eyes and looked around the green. There was no one to help him. And there never would be.

His brain proposed a few images, like Ms. Moseley or Bobby, but he hadn't talked to the woman in years after he drove over her mailbox. She'd always remember that and never forgive him, no one ever did. And Bobby? That hard-ass alcoholic whose church was the Yard and whose holy water was oil? Oh yeah, the image of reliable right there.

Chill settled into the darkness. How was he going to finish paying for college without any income? He couldn't take more loans. Besides, if bitch-Sam was going to law school, any money that was left in the college fund was about to be gobbled up by Stanford. Dean wrapped his coat tighter to his chest.

What about the medical bills? The funeral cost? Dean grit his teeth and grabbed his skull, trying to make it stop. But how was he going to manage the mortgage on the house? Dad was already two months late on those bills, to say nothing of all the other debts that were piling up.

What about food? What about electricity?

His breath formed a cloud as Dean let his head drop between his shoulders.

He heard a pop. Dean opened his eyes, looked down at the wings beneath him, and heard Cas toss something back at the nightstand. He was still dirty, monstrous, horrible, but he wasn't alone.

Dean closed his eyes and grabbed hold of Castiel's wings and pressed his lips on Cas's shoulder, working back to Cas's lips until he felt something warm and wet sliding down his penis. Dean's eyes snapped open to find a pair of large, blue eyes smiling back into his, feeling Castiel's hand slowly stroking him.

"Oh God," Dean breathed, squinting his eyes shut again and sucking Castiel's lip into his. "Hell and God almighty."

Dean sat there and let Castiel love him until he realized the skin of his legs were pressing against denim. He smiled and whispered, "hold on," before laying Castiel down on the foot of the bed, carefully removing Cas's wet hand from his shaft. Castiel spread his legs, leaned over Castiel's hips, and kissed his smooth stomach as he unfastened Castiel's belt. Dean moved his lips to the bony protrusion of Cas's hips as he pulled down his pants, sitting up to wholly take them off Cas's legs, and then lay himself back down on top of Castiel, holding blue eyes' head in his hands as he kissed Cas's mouth, his eye lids, his ear, and his jaw.

"This is…" Castiel muttered, but the words fell into a smiling gasp. Dean's hands let go of his head and moved down Cas's skin to his hips.

"Hey Cas," Dean whispered.

"Yes?"

Dean pressed his shaft against the dip between Castiel's cheeks and thrust. Castiel smiled in return. Dean grabbed a condom and the bottle of lube, put on the first and drizzled the latter on top, then moved back to Cas, using his fingers to warm up and loosen him. After several minutes Dean took a breath – he was crossing a pretty big sexual threshold, after all – and slid himself inside. Castiel winced, which was normal from the porn Dean had studied: you go extra slow no matter how tempted you are to go fast to let the guy adjust and re-relax. But there was a trick Dean had noticed, something that made some bottom porn guys over the roof if done right or leave the entire scene lame.

"You ready?" Dean asked. "You good?"

"Yes," Cas said, but he sounded tense. Dean cupped his head again, pulled back slightly, then pushed all the way in until the last moment when he arced his hips forward hard. It strained his abs, but when Castiel gasped "Oh ho-ooly," it was worth it.

"Y'like that?"

"Do it again," Castiel gasped.

He did, making Castiel groan and dig his finger nails into Dean's back. "How are you doing this?!"

"I'm aiming," Dean breathed, hitting Castiel's prostate again and making him yelp. "Glad you like."

"Like… does not adequately describe my sentiment at the moment," Castiel gurgled.

Dean smiled. "This is for that tea on the house," he said, hitting it again. "And for your secret recipes… and for smelling so good… and for fucking everything."

They didn't talk for a few minutes, as their throats were busy making other sounds. With his abs burning and feeling too close to orgasm, Dean pulled out, resting on his haunches and elbows. His head dropped between his shoulders, found Castiel's mouth, and kissed it between pants. He opened his eyes to find Cas's were wide open and staring at the ceiling. "You in there?" Dean laughed.

Castiel blinked, shifted his lips to say something, but ultimately shook his head.

"M' pretty good when I set my mind to something," Dean smiled, sitting up. A police siren wailed in the distance.

Castiel smiled as he pushed himself up on his elbows, barely lit by the lamp and window light. "When you set your mind to something, you surpass handsome, Mr. Winchester."

Dean winced at the name, but pushed a smile onto his face. Except the damn siren was getting louder, and Dean looked up into the dark bathroom and Cassie was impaled on the fence. He shut his eyes and tried to shake it out, but the train was rumbling into the room, and he was kneeling on grass, on glass. He backed up – was he standing? He saw Mr. Winchester's bloated body in the casket. Mrs. Winchester's body in the casket. "Looks like you're Mr. Winchester now," Bobby told him then. His father's roar filled Dean's skull, followed by the slaps to the back of his head, the arm-twisting, the kicks to his back.

Dean felt his hands clutch his head and try to shake this off, but he was a monster defiling an angel, and that kind of poison doesn't come off. He fucks thing up, breaks things. He has to fix them up because he broke them, but he always breaks them again. He broke the family when he told mom what he liked. That was why she didn't remember Sam, why she turned away from Dad and why he turned against everyone else. Dean stole the love for his brother, for the whole family, and broke it. He stole a girl's heart and impaled it on the highway. He was going to do it again here, he knew it. He was going to break Cas, and you can't fix people.

Dean backed away. The room was too dark, the lamp warped into the headlights, fingernail prints into glass and concrete, every breath a siren, lube into gritty oil. Oil and fire make trains and cars burn, burns the kids he was supposed to save. The train whistle mixed with Cassie's scream as she soared through the windshield. Dean reached out for her, dad's baseball bat broke his arm again. Had to lie in the hospital. Don't trust doctors, nurses, don't trust anyone, because you have to keep your secrets. Dean was shaking, screaming for it to stop, but he couldn't; the sounds were cracking his skull, the places changing so fast he couldn't stand let alone sit.

Ms. Moseley slipped out of his fingers, Bobby was going to soon because Dean couldn't do anything. What use is being able to fix things when you're the one that broke them and break them again and again? He didn't deserve family, he didn't deserve intimacy, he didn't deserve college or money or food or life or meaning. He was always waiting for things to happen to him instead of doing things because to do is to want, and the harder you want the more meaning you have, and the more Death wants to pin you down, the more likely you're going to break it—

"Dean, you're having a panic attack! Stay with me!" he heard. His vision blurred, for a moment he was in a bedroom, Cas's, but it was the reverse of the hospital room with the dead roses, he didn't care enough, didn't love enough to water them, but if you love people learn your secrets, if you love people hate you, if you love you have meaning, you can't—

"Find your feet," Cas's voice ordered. How could he? The glass, the hell, the punishment for monstrosity—

"Your feet are on the rug. This is what rug feels like. The rug is in my room, which is where you are. It's above the Obolus Café, which is on New Hampshire Street in Lawrence, Kansas, in the Midwest of the United States, in North America, the Northern and Western Hemispheres, on Earth, the third planet in the solar system. It is just past midnight on March 8th, so it is nearly Spring. This is the moment you're in, not your memories. They happened in the past, but we are safe here. I'm with you. I'm here for you."

The memories thundered in Dean's mind, but he was sliding back into the room. His eyes were wet and raw, his jaw shaking. He looked down, saw the scattered papers on the kitchen floor, but then he saw his toes.

Just his toes on rug.

"You're here, in this room," he heard.

There were his toes.

He wiggled them.

Rug felt slightly scratchy and multi-layered, but firm.

He pressed his feet into the rug. Still firm. Strong hands released his elbow and shoulder and moved out of sight.

He was here. With Castiel. Butter and cinnamon, hungry kisses and soft skin.

Dean felt the bed sheets beneath him, moist from his sweat, and the cool air on his shivering skin. He turned his head and found Castiel sitting a few inches away, just as naked Dean but sturdy. Stubble was appearing on his jawline. Dean cracked a smile and slowly reached out to feel it, his rapid heart slowing.

"Nice fuzz," Dean croaked.

Castiel turned his head into Dean's hand, and that was it. Dean was breathing again, and his first exhale carried, "God I love you."

Castiel's eyebrows jumped, but his eyes slowly widened and he smiled the goofiest damn smile Dean had ever seen. Castiel's hand reached up to Dean's and interlaced their fingers.

As the adrenaline drained from Dean's head it dawned on him the enormity of what he just said. And that it wasn't true. Not entirely true. Right? C'mon, three months, no way Love happened that fast. Just the testosterone of sex talking. Maybe crazy panic stuff too. It took him way longer than that with Cassie.

But he didn't want Castiel to do anything other than what he did, didn't want him to be anything other than who he was, and didn't want him out of his life goddamn ever, and even if that wasn't entirely love… that was love enough. "Like…,"

"I know," Castiel said as his eyed reddened. He climbed over to Dean and wrapped his arms around Dean's body, tangling the fingers of their other hands together and pulling them over into the pillows of the bed.

This was a moment to say something in, but Dean didn't know what the words were. His breathing ached, and Castiel's warmth soothed his shivering. Maybe this was when Dean was supposed to reaffirm that he was a man, strong and independent and sexual, but right then he couldn't tell whether he was a boy, a teen, or an adult. And he loved someone who was loving him back, who was pressing ticklish kisses against his vertebrae.

Eventually words settled into Dean's mouth. "We're having the hottest fucking shower sex in the world."

He felt a hot sigh on his back, followed by the pressure of flesh and muscles pressing against his. "Agreed, but in the morning," Castiel whispered.

"No, now; let's break the fucking Guinness World Record," Dean said, slipping into a yawn. "Dammit, don't yawn…"

"You just had a panic attack, Dean. Extreme fatigue is a normal after-effect, it's past one in the morning, and you just gave yourself an intense work out. It's okay to sleep."

Another moment came that asked for words, but Dean didn't know them. Instead he let go of Cas's hands and turned over, and Cassie flashed in his eyes, but that wasn't real. That was pre-hell. This was post. Dean wrapped his legs around Castiel's as blue eyes grabbed the covers of the bed and pulled them up, resting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I fucking love you," Dean said again as he curled his head down to rest next to Cas's.

Wrapped in safety Dean began to slip into sleep, but not before hearing Castiel's gravel voice say, "I believe I have fallen for you… you're stronger and smarter than you let yourself know. Please know that, Dean."

Dean pressed his mouth forward for a kiss, but then he slipped into a warm, dreamless darkness.

Until he heard his phone ring.

A few rings in Dean realized what he was hearing, and said, "Fuckin' trible A…" His heavy body resented getting out of bed, but Dean crawled out anyway. He stumbled around for the pants pocket he left his phone in until he remembered it was actually in his jacket pocket. He found the jacket, flipped open the phone and growled, "Zachariah, fuck your-"

"D-dean?" Sam yelped.

Dean frowned and opened his eyes. "Sammy?"

"Dean…I don't…,"

"Dude, are you okay?"

Dean heard a shaky breath. "No."

"What is it? Where are you?"

"I'm… it's Jess."

Dean ran a quick, groggy inventory of his brain for names he knew: Jess was not one of them. "Dunno who that is, bro."

"My girlfriend, Dean, my girlfriend fell off the balcony and…"

"Shit…" Dean breathed.

"I don't have my stuff. I mean, my wallet, hers, nothing, I just went with the ambulance, and I need… my friends left for spring break in Corpus Christi, and I can't get a ride-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, text me your address and the hospital name and I'll—,"

Sam choked as he said, "Morgue. You're… going to…"

"Fuck, shit, Sammy… gimme the address, I'm on it."

Dean heard a faint sound of agreement before his brother hung up the phone. Dean stood there for a few moments until NEW TEXT MESSAGE appeared on his phone. He checked the address while willing his vision to stop wobbling. He wiped his face, shook his head, and grabbed his boxers, slipping them on while turning around to the bed. He walked over to Cas and reached out to shake him, but Dean grabbed a handful of covers. A few moments passed before he registered Castiel wasn't there.

Dean stood up and looked into the bathroom. Nope, door was open, room was dark. "Cas?" he called with a scratchy voice. Dean cleared it before calling again. "Cas!"

He stepped over their piled clothes, went out into the hall, and stumbled down the stairs, flicking on the light on the bottom. "Hey Cas, where are you?" Dean yelled. He looked into the Café, but it was dark too. He passed through the storage room and the kitchen to no avail, but when back in the storage room he saw that the doors to Acheron were unlocked. Ah, another soul needed guiding or whatever.

Dean jumped back up the steps to the second story hall to get his clothes, but a glimmer in the opposite, dark end of the hall caught his notice. Had he ever been over to this section of the building? Dean couldn't recall it. He walked down the hall and found black, metal stairs that led up to what Dean guessed was the roof. The railing seemed unnaturally shiny. He reached down to it and felt something sticky. He pulled his hand away, pulled the nearby light string, and found blood on his hands.

Several breathless moments passed before his knees started shaking.

"Hunh… so what'd happen if I picked you up and ran out the front door?"

Castiel grinned slightly. "You'd fall through the door and I'd stay in the building. Though I suspect I'd bleed profusely."

"Cas," Dean breathed. He grabbed the rail and leapt up the stairs but slipped. They were covered in it, blood everywhere, coloring him red. Dean heaved and whimpered, wrenching his face as a sob clambered up his throat. He finally screamed "CAS!"

"There was a death there about six months ago. This kid, Jamal Henry, was missing from a track meet in Athens, Georgia; he showed up on the building's roof with not an organ in him. Boy was just skin and bones. Police named the case cold the day before the new tenants opened."

Dean shoved himself up the last steps, punching the roof doors open, and running into the darkness. "CAS! GOD, CAS! CASTIEL!"

I bet y'all thought I abandoned you. Nope!
...please don't kill me.