Chapter 28! I hope you enjoy. A little bit of everything featured in this chapter! (fluff, smut, angst, making up, all of it.) I think I'm going to end this part of the series with Castiel's graduation - so very soon! I really hope you've enjoyed everything so far. There will, of course, be more following this. :)

QueenWoofy - Thank you! And yeah, he really doesn't :( That'll start changing soon, though! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 28

Castiel hums the words across Dean's skin that night, not even close to fucking, yet. Just kissing and adoring every inch of Dean's flesh, Dean squirming and whimpering and biting his lip beneath the angel, lights dancing behind his eyes.

Cas does this sometimes. Makes Dean so damn hot and desperate for it, by being so constantly tender and adoring, that Dean feels as though he could crawl out of his own skin.

Only tonight, along with kisses littered across Dean's body, there are confessions, too.

"I love your freckles," Is one, accompanied by a scatter of kisses across Dean's right shoulder, "I love your nose," Paired with Castiel bumping his nose against Dean's. "I love your ears," Another, as Castiel licks and nips at the whorl of Dean's left ear, the human shivering breathlessly beneath him. "I love your cheekbones," Accompanied by the scrape of teeth against Dean's face, "your eyes," Castiel beams down at him, pressing his forehead against Dean's and gazing intently into Dean's soul. Dean swallows, letting a small, desperate noise make it past his lips.

Castiel chuckles warmly, blue eyes turning fiery.

"I love the noises you make," Castiel continues to titter, grazing his hands up the length of Dean's torso. The muscles in Dean's tummy twinge, and all of him feels too tight. "I love how you can give up control, all for me,"—Dean moans as Castiel speaks, eyes fluttering closed. "I love your eyelashes, I love your smile," The angel kisses delicately up and down Dean's face before settling on his lips. "I love your collarbones," He nips at these, and Dean lets out a startled gasp of sudden pain-laced pleasure, revelling at the delicious sensation of Castiel soothing the bite with his tongue.

"Cas," He rasps, grinding his hips up into nothing out of want. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but—Ezekiel is gonna be back, soon, and he'll be pissed if—"

Castiel silences Dean's lips with a kiss.

"We have time," The angel murmurs above Dean. "Trust me."

And then he moves down, to kiss and nip at Dean's stomach—Dean spreads his legs wide on instinct—only half-aware of how needy and wanton and dirty-hot he must look right now. He hardly cares: cares even less when Cas begins sucking marks onto the inside of his thighs, mumbling things like "mine," and "precious, precious Dean," and "my beautiful beloved" into his adored, bruised flesh.

Dean's dick is beading at the head, a steady stream of precome; but Cas completely neglects it. He does this, too, sometimes: makes Dean wait for release until the human's skin is crawling out of desperation and tears are leaking from his eyes; refuses to acknowledge Dean's dick and revels in his power over the human as he makes Dean come untouched. And all Dean can do is lie back and feel and fall in desperate love with Castiel, even more so than he already is.

Like now.

And probably, since today was the first day that they even said the whole 'I love you' thing, Cas wants to draw this out even more. Make it special. Which is saying something, since Cas can make sex last hours, anyway.

Or, maybe Cas is doing this because he knows Dean is embarrassed by being the one to say it first, wants to assure Dean that he really, really means it. Right now, Dean is having no trouble doubting the sincerity of Cas's affection.

"I love it when you're confident," Castiel looks up from Dean's flesh to stare intently into Dean's eyes, "I love it when you're all shy and blushing, I love how I can see your freckles even better when you're flushed. I love your lips. I love your lips when they're wrapped around my dick," Something darkly passionate and gorgeously possessive stirs in Castiel's eyes as he says this, and Dean groans at the sight, arching his back in submission.

"Cas, please—"

"I love it when you're hot and begging for it, when you're moaning and tossing on my bed because of how damn good and whole and desperate you feel—"

"Please!" Dean arcs his back again, groaning, nearly crying. Castiel's pupils blow his eyes nearly black with lust.

"Love it when you beg," He breathes out hoarsely, looking like he could consume Dean all in a single breath—Dean's body trembles a little more at the thought, and he hardly notices Cas reach behind him to run his fingers across his oil glands, just below the angel's wings, and pick up as much oil as possible. But he notices when Castiel presses a finger, unannounced, into Dean's aching body.

He gasps at the sudden, perfect breach of his person.

And he knows people say it kills the mood, but honestly? Being able to tell Cas he loves him, as Cas finger-fucks Dean with dirty hot deliberacy is just about the best thing the human can think of. His chest feels like it's being emptied as he does so; like he's breathing out a tornado with each confession of total devotion.

And by the time he and Cas finally get to fucking, when Castiel finally presses inside of his thrumming body, Dean can't even think in sentences, let alone speak them. All that comes out are gasps and moans and grunts of 'Uh, uh, uh' in time with the snap of Cas's hips. He's crying and moaning again, Cas kissing at his tears and making him feel so damn precious Dean honestly believes the world is made of stardust.

And Cas is still whispering how he loves Dean, murmuring the words into Dean's ears until they're all Dean knows; those words, Cas's eyes, and the base, burning pleasure of Cas fucking him deeper than he's ever been fucked before. Dean can't tell if it's rough or tender—at some points it sure does feel like both, Cas nipping and sucking at his skin, then staring into Dean's eyes and kissing at Dean's nose and lips with all the love and devotion in the world.

So when Dean comes, all that escapes his mouth is a loud cry ripping from his chest and a strangled moan of Cas's name, because right now, that's all he knows. Cas, and the fire he has set roaring in Dean's chest.

And he's floating down from this blissful cloud of thrumming, hazy pleasure, only mildly aware of Cas grunting out his orgasm with a less deliberate pistoning of his hips than earlier into Dean's body, and the angel pressing a plug into Dean's ass, and the scattering of reverent kisses across Dean's chest, and the murmur of,

"I mean it, Dean. I love you."

Dean's gasping has turned into panting, which in turn drifts into smooth, sated, relaxed breaths that wash in and out of Dean like water, like waves on the beach at night, lapping at Dean's chest.

Or maybe that's just Cas cleaning the come off Dean's torso with a warm, wet towel? Where the hell did he get that from? Dean beams and reaches a shaky hand up to card his fingers affectionately through Cas's hair. Either way. Dean couldn't be feeling any happier, right now, especially at the look Cas gives him in response to his touch.

"You're looking all fucked out," The angel observes, but for the life of him, Dean can't decipher Cas's words: they come out all muffled and hazy in his ears and he blinks sleepily, confused.

"Huh?"

"You're drunk on sex, Dean," Castiel chuckles. This time, Dean kind of understands what Cas is saying, and grins lopsidedly.

"I look good?" He asks. Castiel beams, chuckling again, and bends down to nose at Dean's nose.

"Always," He hums. "But now especially." He kisses tenderly at Dean's lips for a few moments, Dean unable to kiss back, only grin lazily at the attention. "God, I wish you could see yourself," He laughs roughly, low and quiet. "Looking so good. So pretty."

"You think I'm pretty?" Dean asks, or rather, rasps out, beaming in delirious sleepiness as Castiel wraps him in a blanket and kisses his forehead.

"I think you're beautiful."

The little energy Dean has left goes into him flushing.

Vaguely, he can hear Cas chuckling affectionately above him and lying down by Dean's side, pulling his comforter over both of them. Dean's sleep is deep and heavy, and surrounded by the distant, comforting sensation of being cradled by someone who loves him. Very much.

…

"So I know Valentine's Day is kinda lame, but—"

Castiel snorts involuntarily at Dean's words, not least because for the past hour or so, it's been blatantly obvious that Dean has been building up, steeling himself, to say something he finds to be very awkward.

They sit in a quiet corner of the library, opposite one another, Castiel finishing off an essay and Dean struggling with a math assignment. It's obvious that he's battling with it: he'll wrinkle his nose and knot his forehead up at unpredictable intervals, occasionally letting out a sigh or scratching the back of his neck with his pen. It's just about the cutest thing that Castiel can think of, and it's taking all the self-control Castiel has not to give into the sizzling urge to take Dean's chin between his thumb and forefinger and kiss Dean's lips raw at the human's work-face.

Castiel watches as Dean licks his lips cautiously, cutting his sentence short at the angel's obvious amusement.

"What makes you think it's lame, Dean?"

Dean flushes.

"I dunno. It all seems kinda arbitrary, y'know? And I thought you would think so, too?" He raises his eyebrows at Castiel, who shrugs nonchalantly. "Well, anyway," Dean continues, "I thought…. And I wouldn't normally, y'know? Just with you, I—I thought we could do something? Would you like that? And it could be kinda ironic, like a, I don't know, us laughing at the morons who actually buy into—"

Finally, Castiel gives into the burning need to meet his mouth with Dean's, and leans close to stop the human's lips with a kiss.

"That sounds great, Dean." He pulls back and gazes with all the warmth of mid-summer at his boyfriend. "What did you have in mind?"

"I, uh," Dean fumbles, clearly caught off guard, as always, by Castiel's fervent displays of affection. "Dinner?" He suggests. "At some place fancy, maybe? Ellen gave me some money and said that I could—we could—do something nice. How's that sound to you?"

Castiel nods.

"Yes, I like the sound of that," He confirms, unable to extinguish the bright amber flame in his chest that Dean's uncomfortableness with anything remotely serious has ignited, inexplicably.

"And I get that it's a little stupid—"

"It's not stupid, Dean," Castiel smiles, taking Dean's hand in his own. "Why would it be stupid?"

"I don't know," Dean's forehead knits into a frown once more. He coughs awkwardly into a balled fist. "I guess I just never took you to be the type to care about Valentine's?"

"Well," Castiel snorts. "It is kind of a stupid holiday. And I'd hope that you know how much I adore you anyway."

Dean flushes a gorgeous rose at Castiel's words before managing to smirk out one of his coolest, most lopsided smiles, probably in an attempt to convince Castiel that the angel's affection doesn't have such a massive effect on him. Obviously, it's not nearly enough to persuade Castiel that this is the case.

"But any excuse to spend time with you is an excuse enough for me," Castiel finishes, ardently. "So I'd love to do whatever it is you have planned."

"Cool," Dean beams, straightening up. "Great."

"What was it that you had planned?"

"Well, this fancy restaurant," Dean explains. "And then, like, a movie night? Or we could go to some trendy bar, I don't know—" He squirms a little. "I'm bad at this kind of thing. I don't know if you'd noticed. But I want to do it, with you."

Castiel swallows down his mystifying joy at Dean's words.

"I don't know if you'd noticed, Dean, but I'm not too gifted at this kind of thing, either. So we can suck at Valentine's Day, together. But I like the thought that sucking at it is something that I can do with you."

Dean beams, even as his cheeks flame crimson, turning his golden-brown freckles even darker. Castiel can nearly smell spring on the air at the human's expression.

"You're such a sap, Cas," Dean grins, rolling his eyes even as his cheeks remain a staunch coral in colour. "It's a wonder I don't break up with you."

Castiel smirks.

"I'm glad you haven't," He hums, squeezing at Dean's hand. Dean glances down at it. He smiles distractedly. Castiel's soul lets out a long, sweet sigh that he doesn't ever want to end.

…

"You look dumb, dressed up smart," Dean grins, straightening out Cas's tie even as he mocks the angel with bright, glittering eyes.

"Couldn't agree more," Ezekiel hums from where he lies, cross-legged on his bed with his laptop perched in front of him, face glowing an iridescent white-blue from its backlight.

"And you look dumb, period," Castiel rolls his eyes. Ezekiel snorts out a laugh. "Both of you."

"Hey!"

"'Zeke, do you have to be here?" Dean frowns.

"Why?" Ezekiel stares up at Dean, and Castiel honestly can't tell if his roommate is affronted, or just pretending to be, in order to mess with the human. "This is my room too, y'know. I give you guys so much time to be alone together, and on the one night when I hang around—"

"Didn't you want to do something nice with Bela?"

"First of all, no," Ezekiel shakes his head, seeming somehow offended by Castiel's suggestion, "second of all—"

"Why not?" Dean frowns. "Did you break up with her?"

"No—but it's not as though there was anything to break, anyway."

"I thought you liked her?"

"I never said I didn't," Ezekiel glares.

"Then why—"

"Second of all," Ezekiel continues over Dean, pulling an exasperated expression, "Bela and I aren't dating. We're fucking. Big difference."

"Oh, gross," Dean wrinkles his nose. "That's like, the last thing I wanted to hear—"

"No, the last thing you want to hear is me harping on and on about how into some girl I am, and how I'm going to take her out on Valentine's Day and we're just gonna have the most adorable evening and sit opposite each other with candles burning and—"

"Okay, Ezekiel, we get it—"

"So you're welcome, by the way, for me sparing you from that," Ezekiel continues, matter-of-factly. "And I haven't even finished my points. Third of all, have you met Bela? You think she'd be into Valentine's Day crap? At all?"

"What's got you in such a shitty mood, 'Zeke?" Dean smirks, despite keeping his tone tentative.

Ezekiel rolls onto his back and makes a noise of annoyance and exhaustion.

"Honestly?"

"Why do you think I'm asking?"

"Mom thinks it's stupid for me to do a Master's. Says it won't take me anywhere."

"And that's why you're pissed off at us?"

"No, I'm just jealous and lonely in the face of your beautiful relationship," Ezekiel replies sarcastically. A chuckle cracks out of Castiel's throat. "Of course that's why I'm pissed." His whole exterior softens a moment, and he rolls his eyes affectionately at the pair. "But I'm over it. Who needs a future, anyway? Now go on, get out of here. Have a cute night, losers."

"Thanks buddy," Dean smiles, ruffling at Ezekiel's hair as he makes his way to the door. "But I'm always cute."

"See you, Ezekiel," Castiel smiles at his roommate as he makes his way to leave after Dean. "Have a good night."

"Thanks, man," Ezekiel replies distantly, already staring back at the screen of his laptop, seemingly lost in thought once more. Castiel smirks and closes the door behind him.

And, turning to Dean on the empty hallway, Castiel can't help but beam.

"What're you grinning at?" Dean asks with a leer. Castiel chuckles.

"You," He replies honestly, as Dean heads out of the building and onto the lawns and concrete outside. "You look nice, dressed up smart."

Dean blows a raspberry, like a child would. His cheeks are the colour of cherries.

"I bet you're only saying that 'cause you want to get laid tonight."

"Well, always," Castiel replies honestly—which earns him a snort of guileless laughter from his boyfriend. "But I mean it," Castiel slips his hand into Dean's as the two amble through the evening air. The sky is a soft shade of orange that glides into pinks and violets, and it seems almost dusty in texture from the many, wispy layers of clouds that cover its surface, and the sun setting across it.

And he's being truthful: Dean, in his white-gray linen shirt and navy tie, spiky hair combed as neatly as possible, is indulging Castiel in a fantasy he didn't even know he had.

"You like watching me blush, don't you, Cas?"

"I mean, wasn't it obvious?" Castiel frowns at his boyfriend, who chuckles and shakes his head fondly.

The walk to the restaurant Dean has chosen is a fairly long one—not helped of course by the fact that Castiel feels no desire to shorten his time with Dean by walking quickly, so, despite leaving extra early, the pair arrive outside the fancy-looking place with only seven minutes to spare.

"How do you do this?" Dean frowns at the door.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, do I say we've made a reservation?"

"I guess?" Castiel frowns, brow knotting together. "I don't make a habit of eating at places where you can reserve seats—"

"God, Cas, you're no use at all," Dean rolls his eyes. "Why did I even bring you?"

"Because it's Valentine's Day and I'm your boyfriend and you love me?" Castiel suggests. "And because, for some reason, you actually enjoy my company and sense of humour?"

Deans smirks.

"Yeah, one of those two, I guess. Or maybe it's your dorky dress sense, or your gorgeous sex hair."

"I'll go with sex hair," Castiel chuckles as Dean pushes the door open.

"Good choice," Dean nods seriously back at the angel. "I would've, too, if I were you."

"That's reassuring."

Inside, the place is all low, red lighting and dark furniture; black modern chairs made out of some shiny kind of wood and lamps that dip down to hang just above each table. If Castiel didn't feel so out of his depth, he'd be telling Dean how beautiful this place is and how glad he is to be here with the human. As it is, he only feels nervous

"Hey—hello—" Dean shifts awkwardly, rubbing his arm self-consciously as he speaks to a human in a dark suit by the door. "We made a, um, reservation for dinner?"

The human hardly glances at Dean, only stares over the young man's shoulder at Castiel, lips pursed, eyes veiled and impersonal.

"One moment, please," He says, and steps away, walking over to another human in a darker, slightly fancier suit further down the restaurant. Castiel glances over to them, frowning, as they hold murmured conversation.

His wings bristle. Dean looks confused. Castiel's wings bristle even more when the waiter and, he assumes, the manager, glance over to him and Dean. The waiter points to the pair and murmurs something else. The manager nods, frowning unfavourably.

"What the hell?" Dean mutters, frowning in confusion. "What're they doing? Cas, do you know what's goin' on?"

Castiel's skin burns.

God, he's been so stupid.

Of course he knows what they're doing.

His ears start getting hot.

He'd been so caught up, so in love with Dean and happy in his relationship, that he forgot what humans are really like.

He glances around at the people filling the restaurant.

In the low candlelight, all he can make out are human faces. Not a wing, not a feather in sight. All of them have the mean, pointed faces of the people Castiel, up until about a year ago, had associated with hatred.

And then he'd almost forgotten about it. Almost.

But he remembers it now.

His skin starts to itch, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and flattens his wings down, flushing, suddenly feeling stupid and ridiculous in his suit and tie, wishing he were anywhere else in the world but here. They're looking—not just the waiter and manager now, but diners at the restaurant; they flicker their gaze up to Dean and Castiel, still stood awkwardly at the heavy, dark door all the other guests had long since entered through.

"Cas, buddy?" Dean frowns over to his boyfriend, still, apparently, totally oblivious to what's going on. Oh, Dean. Castiel is caught between feeling anger and a patronising exasperation toward the human—why didn't Dean see this coming? Why didn't he look the place up before reserving a table here? "Are you okay?"

Castiel bristles still more, ducking his head, face searing with mortification and resentment and fury at what he knows is about to happen. He realises that his hands have started trembling as the manager and waiter make their ways back over to Dean and Castiel.

"Dean, we should go," He murmurs back to his boyfriend. Whispers go up around the restaurant, along with tentative, distrusting glances in the direction of Dean and Castiel, like fireworks going off at night.

"What?" Dean frowns.

"We should go," Castiel hisses, hands shaking with a little more franticness now.

"Why?" Dean asks, confused, the waiter and manager only a few feet away, now. "We made a reservation—"

"No," Castiel whispers, hopelessly, "you made a reservation."

Dean, a human.

Castiel, an angel.

Somehow their differences have never seemed so apparent until now.

"Good evening, sirs," The manager purses his lips in a slightly less distinct way to the waiter who first greeted them—or, rather, refused to greet them. But Castiel can still make it out: this is the face of disapproval that humans wear whenever confronted with one of Castiel's kind in a place where angel's are unwelcome—everything from the clenching and unclenching fists, the slow, uneven breathing, the gaze flicking to and from Castiel's person, the twitch of neck and jaw muscles. "I'm very sorry for the delay, but I'm afraid we're full tonight—"

"Full?" Dean repeats, frowning. His shoulders are far apart and he stands in a way so starkly different from Castiel's slumping, resigned demeanor that Castiel wants to scream at his boyfriend that it's useless, that there's no point fighting, that they should just go and forget about it. The manager blinks longsufferingly at Dean's interruption, but the human hardly seems to notice. Castiel shrivels up a little more inside, already self-conscious, absolutely ready to die.

"Yes, sir—"

"But we made a reservation—"

"And it seems we've double booked, for which we apologise—"

"Double booked?" Dean glares. "How did that happen?"

"A logistical error, I'm sure—"

"But there are free tables right there," Dean points, still glowering. "And there." He points somewhere else. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but as you can imagine, tonight is a busy night—"

"Well, obviously," Dean rolls his eyes, "why do you think I bothered booking a table?"

"Dean," Castiel tugs on Dean's sleeve, desperate to get out of here.

"No, Cas, this is bullshit!" Dean frowns. "Why can't you give us a table?"

"Sir, the establishment reserves the right to refuse service to anyone they discern as undesirable—"

"Undesirable?" Dean repeats. "Who's undesirable?"

"Dean," Castiel begs, tugging at Dean's sleeve a little harder, but the human wrenches it from his boyfriend's grip, still scowling at the waitstaff—before his eyes widen and he glances back at Castiel, shocked.

Castiel is reminded of the first time he met the human by the look of awe, fear and confusion swarming its way across Dean's face.

But then the human surprises Castiel. He turns back to the manager and waiter, frowning heavily, brow set in an unforgiving, unwavering downward curve.

"You can't do this," He shakes his head. "It's illegal."

The manager blinks. The waiter shuffles uncomfortably, avoiding both Dean and Castiel's gazes.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean—"

"I'm sure you do," Dean replies, quickly. "And unless you want us to complain—or report you—"

"There's no need for—"

"Dean," Castiel pleas. "It's not worth it."

"Cas, it is," Dean shakes his head, turning back to the angel with his forehead knitted up not with anger, now, but passion and worry. "Don't you see—"

"Of course I see, Dean," Castiel has to fight to keep his voice even and quiet. Has Dean honestly forgotten who it is he's dating? "But please, can we go?"

His petitions go unnoticed.

"Why won't you let us eat here?" Dean asks the manager, ignoring Castiel.

"Because," The manager starts again, drawing in a deep inward breath, "any establishment has the right—"

"Bullshit," Dean spits. The waiter flinches.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to watch your language—"

"Dean, you're making a scene," Castiel whines softly.

"—And further, ask you to leave the premises—" the manager continues.

"Because my boyfriend is an angel?" Dean asks—and this time, customers' heads definitely turn.

"Sir, you're disturbing our guests—"

"We are your guests, in case you'd forgotten," Dean glowers. "I made a reservation! And if I'm disturbing anyone else, then it's your fault—"

"This has nothing to do with racial discrimination," The manager's jaw clenches. "So please don't steer the conversation in that direction—"

"So if I'd come here on my own, would you have let me in?" Dean asks. The manager's face heats. "Or if I'd come in here with my family, who're all human—would you have refused me service, then?"

"That's different—"

Dean honestly looks as though he could punch the guy.

"But you're not gonna let us in, now."

It's not a question, it's a statement. The waiter starts gnawing at his own lip, watching the proceedings. The manager shuffles his feet, keeping his hands clasped together.

"I believe you already know the answer to that."

"And why won't you serve us?"

"I don't need to answer that."

"Yes you do!"

"Our customers are of a certain—caliber, and—"

Castiel turns and shoves the door back open, stepping out into the cold winds which had started up during their time inside, taking a gasp of freezing air into his trembling lungs. His whole body shakes. His eyes burn and prickle, despite the cold. His face feels as though it's about to catch on fire. He wrenches the tie off from around his neck, feeling stupid and, for whatever reason, dirty. Horribly dirty, and more worthless than he has in his whole life.

Usually he's defiant in the face of discrimination. Why is it that he feels like mud, now?

"Cas!" Dean exclaims, bursting out of the door after him. Castiel paces down the sidewalk, tears freezing on his face as soon as they fall. He desperately wipes them away as Dean attempts to catch up with him, feeling nothing but bitterness and resentment towards the human.

"Cas, wait up—"

Castiel's jaw tightens and he swallows around a lump in his throat, kicking at the pavement.

"Cas, I'm sorry, those guys were assholes—but we can report them, it's fine—"

"Fine?" Castiel repeats, turning to glare filthily at Dean, who flinches back, looking suddenly hurt. It's nothing on how Castiel feels. "Why is it fine, Dean? How exactly could it possibly be fine? And what the hell is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong with me?" Dean glares back at the angel, whose lip curls.

"I mean, why the fuck didn't you look that place up before? Why the fuck did you carry on in there after I'd made it clear that I wanted to go? Why did you have to cause a scene?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Cas," Dean scowls caustically, "I didn't realise restaurants advertised their racism online! What the fuck was I meant to do, call in and ask, 'oh, by the way, will my boyfriend be allowed in? He's an angel, but, y'know, a good enough guy'—"

"God! Dean!" Castiel snarls, shouting the words over the wind, which has caught itself up, rather suddenly, in a flurry of freezing, arctic cold.

"And while we're on shit I did wrong, apparently, I'm so sorry that I stuck up for you! Imagine that, sticking up for my boyfriend! What the hell was I supposed to do, just stand there and let them treat you like that?"

"Oh, shit, I forgot, Dean! "Castiel exclaims, sarcastically. "If you talk to racists reasonably, suddenly all their bigotry just goes away! Just like that! God, I really am a goof—good thing I have you around to show me what to do when someone's being a chauvinist! Because you're so experienced and learned, and you obviously know so much more about racism than I do!"

"You asshole, Cas!" Dean shouts over the wind. "I was trying to do what was right by you!"

"Well, I've got to say, Dean, you did an amazing job!"

"Stop being so sarcastic!" Dean blinks hard, and Castiel realises with a start the the human is fighting back tears. But what right does he have to be crying? He doesn't know what Castiel just went through! "I'm sorry, Cas! I didn't know they'd be like that—I thought we were just gonna have a nice night—"

"Yeah, it was really lovely, Dean," Castiel rolls his eyes. "Most romantic Valentine's Day, ever. Next time, how about you remember this little thing that I've had to face my whole life, called institutional racism?"

Dean kicks at the pavement, glaring at Castiel. Castiel rolls his eyes and starts walking.

"Where're you going?" Dean shouts after him.

"Home, Dean," Castiel shouts back. "And you can go back to your own dorm, by the way."

Dean's face falls.

"I should've know better than to date a human," Castiel snarls, casting as filthy look as he can in Dean's direction before readying himself to turn away again.

But Dean doesn't even respond.

His expression seems to cave in on itself and the human just slumps into sitting on the curb.

The cold mid-February wind dies down. No longer does it whip around them, rough on Castiel's skin, mussing up his hair. The air turns abruptly still.

Castiel feels suddenly ashamed.

"I guess so," Dean stares at the tarmac of the ground, pawing at it softly. His expression speaks nothing but hopelessness.

Castiel takes a step closer towards him.

"I—"

But he finds that he can't speak.

"No, it's fair enough," Dean shakes his head, eyes welling up with tears that leak softly onto the human's freckled cheeks. "I don't know what it's like—and I shouldn't have stayed there and picked a fight—it was upsetting for you, and I was being stupid… I was just angry…"

Castiel can't make so much as a sound. All his words are failing him and chipping out of his throat in silence.

"But I get it," Dean runs a hand through his hair. "And I guess this is it?"

Finally, Castiel manages to speak.

"It?" He repeats, nonplussed, chest aching hollowly.

"You, y'know," Dean's face is nearly maroon. "Breaking up with me."

Castiel's insides crumple inward like a dying star.

And, as his heart breaks at the look on his boyfriend's face, and the tone of Dean's cracked voice, he sits down next to the human.

"I'm sorry," He shakes his head.

"So you are?" Dean looks up at Castiel, utterly despondent.

"Are, what?"

"You are breaking up with me?" Dean clarifies, hardly able to look at the angel.

"No," Castiel sighs, tugging Dean into his arms. "Never, if I manage to do right by you."

Dean frowns into the angel's neck.

"But—"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel holds Dean's body tight. "I—obviously I was hurt, and I lashed out at you—"

Dean squeezes Castiel back.

"But I was—"

"You were sticking up for me."

"But I did it wrong—"

Castiel tugs Dean's chin up and kisses the human.

"It's fine," Castiel shakes his head.

"I'm sorry I ruined Valentine's Day…"

"You didn't ruin it," Castiel bumps his forehead against Dean's, watches as the human's eyes slide slowly closed. "Some racist dicks in a pretentious restaurant ruined it. And Valentine's is a dumb celebration, anyway—you said it yourself."

"But I wanted this one to be special," Dean shakes his head. "This one wasn't dumb, I wanted it to be special, because I was with you."

Castiel's heart softens so much it feels raw.

"Well," He traces Dean's jaw with his thumb, watching as the human shivers, "as far as I'm concerned, it is special."

"How?" Dean frowns.

"I'm with you," Castiel says, simply, softly, adoring the way Dean blushes at his words. "That makes it pretty special, already. I'm actually celebrating Valentine's Day, which I never thought I'd do—so that's a miracle, actually. I'm in the longest relationship I've ever been in, and I'm happy and in love—that's very special. I just got kicked out of a restaurant and my boyfriend got in a fight with the staff, so that's pretty special—"

Dean laughs tearily and kisses at Castiel's lips for a sweet, delicate moment, before pulling back and hugging the angel's neck.

"Idiot," He mumbles into Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel trails a hand through Dean's soft tufts of hair, nosing at it gently as he does so.

"Do you wanna go back?" Dean asks, muffling his words into Castiel's body. "Back to our dorms?"

"I don't know," The angel shrugs. "I feel… kind of stupid in a suit, now."

Dean lifts his head up, off Castiel chest, and looks his boyfriend up and down.

"Well, you're missing your tie, for one thing," He shakes his head. "So that might be part of why you feel ridiculous."

"The tie?" Castiel raises his eyebrows doubtfully at Dean. "That's what's making me feel ridiculous?"

"Uh-huh," Dean smirks. "You look a dishevelled accountant."

"An accountant?"

"A sex dishevelled accountant, don't be offended," Dean grins. "Like, I don't know, you just fucked someone in the office, you're a big name in the company—"

Castiel chuckles softly.

"I hope you realise, you're just running through a sexual fantasy I only just realised I had, today."

"Really?" Dean's expression is nearly impish.

"Really," Castiel confirms, nodding.

"And that fantasy was prompted by… What, exactly?"

Castiel chuckles, shaking his head.

"You, obviously."

"Obviously?" Dean repeats, raising his eyebrows and grinning at Castiel.

"Yes, obviously," Castiel chuckles. "You in your suit. Who else?"

"And what did the fantasy involve?"

Castiel pushes Dean gently.

"No, Cas, I mean it!" The human exclaims. "I wanna know!"

"Okay, so like you said," Castiel crosses his legs. "Me in an office, fucking you."

"And who am I, in the office?"

"I don't know, my intern?" Castiel chuckles.

Dean's smile is wolfish even if his blush is modest.

"Intern, huh? That doesn't sound half bad."

"Or my secretary."

"That sounds less cool."

"But if you were my secretary, I could bend you over my desk and—"

"So do you wanna go back to your room and watch a movie?" Dean asks over the rest of Castiel's sentence, flushing scarlet. Castiel chuckles and strokes his fingers up and down the human's neck for a moment.

"I want to stay out, for a bit," Castiel answers, honestly. "Our night doesn't have to be ruined."

Dean's lips twitch upwards.

"Well, I don't know what part of getting kicked out of a restaurant, having your first fight with your boyfriend on the sidewalk straight after, then having a breakup scare and talking it out on the muddy curb seems like something that could ruin Valentine's Day to you, but—"

"What should we do, Dean?"

Dean smiles as though he's about to laugh, a soft and quiet laugh he usually saves for when he and Castiel are curled up in bed together, fingers knotted together, legs tangled under the covers, sharing simple, sweet pillow talk.

"Burgers?" He suggests.

Castiel beams, and finds he can do nothing to suppress it.

"You know me so well."

"Are you surprised?"

"No," Castiel shakes his head, honestly. "Only insanely lucky."

"Lucky?"

"To have you," Castiel clarifies. "Insanely lucky to have you."

Dean looks as though he's tempted to duck his head at this. He doesn't. Only presses his forehead to Castiel's and replies in a low, earnest voice,

"And I'm insanely lucky to have you, too."

...

A/N: Next chapter will hopefully be up in around two weeks! Thank you for reading. Comments are love!