Dean waits at baggage claim. His hands are sweating and his eyes ponder and lock on passing, strange faces, hoping maybe he'll see a familiar one. He taps his foot repetitively. The John F. Kennedy airport is a hurricane of people. People with bluetooth headsets and formal business attire walk and talk hurriedly through the crowd, teenagers with their headphones set so loud and their eyes glued to their phones don't acknowledge when they bump into strangers. Families shove him to get a better spot to wait for their baggage. He can't think.

Meg.

Where have I heard that name before?

The bags start rolling out on the conveyer belt, and people move up eagerly to collect their bags first. Dean stays put, although he is shoved around countless times from oblivious assholes. He sees his bag exit from the opening and moves forward to get it. He tries to get through the mess of people but is evidently stopped, due to the high number of people trying to do the same thing. He's getting aggravated as fuck.

He ends up conforming to the rest of the assholes, and shoves people out of the way to get his bag.

He grabs it from the line and stomps his way out of the crowd. The air is cooler and easier to inhale. Dean navigates his way outside, and it's even fucking worse. People are lined up on the edge of the sidewalk hailing down cabs, trying to catch shuttles, and morons who run into the street without a glance in either direction.

Lord have mercy.

Dean moves to the edge of the sidewalk and raises his hand. A taxi approaches.

"Taxi!" He yells, and steps outward toward the street. The cab stops, and Dean sighs in relief. He bends down to clutch his suitcase but is rammed on his side by a guy who steals his cab. "Are you shitting me, dude?"

The man opens the cab door and sits down. He gives Dean a sympathetic, yet non sympathetic look, "Welcome to New York," The man says before shutting the door. Dean looks the guy dead in the eye, walks up to the cab, and holds his middle finger up against the window before the car drives off.

Prick.

The second time he hails a cab, he makes sure that no one steals it. He rushes to the door, opens it, and slams it shut. He takes a deep breath. The driver stares at him weirdly for a second, then reverts his eyes to the front.

"The condominiums on Park Avenue," Dean says, exhaling and leaning his head back against the seat. It isn't until the car starts to move that he finds himself getting scared shitless.

What I am going to say?

He hadn't planned anything out. And suddenly he's faced with the worst possible scenario he could think of: he goes to Castiel's apartment, opens the door and remains speechless. Castiel would probably slam the door in his face and tell him to fuck off. He can't imagine how angry Castiel must be at him.

He suddenly felt like he somehow forgot all about Castiel - how he reacts to certain things, what he finds funny, what he dislikes. What if Dean flat out embarrassed himself and instead of telling Dean to fuck off, he laughed at him, ridiculed him.

That would be so much fucking worse.

He's starting to sweat again. Dean honestly didn't know that he could sweat this much, and he feels like he's been sweating profusely for the past couple weeks and he doesn't know why. He stares out the window and watches the passing people on the street. For a second he swears he could see the quick dash dark hair and a trench coat, but as he sits up in his seat to look again, there's nothing there but the faces of unfamiliar people.

Okay, back to the plan.

What do I say?

The anxious feeling that's caught in his throat is making him want to throw up. Dean takes a shaky breath, "How much longer do you think?" He asks.

The cab driver eyes him from the rearview mirror, "Should be about ten minutes. Maybe a little less."

Dean tries to swallow, but his throat is too tight. He doesn't think he's ever been this nervous before.

"You alright?"

Dean looks up and sees the cab driver looking at his reflection. Does he really want to ask this guy for help? The guy couldn't be more than 35 years old at the most. He's a young looking dude; Dean would even say that maybe he's a little handsome. His blue eyes are piercing, but nothing like Castiel's. What would he know?

"I gotta' make an apology," Dean starts, and for some reason he can't really find it in him to stop, "And a part of me doesn't wanna' make it. But I know that I have to. I need to."

The driver keeps his eyes on the road for a minute or two. Dean thinks it was a bad idea to say something. He shouldn't be telling anyone, especially a stranger, about his personal business. But honestly, Dean hasn't talked about it to anyone, really. Sometimes it's good to just get something out. Even just for a second.

"I may not know a lot about life," The driver says suddenly, "But saying sorry doesn't always mean you're guilty. Sometimes it just means that you value your relationship more than your ego."

Dean gapes at the driver hesitantly and then regresses back to his gaze out the window. The rest of the ride is quiet, making the trip long but short at the same time. The driver pulls to the curb adjacent to a tall, wide, and luxury condominium building.

Shocking.

Dean's heart immediately quickens as he stares at the front door. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out money to hand to the driver. The man smiles and shakes his head, declining.

"Good luck." He says.

Dean needed that. "Thank you man. Thank you."

"Gadreel," He says again. "My name is Gadreel."

Dean doesn't spare the details of his name. He nods at Gadreel and opens the cab door. The wind hits him like a punch to the face. Dean gathers his things and begins walking to the front door. His legs beg for him to turn around. He's never, ever, ever been so scared in his life.

He enters the front and sees the lobby of the condominium building, decked in a white and black modern theme. People in business suits and fancy-shmancy clothing give him a second look as he walks to the counter. The woman at the counter stares at him harshly.

"Im here to see a resident who lives here," Dean says, cutting right to the chase.

"Okay," She says in question, "Sign in and I need to have a look at your identification."

Dean scribbles ineligibly on the sign-in paper and anxiously hands her his ID. He's grateful that he has more time to think about what he wants to say, but at the same time he can't think at all, and he can't seem to stop squirming around, tapping his foot and fingers and rubbing the back of his neck. He can't wait to see his face. His beautiful, beautiful face. Except, what will his face look like when he sees him? Dean imagines him opening the door and Castiel's face distorting into disgust, into hatred.

"Who are you coming to see? I've never seen you here before." The lady asks with a perked eyebrow.

"Castiel Milton." Dean tenses a bit when he says his name aloud.

The lady at the desk clears her throat, hands him back his ID, and nods, "He's in room seven twenty-three. Elevators are on the left down the hall."

Dean nervously sucks in a breath of air and proceeds. He feels like he's walking on eggshells. The guilt is eating him alive. It gets worse when he reaches the elevator and realizes that he still does not know what the fuck to say to Castiel.

Dean's feet seem to weigh him down like bricks. He feels like he's sinking into the ground. The ring of the elevator scares him. The doors open, and he practically falls into the person coming out of the elevator.

"Hey! Watch it, buddy—Dean?"

Dean looks up surprisingly, "Kansas?"

And in all about 3 seconds, Dean puts two and two together.

A few weeks ago….

"So who will I have the pleasure of meeting while I'm there?" Castiel continued. He took a deep breath, hand smoothing across his face. Dean deepened his stare on the road.

"My uncle, Bobby," Dean huffed a laugh, "Don't let him intimidate you. Iron on the outside and fluff on the inside. His wife Karen keeps him in line. My cousins— Claire and Charlie, they'll be there too."

Castiel pondered, "Are you close with them?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "Family's important to us. It's the only real thing we got."

Castiel gaped out the window for a second and grinned to himself. "My cousin, Meg, her and Gabriel were close. She took after his-his so called sassy-ways. We always used to call her little demon. She unfortunately learned a lot from Gabriel. He was always, uh, I don't know—the trickster of the family, you might say."

Dean's mouth falls open, "Oh my god you're — "

"You're the Dean that fucked with my cousin's head?" Meg cuts him off. They both look and stand there completely speechless, eyebrows raised and mouths edging to catch flies.

And the next thing that Meg does, is slap Dean straight across the face.

Dean winces and holds a hand up to the sore skin, "Okay, I deserved that."

Meg turns bright red and holds a pointed finger up to his face. "I'll give you three seconds to give me a reason why you're here or you're going to be getting hit in a much more painful place."

Dean has never questioned his ability to be intimidating, but he can't help but feel like a legit pussy in front of her. He holds up open hands in front of his chest, "I'm coming to get Castiel back."

"Why?" She says quickly. Meg crosses her arms and stares at him intently, never making a slight move. Not even a blink.

"Because—" Dean pauses.

"Because why?"

Dean licks his lips and inhales, "Because I love him. And I fucked up. And I need to tell him that I'm sorry."

Meg continues to hold her stare. She looks Dean up and down. "I've never seen him this upset about a boy, you know. Whatever you did, buddy, you better fuckin' fix it."

"I know. I'm going to try—"

"No, Dean. You are. You are going to fix it." Meg takes steps closer to him, causing him to back up against the hallway.

Dean sucks in for air, "Meg I-I don't know what to say," His lips quiver like he means to say something else, but that's all that needs to come out. That's all he's been worried about.

Meg uncrosses her arms, and he face softens ever so slightly. "Say it before you run out of time," She lays a hand on his arm, "I can tell just by looking at your face that you're the type to run from what you feel. That only invites the madness, Dean. When you accept it, and only when you accept it, will you be able to control it." Meg whispers gently. She tightens her grip on his arm for a brief moment before letting go and walking away.

Meg's brown, curly hair flips as she turns away, "Go get your gold star, sugar pants."

Dean watches her leave, walking right out the door and never looking back. Dean kinda' hopes it won't be the last time he sees Kansas.

And now, back to reality.

Dean steps forward, and holds his finger on the seventh floor button. He's not as anxious as he was before, but instead he's feeling something different. Like he needs to get something off his chest. The ride up was quick, and he steps out of the elevator feeling confident, yet completely terrified at the sam time.

He slowly passes the doors, carefully eyeing the room numbers.

701

703

Dean takes a breath. Okay, what's the first thing I should say?

705

707

709

He clenches his fists. Apology first? 'I love you' first? 'I screwed up' first?

711

713

715

His heart picks up. Whats the worst thing he could say? Well, the worst thing he could say was basically, 'no'. And then Dean realizes that would be the one thing that he doesn't want to hear. He grips the handle of his suitcase so hard it hurts his palm.

717

Dean's excited to see him. He's missed him. He's missed him so fucking much. He can't wait to see his eyes.

719

His hair.

721

His mouth.

723

Him.

Dean stands outside the door, staring hopelessly into the sleek, black piece of wood thats in front of him. The name Castiel Milton lays gently on a white plaque under his room number.

He raises a hand to knock, but quickly hesitates and lays his palm flat on the door. He seriously feels like he's going to throw up.

"I can tell just by looking at your face that you're the type to run from what you feel. That only invites the madness, Dean."

He clenches his fist.

Knock, knock, knock.

Dean freezes. He waits. His heart threatens him. All he could do in that moment was clench his fists so hard that he risked breaking fingers.

The door opens.

Silence.

The look on Castiel's face is something Dean doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. He's stunned, thats for sure, but Dean can also tell that there's a hint of bliss in his eyes. His beautiful, blue, luminous eyes that he's ached to see again. His lips, jesus christ his lips, gently parted. Dean has never wanted to grab him and kiss him so badly. The only thing that Dean can think is, there he is. Everything from the past few weeks flood his mind. They stare, silently, perfectly still. Dean can't open his mouth at all. He's completely, utterly, stuck.

Castiel is the first to break the ice.

"Dean." He says deeply. It's good to hear his voice again. Dean had almost forgotten how inviting it is.

Okay, Winchester. That's your cue.

"Hey Cas," Dean starts, not knowing a fucking clue where he's going.

'Hey, Cas'?! That's it? That's all ya' got?

Castle exhales, unable to look away from him. "Hello, Dean."

Dean takes a small step closer. His mind is a total blank. "I-I'm sorry. I know you think that you were a mistake but, you're not."

Castiel gapes at him, edging him on, like he wants more. He wants Dean to say more. Dean knows what he wants to say, he just doesn't know howto say it. Castiel's eyes were lighting, striking his mind and thoughts and frying them to goo.

Dean opens his mouth again as chills run up his arms, "You weren't meant to happen," He starts, and he sees Castiel's expression distort ever so slightly into apprehension, "But that doesn't mean you're a mistake."

Castiel's face changes again, into something soft, something kind. Dean can see the blue speckles threaten floods as his eyelashes flicker. Castiel swallows, his hands fall down to his sides and tense. Dean thinks Castiel can break at any moment now; his face full of mercy that begs down on both knees.

Dean steps forward, placing his hands around the sides of Castiel's face. Castiel's initial reaction pushed him backward, but soon, he lets Dean hold him.

"Cas," He whispers, and Castiel shuts his eyes at the sound of his name, "I've never been one for apologies. But the one thing that I can tell you is that when I first saw you, I never wanted anything more in my life than to rip your head off." Castiel lets out the smallest of laughs. It makes Dean so incredibly happy to see him smile, "But now I—"

No.

Dean stops himself, this isn't the right way to say it.

Dean's thumbs brush Castiel's unshaven cheeks. Dean can feel that Castiel is helpless under his touch.

"Cas," Dean continues again, "In the few weeks we've been together you've fixed me in places I thought were beyond possible repair. I can't thank you enough for that. And I was a jerk for ever letting you believe that you were a mistake." Dean presses his forehead to Castiel's. The things that had just come out of his mouth, it almost makes him want to grimace. He'd never, ever say that to anyone else. He didn't even think those things were possible to say. It's so not him. But Castiel has changed that.

Dean feels Castiel grip the sleeves of his jacket, squeezing the old leather in his hands. His eyes are shut tightly, and Dean's kind've happy they are, or else he wouldn't be able to focus. The next words are extremely hard to push out. Dean pulls Castiel's face closer, and Castiel completely melts in his hands.

"I fucking love you, Cas."

Castiel's fingers tighten so hard against Dean's jacket that it pulls his skin. And in a single, flashing moment, their kissing. Dean doesn't really know when the feeling of warm breath against his face changed to Castiel's lips, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the undeniable force of heat that swarmed them, pressing them closer together. Castiel smiles, breaking the kiss and opening his eyes to finally look at Dean.

"Yeah, I know." He says, fading out of Dean's grasp, holding his hand and walking away until he can no longer clutch on. Castiel turns around for a brief moment, slimming his eyes and spreading a wide grin. He walks through his apartment, opening the door to his bedroom and stepping inside.

"When you're ready," Castiel winks, inviting him in and disappearing into the bedroom.

Dean stands with his mouth gaped, "Dude just Han Solo'd me." He whispers in awe before dropping his bag on the floor, kicking the front door closed, and eagerly making his way to the bedroom.