A/N: This story will only be 3-4 chapters, I've already written the second chapter and most of the 3rd already, so I don't plan to leave anyone hanging with this one. Stay tuned and hope you enjoy!

Dean kicked his scuffed boots up to the railing of the porch and took a long swing of his beer in one graceful motion. His body ached but his mind was clear, peaceful, and he felt as if he could possibly do this forever. He no longer had to think, he no longer had to worry. When he looked up at the vast sky above him and the stars faintly in view early in the evening, he wondered what was going on in the world, but only for the sake of being grateful that he no longer needed to save it.

Technically, he still thought of Sam, but it wasn't in a worrisome, mother-hen type way. Sam was at Stanford, finally getting his degree. When Sam had announced that he wanted to finish school, it barely ruffled Dean's feathers. Ever since Sam spent an entire year not telling Dean he was alive, Dean realized that he and Sam just weren't on the same page anymore. Dean could have been perfectly content spending every moment of his life by his brother's side, but Sam wanted something else. A real life. Dean wasn't going to hold him back, and gave his blessing for Sam to go back to Stanford. He still drove to the nearest dustbowl town that he unaffectionately dubbed Timbuktu every other day where his cell phone received reception, and talked to him for at least an hour. Or rather, let Sam talk. Dean didn't have a whole lot to talk about himself.

Dean had decided that he didn't want to hunt without Sam, and resigned himself to a temporary job in Wyoming that allowed him room and board. He was a simple ranch hand. He was responsible for feeding the cattle in the mornings and helping keep the barn clean – which wasn't easy, considering how large the ranch was. But he was always done in the early evening, and could sit back and enjoy the silence and lack of grief, headaches, and stress in his life.

Except that wasn't necessarily true.

The fact that Dean hadn't seen Castiel in a long time wore on him. Dean didn't completely acknowledge Castiel's absence, because it was always there. Like breathing. Thoughts of Castiel enveloped Dean like Castiel's trench coat had enveloped Cas – softly, quietly, and pretty much constantly. Sometimes Dean swore that if he turned his head just slightly, Castiel would be there, his long coat swaying just slightly from his flight in. But he never was.

Shortly after Sam had gotten his soul back, Castiel disappeared from the face of the earth, and, heaven, Dean was afraid. He wondered more than once if the war in heaven had taken Castiel as a casualty. Castiel hadn't responded to Dean's pleas during Sam's more difficult moments of enduring his newly-replaced tortured soul, and Dean didn't think Castiel was enough of a dick to ignore him when Cas had been pretty concerned for Sam's state. Time went on and anger and frustration for Castiel's' absence wore away eventually to quiet concern.

Dean spent several months on the ranch, getting used to a life of solitude. The owners were private people, and he only saw them in the barn and once a week for a Sunday dinner. They never came down to his isolated cabin that was a half a mile away from the barn and a mile from the main house, and he liked it that way. He was given a stipend of sorts and an extra food allowance, and made himself quick hot dogs or hamburgers on his tiny cabin stove, or microwave dinners. He didn't need much other than food, beer, soda, and the occasional TV, which he could only see through the cabin's DVD player. He wondered occasionally what was going on with Dr. Sexy these days, but was okay with the fact that he would have to wait until the current season was released on DVD. He had driven to town once and picked up several seasons of Dr. Sexy and Star Trek Voyager, so he had plenty of TV to watch for now.

Dean found that he was actually content passing the time in the quiet evenings just relaxing on the porch and looking at the stars. The cool night air was always refreshing, and the fact that he didn't have to reflexively jump into action to save a life was intoxicating. Not that he wanted to live like this forever, being a hunter was as much a part of Dean Winchester as Sam was his reason to live and breathe, but for now, a vacation was exactly what he needed.

So, Dean relaxed, took it easy, and barely gave a care to the world during this respite. However, Dean couldn't deny though, that when he gazed at the stars languidly every night, that he was wondering if Castiel could possibly still be up there in the heavens.

Alone, Dean didn't feel the need to guard his thoughts. Without Sam around, he couldn't get paranoid that Sam could be reading his thoughts or sense what was going through Dean's mind. It didn't even occur to Dean that his thoughts were going places they would normally not go. Alone and uninhibited, he let his mind wander to wherever it wanted to take him.

Quite often, it was just happy memories of family. Of his mother when he was a boy, of his dad and Sam growing up. He tended to shy away from thoughts from when his father disappeared on – everything from that time forward till Sam finally was settled with his hell-bent soul - was a large shitfest that he wanted to distance himself from.

Except for his memories of Castiel. They warmed him just like the flush of alcohol every time he tipped his beer bottle. All kinds of memories, even the most subtle, small memories. Like how Cas sometimes had more stubble on his face than others. Dean couldn't help but wonder if Castiel magically shaved himself once a day with a thought, and then allowed it to grow for 24 hours.

Dean wondered more than once what that stubble would feel like against his own skin. The thought would haunt him sometimes, paired up with just generally missing the angel. He didn't even allow himself to think it was odd, because any thought of Cas was better than losing him forever. So his mind wandered to several past conversations and all the times Castiel sacrificed himself for Dean.

Dean was aware he was quite the dick to Cas there towards the end, constantly being demanding without much of a thank you, and he wished deeply he could tell Cas he was sorry. When he looked at the stars, though, he got this feeling that Castiel had somehow accepted his apology far off in the heavens.

So, peacefully and somewhat contentedly, with a small mixture of aching to see his long lost friend, Dean thought of Castiel often. There could never be a truer friend, of that Dean was certain.

Sometimes, he wished more deeply than others that he could see him one more time. Hell, several more times. But he dealt with it.

Alone, Dean found himself with the freedom to do things he normally would never do. This included lounging around in his underwear in on his one day off, reading library books he'd never dreamed he'd want to read a year ago, and then, one of his personal favorites, releasing himself in the wide open air.

Dean wasn't sure exactly when that habit got started. He could vaguely remember sitting on the porch, feeling tired from work yet relaxed at the thought that the day was done, and noticed how he had gone hard. Normally he would have either ignored it or stepped inside the cabin to quickly jack off. But that night, Dean realized there was no reason for him to move. No one ever came down to the cabin to see him, ever. So Dean had kicked back farther in his chair, unzipped his jeans, and pulled his erection out, and gave it exactly what it wanted, outside.

He didn't do it every night but it was becoming a common occurrence. Right along with wondering about and remembering Castiel, so even though it wasn't intentional, Dean was doing both at the same time. He didn't really think of Castiel sexually either while he did it. It was more of an emotional release, his need to see Castiel once again being satiated slightly by the rush of the orgasm.

So, one night when spring was getting closer to summer, and the smell of new growth and fresh air filled his senses, and he was noticing that his ice cold beer always tasted better right after a hard day's work, he was in a good mood, yet missing Castiel as usual. Lazily he unzipped his pants with anticipation, as if his own hand were a skilled lover. It was staying light out longer, so there was that element of a turn-on at the thought of getting caught. Not that he actually wanted to, the thought itself was a good enough turn on. He gently unsheathed his cock from his pants and briefs, and pet it once slowly, enjoying how smooth and strong it looked. He had to admit, it wasn't bad, and he bet women liked it a great deal. He started pumping it, leaning back and slightly closing his eyes so he could just concentrate on the sensations. He found himself randomly wondering if Castiel's vessel was well endowed at all, if it was circumcised, and if Castiel knew anything of the pleasure the organ had once treasured.

His thoughts wandered to if angels went anywhere when they died, and hoped that somehow heaven and earth could be moved if it were so, and he could see Castiel again, hear his gravelly voice, see the sincerity in his eyes every time he looked at Dean. Then he closed his eyes completely, and arched his back and pointed his cock outward, turned on at the thought of shooting his load into the open air. He used to make love to a sock, but one day he realized it was more enjoyable to release it onto the porch and wash it up later.

He sped up the tempo and bit his lip and cried "Oh fuck" when his dick was finally ready to explode. Then he looked with amusement to see how far he'd shot it, this was the farthest yet. He smiled and didn't get up right away to clean it up, sat and took a gulp of beer and sat their lazily sated for several minutes. Then when it was starting to shrink, he got up and sloshed a bucket of water over the porch. He finished the beer, standing there with his dick hanging in the wind, not caring in the slightest. Then he finally went inside and washed himself up.

He lay down on his bed and decided to read his library book. While he was lying there, he realized he'd been thinking of Castiel naked while jacking off. Not so much that it was turning him on, but he could see that it was uncharacteristic for him to think of another man in that way at all when he was getting off. He shrugged it off, telling himself it was mere curiosity, the same type that Dean had exhibited as a boy in public restrooms, wondering what men looked like down there when they grew up. And when he was older, wondering how he compared to other men. He figured everyone did it.

What was really hitting Dean, though, was the realization that every time he came, and really, it was every fricken time, at the moment of shudderingly delicious orgasm, he thought of Castiel looking intently at Dean, his eyes touching Dean's soul in a way nothing else could. Nothing made Dean come harder, not even his favorite fantasies of Busty Asian Babes.

Dean shrugged again and tried to read the book. He figured, what did it matter if he did? No one would ever know. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell Sam or Bobby, and Castiel was probably dead, so he'd never know either.

So, somehow it became a habit. He was increasingly more aware each time he jacked off that Castiel was on his mind. It was no longer a shadow, more of a forefront and that didn't stop him from building up to release with thoughts of Castiel coming back to life and coming to see Dean. He refused to see this as gay; rather, he considered it a rare guilty pleasure that would only be known to himself. He associated his orgasm with that longing for a long lost friend being fulfilled.

This didn't actually make him feel better, though. He started feeling worse. He ached for Castiel's presence more consciously now, and one time when he was on the phone with Sam, listening to him ramble on about a research project that was being a major pain in the ass, he interrupted with, "I miss Cas," out of the blue.

Sam, surprised, stammered out that he missed Castiel too, and Dean said, "If I even knew what happened to him, it would be better. But I don't know jack shit on what happened to one of my best friends in the world."

Sam agreed, and they even reminisced together about some of Castiel's more charming traits. Then Sam suggested asking Bobby if there was a spell for finding an angel's location.

Dean was eager to hang up then and find out immediately. He called Bobby and was let down when Bobby asked if he had anything belonging to Castiel.

"The only thing Cas owns, Bobby, is that damn coat of his. I don't have squat."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you. Sorry Dean. I miss him too, Dean. He was a good guy."

Dean went home and later, shot up out his bed, realizing that perhaps he did have something belonging to Cas. Sort of.

He drove all the way back to Timbuktu so he could call Bobby at midnight and ask if there was a solution after all. "I've still got the scar on my shoulder he gave me, and then there is the engraving on my ribs. He gave me both, so it's like there's a piece of him there. Can you do it with those?"

"Hell, no, Dean!" Bobby said, sounding grumpy from being woken up. "I have to set the item or items on fire with holy oil for the spell to work, and one, I don't have any holy oil, and two, I'm not setting you on fire, Dean, not on your shoulder, not on your chest, not anywhere!"

Dean tried to argue that he could probably endure it on his shoulder for a short time, and when Bobby said "for a half an hour? Because it might take that long, or longer! Forget it Dean, I refuse," Dean realized dejectedly that it was hopeless.

"I'll cut a piece of my scar off and send it to you in the mail, if that's what it takes," Dean said with one last ounce of hope. "You can set that on fire."

"Oh for god's sake, I hope not! I don't want you going all Van Gogh on me here! Besides, you'd have to cut the entire scar off and I sure as hell don't want that. Forget it Dean!" Bobby tried to spend the next several minutes consoling Dean, and invited him to come for a visit this summer, and they eventually hung up and Dean realized he didn't want to cut the scar off anyway. It was a reminder of his bond with Castiel, and Dean felt if there was an ugly hole there instead, it would be a reminder of how Castiel was no longer there. He'd rather have the reminder of their bond.

So Dean slowly went back to quiet acceptance of the fact that Castiel was gone. It wasn't easy for Dean, because he was so used to getting what he wanted, no matter what it was. Impossible wasn't in Dean Winchester's vocabulary. It didn't matter if Sam was dead or the world was coming to an end, Dean found some way to bring things back full circle.

But he forced himself to face reality this time. Part of it was he really was done with living that life of extreme ups and downs, life and death meshing into a painful blur of several heartaches. He told himself that if he accepted Castiel's absence, he'd be better off. Which was partially true.

So, he went back to the quiet, relaxing life. He worked hard during the day and enjoyed having no responsibilities in the evenings. Not having to answer to anyone, not having to explain himself to anyone. Being able to come desperately on his porch as the sun was coming down and the stars were coming out. Wondering if Castiel somehow knew he was thinking of him.

It was June and almost time for Dean to quit the ranch job and go on his summer hunting stint with Sam. He was looking forward to it, both the hunting and seeing Sam. He realized the carefree days of jacking off without restraint on his private porch were going to be over, but he only felt remorse that his weird connection (in his head) with Castiel would be gone. Jacking off in the bathroom with Sam in the next room just wouldn't be the same.

Dean undid his pants on a comfortably warm night with bittersweet anticipation that it would be one of the last times to do this in a long time, and worked himself easily to a plateau of pleasure that he maintained and enjoyed for about two minutes, before bursting at the seams with cum. He opened his eyes eventually with practical thoughts about his need to clean up, when he saw Castiel right in front of him. He blinked. And blinked again.

He'd just had a mind-shattering orgasm, but it was the furthest thing from Dean's mind at the moment.