Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas - Epilogue - Goodnight, America

The terrible thing about summer was its scathing iron grip. Although mornings weren't quite as awful, July was still the hottest month in Lawrence, and the heat thermals seeped through the walls and the cracks in the curtains while Castiel lay in bed- covers cast to the floor. The sweat on his arms and neck did little to cool him in the eighty-five degree heat, nearly twenty degrees hotter than the hottest days in Seattle.

Castiel rolled out of bed, peeling away from the sheets like a second skin. He searched the ground for his boxers, but settled for digging through Dean's drawer and snatching a pair of his. Castiel's were probably in the living room, if he could recall correctly, and his overnight bag shoved in the depths of the closet. He'd have to pack it up soon, but the drag of the morning and the strange cacophony echoing from beyond the door weighed heavily.

He grabbed a shirt- grey and large, and slipped it on. The angry rattle of voices beckoned him down the stairs.

"I don't know what's wrong with your job- it's decent work," John shouted. From where he stayed frozen on the stairs, Castiel scowled. "You think you can just go skipping away into the sunset with your Midnight Mistake and everything is just gonna work out?"

"It is gonna work out," Dean snapped, dropping a pan onto the stove. "Everything's gonna be fucking dandy- and you know how I know? Because you won't be there."

Castiel shifted, his weight on the stairs let out a gentle groan. John and Dean both turned to stare.

"Good morning," Castiel said. John recoiled from the sight of the half-dressed man on his son's staircase. "Dean didn't mention you would be visiting." It was not, in any sense their first interaction, or their second, or third, but the chips of ice on the both of their shoulders were bracing as they reared up at each other, Castiel's back straightening and John's eyes narrowing.

"Dad," Dean said.

"I hope you have fun dragging my son around, Castiel," John hissed. Castiel may have been two steps up, but John was too similar to his own estranged father to feel anything but inadequate. "Because when you're done, you will have wasted the prime of his life."

"Dad."

Castiel had the scathing retort ready on his lips, but John Winchester was already slamming the door behind him. Dean leaned against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose. Castiel slipped next to him.

"I'm so sorry," Dean said. "He's an asshole- don't let him get to you."

Castiel smiled and ran his hand down Dean's arm, squeezing gently. "It's okay," he said. "None of that is important."

It was clear that the argument had been extensive. The eggs were already whipped in in a bowl but never made it to the pan and toast was sticking up out of the toaster, getting cold. Castiel turned the stove on and leaned over to pressed a solid kiss at the junction of Dean's jaw and ear.

"It's okay," he repeated, taking the eggs. Dean rested with his arms crossed, expression gentle while Castiel poured the eggs into the pan. "You were making me breakfast?"

"I was making me breakfast. I just figured I may as well feed you while I'm at it."

Castiel smiled and brushed his hand over Dean's cheek. "You don't even like scrambled eggs," he said. Dean ducked his head to hide his grin, but Castiel saw it. He placed his hands at the dip of Dean's waist, caging him against the counter. When Dean looked up, Castiel stole another kiss. Behind him, where Dean's hands rested on the marble, Castiel slid his to interlock their fingers, despite the twisted, unnatural angle.

Their chests pressed together. Castiel kissed him harder, delved deeper, and inhaled the sweet sharpness of his aftershave.

"The eggs," Dean murmured. Castiel hushed him and suckled his jaw. "Don't forget the eggs."

"I'm not going to forget the eggs, Dean," Castiel grumbled, squeezing his arms tighter. If he squeezed hard enough, maybe he could draw Dean into himself, absorb all of his aspects, his precious parts… The freckles on his cheekbones and ears and the birthmark on his ribs and the tattoo on his chest… Castiel wanted them all. Dean pulled their hands apart only to wrap his arms around Castiel's shoulders and stroke his mussed hair. He, too, wanted to be connected.

"It's a big day," Castiel whispered.

"Huge," Dean said.

Castiel didn't burn the eggs. He and Dean ate them together at the table- their knees brushing one another.

"What time is it?" Castiel asked, engaged in battle with his favorite tie. Somehow, it kept getting turned backwards despite his many attempts to guide it correctly.

"10:33," Dean said, peeking into the bathroom. He slipped in after noticing Castiel's distress and began fixing the tie himself. "Sam should be here any minute."

"And Ruby?" Castiel asked.

"I think she's become a permanent fixture." Dean gripped the now perfect tie and pulled Castiel in for a quick kiss.

"You're going to ruin it," he said, pulling back.

"Shut up, Cas." Dean kissed him once more before turning to the mirror and running his fingers through his hair.

"You look fine, Dean."

"I know that," Dean said. Castiel, from behind, settled his hands on the curve of Dean's hips.

"Lame," a voice said from outside the bathroom. Both Castiel and Dean jumped and turned to see Ruby leaning against a bookshelf. "Aren't you two running late?"

"How the hell did you get in here?" Dean asked, not sounding nearly as surprised as he might have before. "I deadbolted it."

"She's got a lock-pick kit," Sam said, revealing himself. "It's actually pretty interesting to watch."

"Can we maybe not break into my house?"

"Better now than half an hour ago," Castiel said, buttoning his sleeves. "I don't imagine the sight would have sat well with the two of you."

Sam buried his face in his hands and Ruby let out a bark of laughter.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Sam whined.

"Very eager to get rid of us, isn't he, Cas?"

"I agree, Dean. Very."

But Sam wasn't wrong- Dean and Castiel were running late. The two suitcases against the bed were filled to bursting and still Castiel was shoving last minutes items into a duffel bag. "You'll take care of things, won't you?" Dean asked. "And don't forget to clean under the grills. And if you're gonna vacuum, make sure you go along the grain and-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "I got this. You have fun."

"I don't think he trusts us," Ruby said, winding an arm through Sam's.

"Well, she's not wrong," Castiel murmured. "Dean, the house will be fine. We still need to make a stop so we've got to leave right now."

Dean would have preferred the whole ordeal not be rushed, especially when, at the door, Sam drew him in for a hug. He recalled when it was Sam that had his bags packed and a plane to catch- and now, he wasn't sure how long it'd be before his saw his mother's front door again.

"It's a big day," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "I know."

It was time to leave.

The Roadhouse had never been so full. Bodies were pressed into every corner, every chair. The flatscreen TVs on the wall, brand new, glittered with chattering voices. It took a fair amount of elbows to shove their way to where Ellen stood amid the crowd.

"Well look who decided to show his face," she said, setting her hands on her hips, a dirty washcloth clutched in one. "Mr. Midnight Matters himself."

"It's good to see you again, Ellen," Castiel said, holding out a hand. Ellen ignored it to draw him into a brief and extremely tight hug. "Although I fear it may be the last time for a while."

"Oh right," she said. "The third."

"Yep, the third," Dean said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and placing a kiss on her cheek. "Is Jo around?"

"Aw, you remembered little ol' me?" Jo said, walking out from the back room. "Hey Dean, Cas."

"Jo," Castiel smiled and shook her hand. Her grip was firm and left an ache in his palm and it was wonderful- welcoming. Dean swooped in for a hug. "I have your letter." Castiel pulled an envelope from his back pocket and held it out. "If this doesn't get you in, I'm sorry but nothing will."

"Little Jo is going to college. It's enough to make me weep," Dean gushed, wiping away an invisible tear.

"With my internship and a recommendation from Mr. Midnight Matters, my acceptance should pretty much be guaranteed." Jo waved the letter around. "Can I grab you two something to eat?"

"We're actually leaving," Dean said.

"Oh, that's right. The third." Jo scowled. "You sure about this, Dean?"

"About as sure as anything."

Jo looked at Dean and saw the boy whose heels she once followed- who scared off the boys at her middle school that harassed her in gym class- who gave her a beer under the shade of the bus stop on friday night when she ran away from home for the first time. "You're gonna be awesome," Jo said. "And I'm gonna come see you soon."

"Not too soon," Dean said. "School first."

"School first," she agreed.

Jo tried to watch them go, but the silhouette of Dean and Castiel as they stepped out into the sun was poignant and she had to look away.

"I hate planes," Dean said.

"I know. You've said so a hundred times," Castiel replied, taking Dean's luggage from him and tagging it with expert precision.

"Not a hundred. Not yet. Can you please remind me why we can't drive?"

"Because you refused to leave until Sam got here. He already agreed to bring the Impala up in a few weeks. Don't worry so much."

"I always worry about Baby."

"Baby will be fine."

"Dean!" Dean and Castiel turned to where the shout rang from just in time for Alex to barrel into the both of them. Her arms, surprisingly, could wrap around the both of their waists. Dean let out a silent, relieved sigh.

"Did you think you'd get away that easy?" Jody said, walking up, Bobby alongside her.

"You're late," Dean said, wrapping his arms around Alex. Castiel pulled away to hug Jody and shake Bobby's hand. "We need to board."

"Ungrateful," Bobby muttered, slapping Dean on the shoulder. "All these years together and you think you can just shrug me off? Do I look like a ditchable prom date to you?"

"Very funny," Dean mocked, but there was weakness in his eyes.

"It's tonight, right?" Jody asked.

"That is correct," Castiel said. "Dean? We've really got to go."

"Yeah." Dean returned the slap to Bobby's shoulder, but let his hand rest there a moment, squeezing. "You'll be listening won't you?"

"Boy, you think I have anything better to do with my night?" Bobby said.

Dean didn't like goodbyes, and all Castiel ever really knew were goodbyes. The two of them were forced to meet in the middle, Dean saying not goodbye but until next time and Castiel accepting that somehow he had found himself in more permanent company. When Dean verbalized his disinclination to board the plane, Castiel pretended it was because of his fear of the flying death-trap, but knew it was only his reluctance to leave.

Finally, at last call, Castiel took his hand and lead him aboard.

"I can't believe you didn't bring an umbrella," Castiel said. He and Dean were tucked under an overhead as rain poured in torrents onto the street. Where cars swerved by, puddles became sheets splattering on the sidewalk, drenching their feet. "We're not both going to fit beneath mine."

"It's July!" Dean shouted, hardly able to hear even himself over the downpour slapping the ground. "It's not supposed to storm in July."

"Normally I would say that this is Seattle and you should have expected this, and yet, I do believe that this is more than the average amount of rain we receive this time of year." Castiel dropped his duffle bag to the floor, right into a puddle, and unzipped it. "Our wettest months are rarely past spring."

"Yeah, well, I don't know if you notice but it's storming."

"I noticed." Castiel took out his trenchcoat- folded into a neat bundle, and shook it out. It unrolled like a scroll. "Come on," he said, spreading it open at the lapels. "This should get us to the parking lot."

Dean stood close to Castiel, so close that their shoulders were pressed together, and Castiel drew the coat over the both of their heads. "You think this is gonna work?" Dean asked.

"I have faith," Castiel replied.

As they dashed out into the storm, they laughed like children playing in the front yard. The coat crinkled where they gripped it- billowing in their wake.

The grocery store smelled mostly of the rotisserie chickens that were perfectly crisp along the edges and the over-ripened cotton candy grapes that Dean grabbed two bunches of.

"I'm so tired," he groaned, resting his folded arms on the bar of the grocery cart. "I need to sleep. The jet lag is killing me."

"It's only 2:30," Castiel said, fishing through a stack of zucchini. He held them up, one at a time, turning and examining them closely. Dean is certain he'd seen the same look of concentration on brain surgeons. FInally, Castiel selected two.

"TIme zones are a thing, Cas," Dean whined, resting his forehead on his arms. "Planes wreck me. It's not natural."

"Mushrooms?" Castiel asked.

"Gross."

"Bell peppers?"

"God, yes."

Castiel held each out to Dean, who leaned closed and inhaled deeply. He veto'd several, before finding those with the most perfect, succulent scent. In the end, they placed two plump red and a single green one into the cart.

"What were you saying?" Castiel asked, dragging the cart and Dean further down the isle.

"I'm just saying that I'm tired. Why couldn't we nap first?" Dean asked. He grabbed a box of crackers and a can of spray cheese and added them to the cart.

"Because there is virtually no food at my place." Castiel took the spray cheese back out, but left the crackers. As they wheeled away, Dean looked back and sighed. "Stop being over dramatic," Castiel said. "Now, help me find pluots."

"You have to get pluots?" Dean asked. "I don't even know what a pluot is."

"It is a staple." Castiel scowled at bins of plums and apricots. "I need ten."

"You need ten," Dean repeated. "Ten pluots."

"You can get some too, if you wish."

Dean scoffed. "You were going to eat all ten?"

Castiel walked back to Dean and rested his chin on his shoulder. "All ten," he agreed.

Dean kissed his forehead and rested his cheek against it. "Well, I guess we better find those… what are they?"

"Pluots."

"Pluots, then."

Castiel hid his smile in Dean's shoulder.

"Five months together and this is the first time I've been here," Dean said, setting his luggage down at the door. "Weird."

"Getting you on a plane is a far greater challenge than just taking one myself," Castiel said. He flipped the lights on and looked around the apartment. It was as plain as when he had left it, save scattered trash on the coffee table. "My brother has been staying here, so sorry about the garbage."

"Where is he?" Dean asked, unpacking the groceries in the kitchen. The fridge beforehand consisted only of a carton of milk and various take-out boxes.

It was the same apartment, but with Dean standing there, Castiel could see it in a new light. Maybe the walls were too bare. maybe he could come up with something to dress them with

"Who knows. Probably out with a woman." After everything was put away, Castiel led Dean back to the bedroom, where the covers were long untouched.

"Thank God," Dean said, pulling off his shoes. He could hear the mattress formally inviting him over and he was more than eager to oblige. "I'm exhausted." He crawled in from the foot of the bed, collapsing against a pillow. Beside him, Castiel undid his button-up before crawling in as well. The two lay stiff like floorboards, side-by-side, even as the light filtered in through the shutters.

"Cas?" Dean whispered.

"Yes, Dean?"

"This bed is awful."

"I know," Castiel said. "It's the worst." He rolled onto his side to face him. "I much prefer the couch."

With that, Dean sat up and, Castiel at his heels, and marched back into the living room to throw himself on the couch. The cushions gave a gentle exhale as they sunk beneath him. So did he.

"Hey," Castiel hissed. "Make room."

Dean didn't move so much as tilt his body just enough for Castiel to wedge himself beside him. It was, thankfully, a very large couch, but still, the fit was tight. Dean could feel Castiel's breath on his neck and chin and the press of his thighs against his and Castiel had to wrap his arms around Dean's waist to ensure that he would not fall.

"This is so much better," Dean said.

"I know." Castiel scraped his sandpaper jaw along the juncture of Dean's clavicle. "I spent every night on this couch."

"Yeah," Dean arched his neck as Castiel placed a scatter of kisses across it. "It smells like you."

"Don't be weird, Dean," Castiel teased. He cradled Dean in his hold and slipped his thumb under the waistband of his jeans, venturing further down to grip his ass. Dean huffed.

"Cas! I'm way too tired to take part in this," he whined, shifting as his pants grew stiff.

"Let me take care of you, then." Castiel slipped a second hand into Dean's pants and pulled their groins closer- grinding them together.

"That's not fair to you," Dean mumbled, his eyes screwed shut and his hands wandering to grip Castiel's shoulders.

"Dean?" He grinded forward again.

"Yeah?"

"Hush."

Dean's muscles uncoiled and coiled back like a spring as Castiel slid his hands completely around his hips until they were buried in the front of his boxers, pressing against his dick. His body gave the barest thrash as Castiel licked his ear then shushed him softly.

"I love you," Castiel whispered, rubbing his palm against him. "Dean Winchester… My sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas…"

Dean shuddered and whimpered again. Castiel consumed his little noises. Finally, the button on his jeans was snapped open and the ring of his zipper being dragged down was sharp and loud. Dean wanted so much to let go of everything- to fade into the fingernails that grazed at the inside of his thighs and shimmied his pants down his hips.

"Cas…" he hissed as he was exposed. Castiel kissed him until the name was an echo, winding his fingers into his hair and rutting almost too slowly. "Me too," Dean said in the very brief moments that their lips were apart. "Me too."

Castiel pulled back, staring into Dean's large and glistening eyes. He cupped his face with one hand and with the other, took Dean's cock and gave it a firm and teasing tug. Dean gasped and his eyes slid shut.

"No," Castiel whispered. "Look at me." As he began to jerk him steadily, Dean's eyes unscrewed as if it were the most painful thing he'd ever done, and Castiel had never seen an expression more beautiful than Dean's twisted into a tired pleasure. "My Dean," he said, voice shaking. It was like holding onto a dream- fearing that he'd open his eyes and be alone again… that the voice he heard crumble beneath his touch would be nothing but a radio wave- lost in the void of space, existing all around him but never with him. "My Dean," he repeated, and Dean came, crying out.

"Cas…" Dean buried himself into Castiel. His whole body quaked from the pleasure that pulsed through him. Even as it faded to a gentle hum, the heat stayed in his limbs, swaying him to sleep.

Castiel was a firm believer in many things. He believed that a kind word could save a life, that God was out there, somewhere, and he had to be looking out for them, somehow, but in that moment, he could not imagine the universe being anything other Dean and the way his hands curled into loose fists as he dreamt.

Dean came to at the feeling of a warm palm rubbing his side… where he was ticklish.

"What?" He gasped, jerking away from the touch.

"Dean?" Castiel whispered, grazing his cheek with a knuckle. "It's ten. We've got to go."

Dean dragged himself into a strange state of waking- blinking and darting his eyes around the unfamiliar room. "Cas?" He muttered through his sleep-clogged throat.

"It's ten," Castiel repeated. "We both need a shower and then we've got to go."

"Oh." Dean dragged himself up, cringing at the cold and disgusting mess at his crotch and stomach. "Ew."

"Come on, Dean," Castiel urged, stripping out of his own pants right there in the living room. "Shower."

Dean would go, but he didn't waste the opportunity to watch Castiel discard his trousers and walk bare-skinned out of the room.

Castiel's favorite thing about the scenario was the translucent blanket of gold that settled over Dean's freckled skin. The two cups of half-caf joe on the desk still emitted ropes of steam that tumbled up into the air like acrobats. The chair Dean sat in was new and smelled like factory leather. Their headphones secured neatly against their ears, both leaning into the microphone as if to confess a long-hidden secret. "Personally," Dean said. "I say this guy sounds like a dick, and I think you deserve to be treated better." Dean glanced over to see Castiel watching him, his expression soft. "You shouldn't feel the need to change yourself because someone doesn't like you. Change should be something that betters you as a person, not for the benefit of others. Don't you agree, Cas?"

"Dean is right," Castiel said. "There is nothing more precious than your sense of self. It's Independence day. Think of this day as your own. Reclaim yourself and all of your self-worth."

The woman on the end of the line sniffled. "I can't thank you enough, Cas, Dean."

"It's our pleasure. You've been listening to Midnight Matters," Dean said.

"Where nothing is more important than a compassionate ear," Castiel added.

The two shot each other a sweet, side-eye. Dean's seemed even more green than usual in the dim, iridescent light and Castiel's like the sun on a surface of clear water. Around them, the studio pulsed with two off-kilter heartbeats and the 'On Air' sign not only glowed, but beamed.

"Goodnight, America," Castiel said. "It's time to sleep."