Double Warning:

This chapter skirts into 'M' territory, with a masturbation scene. It's not very detailed, and is over quite quickly, but I don't think it's strong enough to cut out entirely for the sake of preserving that safe 'T' status that I want on this site (so that the cops don't kick out the entire fic). So, consider yourself warned.

Spoiler for Star Trek II: Wrath Of Khan. In case anyone was planning on watching, which everyone should. But a lot of people know about this one, considering it's a classic film.

Okay. If you don't mind these two points, read away.

Dean wasn't having the worst day of his life. Dean wasn't even having the worst day of his week. But, it was perhaps the most uncomfortable he'd had in a while. The fact was, he was stuck with a very odd piece of information, an unwelcome revelation that was staying irritatingly present in his mind, no matter how often he squashed it down.

Last night, he had wanted to bone his best friend.

It was probably something to do with the fact that he hadn't jerked off in a week; there's a reason why a guy isn't meant to keep it all backed up. But things had been happening, there hadn't been much time since Cas had come back, and the scant time he had been able to snatch for himself, he hadn't exactly felt like it. And Livvie's words, the goading and the hints... well that sure as hell hadn't helped.

Now, however, as they came in from the chill, breath hot and lips cold, coffee gestured to by Sam, who had clearly been watching, Dean felt a weird piece of information dawn on him:

If he had to get the hots for a guy, it was at least someone who could handle himself in a fight.

He squashed it as soon as he thought it, that which his subconscious had provided freezing him faster than the frozen air outside. He coughed, looking away, and walked over to the coffee, wondering if he could sneak a shot of something stronger into it, trying to remember where he'd left the flask. in the piece of crap car, probably.

Sighing, he took a sip, ignoring as the hot liquid burnt his tongue a little, instead relishing in the warmth. He'd had enough pain in his life to not balk at a little hot coffee.

Smiling into it, he turned back to the others, clasping the warm cup with both hands. However, as he spotted Cas, halfway through pulling his green sweater off, he twitched, the drink spilling over onto his hands, down his front. He swore at the sharp pain, coinciding with his friend pulling the material over his head, missing Cas's blue eyes widen in alarm at Dean's exclamation of pain. He, instead, focused on his own clothing, pulling the sodden material from his skin, feeling the air hit his damp skin, chilling him instantly despite the burn. As he instinctively moved the mug away from him, he sloshed more over his hand and onto the floor, before he eventually managed to put it down.

Looking up, he saw his brother and his friend staring at him. Cas was now topless, the green fabric in his hand, one second away from jumping in to help.

"You okay?" Sam asked, and Dean scowled at him.

"Fine." He snapped, peeling the damp fabric away from himself again. "I'm gonna take a shower."He muttered, and Sam chuckled, eyes narrowed.

"Hot or cold?" He smirked up at him, and Dean paused his journey to glare over at him, before resuming his journey, shutting the door behind him a little too firmly.

Sam looked up at Cas, rolling his eyes. He was clearly confused, face wearing that puzzled frown that settled there so often. "Tattoo still itching?" Sam asked, gesturing to the expanse of bare skin that was Castiel's torso.

Glancing down as if only just noticing himself, he blinked. "Yes." He walked over to the cup Dean had spilt, peering at the inside. "Is there something wrong with the coffee?"

"Coffee's fine," Sam sighed, gesturing for Cas to go ahead and drink it. "I think there's something wrong with Dean."

Dean slammed the door behind him, wincing at the loud thud, seeing it shake the wall slightly. This cabin was barely more reinforced than a film set. He pulled his shirt off, throwing the sodden material to the floor, wiping the moisture from his torso. Damn coffee.

Damn Cas.

He sighed, walking over to the sink, splashing cold water on himself, soothing the burn, though making himself hiss at the chill. This was probably the coldest room in the house, the thin glass pane window in the corner doing little to prevent the cold; when he put his hand near it, he could feel a soft breeze. Sighing, he glanced at the mirror, catching himself, his green eyes, and he looked away fast, unable to meet them, not wanting to see what was there. Mind you, nothing new to that.

Turning off the taps he went to the shower, turning the water on and stepping in. Despite Sam's jibe, he didn't quite have the stomach for a cold shower right now, and sighed when the hot water hit him, water beating against his skin, hot and welcoming, and Dean found himself melting into it, the final chill in his bones from outside retreating under the pressure of his fingertips across his chest, rubbing the skin against the bone underneath, could feel the slight notch of an old cracked rib. And, almost reluctantly, as the water beat down on his skin and his fingertips rubbed across his chest, he moved his hand down to that which had been waiting for his attention for the last ten minutes, or for the last week.

With conviction, he pulled forth old fantasies from his memory: Sarah Michelle Gellar in a bikini; those twins back in 2007; Starbuck from Battlestar Galactica in that little blue dress; Miss Miller who tried so hard to teach Dean long division when he was fifteen. Gritting his teeth to stop a groan as he worked himself, one hand holding on to the shower hose, another on himself. The water roared above him, beating on his shoulders, running down his back.

Rhonda Hurley when he was nineteen, the feel of the soft panties against himself, the memory that he'd shared with none but himself. The woman at Oktoberfest, hell, even Livvie in the back of that car.

He gripped tighter to the shower rail in frustration. This wasn't meant to be long, drawn out, this wasn't at leisure or ease. He kept pumping himself, refusing to abort the proceedings. This was to get it out of his system, to force the ideas out of his head, so that every time he saw Cas, saw him wandering around half naked, saw him with water from the shower still dripping down his back, saw him in the middle of the night, hair messed up and eyes dark...

He barely covered his moan as his orgasm caught him by surprise, a punch in the gut and his hand still working, not having the presence of mind to stop.

He opened his eyes to see what he'd spilled being washed away down the drain, all evidence of the deed done, but Dean knew... He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to block out the knowledge that he'd just got off to the thought of Cas.

He wasn't oblivious, by no means. He wasn't a stranger to the fact that sometimes guys gave him a hard on, that sometimes he'd rather take home the guy from the bar than the chick. He knew it, but boy, if anyone was ever a pro at suppressing uncomfortable things, that person was Dean Winchester. Starting when he was six and John didn't have the money for dinner, so he ignored his hunger. When John had caught him crying in bed about his Mom, he'd earned no sympathy, and channelled his sadness into anger instead. And at nineteen, when John had caught Dean with some guy from a bar who would give him the money his Dad couldn't... well, after that, Dean chased solely after the ladies.

Dean knocked his head against the tiled wall and turned off the water. This was stupid, and it simply wasn't happening.

When Dean exited the bathroom, the others were almost as he had left them. Sam was still on his laptop at the table, and Cas, with a cup of coffee in his hand and Paradise Lost open in his lap, yet neither were paying attention to their individual activities. Instead, they appeared to be neck deep in a discussion about the history of the middle East, and how it fit in a Biblical context.

"So, had heaven intervened at the time, the brother's wouldn't have fought, and this whole situation might have been concluded a long time ago."

"And that makes..." Sam frowned, shaking his head. "So who does the land really belong to?"

"Does any land truly belong to anyone?" Cas asked sagely, and Dean rolled his eyes, determined on acting like nothing untoward had just happened.

"Alright, Pocahontas." Dean sighed, walking past, not looking at either of them, and especially not at the vast expanse of bare skin on show. Clutching his towel tight around him, he climbed the stairs, ignoring Sam's chuckle.

That everning, as they put on Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan, Dean sat as far away as possible from Cas. He wasn't even on the sofa tonight, instead at the table with Sam's laptop, his younger brother instead with Cas. And Dean focused, hard. This was one of the better films, with heavy plot, good character development, and a killer ending. So he watched, he watched the damn film and kept his eyes locked on the screen. Goddamnit, he tried. But every so often his eyes would glaze over, gaze over, just to see. He couldn't help it, couldn't help but check every now and then, to see if Cas was paying attention, if he was keeping up, how he was reacting. When a character died, he looked to see if Cas would flinch; when a particularly bad special effect was used, he checked to see if Cas, like Sam and himself, was laughing. He was mollified when at the end when he looked over and saw Cas's frown, a visible difference to his earlier perplexed expression as he'd watched the film.

His eyes narrowed as the credits rolled, and his mouth dropped open a little, clearly trying to process the proceedings.

"Spock is dead." Cas slowly surmised, and Dean nodded with a chuckle.

"Uh, yeah." Sam nodded, glancing over to Dean. No need to spoil the plot of the next film.

"Radioactive chamber." Dean commented, picking up the boxset and reading the title for the next film: The Search For Spock.

Cas looked to Dean, confusion present in his features. "There are... eight more films?" He asked, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah, but a load of them are on a different ship." Dean shrugged.

"They continue the franchise without Spock?" Surmised Cas, looking away.

"'Fraid so." Dean smiled, leaning back, before catching the full force of Cas's expression again, blue eyes shining, brows furrowed, looking... upset. God, the ending had actually upset the guy. He felt a pang in his chest, the hot nudge of an all too familiar feeling; guilt. He blinked, his mirth vanishing.

"You okay, Cas?" Sam asked, and looked over to Dean.

"How can they hope to continue without Spock by Kirk's side? They are a team; without Spock, Kirk would surely fail."

Sam hadn't looked away from Dean, who was currently warring with himself. One part of him was desperate to leave, to find a bar, to get drunk and lose himself in a woman and forget the wide eyed, puppy dog look that Cas was currently wearing. The other was warming to Cas, wanting to comfort, to close the distance between them...

He stood suddenly, ignoring how Sam flinched back at the abrupt movement. He strode over to the fridge and opened it. "Put on the next one, Sammy." It's not like they had anything else to do with the evening, Dean realised as he reached for a beer.

Once again, Dean stayed up much later than Cas, not wanting to see his friend all snuggled up in bed. Not this friend, not now that a certain body part had decided to take an interest.

Similar to the night before, when he came upstairs the light was on and Cas was sitting up in bed, the Bible in his lap. Except tonight he was asleep, chin drooped on his chest. Dean pause, softened at the sight.

He hesitated before making a decision. He walked over, taking the book from his hands, and closed it, pen between the pages. It went on the floor behind, and Dean steeled himself for the next task. He knew if he didn't help now, Cas would have a hell of a pain in the neck in the morning. He could leave him, could let Cas learn his lesson about not sleeping in a stupid way, could just go to sleep and be done with it, but he couldn't. He said he'd look after Cas, and that's what he was gonna do.

Giving a small shake to Cas's shoulder, he looked away, trying to ignore what he was doing. "Cas." He tried, but his friend didn't wake. Swallowing down the twinge in his chest, he reminded himself that his friend was warm, that his heart was beating and that he was there. He was just asleep. "Cas?"

A frown appeared on his face, and his lips pursed into a petulant grumble, clearly unhappy at being woken. "Come on, man." Dean sighed, trying again, and Cas's eyes cracked open, tired and unhappy to be awake.

"Dean?"

"Lie down." He busied himself, tugging the pillows so they were flat. "You can't sleep like that."

"You do." Cas answered, following Dean's movements, sleep riddled brain attempting to catch up.

"Well, I've had more practise." He gently retorted. "Just lie down, okay? You'll hurt yourself."

Cas peered up at him, blue eyes shining in the warm light, and Dean awkwardly avoided the eye contact. Stepping away, he waved a hand, gesturing to Cas to move himself now that he was awake. "Muscle strain." Cas muttered, as if finally working out what the problem was as he shuffled down.

"You got it." Dean walked back to the door. "Go back to sleep, Cas."

"Thank you." He called across the room, and Dean shut off the light, not replying as he pulled the door shut, going back down the stairs. He wiped a hand across his brow, bringing it back to scratch his neck. Sam looked up at him expectantly, rising from his sit-up on the floor, a slight sheen to his skin. Dean noticed the bottle of beer was no longer on the table.

"Thought you were going to bed?" Sam lay back down on the floor, moving his hands to his temples. Dean's body felt so bored of being stationary that he almost considered joining him.

"Aren't you usually the in-bed-by-nine one?" Dean scoffed, sitting down and pulling the laptop towards him.

"Wasn't the point of sleeping up there was so Cas wouldn't be sleeping alone?" Up again, barely a tremor to his voice at the movement. "Doesn't it kinda defeat the point if you wait until he's out?"

"Kinda defeats the point if you're bringing down the cabin with your heavy ass." Dean snapped back, ignoring Sam's glower as he opened a local news website. He scrolled down the page, rolling his eyes at the stories. "Apparently Jim Stone beat a local record for... swimming in a lake." Dean frowned, trying to figure out the point of the story, coming to the conclusion that it was probably something to do with the fact it was January. "What do you think, demon deal?"

"Nothing going?" Sam flipped over, starting to do some press ups.

"Well, if there was, Garth would make sure we don't get it." Sam snarked, glaring at his brother, and Sam glances over, a half shrug. "Come on, Sam; I'm about twenty four hours off getting cabin fever."

"Is that what it is?" Sam chuckled. "Dean, we've barely been here four days."

"This place has three goddamn rooms, Sam. I want some me time, I gotta go sit in the bathroom." He leant back hard in the chair.

"In a motel there's less."

"Yeah, but a motel usually has a bar near." He sighed as Sam just continued, up and down, up and down. "We need a hunt."

"And just leave Cas here?" Sam finally stopped, looking over at Dean. "Or in a motel room? He isn't ready yet."

"You see him shoot today?" Dean crossed his arms defensively. "He's a good shot. Barely missed anything once he got going."

"What if his gun gets knocked away? Or he gets cornered? He needs arm to arm training before we can even begin to take him out."

Dean pondered it, had a brief run through in his head of the moves, of where they would train, the image of Cas topless, a slight sheen on his skin as Dean pinned him... He suppressed a groan, of frustration, of something else perhaps, and he pushed the heels of his palms against his eyelids until he saw lights twinkle behind the darkness. He snapped back to Sam. "So we train him, and we get out of here."

Sam sighed, looking up at his older brother. "And we gotta be careful, Dean." He span off his palms, finally, turning to face Dean properly. "We can't be going on big hunts right now, we can't just walk around like no-one's after us."

"You're talking about Crowley?"

"Yeah, I'm talking about Crowley. He's after Cas, and us. One demon spots us, and we're screwed."

"So staying still is the best plan?" Dean chuckled. "We're in a shed that'd fall with a strong breeze, warded or not. We need somewhere safer."

"You got an idea? I am all ears, Dean. I'm not saying this place is perfect, but right now, it's pretty damn safe."

"So you're saying, until Cas can take care of himself, we're staying here?" As if to prove a point, the wind outside picked up a little bit, and an audible creak from the walls rung through. Sam shook his head at the noise.

"I'm not saying I like it here any better than you do-"

"Or that it this place isn't about to fall down on top of us?"

"But we don't have a choice. Channel your boredom into Cas, or something." Sam shrugged, keeping an eye on Dean, who looked away with a scoff. "Unless this is about something else."

Dean looked over to his brother, glaring at the innocent look he was being given. "What the hell else would it be about?"

"You tell me." Sam stayed on the floor, waiting.

They could have talked about it then. Sam could have brought up the fact that he knew what Dean had done for a bit of extra cash over the years. Dean could have told him he'd jerked off and right at the crucial moment, Cas had been the cause. Sam could have told Dean that sometimes guys marry guys, and to get over it. Dean could have told Sam how the black eye he got when he was nineteen wasn't from a hunt, but was from John when he was caught.

Sam could have told him that it was okay, and that he supported him. But the boys were never that good at talking, preferring to keep secrets that burnt up until they couldn't stay down any longer.

Dean stood up, brushing himself down and walking to the stairs. "On second thoughts, I think I'll go to bed."

"Sweet dreams." Sam called up after him, a jibe, but there was little mirth in it.

The room was as Dean left it, and he pushed open the door, blinking in the darkness before pushing it shut again, stepping inside. He expected to feel a shiver as he took off his clothes, the cold seeping through, but even he knew that heat rises, and found the room just about manageable. Like the night before, he stripped down to his t-shirt, boxers and socks, before picking the blanket up, ready to crawl under.

He heard movement, and glanced up, though was unable to see anything in the dark. Pausing, he could hear the slight rustling of sheets, the uneven breathing. Cas wasn't asleep. Sighing, Dean continued his journey onto the recliner, lying back and pulling the blanket over himself, the cool on his legs, though it would warm up soon. Only after he had settled, after he had found a position that was comfortable, did Dean speak.

"How much did you hear?" He asked in the darkness, voice a little too loud in the hush of the room.

There was silence for a moment, but Dean wasn't fooled. After spending most of his life sleeping in the same room as his little brother, he knew when someone was sleeping and when they weren't. Eventually, Cas moved again, the sheets rustling as he adjusted his weight. "The cabin has thin walls."

"Yeah, I know." Dean sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek. "We don't think you're useless. You just spent a few millennia fighting in a different way."

An intake of breath. "I'm an inconvenience to you."

Dean hesitated. For a little too long.

"You and Sam should be hunting, and I should leave."

"That ain't happening." Dean snapped, and he heard Cas swallow from across the room, a little thickly. "You're staying with us, that ain't a question. Boredom is a small price to have you here with us, trust me." He chuckled, trying to lighten the tone, but knew he had failed. "We want you with us."

Silence rung through again, and he heard the unmistakable sound of a sniff, striking him deep to the core. He wasn't good with tears, with crying, and while he was used to guilt, he wasn't great at handling it either. "Cas, will you- will you quit crying?!" He snapped, and he practically heard Cas flinch.

"I'm not sure how." He heard him say, confusion clear in his tone, and Dean chuckled at the visual image. He sat up, peering over, able to make out a little more in the dark before, could see the bulk of his friend in the bed, sitting up slightly, a hand at his face, touching the wet tracks.

Dean laughed, and just about saw Cas look over. "Top drawer, there's tissue in there." He told him, uselessly gesturing over to the cabinet beside the bed. He listened as Cas fumbled, wiped his face, and blew his nose for the first time.

"That was unpleasant." Cas muttered, and Dean hummed in agreement.

"Feel any better?" He ventured to ask, and Cas pondered it a moment.

"A little." He seemed confused at the notion that blowing ones nose made you feel better whilst crying, and Dean nodded, laying back down.

"We're not getting rid of you." He told him firmly. "You aren't some pet we can give back to the pound if you crap on the floor. We may be stuck in a boring cabin in the middle of nowhere with the king of hell on our tail, but..." He trailed off, not sure how to finish. So long as we've got you, we'll be fine? It wasn't true, and they both knew it. Family didn't equal safety. "You're family. And that's more important."

There was a minute of silence, and Dean was beginning to suspect Cas had fallen asleep until he spoke once more. "Thank you."

"Just go to sleep, Cas."

Okay, yes, I haven't posted in a while. Yup. Bad person award. But I can promise I've been genuinely busy! I'll try (as I always say) to get another chapter up real soon, but until then, who wants to chat about season NINE?!

As usual, reviews remind me to write. Especially if I haven't in a while, just kick me and I'll feel guilty enough to continue. Promise.