Days pass. Cas eventually manages to tell Anna what happened, and she hugs him tighty afterwards and whispers that it's going to be ok, hon, I promise into his hair. She promises not to tell Luke or Michael or Gabriel, because any of those three would take it as war and Castiel really doesn't want a scene. He wants to slink back into his previous life, pretend that Dean never happened to him, try to forget and move on and stop being so fucking idiotically in love. It's not going particularly well, but at least Dean hasn't shown up to school since. Not even once.

He feels hopeless, and hurt, and everyone's worried about him. His friends look at him anxiously when he doesn't eat the food on his plate, his sister telling them he's just sick. She's the only who knows – Anna – and Castiel plans on keeping it that way. He doesn't want their pity, or for anyone to shout at Dean: he is going to forget. He is going to get over this.

On Friday, Castiel is sitting on the bleachers, waiting for Anna to finish off too. He remembers just a few weeks before how he'd been doing exactly this when Dean sat down next to him, asked him to go for a drive, ending up with Cas giving his first blowjob in the backseat of a car. This is the first Friday in weeks where he hasn't just gone out into the parking lot and leant against Dean's car, waited for him to come out of wherever the hell he spends his time so that they could go off and fit into their routine. In fact, he almost did do that, with one foot on the gravel before he realised there was no big, black car there, and even if there was he's not welcome in it anymore.

It's colder now, has slipped from September to October without him noticing, but he's still sitting outside because he likes it here. There's homework settled on his knees, a pen between his fingers, but he finds that he's more inclined to just closing his eyes and tipping his head backwards, pretending that he's still just Castiel Novak, nerd, friend, virgin.

There's a creak next to him of someone sitting down. A part of his heart leaps, thinking it's Dean, hoping it is so fucking much. Except of course it's not, and when he opens his eyes it's to find floppy hair and dimples and a gangly frame.
"Sam."

Sam smiles wanly. "Hey, Cas."

"What are you doing here?" Cas asks. He wants to shout. He wants to yell. He wants to demand whether Sam was in on it, whether he helped to manipulate Cas into letting Dean into his pants. He wants to do this so bad, but there's also the part of him that's weary and tired, that just wants to give up and let go of any lingering anger.

"Just –" Sam starts softly, and then trails off. He inhales sharp and quick, hands fidgeting in his lap and feet curved inwards. He shrugs softly, just once. "Just wanted to talk to you."

"I can't imagine what we could possibly have to talk about."

Sam shrugs again. "I figured out what my brother did to you," he admits, and ah, he wasn't in on it. Perhaps he was just as clueless as Cas, perhaps he looks at his brother through such rose tinted glasses that he couldn't envisage his hero older brother doing something so horrible. "Thought maybe I could explain."

Cas snorts derisively. "What is there to explain?" he asks, incredulous, and Sam winces slightly. "Your brother made it clear from the start that all he wanted was –" he pauses, looks over, realises Sam is still practically a child and rethinks his exact wording "– a no strings attached relationship. I should have known better than to fall – to become too close to him. I just want to forget about the whole ordeal, honestly. Pretend it never happened."

"But –" Sam mutters, and when Castiel looks over to him his head is hung. There's a light blush on his face and he's biting his bottom lip, looking young and sad and frustrated. He huffs out a sharp breath, snaps his head up and looks directly at Cas. "Look, there's some things you should know. Dean'd go crazy if he knew I was about to do this, but – but he likes you, Cas. I know he does."

There's silence. Cas has no idea what Sam is about to say – how he could possibly rationalise Dean's behaviour. Dean is an asshole and a manipulative user, what in the hell could make that better? Sam twitches and exhales slowly, eyes sad and Cas can't look away, can't walk away, never mind how much he knows he should. He wants to hear this. Needs to, really.

Cas nods once, and Sam smiles briefly in return, a fleeting curl at the corners of his mouth.

"Look," he starts, voice calm. "I know my brother seems like an asshole. I get it, I really do: he's got the car and the attitude and the sexual history to compensate for the title. I know he seems dismissive and rude and you probably hate him for everything he's done, but there's a reason, ok? I promise you there's a reason." Sam pauses to breathe, and Castiel can only blink. "Two years ago our dad walked out on us. Just left, in the middle of the night, and the only things he gave to us before he went were the keys to the Impala and a shitload of debt. Our mom died when I was just a kid and we didn't know anyone to help us out – dad had made pretty damn sure by that time that no one would even speak to a Winchester anymore – so Dean had to start supporting us. We moved here because the apartments were cheaper and Dean's never here because he's always working. He does shifts whenever he can, anywhere he can, and he won't let me help out, so that usually means cutting school."

He stops there, maybe just to pause for breath, but Castiel feels like he can't breathe anymore. He – he had no idea any of this. Sure, when he'd gone to Dean's place he'd wondered at the two bedrooms, wondered about where their parents were the entire day, but he never even considered that Dean had to play a father at eighteen years old.

"It's why he keeps himself so distant," Sam continues, voice so small that Cas strains to hear it above the winds. "He doesn't want anyone to know. He doesn't want their pity or their sad looks and – and neither do I, to be honest. But that's why he acts like such an asshole, Cas. But he wasn't always to you, right?" Castiel is shaking his head before he even knows what he's doing. "You're the first person in years that he's invited round to wherever we live at the time, so – so that's gotta mean something, right? Look, Cas, I know you might not believe me here, but I've seen the way he looks at you. I've seen the way you look at him, too. He likes you, Cas, but he's scared."

Cas feels like his skin is too tight, like everything he'd though he'd ever known has now been proved wrong. He had no fucking idea that Dean went through any of this, that he was failing senior year to make sure his little brother didn't have to work. And he'd – he'd –

"He yelled at me because I asked why he had to look after you."

He realises that whilst Dean had no right to talk to him like that, Castiel also had no right to insinuate that what Dean was doing was wrong. It would have helped if he'd fucking known though; if Dean had let him in far enough to be told.

"You gotta make things better," Sam pleads, and Castiel looks up at him and sees the hope in his eyes. He can feel it himself, too.

"Ok," he breathes, and Sam's shoulders lose some of their tension. "Ok, I want to. But he hasn't been at school for days, Sam, how am I going to?"

"There's a party tomorrow night."

Cas nods. "Yes, Ruby's. So?"

"I'm staying at my friend Andy's that night," Sam adds, and when Cas doesn't quite catch on, Sam rolls his eyes. "So, Dean's going. And you should too. He won't show his face here for at least another week, and I want you sorting this sooner rather than later." He stops for a second and bites his lip. "I just want him to be happy, Cas. I think you can make him happy."

Cas swallows heavily. "Yeah," he replies absently, stomach lurching as he thinks about having to talk to Dean, actually talk to him, not just spread his legs and pretend like that's all he wants. He'll have to yell at Dean, call him an asshole because he is, fuck, he is. But he's also an asshole that Cas is in love with, somehow, and he wants to make this better. "Yeah, ok, I'll go. Anna wanted me to go with her anyway and I'd said no before, but – but now I'll go. I'll talk to him."
"Thanks, Cas," Sam says, and his smile holds hope in its corners. He stands up then, giving Cas one last wave before he walks away, and Cas stays there for a little while, thinking about what he's going to do, what he's going to say.

Whether he'll be able to fix this. Whether Dean will let him.

He hopes so, too much to be good, and he goes home with a smile on his face for the first time in a while. None of his family comment on it, but they're all smiling a bit more, too.

-

The party's already going properly by the time Cas and Anna arrive. Michael drops them off and tells them to be safe and call if anything goes wrong! Cas smiles because he loves his brother, but man is he overbearing sometimes. Luke and Gabriel are a lot easier: more likely to toss you a condom than lecture you and never leaving your drink unattended. It's dark out, around 10, and they're so damn late because Anna insisted on changing her outfit at least ten times, much to Cas' increasing chagrin.

He just wanted to get there, to talk to Dean and to get back what he lost. Wait, no – to get back more than what he lost. He wants more now, and he thinks that maybe Dean does too.

They walk through the doors and are immediately assaulted by a loud buzz of chatter and thumping music. Cas winces slightly – he doesn't enjoy parties, never has done – and scans the room hastily, finding no signs of Dean. Maybe he's not here yet. Maybe he's in the bathroom.

"Cas!" Anna shouts, right next to his ear. Cas startles and turns to her, and she smiles kindly at him. "He'll be here, hon. Don't worry. Get a drink, calm down, stop fidgeting so much!"

Cas smiles at her. "Thanks, Anna. Don't feel like you have to wait around for me, I'll be boring and just look for him. Go have fun, I think I can see Alfie over there, isn't he the one you have a crush on?"

"What?" she squawks, blushing bright red. "What – Cas – no, shut up!"

Cas' smiles widens. "Sure, Anna, of course you don't like him," he says, and she gets even redder. He chuckles softly, leans over to press a kiss to her cheek and pushes her lightly in Alfie's direction. "But I've heard he likes you too and I'm pretty sure you should go hit on him right now."

"I –" she starts, and then stops, smiles. "Thanks, Cas. Good luck!"

She walks off, and Cas spares a minute to watch her sidle up to Alfie. He's all dimples and light brown hair and his smile when he sees Anna is almost blinding. Cas feels himself grinning too, because Alfie is adorable and they like each other, and he wants his sister to be happy. He stops when they go to the drinks table to get something, and he turns his attention back to the crowd. His eyes skate over the mass of people dancing, not finding Dean amidst it. There are huddles of people dotted around the room, but Dean is not in any of those groups either. He keeps looking and looking, occasionally glancing back at the door to see if he's coming through there instead, maybe, just turning up late.

It takes ten minutes and a pulse that quickens by the second to find him.

When he does, he wishes he'd just stayed at home instead.

Dean is sat on a couch at the back of the room, shadowed by partial darkness but Cas can see it clear as day. There's a girl sitting astride his lap, making out with him almost furiously, and Cas can see the way Dean's hands are underneath her t-shirt at the small of her back, how those palms that use to sit warm against his skin are touching someone else. His heart drops to the bottom of his feet and his throat closes in on itself. He can't breathe, skin too tight and choking on seeing Dean with someone else, seeing him kiss and lick and hold onto someone that isn't Cas. It hurts physically, like a kick in the gut or a punch in the nose. Blood pounds in his ears and his heart hammers against his ribcage and the room is too small, too many people, and Dean is over there, so close and so far, with a girl in his lap and her tongue in his mouth. It takes all Cas has in him not to throw up. There's jealousy burning up his spine, spite in his skin, and he wants to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

But first he needs a drink.

He walks over to the drinks table, careful to avoid where Anna and Alfie are tucked into a corner, just talking. He doesn't want to talk or explain or have to think. He wants to get as hammered as fucking possible and forget this night by the morning.

He downs on drink. It burns the back of his throat and tastes like bile in his stomach, but he doesn't care. He downs a second and third and fourth consecutively, barely pausing for breath. By the fifth, his limbs feel lighter and he's dizzy, the room swaying around him. He smiles lazily, drunkenly, thinking about what he can do next, what else can help him forget. He tries to take a step forwards but somehow twists his foot around wrong, and then he's stumbling.

Not too far, though. He lands on something solid, tall, smiling down at him.

"Hi there," the something says. No – not the something. It's a boy, a man. He looks older, not Castiel's age, probably in college. He's got blond hair and British accent, hands around Cas' waist to hold him up. Cas' t-shirt is riding up slightly, so this guy's hands are on his bare skin, and his thumbs rub concentric circles against his hipbones. It feels nice. "Had a little too much to drink?"

Cas shakes his head emphatically. "No such thing," he replies, thinking not in cases like this. The guy chuckles.

"A man after my own heart," he murmurs, moving Cas so that he's standing straight again. His hands don't leave their place around Cas' waist. "I'm Balthazar, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Cas," Cas responds. He waits a second before he goes with his impulse. "Would you like to dance?"

Balthazar chuckles under his breath. "Someone doesn't hang around," he murmurs, but his hands on Cas' waist are firm and unyielding. Cas feels wanted. Somebody wants him. What more could he ask for? "But yeah, ok. Lead the way, kid."

Cas does. He takes a hold of Balthazar's hand, leads him into the throng of people and then lets go. He immediately looks up at Balthazar after this, shoots him a flirty smile before turning around quickly, stepping backwards so that his ass is against Balthazar's groin. Balthazar's hands go to his waist – almost instinctive – and they hold on tight. Cas begins to grind backwards, paying more attention to the roll of this guy's hips than the actual rhythm of the music. The song is bass heavy and probably popular, but Cas cares more about the way he can feel Balthazar getting hard against him, the way it makes him feel wanted; worth something.

Balthazar gets harder and harder with each grind of Cas' hips, his ass pressing against the hard on in Balthazar's jeans. It goes on like this for some time, the hardness never faltering, the hands on Cas' waist gripping convulsively and breath hot against the back of his neck.

The song changes and Cas decides to go with his impulses again. He turns around, Balthazar's hands still at his hips, and he smiles once, filthy and flirty, before leaning up and kissing him. He wastes no time before he slips his tongue in, rolls his hips to feel how hard Balthazar is. He wants to feel it, know it's there, there for him. That someone, at least, wants him, and he's going to give it to whoever that person may be, because he's wanted, damn it.

His hands are at Balthazar's jaw, mouth being bitten, eyes screwed shut. He tells himself this is the same as with Dean – no, better – and he starts thinking about where they can go next. There are plenty of bedrooms upstairs, he's sure. Ones where he can be pushed down somewhere, bent over something, fucked by someone who's hard for him and who wants him. He knows that it'll only be that – a quick fuck from a college kid – but he doesn't even care anymore. He's given it up already, and if the first was on asshole, don't they always say start as you mean to go on?

He kisses fiercely, barely pausing for breath, about to pull back and suggest they take this somewhere else, when there are hands on his arms that are pulling him backwards.

"What –" he mumbles, almost tripping over his own feet. He looks up at Balthazar confusedly, wonders whether he pushed him off, and then decides no, he wouldn't: he can see the way the denim around the guy's crotch is straining. He blinks heavily, mind addled from alcoholic and the way his hips had been moving against Balthazar's and turns to his left. "Oh."

Oh. Dean.

His eyes are angry, hands as fists, and where's the girl now? Cas blinks against his angry stare, unable to look away. To walk away.

"What the fuck are you doing, Cas?" he yells, loud enough to be heard above the music. Several people in their vicinity turn to stare.

Cas laughs hollowly. "What does it look like I'm doing, Dean?" he asks, voice loud and a smile on his face that he knows is cruel and mocking. "Go back to your girl, asshole. I'm busy."
He turns back to Balthazar then, hands already on his jaw, leaning up to kiss him again, but he's stopped before he can manage it by Dean's hands yanking him back around, clamping down hard on his arms and keeping him in place with an angry stare.

"Stop it, Cas!"

"Why?" Cas yells back, suddenly rounding in on Dean, wanting so much to punch that fucking face of him, hating him so fucking much. "I thought this was what I was? A slut, a dirty little whore. Just like you said, right? I gave it up already, what the hell's the point in holding back now? If someone wants me, well, I'm theirs."

In the background, Balthazar throws his hands up, mutters that he's out and he never meant to get between Romeo and sodding Juliet. He walks off then, but neither Cas nor Dean notice, too wrapped up in the atmosphere of hate and anger that emanates from the both of them The music is off by now, and people around them are staring, confused, because since when the fuck did these to even talk?

"Cas, don't fucking talk like that!" Dean shouts, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just – just stop, ok!"

Cas takes a step forward, jaw twitching, hands as fists. "Why the fuck should I, Dean?" he asks, voice deceptively low and calm, anger in the undertones of his voice. "I come here to talk to you and you're making out with some girl? Fuck that, asshole. If you don't want me, fine. I can find someone else that will. I'm a slut, remember? Why stop with just you, might as well give a few others a go."

Dean stops, eyes softening just slightly, jaw twitching. He brings his hands up and then aborts the movement, runs shaky fingers through his hair and breathes deep and slow.

"Can we – can we go talk about this outside, please?" he asks, glancing around. Cas does so too, and notices that they've incurred a pretty big crowd. One of which is Anna. She looks sad. "I don't want to do this here."

Cas nods, just once. "Fine," he spits out, and doesn't give Dean time to do or say anything before he stalks out of the room.

Outside, the fresh air hits his skin like redemption, brings goosebumps to the surface of his skin and he closes his eyes against it., feels himself sobering up, sadly. He feels Dean's presence beside him after only a second and he opens them again, finds Dean staring resolutely ahead. He inclines his head, just so, and starts walking, and Cas follows, eyes trained on Dean's back and hating, hating, hating so fucking much.

They reach the Impala after a short walk and Cas sits on the hood, petulantly hoping his jeans scratch the paintwork. Dean stands a few feet away, looking down at the floor like it's going to do the talking for him. He takes a few breaths, decides he best talk for himself, and then does.
"My mom died when I was a kid," he begins, eyes still on the floor and voice so quiet Cas has to strain to hear it. "My dad, he – he never really got over it. Drank a lot. Barely ever came home. I raised Sammy myself, using what little money I could scrounge out the bottom of dad's pockets to do it. When I hit sixteen he – he left. Walked out on us. Things got tougher and Sammy started growing so fast and I couldn't afford to pay for everything so. So I had to move us around a lot. Get extra jobs, skip out on school. I was never really going anywhere, anyway – Sam's the smart one, and I'm gonna make damn sure he makes something of himself. But – but it makes it hard, for me. To get close to people. I don't want their pity or their fucking charity, you know? So I don't give them the chance. I fuck them and I show them a good time. I make sure they come and then I get the hell out of there before anything can get real."

He pauses, breathes, finally looks up. Cas is frozen on the hood of the car and Dean is – Dean is talking, for fuck's sake. Castiel didn't even think him capable. Castiel is stuck on Dean's eyes, so far away, and it's dark outside, but the green seems to shine through, sink into Cas' consciousness like that colour was made for him to look at. He swallows and allows Dean the time to continue.

"But then you came along." He smiles ruefully, takes a hesitant step closer. "I never, ever let anyone get close to me, Cas. Never. But then you fucking happened to be at my new school. With your fucking khakis and small smiles and annoyingly blue eyes. And you didn't take my shit, not even once. You talked back and called me an asshole – which I deserve, I know that – and you were so fucking beautiful I never even had a chance." A few more steps forwards. Cas' legs unconsciously fall apart, allowing Dean to step into the gap between. His hands come up to Cas' jaw, slowly, like he thinks Cas might spook. With every second that Cas just looks at him, doesn't move away, he gets closer and closer, mouth so close to Cas' that the words he speaks are told into Cas' skin like a prayer. "I fucking fell in love with you, Cas. And I have no idea what to do with that."

Dean's hands on his skin, fingertips callused and hard and oh shit, how did Cas ever even think he could live without this. He brings his hands up too, places them over Dean's, laces them together and smiles.

"Me too, Dean," he murmurs. "Shit, I love you, too."

Dean smiles, big and happy and blinding, and kisses him.

It's hot and heavy almost instantly, like Dean is trying to chase the taste of Balthazar out of his mouth, replace it with himself. Cas loves this; feeling possessed, feeling owned by Dean's mouth and hands and everything. He loves the way Dean starts to press him down onto the bonnet of the car, starts rolling their hips together already, because they may just have said I love you, but they're also horny eighteen year old boys and it ending here was inevitable anyway, really.

Cas is breathless, hands under Dean's t-shirt and kissing hot and feverish. He starts whining desperately in the back of his throat, wanting so much that his hips jerk upwards. There's the sound of giggling from not far away, of people stumbling over themselves. It breaks Dean and Cas out of each other, pulling away panting, still smiling like they can't control it.
"This is more public than even we're used to," he comments, chuckling, and Cas laughs as well. "How about a bed this time, baby?"

And fuck, it's stupid how quickly that last word goes straight to his dick. "Yes, please," is all he can reply before he pushes Dean off, hops onto the ground and goes round to the passenger's side, waiting for Dean to unlock it. Dean does so with a laugh that sounds fucking fond, and Cas clambers inside. He sends a quick text to Anna telling her that he won't be home that night, and he gets a fucking winky face in response, because Anna is a lecherous jerk. He laughs aloud when it comes through anyway, and Dean drives through the night streets, taking them back to his place.

They stumble in and crash into walls on their way to Dean's room, too caught up in kissing to care that they'll have bruises by the morning. They're also too caught up to notice when Sam pokes his head out of his bedroom door, smiles happily before grimacing because gross, he never, ever wanted to see that much of either Cas nor Dean, thanks very much.

-

TWO MONTHS LATER

It's Friday afternoon and Cas is sitting on the bleachers. Someone sits beside him, and he doesn't even bother to turn to them.

"Wanna go for a drive?" Dean asks, voice right beside Cas' ear.

Cas snorts and shoulders him away, continuing with his homework. "No thanks," he answers. "I think your brother will actually kill us if he finds more spunk on the backseat of your car."
Dean huffs. "Fine, we'll take yours."

"I'm not sure Anna would appreciate it either," he remarks, smile tugging at his lips, happiness in his chest. "Plus, I've got homework to do. As do you, asshole, so get to it."

Dean groans, slumping down to sit right next to Cas, burying his face in Cas' neck. "Don't wanna."

"Well, you have to," Cas counters, laughing and moving Dean's face out of his neck, because Dean is pressing light kisses there and it's really, really distracting. "You're going to get a proper education if it kills me, Winchester."

Dean bites once at his neck before leaving off entirely. "Fine, fine!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up but smiling. "Jeez, you're like a freaking slave driver, babe."

Cas just smiles sweetly and pointedly gets on with his own work. Dean huffs out a laugh and gets his own bag, pulls out his work. He rests the books on his knees even as he shuffles closer to Cas, keeping their thighs touching as they both go about their work.

Because Dean actually works, now. He actually can. After they'd become 'official' – i.e. whenever they fooled around at school and Cas came out of some cupboard somewhere with hickeys on his neck, people could put a name to the teeth and expect it to be like that tomorrow as well – Cas had spoken to his brothers about Dean's situation. He'd told Dean what he was going to do beforehand, and as much as Dean protested, Cas was resolute that something that do be done. He'd told his brothers about how Dean can barely support his little brother and himself with the work he does, and even that is with skipping the majority of school. The Novaks' immediate reaction was that they could help.

Now, Castiel's family may not be extravagantly rich, but they have enough money to be able to sponsor Dean. This essentially entails giving Dean money so that he goes to school, works on his Physics, gets himself good enough grades that he can go to college. Dean is smart as hell, a fucking whizz with technology, and he can go somewhere, if only he lets himself be helped. It takes a lot of coaxing – pleading from Anna and Sam, persuasive blowjobs from Cas – but eventually Dean agreed. He kept his Saturday job to help out, never wanting to be too reliant on the Novaks, but now he gets to go to school, to be in every lesson and to utilise his education like he should do. He doesn't like school, that much is clear, but he likes learning, and that's all that matters.

He's grateful for everything the Novaks are doing for him, and he shows it every time he humours Cas' insane family, every time Gabriel pulls a prank on him and he doesn't just punch him in the face. He also shows it when he kisses Cas just because, twines their fingers together as they walk down the hall.

Maybe he's grateful for Cas, too, not just the help he entails. When Dean smiles at him sometimes, he thinks that he might be onto something there.

Apparently, they are sickeningly adorable together, too. According to Anna and Sam and Chuck and Charlie and pretty much every person they come into contact with, ever. Cas can actually concede, because he does realise that holding hands and making out under the bleachers and stealing food off of each other's places is pretty sickening. He can't find it in himself to care, though, especially not when Dean grabs him around the waist and kisses him until he's breathless, out in the open, showing everyone that Cas is his and he is Cas'. Cas never thought he'd be one for PDA, but being marked as Dean's in front of the entire school? It's pretty fucking awesome.

The bell rings distantly and Cas begins to pack his stuff away. Dean does as well, and when they stand Dean fucking takes Cas' books and won't give them back, insists on carrying them because somehow Cas is the maiden girlfriend in this relationship. Dean says it's because he's the bottom, Cas says it's because Dean has a psychological need to be needed. Dean laughs and tells him to fuck off, and more often than not in ends in the fucking.

And yes, Cas does usually bottom. He knows what he likes, so sue him.

They get into the parking lot as people are filing out, standing by Cas' car, and Dean shoots smiles and high fives at his friends – Victor, Bela, Benny, more than Cas can remember the names of. He has friends now, too. He's opened up and made friends and people know he's not actually an asshole. Or, well, he is; just not quite as much as people previously thought. Sam comes out of the school after a while and Dean murmurs goodbye in between kisses. Eventually, Cas has to physically shove at his chest to make him go drive his brother home, only succeeding because he promises he'll stay the night at Dean's that evening. Dean presses one last kiss to his lips before darting off to his own car.

Anna comes up beside him and smiles kindly. "You've got him so whipped, I hope you know that," she says, and Cas smiles because yes, he does know that. Then he thinks, and –

"Did I – did I tame a bad boy?" he asks astoundedly.

Cas watches as Dean herds his brother into their car, smacking at the back of his head when Cas hears snippets of him teasing Dean for being in love, drawing out the syllable and making Cas smile even bigger. When Sam is in the car, Dean turns around, catches sight of Cas and beams, bright and happy and open.

Anna snorts. "Yeah, Cas, I think you did."

Dean gets into the car and Cas keeps on watching. "Well," he breathes, seeing Dean drive out of the parking lot while he and his brother snark at one another inside the car. "Go me."

"Yeah, Cas," Anna mutters, pressing a kiss to his cheek that aches from smiling so hard. "Go you."