Title: Business as Usual
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Dean/Castiel
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 5400
Spoilers: None (This is AU)
Summary: Dean is a rent boy frequently hired by Castiel, who's just come back into town.
Notes/Warnings: Okay, so this is the prompt given by sully86, simplified for my poor brain :D 'Dean is a rent boy and Castiel is a business man who hires him'. Hope you like this, hon! =D

It's kind of…angstier than I'd intended. I wanted PWP but plot snuck in there, the sneaky bastard. It's kind of less 'rent boy' thing and more 'long lost lover' thing… . Anyway, enjoy! If you don't like I can rewrite it :D

I have no idea how the 'escort' business works and I have no idea how much people charge for sex nowadays . So yeah, don't expect accuracy, both in geographical locations of places in California and accuracy for 'the business'. Also, kind of Chicago-bashing. I love Chicago but the airport is HELL.

Rant over. Get on with the reading! *shoos*

Chicago. Castiel hated the city with a burning passion. It was cold and windy and too busy for his liking, but his boss had sent him here and it was his job to make sure the sale went through, so he'd boarded a plane from sunny California and took the flight into the Windy City.

Chicago. The airport was hell. Delays were the norm – sometimes days at a time when the weather was particularly bad – and it was just a chaotic sprawl. Castiel was squished up against the window of the bus that transported passengers from the plane to baggage claim, biting his lip and fidgeting with the cell phone in his pocket, just waiting until he was in a safe place and could call.

There was only one thing Castiel liked about his semi-frequent trips to Illinois. Only one thing that made the whole damn affair bearable, and if his bosses found out they'd probably fire his ass (if they could do that, he didn't know and he didn't want to find out) not to mention possible jail time (again, Castiel's knowledge of Chicago's laws was pitiful at best) but it was worth it.

Luckily he managed to get his bags and find his personal driver without much hassle, and when he was in the car that would take him to his hotel, he finally relaxed a little and fished his phone out of his boxy trench coat, worn specifically for its hardheaded durability against all of Chicago's constant rain and wind, and pressed speed-dial '3'.

It probably said something about him that Dean Winchester was on his speed dial, so high up only after work and his little sister, but Castiel didn't really care. He'd earned the place.

The man picked up on the fourth ring. "Heya, stranger," he drawled through the phone with a cool, low Kansas accent that sent little shivers of anticipation up Castiel's spine, "what can I do for you?" And it was totally unfair how that one sentence affected Castiel so much, so lazily slurred into the phone, that Dean would sound like a drunkard were he anyone else.

"I've landed," Castiel replied stiffly, giving nothing away to the driver who was giving him curious looks in the rear view mirror at his sudden flush and stiff posture. He didn't want to be found out. "I'm heading to my hotel right now."

Dean hummed into the phone, his voice low and smoke like he'd just been fucked out, and he might have been, Castiel didn't know, and he bit back the flare of jealousy that he always got when he pictured Dean with someone else. "Would you like there to be a little present waiting for you when you get there?"

"I'd like that very much," Castiel replied, not even bothering to contain his eagerness, because every day Castiel thought about Dean, about calling him and asking how he was doing. It was stupid to get so invested in a glorified street-walker (Dean's words, not his) but Castiel apparently did stupid things in his spare time.

"Or…" Dean paused, and let Castiel's breath hitch in the silence. "We can get something started right here?"

Castiel gasped. "For God's sake, Dean, I'm in a car," he whispered into the phone, admonishing without much heat because he could only imagine phone sex with Dean – with that fucking accent and voice, and Dean was definitely not shy about saying exactly what he'll do for and to Castiel, about how it feels and what he's thinking, if he wants it harder, faster, a different angle or position. No, Dean's no shy boy.

Castiel could practically hear Dean pouting."You sure?" he asked, stretching out the 'ure' into a low, seductive question and Castiel bit his lip, could hear rustling in the background and wondered just what he'd called Dean in the middle of doing. "How far away's the airport from your hotel? Ten minute drive on a good day? I bet I can have you coming before you hit the high street," he said with a throaty laugh, and Castiel groaned softly, clenching his eyes tightly shut, because this was just unfair, and even more unfair was the fact that Dean's words were probably true.

"Dean," Castiel growled, trying to be admonishing, but he's pretty sure he failed.

Dean chuckled again, but had mercy; "Alright. I'll meet you at your hotel. Same place? Same room?" Castiel replied 'yes'. "Alright, stranger. See you soon."

Here's a quick history lesson of how and why Castiel and Dean even know each other:

Castiel had come to Chicago on his first business trip knowing no one. He'd never been this far north before and it was freaking him out, and he never handled big cities well. He'd found himself in a bar drinking away his anxiety, and had been approached by Dean.

Dean was beautiful. Like, the immediately-capture-your-attention kind of beautiful, with gorgeous bright green eyes and a smile that would charm anyone, and he'd been wearing tight black jeans and an ACDC t-shirt with a leather jacket over it, which had given him this kind of badass/twink look that had made Castiel's mouth go dry.

That first night, Castiel took Dean to his hotel room, because Dean was gorgeous and it had been a long time for Castiel, and he was willing and smiling along and he wasn't even drunk, and he'd been interesting conversation anyway, so Castiel could totally see them spending more time together.

And here's a brief history of how Dean got into the profession he's in;

His little brother, Sam, is smart. Like, stupidly going-to-be-the-next-Einstein smart, but he won't get anywhere if he doesn't go to school, and he's too young to get a job that will earn him any real money (though he does work).

Dean got into the whole 'escort' business because he'd been told many times in his youth how pretty he was, how many men would pay to bend him over (and even if not that, the market for male escorts for women was growing) and Dean wasn't that smart in the book-smart kind of sense, and street smarts is the kind of thing you can take to the bank nowadays.

His father and mother were both dead so Dean's the only one keeping Sammy in school, and with this job he earns about five hundred a night, more on a really good day when he can get multiple customers in.

When Castiel had heard Dean's story in that bar, hearing this young man who couldn't be more than twenty talk about raising his kid brother and how he now had to whore himself out for a place to sleep and for Sam to go to school, Castiel hadn't been able to resist helping. He'd offered Dean money, but for a poor man Dean was prideful – he wouldn't take what he didn't earn. He wouldn't take charity.

So Castiel had taken Dean to his hotel room that night, and every night after that while he was in town. When he came back to Chicago a few months later he tried looking up any agency, but Dean didn't belong to one. He worked under the radar so they didn't get arrested, the joint run by a man named Alistair. So Castiel had had to track the boy down at the same bar – apparently it was a frequent haunt of his, and Castiel had been lucky enough to find him before he was 'occupied' for the night.

He'd 'bought' Dean for the entire weekend. Two thousand dollars right into the boy's pocket, plus an extra five hundred for his 'dealer', and a routine had been established. Dean gave Castiel his number and vice versa, and the two have been meeting ever since.

It's actually become a thing they both look forward to – Castiel flies into Chicago about every two months and when he gets the notice for his trip he immediately tells Dean the weekend, and though he doesn't ever get replies Dean's always waiting for him, always has nothing to do when he shows up for the weekend. Sometimes, when he smiles at Castiel and caresses the older man through his orgasm, when they're both lying sated on the sweaty, rumpled sheets of the hotel bed, Castiel thinks he could actually have more with Dean. But then he pays and Dean leaves, and it just makes Castiel feel like a sleazy douche-bag.

Castiel was broken out of his thoughts by a sharp rapping on his window, and his driver opened the door for him with a kind of superior look. Castiel rolled his eyes, knowing the guy would probably rather be anywhere but standing in the rain waiting for him to get his daydreaming ass out of the car, and he quickly scrambled out of the car and grabbed his bags, thanking and paying the man using the company card before going into the hotel, and checking into his room. Number seven-seventy-eight, on the seventh floor, right at the end. It was more isolated from the rest of the hotel and was slightly nicer than the rest of the economy rooms, with plenty of space around the bed and even a sort of kitchenette area, like it used to be an apartment and then someone split it in two and turned it into hotel rooms.

After a brief moment of juggling his bags Castiel managed to get the door open and slipped inside. He flicked on the light, illuminating the – not empty – room, and Castiel dropped his bags by the door, smiling involuntarily at the sight that greeted him.

Dean was there. Of course he was.

He was sprawled along the bed like a Greek God, his head propped up comfortably by pillows so he could see the whole room. He'd beefed up a little since Castiel last saw him – gotten some more muscle on his arms, which Castiel got to appreciate as one was folded behind his head, pillowing it more, allowing Castiel to get a good look at the bare, flexing bicep. He'd tanned a little too – just a little darker on his face, and a slight difference in a line below his elbow where the sleeves of the over shirts he wore when it was cold stopped. His shirt was tight and stretched over his torso, giving a little peek of his flat stomach above comfortable-looking blue jeans, legs crossed at the ankle and bare feet hanging off the end of the bed.

When they'd first been having their meetings, Dean had gone out of his way to look as damn sexy as he could get away with without being arrested outright, and it just wasn't fair that he managed to pull off such a casual look so effortlessly. Castiel's mouth was watering already.

The boy's eyes flashed over to Castiel as he came into the room and Dean smiled, sitting up and flicking off the TV, setting the remote down. "Hey, stranger," he said softly, standing up and prowling over to Castiel, easily fitting his body alongside Castiel's, and his new muscle made him bigger, now – Castiel felt small when Dean's arms came up to either side of his head, trapping the older man in place.

Castiel swallowed, inhaling as much as he dared and taking in Dean's scent – leather and semen. All the time. Dean always smelled like he'd just been fucked, hard, repeatedly, and that was a turn on as much as it made Castiel's gut clench in jealousy and unjustified possessiveness. He reached up, hooking his fingers behind Dean's neck and pulled the other man down, sealing their lips together in a dominating, controlling kiss that took his breath away, and pushed away from the wall, taking Dean with him to the bed, because he'd been looking forward to this since Zachariah handed him his damn plane ticket and he needed Dean now. They could catch up later.

"Fuck," Dean gasped when Castiel reached between them, palming his erection through his jeans, and the younger man panted against Castiel's lips, clutching back just as desperately, his hips rolling against Castiel's hand. "Cas."

The older man broke the kiss and pushed Dean back onto the bed. He liked that he could – Castiel was little but he was wiry and deceptively strong, and despite Dean's bulk he could easily manhandle the other man into whatever position he wanted. Dean stared up at Castiel with wide eyes and swollen lips, cheeks flushed already, eyes dark with need. He pushed himself backwards on the bed, letting Castiel have room to crawl over him after the man shed his trench coat and suit jacket. Dean smirked, reached forward and wrapping Castiel's tie around his fist, pulling the other man down into another kiss that was gentler but no less urgent. The younger man shifted and spread his legs eagerly, letting Castiel fall between them.

Castiel growled into the kiss, unable to pull away because of Dean's hold on his tie, but that's okay because he was perfectly happy to explore Dean's body – a body he'd learned well long ago – and shed the younger man's clothing. He pulled Dean's t-shirt until it was hitched up under his arms, unable to be pushed away any more, and Castiel leaned down after breaking the kiss, laving Dean's skin with his tongue and teeth, planting his marks over marks left behind before him, by other men, other lovers.

"How many have you had?" he asked, voice low with lust and jealousy as he flashed his eyes up to Dean's. The man was breathing heavily, eyes closed, head tilted back at the attention Castiel was giving him, just letting himself feel for now before his job demanded he start reciprocating. His eyes flew open at the question and he looked at Castiel, hesitant and confused. Castiel punished his pause with a swift bite to a nipple, making Dean hiss. "Answer me, Dean. How many?"

"Today or since you were last here?" Dean asked slowly, knowing either way Castiel wouldn't like the answer.

It had been two months since Castiel had last been to the city. "Today," he said.

Dean's eyes closed. "Three," he whispered, and Castiel's eyes widened – it was only five in the afternoon. He paused for a moment, unsure what to think about that – because it wasn't fair, really he knew that. He couldn't be pissed at Dean for doing his job, when it was the only way that seemed to be working. He just wished Dean would just accept his money. Hell, he'd pay for Sam to go to college if it meant Dean never had to sell himself ever again. Dean sat up, rolling them over so Castiel was on his back then, biting down on his full bottom lip and tugging, forcing Castiel's mouth open for his tongue to slide in, to taste and learn like he always did, like it was a new experience every time. His hands expertly played down Castiel's body, holding the older man down.

Castiel pushed against the hold, wanting to do something too – he'd never been good at being a passive participant, but Dean just chuckled against the work shadow on his jaw. "Relax, stranger," he husked into Castiel's ear, making him shiver. "I wanna take care of you."

I want to take care of you, Castiel thought, but kept mercifully silent. All that escaped was a low moan as Dean licked and bit down at his pulse, hands dragging under Castiel's body and along his spine where he knew the man was particularly sensitive. Dean shed his t-shirt, throwing it to join the rapidly growing pile of clothes, and straddled Castiel's hips. He leaned over Castiel's torso, hands splaying for balance under Castiel's arms, and nuzzled into the small bit of skin above the collar of Castiel's shirt, and then he – fuck. Was he…?

He was undoing the shirt with his mouth. Nosing the tie aside, he undid every button, and every new inch of skin exposed was accompanied by Dean's exhale, raising goose bumps and leaving warm dampness behind and Castiel shivered, eyes closed, body arching into the sensation. Dean let his nose and lips drag on his skin as he moved from one button to the other, occasionally pushing the two halves of the fabric aside and turning his attention to Castiel's skin, sucking a mark along his ribs and then licking over the dully aching skin. He was slowly turning Castiel into a shivering, writhing mass of want under his expert, experienced touches, bringing his hands back into play as he got lower and put more weight onto his legs, dragging the rough pads of his fingers down Castiel's sides, away from the ticklish areas, and his fingernails added another little layer of scratch-pain that sent Castiel arching and moaning, shivering when Dean pushed his shirt off and loosened his tie, pulling it over his head, exposing Castiel's skin to the pleasantly cool air.

Castiel lifted his head when Dean made it to his slacks, admiring the bunch and flex of the younger man's muscles, the beautiful stretch of skin over his arms and back, the flawless, slightly freckled skin around his shoulders and neck, and Castiel had to touch. He reached forward, carding his fingers through Dean's hair as the man moved lower, and Dean tilted his head just a little to flash a cocky, smug grin up at him, before his mouth went to work on Castiel's pants.

He exhaled over Castiel's cock through his slacks and the older man hissed and shivered, his fingers tightening in Dean's hair just a little as he fought to keep control of himself. The boy chuckled, mouthing over the hard line of Castiel's erection, licking it through his pants and the dull play of fabric and warmth over his cock was like heaven, almost nirvana but not quite. Castiel whined quietly and Dean had mercy again, finally undoing Castiel's pants and Castiel helped him pull them down along with his underwear to free his cock, which Dean immediately took into his hand. The cold metal of the ring he wore on his third finger contrasted with his warm, dry palm and Castiel groaned, head falling back as he brought his other hand to Dean's head, stroking through the man's soft, spiky brown hair. Dean leaned into the touch.

The first touch of Dean's tongue almost took Castiel by surprise, and he jolted. Dean chuckled and Castiel smiled sheepishly, and Dean stroked him once again, trailing the rough of his tongue over the head of Castiel's cock, along the slit, and Castiel hissed, hand tightening in Dean's hair and he moved the other one for support behind him, fisting the bed sheets.

Dean scooted back down Castiel's legs, kneeling up so he wasn't crushing the smaller man, and his free hand brushed up Castiel's chest, pushing the other man back down so he could lie down and not exhaust himself. Castiel went willingly, groaning when the angle meant Dean could look at him while he sucked him off, those green eyes under a slight fringe making him look even younger and just fucking delicious.

Slowly Dean started to sink down, to take more of Castiel into his mouth, the warm, wet heat enveloping the older man, and it was very difficult to resist the urge to just thrust up into Dean's talented mouth, especially when his tongue ran along the thick vein and under the head, hitting all the hot spots with practiced, expert ease, and then when he started deep-throating…

Really, there should be rewards for lasting time when it comes to Dean Winchester's mouth. The man has a mouth made to fuck, with full, perfect lips that look so delicious spread wide, wrapped around the thick shaft, and the sight of his cock disappearing into Dean's mouth coupled with the sensation of the tight, wet warmth, especially when Dean started playing with his balls with his other hand, stroking and pulling and massaging and dragging his thumb along the sensitive spot right behind…Fuck, too much. Castiel came with a shout, biting down on his fist to muffle the sound (because his room was isolated but not that isolated) and he bucked up into Dean's mouth, making a pathetic little whimpering sound when it didn't even phase Dean – the boy just opened up his throat and swallowed all of Castiel down, drinking his come and sucking him through his orgasm like Castiel's come was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

The stimulation was too much after a while, and Castiel tugged on Dean's head, making the boy pull off with a wanton little whine, and Dean only moved away after he'd given a parting little nuzzle to Castiel's spent dick. Castiel knew he wouldn't be able to get it up again so soon but damn, that made him wish he was, like, ten years younger.

Dean was like a lazy, contented cat when Castiel kissed him again, almost purring as he plastered himself over Castiel's body like a warm blanket, humming into Castiel's mouth as his tongue slid along the older man's, knowing Castiel liked to taste himself in Dean's mouth – because Castiel is a possessive bastard like that.

Castiel rolled them over, because this night was far from done and if it killed him, he was going to make sure Dean felt like he earned the money Castiel would give him. He practically tore at Dean's jeans, pulling them off easily, and pulled away from Dean. "On your hands and knees," he commanded, voice rough and raw.

Dean moaned at the order, rolling onto his stomach eagerly and then lifting himself up, ass in the air, displaying himself for Castiel's inspection, his cock hanging hard and flushed between his legs.

The older man smirked, planting a kiss to the base of Dean's spine, and dragged the edge of his palm between Dean's cheeks, loving how the man clenched in anticipation. His fingers wrapped around the end of the small plug Dean had pushed into himself, felt how his hole was slick with lube around the edges, and Castiel's fingers came back slippery. He pushed the plug in slightly and Dean whined, arching his back and bucking his hips, trying to get friction but unable to because of the position he was in.

"You did this for me?" he asked. Dean nodded and Castiel 'hmm'ed, leaning down and licking over Dean's hole, tongue catching on the plastic edge. The sound Dean let out was practically animalistic, and yes, if Dean kept this up Castiel would definitely speed up his recovery time. He pulled the plug out and observed it. "It's not very big," he commented.

Dean gasped when Castiel started to push it back in, corkscrewing the small object until he found the spot that sent Dean's world spinning. The younger man whined a little, gasping out his answer; "Wanted to feel you. Don't want to be able to walk straight for days."

Yeah, Castiel was ready again. Just like that. That's how much of an effect Dean had on him. "I think I can arrange that," he growled in a low, predatory voice, reaching into Dean's jeans where they'd been discarded on the side of the bed, knowing Dean always kept a condom and a small bottle of lube there and pulled out the desired items.

He slipped the condom on quickly and lubed himself up, tossing wrapper and spent bottle away and pulled the plug out again, appreciating the little hiss that accompanied his action. He gripped Dean's hips, positioned behind Dean, tip of his cock just resting against Dean's entrance. "You ready?" he asked softly, thumb running along the line of muscle where hip became leg, and Dean shivered and nodded.

How Dean could still be so tight after three men, Castiel would never know. Maybe it was a secret of the business or something, but Dean was tight, clenching heat around him as he pushed in, slowly but not very gently – if Dean wanted to feel him he would fucking feel him. Even dulled around the condom, Castiel could feel how hot Dean was, burning into his skin as the younger man trembled underneath him, hands fisted in the sheets as he arched and stretched like a cat, mewling so prettily for Castiel.

"Fuck, Castiel…yes, fuck! Fuck me harder…. Don't stop. Please don't stop." Dean choked off on a moan as Castiel rammed into his prostate, sending him into a gorgeous little shudder-arch, hands tearing at the sheets, cock leaking precome below him. "Fuck, Castiel, missed you, missed this. God, harder…faster…yes!"

Yes. California had nothing on this. This was worth Chicago and all the hell that came with it. Castiel lost himself inside of Dean, digging his fingers in a little more than he should, probably, and thrusting hard, fast, deep, as hard as Dean would beg him and then some. When he changed the angle a little and hit Dean's prostate the younger man howled, coming untouched around Castiel, clenching so tightly that Castiel couldn't actually move, and his orgasm was forced from him, driven over the edge by the suffocating, restricting tightness. He had just enough time to pull out of Dean and strip the condom off, pulling on the man's shoulder as he jerked himself through his orgasm. Dean's movements were sluggish but he still managed to turn in time to get the first warm splash of come on his face, closing his eyes and breathing hard as Castiel milked himself, spurting onto Dean's face, over those perfect, sinful, parted lips, in his hair, over his nose and through his eyelashes. Castiel loved marking Dean up like this, making the man his, just for a little while, come on bare skin like he couldn't inside of Dean, so the man would smell like him whenever the next customer came along.

Dean's breathing was heavy and ragged when he opened his eyes, and Castiel settled back on his heels, staring at the man still on all fours in front of him. Then Dean smiled, a self-satisfied, sated thing, and closed his eyes again, nuzzling against Castiel's spent cock and licking up the rest of his come. Castiel bit his lip to stop the sounds coming out as Dean wrapped his lips around Castiel's limp dick and sucked and licked him clean, moving around Castiel's balls and fingers as well, getting all of it and any that he smeared himself from his face.

When Castiel took Dean's chin in his hand and lifted the man's head, meeting his lips, Dean smelled like Castiel. It's strange – you don't recognize your own scent until you smell it on someone else, and know that while you may not notice, and they may not notice, third parties will, and it's a thrilling thing, that knowledge. The older man licked at Dean's mouth, cleaning his own come away and then pushed it into Dean's mouth with his tongue, moaning as Dean did, and his hand fisted in Dean's hair and came back sticky. Fuck, it's crazy how much coming on Dean's face turns Castiel on.

He licked the sweat and semen from Dean's face, knowing they'd need a shower later because there was still some in his hair and that wouldn't come out easy. His free hand soothed down Dean's cheek, holding his gaze. "Can you stay the night?" Castiel asked, just as he asks every time Dean comes over.

And just like always, the man smiled. "Yeah, Cas, I can stay."

In the morning, after several more rounds, showers, room service and rounds again, Dean leaves with fifteen-hundred dollars in his pocket. Castiel will give as much as Dean will take – letting him charge by the orgasm if necessary. And they part with a swift kiss to each other's lips and foreheads, and then Dean's gone again and Castiel moves on to close his business deal.

It was six months before Castiel got another opportunity to go to Chicago, and just like always he called Dean. Just like always Dean picked up, but something was different – it was different in the way Dean didn't answer with his normally playful 'Hey, stranger', but a much more somber muttering of Castiel's full name. The man sat straighter in his taxi seat.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voice low.

"I…Sammy got into college, Cas," Dean replied after a moment, and Castiel's eyes widened – because surely this was good news? "A full ride, too," Dean added with a soft snort and though Castiel couldn't see his face, he knew Dean was smiling affectionately. "To Stanford."

Castiel blinked, and then grinned. Stanford. California. Hardly an hour's drive away from where Castiel's work was stationed. Forty minutes from where he actually lived. This…could be a fantastic thing. "Are you moving with him?" he asked, barely able to contain his eagerness.

Dean, though, sounded tortured. "I have to. I mean, kid's gotta be able to eat and if he's studying he can't work and I have to…Cas, I have to move with him. I gotta leave Chicago."

Castiel suddenly understood – Dean didn't know where Castiel lived. He just knew every two months Castiel came from an unknown place to do business and fuck him senseless, and then left. "Dean," Castiel said softly, pausing as he tried to think of how to say this, how to say what he wanted without scaring the guy; "I live less than an hour from Stanford."

A pause. "You're shitting me."

Castiel laughed. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. And I want you to know…" Here it was, the moment of truth, and Castiel wanted to ask Dean, because he felt like he knew Dean inside and out…but then again, so did every other businessman in Chicago. And that's an awful thing to think and Castiel immediately felt guilty about it. "I have spare rooms in my house. If you need room and board you just have to ask."

Here's the thing – Dean doesn't accept needless kindness. It's not something that happens in his world. He doesn't want people just giving him things without him earning it. But Sammy…Sammy deserves to go to college, to go to Stanford. It's like the dream. Dean would do practically anything for that…

But… "I don't want charity," he said slowly.

"Then earn your keep," Castiel said with a slight smile. "I'm sure you'll be able to get a job or something where I live, and you can pay me for half of the bills or whatever you want. I'm not giving it if you don't want to be given it, Dean. I just…I want you to be happy. With me."

There it was. The thing they refused to talk about to each other, the undeniable attraction, the fact that Dean would drop everything to go see Castiel, the fact that it was like they had sought each other out on that first night, and the fact that now it seemed like they were being forced together again.

"You don't have to answer right away," Castiel said after a long silence. "The taxi's gotten me to the airport and my flight leaves in an hour. Just let me know when you decide. I don't want to pressure you, Dean," he said, and then Dean sighed and said 'Okay' and they hung up.

Castiel couldn't relax on the plane. Usually he liked to sleep because it let him skirt around the discomfort of ears popping and kids screaming and listening to the annoying flight safety announcements, but he couldn't sleep, or relax. He just stared out of the window as the plane taxied and took off, flew and landed, and it all passed as a blur. His phone remained stubbornly silent as he turned it on and went through customs and baggage claim.

He waited for his luggage. And waited. And waited. And frowned. The carousel stopped and the next flight's luggage came forward and his wasn't there. He rolled his eyes, because hello, it's Chicago. God forbid it go well twice in a row. He lumbered over to the 'Lost Baggage' stand…and stopped.

Because Dean was there. With his bags.

And he was smiling.