A/N: Written for a prompt from my darling friend evil_knitter on lj, in which she asked for "any pairing, on the porch, frantic." Here you go, lovely: porch porn. Also, this will be a two-shot, so there will be a follow-up chapter coming soon.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Title comes from a K.D. Lang song another friend included on my extra-special birthday threesome mix (dude. I have the best friends EVER).

As it turns out, the world is going to end on a Thursday. Dean seems to think this is funny, but Castiel doesn't. Thursday is his day, the day he raised Dean from Hell, and he looks over Thursday's children with the loving eye of a proud father. It angers him, to think of such a horror happening on a Thursday, and his righteous anger sparks into a little flame that burns in his belly, eating a hole there.

It's Wednesday, and Castiel is starting to tire of going through the motions of the last night on earth. He's had more last nights on earth than he can count, and it's almost never worth the inevitable hangover.

They're coping, much in the same way they always do. Bobby is cranky and half-drunk, cleaning guns in the office and muttering to himself so low no one can make out whether he's praying or cursing the whole damn world. Dean is laughing at things that aren't terribly funny, and Sam is quiet.

It's the quiet that worries Castiel. There's no glimmer of fight in Sam's eyes, no stubborn set to his jaw like before. Dean cajoles and wheedles, pressing all his buttons, and Castiel knows he's worried, too. Sam remains unmoved, staring, contemplative and silent, out at Bobby's front porch.

Castiel is startled when Dean says his name, drawing out all three syllables slow and lingering, melodic like a psalm.

"Yes, Dean?" he says, startling again when the elder Winchester turns and gives him a wink.

"Did it hurt when you died?"

Castiel raises his eyebrows, a gesture he's certain he picked up from spending so much time on earth. "What? What do you mean?"

Dean smirks a little, closes the book that's been resting, unread, in his lap for the last hour, and leans toward Castiel, tipping his head ever-so-slightly in Sam's direction.

"When Michael turned your guts into confetti. Did it hurt?"

Castiel thinks back, trying to remember. There was surprise, there was anger, and there was fear, but that was mostly for Dean. Was there pain?

"Yes," Castiel says slowly, nodding as Dean's grin widens. "Yes, it was brief, but there was pain." And he does remember it now, a white hot instant of agony, as his brain caught up with his body, as every nerve, every cell contained inside his vessel exploded and screamed in fiery anguish.

It makes Castiel uncomfortable, to think of it now.

"Tell me about it," Dean says, and Castiel feels his eyes widen, another expression he's picked up from his humans.

"You want me to -?"

Dean leans forward, eyes flashing, and Castiel takes in a shaky breath. "Tell me what it felt like. Describe it."

Castiel swallows, feeling less like an angel of the Lord, and more like an insect under a magnifying glass. Dean's gaze is sharp and angling, and Castiel gets the distinct impression he's missing something.

"It was… uh… it… was awful," he says finally, and then nods, pleased with himself. It's the truth, he's certain of that now.

"What else?" Dean asks, cocking his head.

Castiel pauses, not quite sure what to say. "I felt… I thought…"

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to scream," Castiel says, surprising himself. "I wanted to, but there wasn't time. There was a moment, an instant, when I knew I was going to die…"

"And…?"

"And I was afraid." He says it soft, quiet, like he's afraid for Dean to hear. Dean's eyes go soft, green like the ferns that line the Garden paths, and Castiel feels a sudden rush of homesickness. He looks away, shifting in his seat, and notices then that Sam's gaze is fixed on the two of them.

"It was like that for me, too," Dean says, barely a breath, and it makes Castiel shiver. "I knew it was coming, knew there was no escape." He swallows, hard, the smirk gone from his face. "But I fought it. I fought it as hard as I fucking could."

Castiel nods, letting the language slide, because he knows. He knows what Dean is describing, and he knows what Dean is feeling, talking about it now.

"What about you, Sam?" Dean says, without looking at his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel can see Sam's nostrils flare, but he says nothing. "Were you afraid, too? Did it hurt? Did you feel the knife shredding up your insides?"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam says, so low Castiel can barely hear him.

"I wonder if it's like that for everyone? What do you think, Cas?"

Castiel frowns. "How do you mean?"

"I mean," Dean says, casting a glance over at Sam, "will they feel that same pain? The same fear? Will they fight?"

"Who?"

"All the people who are going to die tomorrow."

From across the room, Castiel hears a hiss. "I said, shut up, Dean."

"I wonder how many of them we'll hear screaming?"

"Goddamnit!"

Castiel flinches at the blasphemy, but Dean just gives Sam a challenging smile.

"Fucking prick," Sam mutters under his breath.

Dean is out of his seat before Castiel can blink, crossing the room in two long strides and twisting a hand in Sam's collar.

"I may be a prick, you selfish asshole, but at least I'm gonna fight. At least I haven't given up, you stupid little bitch." Dean's leaning over into Sam's space, face mere centimeters away from his brother's, and there's an electric crackle in the air, so pronounced Castiel can almost hear it.

Sam pushes himself up out of his seat, shoving Dean's chest hard, and both of them go stumbling a couple steps.

"Fuck you," Sam growls, backing Dean toward the wall. "They're all gonna die anyway, Dean. Every one of them, and us, too. There's nothing we can do. They're going to die, and there's nothing we can do."

Sam is breathing heavy, and so is Dean, their chests bumping as they pant in a jerky, unsynchronized rhythm. Castiel isn't breathing at all. He watches, silent and still, and there's a sudden longing inside him that he can't quite place, like a child looking in a store window.

He swallows down the ache, waiting to see what will happen next. The brothers are snarling at one another, lips skinned back and teeth bared like animals. Dean lunges first, but Sam is ready for it, and they're scrabbling at each other with fingers bent into claws and snapping jaws, and Castiel wants to stop it, but somehow he thinks he shouldn't.

Finally, Sam gets off a punch so swift and unexpected that Dean crumples into a heap on the floor, and Castiel has had it. He pushes himself in between the two of them, facing Sam, and he glowers up at him.

"Enough," he growls, harsher than he'd intended, and Sam blinks, surprised, but he holds his ground.

"Can fight my own battles, Cas," Dean mutters, pulling himself to his feet, rubbing a hand gingerly over his jaw.

Sam snorts. "I don't know about that, but you're doin' a pretty bang-up job of losing them on your own."

"Shut up, bitchface," Dean says, shoving Castiel out of the way and pushing himself up against Sam's chest.

"Make me, dickwad."

Sam and Dean are at it again, and Castiel isn't sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. Truthfully, the fact that he can even imagine doing either means he's become far too human for his own liking. He watches the two of them with a growing feeling of dismay, and he's startled when he realizes it's not because they're fighting; it's because they've excluded him once again.

Castiel is wondering what this could mean when Dean pushes Sam hard, and Sam reaches up, locking his hands around Dean's wrists so they both go slamming into each other again. Their chests are pressed tight against one another, and Sam's head is bent, so close his nose is touching Dean's. Dean's mouth is parted, but he makes no sound, just stares up at Sam with something in his eyes that isn't nearly as close to anger as Castiel would have expected.

Sam releases one wrist, slowly, testing Dean. He lifts his hand and Castiel watches in stunned silence as he raises it to Dean's jaw, running the backs of his fingers gently along the day-old stubble.

"You're such a fucking asshat," he says, but the words are almost… fond? Castiel frowns. He is not without humor, but the brothers' constant bickering and belittling wears on him. He can never quite tell when they're being serious and when they're just being… themselves.

"'Least I'm not a quitter," Dean says, and there's still a little fire, a little challenge, in his tone.

"Dean -" Sam says quietly, breathing a warning, but Dean just raises his eyebrows and leans in closer than Castiel would have thought possible.

"Yeah?" he whispers, his bottom lip just brushing Sam's. Castiel is watching, confused and strangely torn between some sort of excitement and that same painful longing he felt earlier. It gets even worse when he sees Dean's mouth brush against Sam's again, a dull throb that starts somewhere in his chest and moves lower, through his belly and further south, bringing the blood rushing into his face… and elsewhere.

"Outside," Sam hisses, startling them both. Castiel blinks like he's coming out of a trance, while Dean pulls his head back fractionally and squints up at his brother.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Sammy -"

"Outside, Dean. Now."

Sam doesn't have to ask again. The two of them bolt for the backdoor, and Castiel trails behind, wondering if they've forgotten about him completely. Part of him wants to stomp upstairs and get rip-roaring drunk and sulk like a child, but there's a bigger part of him that would rather the world end right now than not follow them outside.

Castiel is only a second behind them, but Sam has Dean shoved up against the side of the house by the time Castiel is out the door, one thigh pressing in between Dean's legs and both hands splayed wide on his chest. Castiel comes up short at the sight, his misgivings over the right and wrong of it seriously dispelled by the flare of heat that scorches his insides, leaving him unable to take a breath.

"Sam… Sammy," Dean is saying, fingers clenched in Sam's flannel shirt, head tipped back against the siding as he looks up at his brother through heavy-lidded eyes.

Sam is frantic, moving against Dean in a way Castiel has never seen in this reality, mouth on Dean's throat, his jaw, his eyelid, and he's whispering Dean's name, over and over, and it's like a revelation, like he's the first to discover all those inches of pale freckled skin and lean muscle, and Castiel shouldn't be watching this, but he is, and he can't stop, he can't -

"Wait," Dean says, pushing Sam back, sucking in a deep, unsteady breath.

"What is it?" Sam whispers, undeterred, pressing his nose under Dean's ear and smiling when Dean shudders.

Castiel is almost too enthralled to really notice when Dean looks directly at him, gaze fierce and blazing, but when he does, he swears that he must be full-on angel again, because he can no longer feel his heart beating in his chest. Dean watches him for a long moment, and Castiel's ticker finally kicks into gear, because Dean sees him, he sees him, and Castiel finally realizes it's all he's ever wanted.

Or at least, half of it. The other half is still nuzzling Dean's jaw, oblivious to their uninvited spectator. Castiel watches Sam, and Dean watches him, and it takes him a moment to realize that Dean is speaking, too.

"C'mere," Dean says, reaching out a hand, and that gets Sam's attention. He looks up, following the line of Dean's arm, and Castiel gulps when he sees Sam's pupils go even blacker. He takes a tentative step forward, and then another, and then he sees that Sam is reaching out for him, too, and if there was ever a choice as to what Castiel would do, it's already been made.

He moves into the strange embrace, one of each of their arms around him, and he feels tears prick his eyes, because he finally knows what it feels like to come home. He pushes his face into Sam's shoulder, blinking away the wetness, and feels Dean slide a hand up to his neck, squeezing gently.

He pulls back with a shaky exhalation, and Dean smiles at him, eyes going soft around the edges. Castiel returns it, and before he knows what's happening, Dean is tugging him in, spinning him around so he's the one with his back against the exterior of the house, wood siding biting into his back beneath every third or fourth vertebrae.

Dean is pressed up against his front, chest-to-chest, and Dean's face is hovering less than an inch away from his own. Behind them, Sam slides his arms around Dean's chest, leaning in to press a kiss to Dean's neck, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Castiel's face.

"Sam," Castiel breathes, and Dean frowns a little. Castiel smiles, bumping his forehead against Dean's, and he whispers his name, too.

When Dean kisses him, it all begins to happen very fast.

Dean's lips are hot and dry on his, and then Dean's tongue is pushing forward, swiping over his bottom lip, and Castiel grants him access without even thinking twice about it. Sam's hands are between them, and Castiel can feel it when he slides them down Dean's chest and stomach, pausing to fumble with the button of Dean's fly.

Every movement sends shockwaves through Castiel, who pushes his back against the side of the house and arches his hips forward, straining for more contact. Dean is still kissing him, and he feels the rumble of a groan deep in Dean's chest as Sam finally pops the button open. Dean's hips jut forward, crashing into Castiel's, and Castiel gasps, seeing stars. He's never done this before, and he's shocked at how quickly instinct takes over, guiding his hands and lips, whispering to his body the secrets he never knew he wanted to uncover.

The three of them move together, and Castiel wants more, so much more, and then Sam's hands are on his fly, and Castiel bites down hard on Dean's lip, shocked by the pleasure that arcs through him.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean says against his mouth, but there's laughter in his voice, and Castiel is flying too high to care, anyway, so he leans in and bites down again, gentler this time, and Dean moans, soft and low.

"Good?" Castiel asks, genuinely worried that he might be doing something wrong, and Dean chuckles.

He presses his hips against Castiel's again, the unmistakable hardness of him hot and heavy even through the fabric of Castiel's pants. "That answer your question?" Dean says, thrusting forward again.

"I… I think so," Castiel mumbles, just riding the sensations. Dean pulls his head away, leaning back on Sam's shoulder, and Castiel starts to complain, but then Sam's hand is down the front of his pants, and there are no thoughts, no words, remaining.

Castiel's head is pressed back against the house, but he opens his eyes just wide enough to see Sam using his other hand to yank down the back of Dean's jeans. He pushes himself forward, eyes falling shut as Dean presses his ass back against him. He wonders vaguely if they've done this before, and thinks he might ask, someday.

But not now, because right now Sam's hand is gripping him tight, sliding back and forth in a quick, unpracticed rhythm.

It's the best thing Castiel's ever felt.

And then Sam's hand disappears, and Castiel whimpers with the loss.

"Jesus, Cas," Sam whispers, voice rough and jagged, muffled in Dean's collar. "So fuckin' hot." And then his hand is back, and Castiel realizes why he'd taken it away, because now Dean's cock is there, too, hot and hard against his own, and Sam's big hand is wrapped around them both, stroking wildly.

Castiel can feel every cut, every callous from fingertip to palm, and it's more wonderful than he could ever have imagined. Dean is slick and warm against him, and Sam's fingers curl with a pressure that borders on pain, and it's perfect. It's so perfect…

Sam comes first, biting down on Dean's shoulder with a muffled curse. His hand never falters, though, and Castiel is so hard and so aching, but he doesn't want to finish, doesn't want it to be over.

"Shit, Sammy," Dean growls, writhing against Sam's chest and thrusting forward into Castiel. "So close, I'm so… fuck… please. Please, Sam. Cas. Cas…"

"Dean," Cas says softly, voice breaking over his name. Dean, head still slung back on Sam's shoulder, slowly opens his eyes, meeting Castiel's gaze. "Dean," Castiel says again, not sure what else he should say, what else Dean or Sam will want to hear. "I think… I'm going… Dean."

"Yeah," Dean says, and Castiel feels the added pressure when Dean puts his hand over Sam's. His eyelids flutter shut, and his mouth parts slightly, letting out a soft moan. Castiel isn't quite sure what to do with his hands, and so he puts one on each of their forearms, feeling the muscles just under the skin ripple and tense as they move as one.

Castiel bucks into their joined hands, wild spasms of pleasure shooting through him. It builds and builds, growing to a crescendo that tears a cry from his throat and leaves him shaking as he spills his release into the brothers' grip. He falls forward almost immediately, overwhelmed, and Dean's arms come up around him.

Dean thrusts into him, murmuring nonsense into his ear, words he never thought Dean could or would say, and then he's coming too, hot and sticky and so good Castiel could almost cry from it.

They stay there for long, endless moments, holding each other up, panting and swaying precariously from side to side. But Castiel doesn't mind, because he knows they won't let him fall.

And he won't let them fall, either.