A/N: Canon-Divergent after s10e18: The Book of the Damned, but somehow s10e20: Angel Heart still happened.

This is essentially what I wish had happened at the end of s10...

Dean comes to a complete stop in the middle of U.S. 64 at 2 a.m. while Taylor Swift plays low on the radio.

But I can't make 'em stay

He doesn't know what he's thinking, except, maybe, that he's not.

At least, that's what people say

He glances at Sam, where he's curled up against the passenger side window, snoring softly. Then back at Cas, stretched all the way across the back, doing much the same, both completely oblivious to his music choices.

That's what people say

And something tugs at him, tugs at him in a way it never has before.

The frigging Mark's gone.

They're all safe, sound, and human - so, more or less, in one piece.

And he feels this strange sense of serenity enveloping him, and he wants - more like needs - to do something with it, to keep it.

For once, he's not chomping at the bit to find more work to be done - work, well, work can wait for a while.

"Sam? Cas? What do you fellas say? How about the beach?"

They both keep snoring, and Dean slaps the steering wheel in impulsive, but decisive, victory. Majority rules, even if everyone else is asleep.

"Awesome."

He sings low and offkey to the rest of "Shake It Off" as he makes a U-Turn, veering very determinedly south east.

XXX

The sun filters through the Impala's windows a few hours later, as he and Sam debate their ultimate destination over coffee, donuts, and - sacrilegiously - a banana.

At the sound of their ongoing chatter, Cas slowly blinks awake and winces against the morning light before drawing the hood from his jacket over his face.

It's so human, it hurts.

But Dean just chuckles before grabbing an apple cinnamon granola bar from the seat and chucking it at him. "Morning, sleepyhead. Got you breakfast."

Cas groans as it hits against his shoulder before dropping to the floor. He picks it up and glares at Dean in the rearview mirror before silently unwrapping it. He eats half of it before stopping mid-bite to stare pointedly at the palm trees dotting the interstate.

"We're not in Kansas."

"Nope. Good catch, Poirot," Dean agrees easily. Cas raises his eyes, and he elaborates, "Florida."

"There's a case here?" Cas asks as he leans over Sam's side of the bench, looking down at the display on his phone, which, Dean imagines, is still open to a search on the Sunshine State's less well known beaches.

"Nope. Just some good old R & R," Dean says. "Think we all earned some. You especially."

The last part sort of slips out without Dean's permission. He ducks his head and wishes that Sam wasn't there. He and Cas need to have thatconversation. They do. Really. But alone.

Thankfully, Sam senses that too. He turns to Cas. "The beach. We're going to the beach for a vacation... you ever been on vacation?"

"I don't believe so," Cas says, squinting up at the road sign marking their current distance from Miami - 200 miles. "I have been to the beaches of Israel. I spent considerable time there, millennia ago, with my brothers, learning about... the workings... of the universe."

"That's not..." Sam starts, hesitates, and continues, "...that's not really the same, I don't think. But it's really cool. What were you doing, exactly?"

Then, because they're both giant nerds, Cas tells Sam, in ridiculously lengthy detail, about Biblical Israel and a frigging marlin for the next twenty minutes. And Dean thinks, if he doesn't interrupt them, he might get too invested, for his own good, in the fate of a goddamn fish. He slaps his hand against the steering wheel before leaning over the backseat.

"Vacations are supposed to be fun, Cas."

Cas frowns at his lap. Apparently, to him, that was fun.

"Less fish of destiny or whatever."

"Then what?" Cas presses.

Dean grimaces. "I don't know, man. But what you're talking about - that - that sounds like work. No work on vacation. That's the first rule. Maybe the only rule."

"Yeah," Sam snorts, "says the guy who found us a case not even a day into our last 'vacation.'"

Dean glares at him. "Yeah, well...this one - this one we're doing right."

XXX

What 'doing it right' turns out to entail, as Dean gets more and more invested in it, is finding a halfway decent hotel somewhere along the coast.

He knows that's the right decision when Cas listens, with comically rapt attention, to Sam's explanation of the small differences between their usually passable but sometimes questionable quarters and the certain luxury that now awaits them at the local Hampton Inn.

Cas leans up against the window, staring at the blue awning, as Dean parks, and says, "I'm still not certain I understand how comfort can be affected by door placement."

"Two words: 'Continental Breakfast,'" Dean says before he opens the back door. Then, because it occurs to him that this really actually matters, because Cas really actually eats, he grins from ear to ear as he waves him out. "Free coffee. Free donuts. Free bacon. The whole smorgasboard. It's basically paradise."

"Yeah, if paradise is controlled by your stomach," Sam says as he pries his duffel bag out from under Dean's. "Not to mention you're paying for it when you pay for the room. So it's not even really free."

"You're not even really free," Dean mutters as he shoulders his own duffel. He starts to reach for Cas' just as Cas' fingers brush against his wrist. "I believe I can manage, Dean."

And Dean, because he's a moron, backs up like he's been electrocuted and stumbles into the fender of the minivan they're parked next to. "Yeah, uh, right. Sure."

He straightens up as nonchalantly as he can manage before marching, very determinedly, towards the front doors.

"And two more words: 'water pressure.' Not better than the bunker's but, hey, that's some, that's some stiff competition right there."

XXX

Once inside, there's a fuss over the sleeping arrangement.

Dean's all set to get them two queens and ask for a cot, when Sam insists, quite firmly, that his idea of a vacation involves him not listening to Dean's snoring and, in order to do that, he needs his own room.

Dean quirks an eye, because Sam has never once, prior to this moment, complained about him snoring - not like this. And he has his own room, in his own secret lair, whenever they're home. So what does he need one on vacation for?

But then he sees Sam's eyes flicking meaningful between him and Cas - Cas, who is looking at the hotel lobby like it's the eighth world wonder - and Dean realizes what Sam's really doing. Which, honestly, at this point, he should see as a favor, but...Christ. He's not ready for this. He gulps. "Okay, fine, princess."

He turns back to the concierge. "So, two rooms then, one with one bed and one with... two, no, one... no, definitely two beds."

He plasters on a smile as the girl activates their key cards, thankful that Cas has been too entranced by the surprisingly blue pool water to notice any of what just happened.

Sam, on the other hand, looks like the cat who caught the canary.

But when they get upstairs, and Cas announces that he's going to take a shower, Sam's smirk wavers, and he motions for Dean to stay in the hall.

"What? You need help with your twenty hairbrushes or something?" Dean asks.

Sam rolls his eyes before saying, "Look, Dean, as much as I want to have a novel full of things to tease you over, you seriously need to chill...or you need to make a move."

"Make a move?" Dean repeats, because, really, "we're past that, Sam. We're way past that. I mean, come on, his last 'move'...that...that was check. That was check and mate."

He scrubs his hand down his face several times, because this whole situation is making him feel kind of helpless, "I mean, come on, Sammy, what am I suppose to do?"

"Well, for starters," Sam says, with an entirely undue amount of patience, "you might clue him in that you feel the same way."

"Yeah, here's the thing," Dean protests weakly, because Sam makes it sounds like it's so goddamn easy, "I don't actually know how he feels."

"Dean..."

"Okay, fine. I do know."

And, yeah, he definitely knows exactly what it had meant when Cas had marched purposefully into his room, after the whole to-do with the Book of the Damned, grabbed ahold of his wrists and said, "Maybe, it really can be that simple."

And that was all the warning he got before what looked like lightning bolt's of Grace were being pumped under his skin.

The Mark had burned hot then cold then sizzled blue before disappearing entirely from his arm.

He'd barely had a chance to really register that it was gone before an energy-zapped and very human Cas had passed out in his arms.

Shortly thereafter, when he was tucking a very out of it, very drowsy Cas into his bed, like he was a goddamn five year old, Charlie had darted past his room, took a good look at his arm, and shouted, "Oh my god. It worked. Oh my god. I knew it!"

Then, as Dean's eyes flicked to her, she had blushed furiously and darted off to God knows where. And he had almost wanted to shout after her "knew what?" but he was kidding himself by thinking he even needed to ask.

Then a week later, when he had still done nothing about it, Charlie had sauntered into his room while he was packing two bags of clothes for Tulsa - one for him and one for Cas.

She picked up Cas' tie with her cootie catcher, "You know, I think I'm waaay too late in saying this already..."

Dean sighed. He didn't have time for this. Cas was about to have a conniption about Claire and her apparent penchant for getting in trouble as it was.

But she draped the tie over his arm where the Mark had been anyway, and said, "But, dude, if you were looking for the opportune moment, that was definitely, definitely it."

"Charlie, his pseudo kid is in the hospital. Now's not the time."

"Yeah, that's my point!"

And, really, at this point, when was the time?

He's been almost one hundred percent sure Cas is in love with him for almost two weeks now, and he still has no frigging clue what he should do about it.

He scrubs at his face again. "Look, Sam, this...this thing with me and Cas, it's...I feel like I got thrown in the deep end or something, and, man, I'm still doing the dog paddle."

"Okay," Sam nods, like he really understands. And, God love him, he probably does, "But, Dean, I think you really just need to talk to Cas."

XXX

Of course, even if Sam's advice is solid gold, Dean doesn't really have the opportunity to talk to Cas, at least not alone, for the next two days.

Since he's been driving for something like eighteen hours, and they're not working a case, he passes out for what might actually count as a decent amount of sleep. And when he wakes up, Cas isn't there.

The over twenty picture messages on his phone, though, tell him that he and Sam went to a local tourist trap 'surf shop' and a big box store to get an unholy amount of crap. Swim trunks, sunblock, beach towels, a frigging beach bag. A beach ball. A kite. Whatever the hell a boogie board is.

He also has one lone text message from Sam that says, simply, I hope you were serious about doing this right. Cas is on a mission.

Dean chuckles before deciding to go on his own shopping spree and heads to the local Gas N' Sip for beer and, initially, he reaches for the newest Busty Asian Beauties, but then, thinking better of it, he grabs a few paperbacks. Luckily, the proximity to the beach seems to have upped the ante on the usual selection.

As he's being rung up, he sees a sign taped to the door that has a realty listing for a beach house.

He doesn't really think much of it, until the cashier glances over too. "That one's been on the market for almost a year. No one wants it."

Dean looks at the sign again. It looks pretty sweet to him. And a suspicion he'd really prefer not to have nags at him. "Not so great on the inside or something?"

She shakes her head. "A lot of rumors going around that it's haunted."

Of course, it frigging is.

He thinks, possibly, for the first time in his entire adult life - his sabbatical with Lisa aside - hunting has been the furthest thing from his mind, and now a case is being handed to him on a silver platter.

And he really, honestly doesn't want it.

He even thinks about not telling Sam and Cas about it.

But, begrudgingly, because he feels it's his civic duty, he does.

Once Sam manages to stop mocking him for finding them a case exactly one day into their vacation, he makes a few calls, to the realtor, the owner, and the local police station.

"So, there's not really a lot to go on," Sam says as he hangs up from the last call. "No deaths, no suspicious accidents, nothing like that at all. Just a lot of people who walk through and say they're hearing weird noises..."

"So, it really could be nothing? Just some folks who heard a dying radiator and blamed Casper?" Dean asks, only half listening as most of his focus is on trying not to laugh as Cas continues to attempt, and continues to fail, to blow up the beach ball.

"Yeah," Sam says before grinning down at a new message on his phone, "but, in case it's not, I sent in a request for us to stay in the house for a few nights to see if we could determine the cause of the sounds."

"And I take it they're thrilled we could be of service?" Dean's grin widens as Sam nods.

"Yep. We can get the keys in a couple hours."

It may be on the thinnest pretense of taking a case, but they're going to stay in a real, honest-to God beach house, like normal people.

Well, almost like normal people, he decides as Cas glares at the still completely deflated beach ball like he's been personally affronted by it. "Perhaps I should leave this for you, Dean. You may be better at blowing."

"That's, um..." Dean decidedly ignores the mischievous glint in Cas' eye that suggests that this was, perhaps, not a literal lapse on his part. "We've...we've got some packing to do. Chop to it."

XXX

Four hours later, they've thrown all their stuff down in the house's living area and done two EMF sweeps. Nothing pings.

There's no sign of cold spots or sulfur. Or anything really.

Until Cas, looking like a confused puppy, drags Dean towards the laundry closet. "There's something in there."

He squints at the closet before pocketing his EMF scanner and drawing out his handgun, looking decidedly uncomfortable. And Dean can't exactly blame him. He's really only ever helped them with Biblical level threats and his blade. Ghosts and guns are not really his thing.

"You got something on the scanner?" Dean asks.

"No...I, uh... I heard something," Cas says. He looks confused, like he's not sure if he really did. He backs up sheepishly, and Dean gestures for him to take a step to the side before he opens the closet and looks in.

All he sees is a washer and dryer set and a few scattered hangers. He frowns before pulling himself up onto one of the units and running his hands along the ceiling and looking at the walls.

He pulls out his own scanner and runs it along the baseboards. There's still no signal.

When he climbs down a few minutes later, Cas sighs. "I must have imagined it."

Dean pats his shoulder. "Yeah, Cas, I'm the last person that's going to tell you that you're hearing things, okay? You heard what you heard and so did everyone else that came through here. And we're going to find whatever it is."

Cas, looking skeptic and forlorn, nods.

"Hey, something wrong?"

"These senses...they're...I find them so frustratingly fragile," Cas says. "If I were still an angel, I wouldn't doubt them. But now..."

Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, because he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't fully understand what Cas is going through, but he knows it's rough. And he knows it's on him. "But now you do."

XXX

When Sam doesn't have any better luck upstairs, they decide to call it a day and head for the beach.

It's too late to swim, so Sam decides to go for a run and leaves Cas and Dean to do whatever.

And whatever turns out be going for a walk as the sun sets.

And Dean's not dumb. He knows exactly what kind of an opportunity a sunset on the beach offers him.

But, he's still a moron, and, specifically, a moron that's never been to the beach. It's kind of a novelty.

So, for the first stretch of their walk, they both get really into what's washed up on the shore.

Cas reverently picks up every single shell on the beach and muses about what type of crab previously inhabited it while Dean is continually amazed by just how many stingrays and jellyfish the tide's brought in.

Then, as the sky steadily becomes a sea of orange and pink, Dean slows down and starts wiggling his toes in the goopy sand on the shoreline as the surf washes over his feet, watching as Cas does the same.

They stare out into the horizon together, and Cas wordlessly takes his hand.

They're quiet for a long time. Then Cas' thumb rubs slowly across his knuckles as their knees knock. He draws in a deep breath and Dean knows, suddenly, that he's not the only one that's been holding back.

"Dean...do you ... do you know why I did what I did?"

Dean laughs breathily. Of course he fucking knows.

But an anger he thought he'd let simmer down boils back up, "Well, for one thing, you're a goddamn idiot. How...how could you do that, Cas? How? You didn't know it was going to work. You didn't have a clue what was going to happen to you. And even if you did, well, you know..."

He waves vaguely to all of Cas with his free hand.

"I do," Cas lifts their hands up and brushes his lips across their joint knuckles. "But ..."

Dean huffs. "But...but you love me."

"Yes. Why are you so afraid of that?" Cas asks.

There are so many answers to that question, Dean doesn't know where to begin. So he gives Cas the simplest, "Because I'm an idiot."

He digs his toes into the sand before threading his fingers through Cas' hair and tugging him forward.

Their lips slide messily and his breath hitches as Cas starts to pull him down to the sand.

And... he panics.

"Cas, we're not...not, um, because...Christ..." Dean sputters as he scrabbles to stand back up. "Sharks. There's...there's sharks out."

Cas' hand threads through his hair as his eyes light up in faint amusement. "You're afraid of sharks?"

"Hell yes, I'm afraid of sharks. I've watched shark week. I know how big their teeth are," Dean says. "Are you not afraid of sharks?"

"Dean..."

"Don't answer that."

Cas' hand squeezes his shoulder as he draws them back up. "Let's go back inside. I can see Sam."

"To, uh, to be continued?" Dean asks. "Since I kind of ruined our flow there."

Cas smiles. "To be continued."

XXX

That night, after Sam looks behind the washing machine and notices a stray cord, they peel back enough of the wall to find a well hidden and well timed noise machine from a Halloween shop.

And Dean half expects the woman that hid it there, to scare off potential buyers, to say she would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for those meddling kids.

"And their dog too," Cas adds at the end of Dean's rant. Dean snorts as he noses at Cas' shoulder and lets Cas run his hand through his hair.

"To be clear, I'm not the dog in this scenario. I'm making a reference," Cas says. "Did I do it correctly?"

Chuckling, Dean curls against Cas' side and pulls the covers up over both of them. He finds he's not in a position to care about 'correctly.' Because Cas is still Cas.

And the words he didn't think he was going to say, no matter how much he felt them, startle out of him. "I love you."

Cas smiles more brightly than Dean thinks he's ever seen. "I know."