Sorry I'm posting so late.  Speech has officially eaten my life.  Blah.

Sam was out getting dinner, probably some shitty Chinese take-out, but Dean didn't care. He laid on the bed, watching the TV, wondering if the switch from analog to digital would rid them of the static that would now follow them from motel to motel. The shower droned on in the background, a slight hiss, and he let his mind wander.

He'd never had anything for himself before, never had something to call his own. Sure, there had been things that he had joint ownership of- things like the laptop, scammed credit cars, old clothing. Then there were the things that he had taken, things that had been his father's or brother's, things that he'd known they wouldn't miss.

John's taste in music. His leather jacket. The car. They belonged to Dean now, but they would always really be his dad's.

And then there was the stuff that had belonged to Sam. He'd tried not to take too much of that. Mostly, it was trivial stuff. Halloween candy. Answers for homework assignments, the worksheets snuck into Sammy's books when the younger boy hadn't been looking. Wakeful ears at bedtime to hear whatever story their father happened to be telling that night. But none of those things had been meant for him. Not like this.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He knew he wasn't deserving. He'd never been.

But still, the thought of it excited him. There was a being that existed solely to make him happy, to do whatever he commanded, that promised to never leave. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was the closest he would ever get, and he wasn't going to kid himself about that.

He got up and flipped off the television at the same moment the shower turned off. His. The angel was his, and made him feel so warm, so wanted, so loved. It might have been akin to slavery, but maybe that was ok. As long as he was never asked to grant free will, there would be no question of morals. They could both be happy.

Dean could be happy.

The shower door opened and Castiel appeared in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. "I'm going to need to borrow some clothes."

"Been meaning to talk to you about that," Dean said with a grin. "'Bout time you lost the holy tax accountant get-up. I've got a t-shirt and some old jeans in the duffle that should fit." He nodded toward the bag, which had been flung onto a chair the night before.

The angel walked to the bag and began rooting through it for something that looked clean. "You seem troubled."

"I'm fine."

He pulled out a black t-shirt and sniffed it, shrugged, and put it on. "You don't look fine. You look… distant."

"I'm thinking. This is my thinking face."

"You don't make it often."

Dean rolled his eyes. "And now he has a sense of humor."

Castiel shook his head, absently grabbing a pair of boxers and some old jeans from the duffle. "I was not trying to be funny. I was simply making an observation."

Dean turned his head as the towel fell to the floor. And now I have sense of modesty, he thought to himself. Great.

"You can turn back around," the angel said, and Dean was surprised to find that the voice was coming from right behind him. He spun, looking into blue eyes. "You don't have to be scared."

"I'm not scared. There's a difference between fear and thought."

"What were you thinking about?" The familiar narrowing of the eyes, cock of the head.

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was too tired to lie. Not that lying would do any good, anyway, not with the angel looking inside his mind when it was the least convenient for him. "How I've never really had anything like this before."

Castiel bowed his head, wet hair flopping down and sticking to his forehead. "I see."

"No. You don't. Nobody gets it."

"I do."

Dean shook his head and wandered away, back across the room. "Nothing. I got nothing. I got kicked in the teeth and ripped to shreds and sent to Hell."

"You were saved."

"I was pulled out so that I could be used to stop the Apocalypse. Yeah, that's great. Just what I wanted. I'm feeling the love there."

"But that's not what you were thinking about."

"Really?"

"Really. You were thinking about how you stole your favorite leather jacket from your father's motel room after he went missing. You were thinking about how Sam blamed you for that prank the Trickster pulled with the laptop. You were thinking about how you used to take your brother Trick-or-Treating, even though your father forbade it, and you would sneak candy from his bag after he'd gone to sleep. You were thinking about how undeserving you are, about how this is too good to be true. You were thinking about how you've never had anything for yourself."

"Lucky guess," Dean scoffed.

"But what you were not thinking was the only thing you should have been. You are worthy. You are loved. I would not be here if you weren't. It's about time you let yourself have something, even if you're not entirely sure what to do with it."

Dean glanced back at him. "What are you saying?"

The angel approached him, his steps slow and steady, calculated, as if he wasn't sure what Dean was going to do. "You need to accept what you've been given."

"I'm not sure it works like that. I mean, slavery was abolished-"

"It's not slavery, Dean. This is something else. Something pure. Something just for you."

"But you can't say no."

"Who said I want to?"

Dean gulped, his throat dry, heart pounding. "I said you shouldn't." He closed the space between them in one long stride, slamming the other man up against the wall. "I never had…" He breathed, exhaled deeply, grounding himself, thinking. "But you?" He leaned in until their lips met, until that same warmth that had been with him the night before and all through the day was coursing back through him, stronger than ever, burning through his veins, into his very being. It felt right, felt good, felt like love.

Standing there, pressed flat against the wall, Dean pinning him down, body damp, Castiel was beautiful. He was warm, was breathing, was living. His heart was beating and he was perfectly capable of logical thought. And yet there he was, in a room with Dean, talking about things deserved and earned.

Maybe, just maybe, Dean was falling in love. Maybe, just maybe, it was safe this time. All it would take was a word, a simple stay, and he'd never be alone again. He would never have to worry about anything. He might not be loved back in the way that he'd expected, had always wanted, but at least there would be no fear, no abandonment, no backing out.

"I love you." The words were breathy, still spoken with a semblance of fear. Old habits were hard to break, and Dean had stopped trusting people long ago. He knew it was safe, but…

"I won't leave." Whispered in his ear, the voice so soft it was barely there, and for the first time in his life, he believed every word. He had no reason to doubt.

"You," he said once more, taking the angel's mouth in his own. "Mine." He slid his hand from the lean shoulder, down a slightly muscular chest, and let it rest on slight hips. His. Something that nothing could take away.

He hadn't even heard the door open. He heard his brother's strangled gasp, though, heard the disgust in the younger man's voice when Sam said his name. He pulled his lips from Castiel's in time to see the door slam shut.

-.-

Dean found his brother at the park, pacing back and forth on a bridge that crossed a small creek, running a hand over his face, huffing and puffing and jutting his chin out in annoyance and anger.

"Sammy?"

"What the Hell, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Funny you should mention Hell."

Sam glared at him, finally standing still. "Tell me I didn't just see what I thought I saw."

"You didn't-"

"Like Hell."

"Look," the older man said softly, "I can explain everything."

"Really? Because I'd love to hear what you've got. Lemme guess? CPR?"

Dean shook his head. It was useless to lie, useless to try to keep more than what he deserved. One thing or another. "It's complicated."

"Try."

"The other night, I… I did something and… and it's just complicated, Sammy."

"Gonna need more than that, Dean," the younger man said, leaning against the railing on the bridge and staring into the shallow water that rushed by beneath them.

"It's not my fault."

"You mouth-raped an angel."

Dean blinked, took a step back, bowed his head. "It's ok, though."

"You're not even gay."

"Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

A small smile worked its way across the older hunter's face before he could stop it. "Because he's mine."

Sam scowled and turned back toward his brother. "What?"

"I did something," Dean explained, "something bad, but it's ok. It's ok, because somehow he belongs to me now."

Sammy shook his head. "You're not making sense."

"I know how it sounds, but it's true."

"You've got a God complex?"

"No. He listens to me, he does what I tell him, and-"

"And you pin him up against a wall and invade his mouth with your tongue?"

"He's not gonna leave," Dean whispered, suddenly desperate to make his brother understand. He'd known it would happened, had known that Sam would never accept what was going on, but he still had to try. Maybe the angel was right. Maybe he was deserving. Maybe he could have everything he wanted.

"He's not gonna leave?" Sam repeated. "Really? Not gonna go back to Heaven when this is all over?"

Dean shook his head. "I told you. He's mine. He-"

"Belongs to you, yeah." There was something like malice laced in Sam's voice, something harsh and biting in his eyes. "Like a slave. That little fallen angel on your leash. Tell me something, Dean, is he into bondage?"

Dean took a step back. "You don't get it-"

"No, I understand perfectly. You went out, corrupted an angel, and got yourself a sex-slave all in one night. I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

"It's not slavery."

"Ownership, Dean," Sam snarled, closing the gap between them with a quick lunge, breathing down into his brother's face, his eyes alight with pain and fear. "That's what it comes back to. What I saw in there, that's not something I'd typically think of as angelic. You, on the other hand, would be perfectly capable of instigating it. It's control."

"He doesn't mind. He's never-"

"Had free will? Like a Heavenly pit bull, let off the chain to go to war, right? Is that what you think? You think that just because you can make a person do something, you should? That's called rape, Dean."

Dean faltered, stepping back for the first time since Sam had invaded his space and finding himself pressed up against the railing. "But-"

"It's wrong, and you know it," Sam said, voice low and deadly.

"You don't understand. He loves me."

The younger man's eyes softened. "I thought you were better than this."

"You don't know what it's like. I finally have-"

"A sure thing? Dean, don't do this. It's a one-way ticket back to Hell."

Dean shook his head. "No. Cass said God willed it."

"You trust a fallen angel?" He sighed. "Look. You're obviously messed up right now. It's been four months. I'll overlook it. I will. Just… let him go."

"What?"

"Tell him to leave. Make him go away. Give him free will or send him back to Heaven or wherever. I don't care. He's just… bad news. Make him go."

"No."

"Then I go."

Dean jerked back against the railing, his body spasming, heart thumping in his chest, hands scrambling for support as the world was ripped out from beneath his feet.

He'd been right. He'd been right the whole time. Sam didn't get it, couldn't understand. How could he, being coddled like he had, held and comforted and loved his whole life? How could he possibly know what it was like to finally be able to come in out of the cold?

So that was what it came down to. His brother, or the one sure thing he'd ever have. Someone who had left before, and probably would again, or someone who would never stray.

"Please," he whispered, ignoring the desperate note that snuck into his voice. "I've never had anything before. Just this once…"

Sam turned away, looked over at the park, at the swingset with its creaky swings slowly rocking in the breeze. "Me or him, Dean."

"But-"

"Make a choice."

-.-

He was a manipulative bastard. He'd spent most of his life pretending to be stupid, sliding by on his looks. He was intelligent when he had to be. He could weave a plan. He could bend people. He was no idiot.

Dean opened the door to the motel room with a plan. His angel still had some of those God-given abilities, it seemed. He still held that same warmth, could still worm inside the hunter's mind. Maybe he would be able to follow him, track his progress across the country. He just had to stay out of sight while Sam was there, but as soon as the younger man went off to wherever he went during the nights…

Dean was going back to Hell. But at least he would be happy on Earth.

Castiel was sitting on the bed, staring at the blank TV screen, apparently lost in thought.

"You're still here?" The question was automatic, the sight of someone waiting for him still new to the hunter.

The angel turned and offered a sad smile. "Of course. You wanted me to stay."

"Yeah. About that…"

Castiel cocked his head to one side. "You don't want me to stay?"

"Well-"

"That's good."

Dean blinked, taken a back. "What do you mean?"

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, in the diner. About free will."

The hunter's heart sank in his chest, a cold tremor passing through his body. "What about it?"

"I think I would like it." There was fear in the usually strong voice, a soft shake, an aversion of the eyes that Dean had never seen before. "Of course," the angel amended quickly, "I would also happily remain with you."

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Even if Dean cast him out, commanded him to come only when Sam was away, his brother would still be right. It was slavery. It was rape. It was the one thing in his life that Dean had any control over. And it was still wrong.

"I can't do this," he said softly. "I can't."

"Do what?" Castiel asked, legitimately confused.

"This. It's not real, you know? It's nice. But it's not real."

The angel stepped forward, closing the space between them, and took Dean's hand in his. It was warm and it was right and he tried to soak it up, to remember how he felt in that moment, because he was sure that he would never feel that way again. "What are you saying, Dean?"

He sighed, squeezing the hand that had taken his. Maybe someday he'd find someone else, someone that Sam would approve of, someone he wouldn't have to control. "Have it, if you want it."

"Have what?"

"Free will."

Castiel smiled, looking up at Dean with gratitude in his eyes. "You mean that? You would let me go?"

Dean shrugged. "I figure you're just about human now, anyway. Might as well get the full experience. Besides, Sammy gave me a choice."

The angel nodded. "Me or him."

"Yeah."

"And you chose him."

"He made a really convincing argument." He glanced down at their hands, still intertwined. "You can go now, you know."

"I know." He leaned up until their lips brushed softly together in the closest semblance of a kiss. "I love you."

Dean jerked back, eyes wide. He blinked, unable to believe he'd heard. There had been no command issued, was no ownership to be claimed, nothing to elicit the remark. He was met with a knowing stare, a soft smile.

That was all the consent he needed. Their mouths were pressed back together in an instant, warmth and safety and love passing between them, flowing in a way that the hunter had never thought possible. It seemed purer now, lighter, better. Maybe Sam had been right. Maybe this was the way to go.

His free hand fisted in the other man's hair, holding them together, holding on for dear life. Back to Plan A, then. Late night visits behind his brother's back because there was no way Sammy would ever believe him and they would have to be sneaky about it and what if they were discovered and it wouldn't last and then Castiel's hand was on the back of his neck, smooth thumb rubbing soft circles in the spot where it met his shoulder, and every thought and worry faded from his mind.

They pulled apart, but the warmth remained.

The angel smiled up at him. "'When you were slaves to sin,'" he said, "'you were free from the control of righteousness.'"

And Dean thought he understood. He wasn't stupid, after all. He'd done wrong, he'd sinned, and he'd become a slave to that feeling, had a made a slave of someone else because of it. He'd been broken, broken enough to take something that was pure and soil it for his own purposes, and it was because of that that God had deemed him fit to fix. He'd fallen under the jurisdiction of a Higher Power that night, had been pushed in the right direction, had been tested. If the angel's reaction was any indication, he'd passed.

"What's that?" he asked, because the way his angel, his guardian, his Castiel was looking at him made him think he was supposed to know.

"Romans 6:20," Cass said, and kissed him again. "Read the Bible."

Thanks for reading.  Hope y'all enjoyed it :)