A/N: Hello, dear reader! Thank you so much for clicking! This is a story that I began some years ago and never finished. In a recent writing funk, I went back to some of my abandoned drafts and decided to complete it. I'm a little rusty on my Supernatural fanfic, so this is just a fun one-shot set in the canon universe at an indeterminate time, sometime after the Men of Letters bunker was infested with Winchesters. Nothing fancy here, just some dudes havin' dude times romantic-styles.

If you are a reader of my previous stories, you may be aware that I have not posted anything in more than a year and I CURRENTLY have a big, honking work-in-progress that is unfinished! I have not forgotten that story, my friends. I'm just working up the courage to dive back in. That's part of the reason I wanted to get back into writing SPN and warm up to the task.

As always, I very much appreciate reviews. If you review this story, I will personally send you a bonafide TEN OUNCES of cat hair that I vacuumed off of my living room floor.* These cat hair bags are going fast, folks, so get 'em while they're hot!**

*TheCouchCarrot has been advised that sending bags of cat hair may constitute a crime of harassment. TheCouchCarrot's counsel has persuaded her not to mail sandwich bags full of cat hair to reviewers.

**TheCouchCarrot has been advised that in the criminal justice system, hot bags of cat hair are considered especially heinous. TheCouchCarrot is aware that if she sends any hot bags of cat hair, an elite squad of detectives will investigate this vicious felony.

Enjoy the story!

Dean is sitting at the table, flipping through some old leatherbound treatise on Genesis, when Castiel walks up behind him and plunks a book down.

"Have you read this?" Cas demands.

It's a paperback copy of 50 Shades of Grey.

"Jesus, no," Dean answers with a disgusted grimace. "Why in God's name would I?"

"According to several news outlets, this is one of the fastest selling books of all time," Cas says urgently. "And now it's a series of movies. It's a franchise."

"No accounting for taste," Dean mutters, nudging the book away from him.

"Dean." Cas grabs the book and thrusts it in his face. "This book is not popular because of its quality. I am familiar with the entire canon of Western literature, and this book is objectively mediocre. The plot is derivative and the writing is – weak, at best."

"So?" Dean asks exasperatedly. "Not everybody wants to read the Great fuckin' Gatsby, apparently. What's your point?"

Cas clasps the book in both hands, and holds it at arm's length. "This book is a bestselling novel, and even I could write a book better than this book." He looks into Dean's eyes with his most serious gaze, and pronounces:

"I, Castiel, am going to write a bestselling novel."

…..

Sam flips through the manuscript. The front page declares the title: The Legendary Flannigan.

"Cas," he says. "This is just The Great Gatsby set in the future."

"Yes," Castiel answers.

"You can't just copy another book," Sam says.

"I didn't copy it," Cas replies. "It's an homage."

"An homage is more than copying," Sam argues. "An homage is different, it takes the idea and -"

"It is different," Cas interrupts. "Didn't you read it? The Great Gatsby takes place in the year 1922. My novel takes place in 2150. The Great Gatsby had a lot of cars. There are no cars in my novel. Cars are obsolete in 2150."

"You can't use the plot blow for blow and then change the setting," Sam explains. "That's still plagiarism."

Cas holds up his copy of 50 Shades and raises his eyebrows. "I beg to differ."

Sam rolls his eyes. "That's the exception, not the rule, Cas."

"What if I use the characters of Great Gatsby, but they're all zombies?" Cas suggests. "Sexually promiscuous zombies? That sounds very different."

Sam frowns. "No. Just – no."

"Your rules are very inconsistent with my research," Cas says suspiciously. He narrows his eyes at Sam. "Perhaps you are not my target demographic. I'm not writing Infinite Jest, Sam. I'm writing a novel that humans will read to distract themselves from the profound, inescapable tedium of using mass public transportation. I rarely observe you using mass public transportation."

Sam sighs and tosses down the manuscript. "Just write something original, Cas. Trust me. The bus people will like it."

….

Dean eyeballs the manuscript in front of him. "Why did you print this off? You could've just emailed it."

"It's for easier proofreading," Castiel explains.

Dean picks up the text and skims the first page.

Diane and Patricia walk down the street, eager to reach the new bakery that opened yesterday, Buns n' More. "I hope they have danishes," Diane says as she pushes open the bakery door. "I really want a danish!" The two women step inside.

Patricia looks around, and gasps. She grabs Diane's arm. "Diane," she says, "I don't think this is a bakery."

The walls of the store are covered in shelves, but instead of holding breads and pastries, the shelves are full of… sex toys!

"Buns n' More!" Diane gasps. "It's a sex shop! Selling sexual aids!"

A tall, dark, handsome man steps out from the behind the counter and smiles at the two women. His name tag reads Charles. "Hello! Did you ladies need some help with sex?"

Dean slowly lowers the manuscript. "Cas. This is just porn, isn't it."

"Erotica," Cas corrects.

Dean puts his hand over his face. "You said you were writing a novel."

"A best-selling novel," Cas emphasizes. "The public wants what it wants. And what it wants is sex. Specifically, sexual literature aimed towards women."

"Okay, first of all, if you have two women walking into a sex shop talking about much they 'want a danish,' then the guy behind the counter has to be Danish," Dean protests. "That's, like… a rule. And second of all – Diane? Patricia? Those are not sexy names. Those sound like women from the local knitting circle."

"My target audience is older women," Cas says. "Diane and Patricia are common names among women ages 35 to 55."

"Cas, Cas, Cas." Dean shakes his head. "Your 'audience' does not want to read about themselves. They want to escape. They want the fantasy. They want to imagine they are someone else, someone named Roxanne or Lavender or Princess Melodia. But more than that – they want a story." He thwacks the back of his hand against the manuscript. "Two women walk into a store and fuck a stranger? That's porn, Cas. There's no story. Two women spend three chapters fighting over a moody duke and then one of them finally gets him into bed by pretending to be the other woman? That's erotica."

Cas purses his lips. "I'll… have to do some more research."

"Attaboy." Dean stands up and claps Cas on the back. "Pro tip: turn off the safe search function."

…..

For the next several weeks, Castiel is consumed by his work. Something has changed; he now seems obsessed, constantly muttering over scattered sheets of paper and typing away at the computer. He consults how-to books and reads creative writing treatises. Dean and Sam exchange glances and speculate about what Cas will churn out next. "Maybe he's re-writing Sleepless in Seattle," Dean jokes, "but he's calling it Tossing in Tuscon."

The final product is wholly unexpected.

Sam is the first to read it. He appears outside Dean's bedroom door, manuscript in hand. "Dean," he says, eyes wide, voice low. "Have you read it?"

"Nah, not yet," Dean replies, flipping through his hot rod magazine. "Cas just gave me a copy last night. I was thinking maybe later this week…"

"Dean." Sam gulps. "It's – it's us. We're in the book."

Dean's eyes shoot to Sam's. "But I thought –"

It turns out that all those advice articles and how-to books were telling Cas to write what he knew. So, he wrote a novel loosely based on some events in on his own life. It differs from real life in one significant respect: in the book, Cas has sex with everyone.

Everyone.

Not too much later, Dean storms into the library. "CAAAAAAAAS!"

Cas looks up from his laptop. "Did you finish my novel?"

Dean throws the manuscript into Cas's lap, and is satisfied by the umph Cas makes when it hits him in the stomach. "Page 102! What in the actual hell, Cas?! What is this shit?!"

"Page 102?" Cas asks, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"Me! In the book! Sex scene! With YOU!" Dean barks.

Cas squints and speaks slowly. "But… we're not in my book."

"Oh come on!" Dean exclaims. "Emmanuel is obviously you! And Daniel? He's clearly me!"

Cas rolls his eyes. "No, he's a character loosely based on you. Daniel has many qualities and attributes that you do not have, and vice versa."

"Chyeah!" Dean scoffs angrily. "For instance, how he loves blowing dudes?!"

"Dean," Cas sighs. "I wrote Daniel to be homosexual. I know you are not homosexual. I am not trying to insinuate that you– "

Dean chops a hand through the air. "Whatever about the gay thing! Fine! But that scene, Cas! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Cas frowns in confusion. "What's wrong with the scene?"

"You have a character, who is me." Dean points to his own chest for emphasis. "Based on me, and this guy has finally tracked down Emmanuel, who he's been looking for this entire goddamn book, and now he has to essentially fuck the memories back into Emmanuel. And Emmanuel, on the other hand, has been desperately looking for his memories the entire goddamn book, and now he realizes he can basically fuck them out of this stranger named Daniel."

"That is paraphrasing substantially," Cas mutters.

"And then you have Daniel giving him a loving blowjob," Dean rants. "How do you not see how wrong that is?"

"It's not wrong!" Cas retorts. "The point of the scene is that Daniel cares about Emmanuel even after all that has happened! Even as Emmanuel's new memories are revealing all of the ways he has betrayed Daniel in the past, Daniel is still there for him in the present. It's about the juxtaposition."

"Cas, you just don't get it." Dean rubs his temple. "Maybe it's because you're lacking in… experience, I don't know."

Castiel glowers. "I have plenty of experience."

"But take it from me, the town bicycle," Dean continues ranting, "you've got two people, with a complicated history. They haven't seen each other for months. They're a little shy, a little cautious at first. But as soon as they touch, they remember." He clenches and unclenches his fists, searching for the words. "It should be – it should be like flipping a switch. Electric. Violent. Daniel's hungry for this, and Emmanuel – Emmanuel is being flooded with these memories, memories of darkness and guilt andof Daniel, and he's desperate for more. It's more than desire, it's need. He should be clawing, biting, throwing Daniel up against a wall and yanking his hair and just taking him for everything he's got! Everything about this scene." Dean stops to catch his breath. "Everything about this scene should be animal. It should be savage."

Cas sits very still, his hands clutched tightly on the manuscript in his lap, nostrils flared. "I… see."

"If you're gonna take the liberty of using me in a gay sex scene, it has to be good," Dean concludes. "And this whole story is just crap unless these two fuck each other into next Wednesday."

Castiel nods tersely.

Dean points a finger at him. "And no blowjobs," he warns. "Unless, you know, I'm getting the blowjob. Then it's okay."

"You should… go," Cas says in a strained voice. "I… have to write now."

Dean walks out of the library and raises a hand in surrender. "Alright, alright," he calls as he leaves. "The Sam sex scene is mega creepy, by the way. You should cut it!"

….

Later that night, Dean is in his room when he hears a knock at the door. He knows it's Cas by the knock. Cas always knocks too hard, like he's worried he won't be noticed.

"Yeah?" Dean calls. He's sitting on the bed flipping through a magazine, the latest issue of American Iron.

Cas opens the door, his laptop under his arm. "I need some help with my novel." He closes the door behind him.

Dean rolls his eyes. "What now?"

Cas pulls up Dean's desk chair and sits heavily, weary. "The scene we were discussing earlier. I understand what you're saying, but – I can't figure out how to fix it. I need more detailed feedback."

"Jesus, Cas, I can't write it for you," Dean groans. "I don't even know how all that gay shit works, I just know how people act when they fuck –"

"Just – explain how you see the situation unfolding," Cas says. "When they meet, it's very awkward, but you mocked my description of how they overcame that awkwardness. I don't see how I'm supposed to take them from uncomfortable to violently sexual in the same scene."

"Of course it's awkward!" Dean puts down his magazine and rubs his forehead. "That's not the issue. It's… Okay, it's like this." He turns and puts his legs over the side of the bed, sitting forward towards Cas with his hands on his knees. "They're uncertain. Hesitant. They know what they have to do, but it's all kinda embarrassing for them. They don't know what the other one is thinking. They're both afraid that maybe – maybe I'm the only one who wants to do this. Maybe he's gonna back out and I'm gonna look like an idiot." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "One of them has to make the first move," he muses.

Cas nods, his eyes glued to Dean.

"It's gotta be Emmanuel," Dean decides. "That's the only way it makes sense. Daniel knows Emmanuel doesn't remember, and he doesn't wanna force anything on him, but Emmanuel decides to take the plunge. He realizes that he knows what he wants, and he just – goes for it. He makes a decisive move."

"Like what?" Cas asks urgently.

"Like, he grabs his arm," Dean says intently, focusing in on the scene. "He grabs Daniel's arm and he just kisses him, no tongue, but hard, like – unmistakable. He's saying let's do this, motherfucker. And that's when he starts remembering, that's when everything suddenly snaps –"

Cas grabs his upper arm.

Dean looks at him quizzically.

And Cas leans in quickly and kisses him, hard, unmistakable, mouth pressed against mouth and fingers squeezing around his shoulder and the spice of winterfresh mouthwash and the soft sound of the bed squeaking from the shifting of Dean's weight backward into his straightened, shocked spine.

Then Cas releases him.

He looks at Dean.

Dean stares back at him.

"So," Cas says, slightly pale, "that didn't work."

"What?" Dean croaks.

Cas goes even whiter and says, "I'll leave now." And he stands up.

"Cas, what the fuck?" Dean demands. He licks his lips and glares up at him. "Mouthwash? You planned this? What the actual fuck?"

"I – I made a move," Cas stammers.

"You don't just grab somebody and kiss 'em!" Dean yells. "With no fucking warning – do you wanna end up on Dateline, Cas? Cuz that's the kinda shit that's gonna get you arrested!"

"You just suggested that I make Emmanuel grab Daniel," Cas retorts.

"In a fucking book! This is real life!" Dean insists. "You gotta read the room!"

"I thought I did," Cas snaps. "You were talking about kissing, and I thought –"

"Well, you thought wrong," Dean huffs. "And since when do you wanna kiss me? When did this little development start?"

Cas's mouth tightens into a line. "It's occurred to me before."

"How much before? Like when you started reading all this chick smut?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. "And lemme guess, once you started reading about dudes kissing dudes, you got all curious and –"

"I'm not a child," Cas growls. "I know what a kiss is, Dean. I know what it means to kiss other men."

A spike of irritation flares up in Dean's gut. "Then you know I'm not down for that. Which brings me back to: what the actual fuck."

Cas looks away, down and to the side. "I thought it would be different," he mutters.

Dean frowns. "Why?"

Cas won't look at him. Instead he walks away, and walks out the door.

"I accept your apology, by the way!" Dean calls after him angrily. "Dick!"

…

When the new draft of Castiel's book is finished, Sam dreads reading it. He's not sure he's prepared to inflict those mental images on himself. But, since he knows that at least it will be a fast read, he finally forces himself to turn the first page.

It's dramatically different than the last draft. It's roughly the same story, but Emmanuel doesn't sleep with every character, just a few people, and it's primarily a love story. It's the story of Emmanuel and Daniel, betrayal and redemption and loss, and their climactic confrontation still involves getting Emmanuel's memories back. But in this version, he only has to kiss Daniel to get them back; and as his memories return and he relives them one by one, he realizes the exact moment when Daniel fell out of love with him. And he realizes that sometimes, you can hurt someone so badly that you never regain that special place in their heart, and they can never feel the same way about you again, no matter how much they truly forgive you. Emmanuel leaves Daniel and goes out on his own, alone, to begin a new life and try to start again.

It's actually… good.

Sam asks Dean if he's read it. Dean rolls his eyes. "Cas didn't give me a copy. He didn't like my feedback on the last version."

"You should read it," Sam says, hand him the paper draft. "It actually got to me. It's very… real."

….

Cas is in the kitchen when Dean finds him. He's making cauliflower rice because Sam has asked him to help trick Dean into eating vegetables.

Dean walks in with the book draft in his hand. His eyes are red and slightly shiny. He sets the draft down on the counter.

Cas looks over at him, but says nothing.

"Your fucking book made me cry," Dean mutters, eyes lowered.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Cas says. He presses the button on the food processor.

"Are you in love with me?" Dean asks quietly.

Cas turns off the food processor.

There is a long silence. They stand shoulder by shoulder, neither looking at each other.

"Probably," Cas says.

Dean nods and juts out his chin. "Huh."

"Did I get it right?"

Dean's eyes snap to Cas. "What?"

"The scene. Do you think I got it right?"

Dean's eyebrows knit together. "How can that be right? How can it be right to just – give up on somebody?"

Cas sighs. "Well, it would pointless for Emmanuel –"

"No –" Dean cuts him off – "no, I mean that bullshit about how Daniel's given up on him. Of course he's hurt, people get hurt, when you love somebody you're gonna get hurt – that's just inevitable, for me anyways, I can't think of a single person I love who hasn't let me down at least once, in a big way – I mean look at me and Sam for Chrissakes, look at us!"

"But you're not the same," Cas argues. "You can't go back to the way things were."

Dean snorts. "Course we're not the same. We carry that weight around with us. But we keep on carrying it."

Cas looks at him for a long moment.

Dean tightens his mouth, and his eyes widen, and he clasps a hand to Cas's arm. "What you wrote? It's great for your book. But it's not me, Cas. That's not how I feel."

"Then…" Cas asks, "… how do you feel?"

Dean swallows, and his hand squeezes tighter on Cas's arm. "Scared, a little. You kinda freaked me out with all this heavy shit."

"It is a weighty subject," Cas observes. "I'm sorry I didn't speak to you more directly."

But Dean only seems more nervous. "But I feel bad about how things went earlier. Not ideal. So. I thought. Well. I don't wanna lead you on," he says. "I'm not, uh –" he clears his throat. "I don't let my mouth write checks my ass can't cash." He chuckles self-consciously and turns red. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but..."

Cas frowns. "What?"

Dean glances around the kitchen, ensuring no one else is in earshot. "I'm givin' you a mulligan. You can try it again. See if it, uh, shakes anything loose. Just for shits and giggles."

Cas frowns harder. "Try what again?"

Dean is bright red. He leans in and mumbles under his breath, "You. Making a move. You can try again. You have permission."

Recognition dawns on Cas. "Oh."

"Hurry up!" Dean mutters. "Sam just went to the farmer's market, he's gonna be back soon, how many vegetables can there even –"

Cas leans in and kisses him. This time, he doesn't take Dean's advice. He presses in softly, slowly, taking the time to feel the smallest reactions in Dean's body, the way he hesitates, and breathes shallowly, and his heart races, and Cas lets their lips part as he slides his hand along Dean's neck but he stays there, waiting, and he feels the way Dean exhales a cool breath and leans ever so slightly forward and they kiss again, and Cas kisses him, pressing further, leaning into the sensation, and Dean's hand is still squeezing his bicep, clinging for dear life.

Cas pulls back, and looks at Dean.

Dean looks terrified.

Cas sighs. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken you up on that. You made it very clear before that-"

"I didn't say stop!" Dean blurts. "Why did you stop?!"

Cas stares at him. "You look… frightened."

"Of course I'm fucking frightened!" Dean exclaims. "You're in love with me and you wrote a book about it and now we're kissing!"

"The book is fictional, Dean."

"Jesus Christ, the shit I have to deal with –" Dean rolls his eyes and grabs Cas by the collar and kisses him like there's no tomorrow.

…..

"So the moral of the story is… love is dead," Dean summarizes. They're sitting in Dean's room, Cas typing some last notes into his email as Dean lounges on the bed and flips through a hardcover proof copy of Castiel's soon-to-be published book.

"No," Castiel corrects, "it's about accepting reality. Coming to terms with painful truths, and learning that you can survive them."

"That's assuming 'truth' is a thing that exists," Dean argues. He sets the book on the nightstand. "For instance, it's true that I am straight. Or is it?" He rolls onto his back and folds his hands behind his head. "Are you really kicked out of the straight club just for having sex with one guy? That doesn't seem fair. You eat bacon one time, that doesn't make you not vegetarian. You just… fell off the wagon."

Cas raises his eyebrows skeptically. "You think you fell off a heterosexual wagon?"

"That's my theory," Dean says. "How else do you explain it?"

"Latent bisexuality," Cas suggests. "Sexual fluidity. Sexual orientation as an artificial construct. Social conditioning. Deep self-deception and cognitive dissonance. Lack of empirical psychosexual research that does not directly serve existing heteronormative establishments–"

"Alright, simmer down, Kinsey," Dean retorts.

Cas sets his laptop aside. "The point is, if you had not asked me to kiss you again, it would have ended there. I would have respected your refusal. That would have been a painful truth for me to accept."

"Man, you learned nothing from those romance novels," Dean says, chuckling. "In those books, rules are just made to be broken. That's why women like 'em so much. Nobody respects anybody's anything, but they all enjoy it. You get to live out the fantasy of being forced out of your comfort zone and liking it."

Castiel nods. "I can see the appeal of that. The fantasy of being pushed into something you are afraid to ask for in real life…"

"But I was serious about Dateline," Dean says. "You'll get arrested for that shit."

"Mm."

Cas is looking at him strangely, a sort of smile playing at the corner of his eyes, but not quite curling in his mouth.

"What?" Dean asks.

"When you told me how that scene should be," he says. "When you described what you envisioned for Emmanuel and Daniel's reunion. I… enjoyed that."

Dean cocks one eyebrow. "Do tell."

Cas's cheeks pinken and he says in a low voice. "I recall you described some… yanking… and you described it as… 'animal.' And it was…" He clears his throat. "Powerful imagery."

"I did say that." Dean stands up casually, but his nostrils flare. "And I'm pretty sure I said Emmanuel should throw him up against a wall."

Cas stands up. "Yes. You said the story was pointless unless these two 'fuck each other into next Wednesday.'"

Dean hooks his thumbs into his jeans and grins. "I have a way with words, don't I?"

"So," Cas says, turning redder.

"So," Dean says expectantly.

"You would be alright with me –"

"Yes," Dean interrupts. "For the love of God, yes."

So Cas takes him for all he's got.

…..

In the end, Castiel's book was not a best-seller. It was published by a fellow angel, and it received some accolades, but it was ultimately difficult to market. After all, in which bookshelf at Barnes and Noble would you put "fictional dramatic memoir of a pansexual angel who gets amnesia"? But Castiel did not seem to mind. It was enough that he had Dean. He was probably in love with Dean, and although Dean refused to openly admit it, Dean was probably in love with him. Castiel knew this because of the number of times he kissed Dean goodbye and Dean shouted after him, "Don't get too attached, buddy! I could be in New Mexico tomorrow!" And he knew it from the way Dean hunted down articles about his book and printed them out to tape to his bedroom wall. This was real life, and so it concluded the way real adventures often do: he fell laughably short of his goal, but landed in a place so radically different that "falling short" didn't do it justice. It was more like falling off-course, falling off the edge of the written map and finding yourself in uncharted territory. And in this way he was unsuccessful, and in this way he was very, very happy.