Archive of Our Own

"You should say something."

Dean stalled in his sip of beer to look over at Sam, who was already giving him the stare that said this was going to be one of those conversations Dean was expected to take seriously.

"About?"

That was said slowly enough that Sam had to know Dean was just placating him. Didn't stop the big nerd from carrying on obliviously.

"I mean," Sam started up, awkward hitch and all, "Cas is seeing Meg now..."

God, there it was. Seriously, Sam was a pro at killing Dean's buzz. All he wanted was to have a celebratory drink with family in his crappy apartment, because it wasn't every day Dean did something right in his life the way he awesomely got promoted today (from lackey to assistant manager, which wasn't really even that impressive considering he stuck his head under the hood of a car for a living, and it was more of a pity promotion from his pseudo father figure than anything, but the padding to his paycheck was worth the celebrations) but of course Sam couldn't let him preen in peace.

"And, yeah," Sam was continuing, never mind that Dean's brain was suggesting all sorts of helpful exit strategies he was seconds away from putting into use, "she's kind of..."

"Evil?" Dean supplied, smiling. Big.

Sam glowered at him, which was nuts. Dean was just talking truth.

"She's--"

"Hellspawn?"

That cranked up Sam's glare, so now it reflected his impatience. "She's forward," he insisted, tight-lipped and prissy.

"Yeah, okay. And we're just gonna pretend she didn't stalk you for two years and when you wouldn't go out with her, she hit that dude in the head then told the police it was you who did it."

Sam lost a little of his righteousness at the reminder of that. "So, okay, she's a little manipulative too."

"Dude, I had to bail you out of the pokey."

"Dean. No one says 'pokey,' first of all. And that was a long time ago. She's changed."

"Into a psycho. Agreed."

"This is my point. Don't you think you're so hard on her 'cause she's, you know, into Cas? And that freaks you out?"

"I think it makes me an awesome friend. Guy would go along with murder if he thought it was the right thing. That's like second base with Meg."

"Yeah, well, I think you're jealous."

"Of Meg?"

"Dean, you're totally in love with Cas."

"Okay. Real funny."

"I'm not joking. I think you've liked him for a while, too. Since we were in high school--"

"Would you knock it off? We're talking about Cas, here. He's my best friend, so, yeah, I got his back. It's what friends do."

"Okay, but friends? They don't wallow when the other guy is out on a date."

"I'm not wallowing! I'm celebrating." And he was. Or, trying to, except Sam sure as hell was doing a bang up job of ruining that.

"Sure. Cowboy Junkies on the radio--"

"It came on!"

"Cas' favorite movie on TV--"

"So, what, I'm not allowed to watch E.T. now?"

"You're moody and you keep looking at the clock, just. Dean. Come on. Admit it. Not even to me, but you have to admit it to yourself some day. You're killing yourself here. No one's going to think less of you. It's Cas."

"You done?"

"Dean..." Sam sighed. At least he knew when to give up.

"Good talk. Really, that was beautiful. A real Dr. Phil moment."

"You're such an ass sometimes."

"I feel like a brand new guy, and, what's that? My dick's grown three sizes for Cas, and all 'cause you opened my eyes?"

Sam shoved at him, but it was good-natured. You know, just some wholesome ribbing from a gargantuan that nearly knocked him clean off his ass. "Alright. I get it."

"You sure? 'Cause I could write my feelings into a poem for you."

"Shut up and turn the radio off already."

"Hey, every now and again a man needs some Cowboy Junkies in his life--"

"To moon over his best friend. Sure."

"You think you're so cute."

&

An hour later, the TV was still on but Dean was alone. Sam had taken off with the excuse of -- something about homework, or exams, or some other geekiness Dean had teased him about while being privately proud.

There was a slight thud at the front door, a noise like a bodily collision, and then a three or four second long struggle with the doorknob before Cas finally came through.

"Hey," Dean called out, eyes on him. He was still settled into the him-shaped groove the couch boasted, the very same one he'd spent years and a shit ton of movie marathons crafting. "You're home early."

"It's after one. In the morning," Cas clarified, shutting their shared apartment door behind him.

"You sly dog. You have a good time?"

It took a couple of minutes -- Cas had to empty out his pant pockets first and slip out of his creepy flasher coat -- but then Cas sank down beside him. Like he was weary, he grabbed Dean's beer from the coffee table and shrugged, taking a long sip. The taste had him frowning before he'd even swallowed.

"I would have rather been home, with you and Sam," he said after.

"Because Meg's a demon and you hate her stupid face?"

Cas huffed at him, but the corners of his mouth, just a little, turned into a smile. "She's not evil. She's... thorny."

"You do know what thorns do, right? Prick you." Dean took his beer back, taking one long swig. The rim was warm and a little wet from where Cas' mouth had just been, which was probably a weird thing to realize, so Dean's brain acknowledged it briefly, if not curiously, then kept on trudging.

"I think the intention is, I am the one doing the pricking." Said purposely too, and even though it made Dean's stomach roll, Cas being a perv happened so rarely. Dean was almost proud of the guy.

"God, you're gross," he joked on another sip he pretended to choke on.

"Well, I learned from you. How did your time with Sam go?"

"Better. Good."

"I'm glad."

Cas sounded genuine enough that Dean couldn't help it. He blurted, "Got promoted today, too."

The wrinkles between Cas' eyes, the ones Dean swore vehemently he had though Cas claimed just as vehemently otherwise, drew together. There was at least an eight second long pause.

"You should have told me."

"Nah, man. You had a date."

If, maybe, that last word didn't so much roll out teasingly as it did bite out jealously, well, Dean was a clingy son-of-bitch. Everyone knew it.

"It wasn't a date," Cas told him, again. "I enjoy Meg's company. She's--"

"Thorny. I remember."

"And she likes your brother. Still. Though, it's possible she has suggested a--" He looked away, awkward all of a sudden. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something quieter, definitely disturbed. "Romantic encounter requiring all three parties," he admitted.

It took Dean's brain a while to process that, probably out of self-preservation. But it clicked. Holy christ did it click. "Oh, god." Dean put his beer on the coffee table. "I'm gonna be sick." Head between his knees. That was the position they taught you to duck into when a nuclear disaster struck, right? And this had to be on par with at least a tornado drill.

"Obviously I declined," Cas said, like, oh, hey, what a thing to be completely reasonable about.

"God. Gross. My brain."

Cas ignored that, unsympathetic to the visuals haunting Dean's vision. And, jesus, there were visuals. Instead he said, "Why didn't you tell me about work?"

The Cas/Meg/Sam bedroom monster whooshed out of Dean's head, gone like it'd never been there in the first place. Replaced, of course, by Dean's old friend self-doubt.

"Because," he said, trying, and failing, to go about it lightly. "It's Bobby. He was doing me a favor, I didn't actually earn anything."

"Dean..."

"Or, fine, I did. I earned it, Cas. I am top mechanic. Woo. No one changes oil like me!"

"Your self-deprecation is more annoying than usual tonight."

"Why, 'cause you're feeling so thorny after your date? Heh. Get it? 'Cause you said--"

"I understood the joke."

"Yeah, you're not really doing anything to make me think you don't need to get laid. Badly." Dean playfully patted at Cas' face, and Cas batted that hand away, tilting out of hitting range. "Grumpy," Dean teased.

"You're changing the subject on purpose, so, yes."

Dean leaned back and sighed. As much as he liked a good deflection, it was inevitable that Cas honed in on his more burdening of emotions.

"I don't know, man. Am I psyched that a bigger paycheck means helping Sam out more? Yeah. Hell, I'm friggin' thrilled. But I'm still working a shit job for a shit wage. I'm twenty-six and my roommate's a guy who cries during E.T.."

Cas glared at him for getting dragged under the bus, but he gave it up quick to talk Dean through his feelings. "You're good at what you do."

"It's not like it's a ladykiller, though. Not like kindergarten teacher," he accused.

"Is this where I apologize for my career?"

"If you think it'd help."

"You're one of the smartest people I know. Anyone who meets you knows that."

"Yeah, after they look past the high school diploma and engine grease and... and I am whining like a little bitch, wow." Dean pitched forward again, hauling himself to the edge of the couch. He swiped his hand down his eyes, dead tired and it coming on all of a sudden. "Never mind."

"It's normal to second guess yourself, Dean."

"Right. Like you?" That, because Dean was a dick, was both bitter and a jab.

"That's not fair. I found a job I like, but what it took to get here? You know I've... struggled, Dean. You were there."

"Cas. I know, I'm sorry." And he was. Guilt, that fun and crippling self-hatred, fear that he was a screwup who'd lose everything and everyone; it hit all at once, making him feel flushed with shame. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's fine."

There was a beat, and then Dean swatted Cas across the knee.

"Still wish you were here instead of your hot date?"

"Always," Cas said, and it sounded like the truth.

&

The thing about Dean and Cas was that they'd been friends since Dean and Sam first moved to Sioux Falls.

Dean was seventeen, Sam was the brattiest of thirteen year olds, and fate wound them around Cas via his nineteen year old brother, Luke.

Sam, being a shrimp back then, was an easy target, sensitive and moody as he was. It didn't help that he had the sort of 'David vs. Goliath' complex that meant he wasn't afraid of anyone older, taller, or bigger than him. He was also a pacifist, which meant his problems became Dean's problems.

His senior year, Dean was popular by virtue of not conforming to the idea that, just because he had a pretty face and he knew his way around a football field, he was meant to be any kind of a jock. Sports sucked balls and he had zero to do with the way his face looked. High five to genetics for that one.

He was also super protective of his brother, so when Luke started harassing Sam after school, Dean stepped in. And then Cas stepped in, because Cas walked a higher moral ground than even Sam. Dude was like a saint.

And now, all these years later, Cas was a permanent part of the Winchester household, all thanks to his bitch of an older brother.

&

Three in the morning, without fail, Dean could hear Cas's TV through his bedroom wall. Some nights it was Animal Planet reruns, other times he binged on Cartoon Network, but most often it was infomercials. Tonight was that kind of night. Dean could hear the exaggerated soundtrack and canned laughter, and he rolled over in bed, staring daggers at their shared wall like maybe if he glared hard enough at it, willpower alone would silence the noise.

Yeah. Wasn't happening.

After five minutes and a whole lot of enthusiastic audience applause, Dean sighed and yelled, "Cas!"

It took a second, but the TV quieted down. Enough for Dean to roll back over and get comfortable again. He closed his eyes and waited for science to do its thing, but, awesome, his brain was already stirring with a flurry of newly awoken activity. Most times Dean didn't know what to do with Cas on his restless nights except let him tire himself out, but they both needed sleep, dammit. Bobby was expecting him to haul his ass in early for once and Cas was supposed to be molding impressionable young minds at the asscrack of dawn.

Dean flopped to his back. He kicked off his covers, sighed a second, more woeful time, and dragged himself out of bed, snatching his pillow along the way.

Cas' room was beside his. The door was shut, but Dean barely rapped his knuckles against the solid surface before pushing it open.

He might've walked in on the guy jerking himself off, but, no, it was Cas, who was practically a Puritan by Dean's standards. He was curled up on his bed in a nest of blankets, looking like shit warmed over. The sight of Dean had him perking a little, mostly out of curiosity, but when Dean kicked the door shut behind him and Cas noticed the pillow that'd tagged along, he wilted back down.

Dean flopped onto the bed beside him.

"Scoot."

Cas moved, more out of surprise than anything.

"Dean?"

Dean yanked at Cas' covers until Cas caught on and let him in. Their legs grazed while he made himself comfortable, but growing up Dean had shared a bed with Sam so often, it wasn't weird. For him, anyway. He felt Cas shy away, noticeably putting some distance between them both until they weren't touching at all, until it was like the freaking Grand Canyon between them.

"What?" Dean defended, because Cas was staring at him like he'd gone nuts. "I can't sleep. Turn off the TV."

Cas groped for the remote on the nightstand beside him and did as told. As soon as the TV clicked off, everything went pitch black and a silence engulfed the room so wholly, it almost seemed louder than the infomercial. Go figure,

Through the rush of blood in his ears, Dean could hear Cas shuffling around. He also heard Cas' stilted breathing, the rustle of sheets, each and every bodily shift that made the mattress give slightly beneath them, the bouncy recoil of springs --

"Cas, man," Dean sighed when the noises just kept on coming.

"Sorry," Cas quickly apologized, going still. It made Dean feel like an ass. It wasn't like Cas asked for this. And it wasn't like they'd ever shared more than a couple side-by-side naps on the couch, either. The poor guy grew up with psychos for brothers; he probably had no clue what Dean was doing here. Hell, Dean himself barely knew what he was doing, except Cas needed to switch off his brain and he figured bff sleepover time might help with that.

It made more sense the split second he'd thought of it, anyway.

Dean dragged his hand down his face until his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. He kept them there a second before exhaling loudly and dropping that hand back down.

"Don't make this weird, but." He turned onto his side and locked eyes with Cas in the dark. "Come here."

Cas looked on the verge of questioning Dean's sanity, going so far as squinting his lack of understanding in that patented Cas way of 'does not compute,' before he decided to put all his trust in Dean. And, again, the guy grew up with a couple of actual nutjobs for brothers, so that was saying something.

He slid over until his knees thwacked Dean's, settling on his side. He wound up with one of his hands half-tucked under Dean's pillow, the other curled between them. The two of them were face-to-face now.

Close proximity with another dude wasn't new for Dean. Not that he'd ever done anything beyond platonic space-sharing. Dean was a tactile guy and if he happened to express his feelings through touch instead of words, whatever.

But Cas laying next to him felt different than, say, Benny from work playfully wrapping Dean up in a hug from behind that turned into some good-natured humping. You know, obviously. Dean had laughed and swung at Benny until he was let go, and his feelings during and after it had happened never ventured to a place where he had to ask himself 'am I into to that?'

Maybe it was Sam's words from earlier, in which case Dean would have to hurt him, no question. Maybe Sam planted something in his mind, like some weird fungus that latched on and was poisoning his thoughts.

Whatever it was, Dean wasn't prepared for the sudden adrenaline rush that swept up his body like a gust of confused feelings and an identity crisis. His heart decided to pick up its pace from the mellow jog it'd been cruising at, now at a panic-filled sprint. His throat stopped working properly, the draft of blood in his ears rose to a roar, his dick decided to announce its presence by twitching eagerly -- it was basically a full scale physiological freakout, all because, all of a sudden, it became way too easy to imagine this as one of those Very Inappropriate Situations Sam would for sure want to have some kind of gentle conversation about.

The only good thing about it was that Cas seemed oblivious. Thank god. Dean didn't need to defend what had been a purely platonic life choice but was now bordering on creepy and predatory.

Except. Cas pulled back from where he was comfortably pressed against Dean's side, a new tension in the way he was staring.

"Dean?"

It was the paranoia in Cas' voice that snapped Dean out of his downward spiral.

In high school, Cas was picked on because a couple of asshats decided his quiet demeanor and lack of a girlfriend meant he was gay. That was before he became buddies with Dean, anyway. Power of association soon deflected the bullying elsewhere, but it was an accusation that still followed Cas around, even though Dean was pretty sure the guy was as straight as he was.

He'd never seen Cas with another man, anyway. And Cas would tell him if that was the case. He would.

Dean forced his body to settle the fuck down. "Shut up, Cas," he said in favor of, you know, actual, mature conversation. It was still after three and they both still had an early morning.

Cas laid back down, but not as close; their legs, however, were still nudged against each other, shins pressed tight, a line of warmth all the way down.

By the time Dean drifted off, Cas was already out for the count.

&

Dean woke up to the squawk of an unfamiliar alarm.

He was warm and comfortable and his morning wood was nudged awesomely against a soft, pliant pillow.

Dean, still drowsy, rolled his hips forward in search of those lazy spikes of pleasure that came before consciousness fully took over. And then he burst into awakeness so suddenly, it made his stomach launch straight into his chest cavity. His pulse spiked wildly.

That was not a pillow. That was Cas' ass, and thanks to the alarm still going off, it was an ass that was also waking up.

Practically falling out of bed in the process, Dean jerked himself away. His bare feet were on the floor and his pillow was being held in place to cover a boner that not even self-preservation and a cold dose of reality could shame away when Cas rolled over and glared up at him with groggy, sleep-heavy eyes.

"Dean?"

"Shower dibs," Dean called out a little too loudly, crazy-sounding. He bolted for the door.

&

He was not thinking of Cas that way, he was not thinking of Cas that way, he was not thinking of --

"Cas," Dean choked out in the shower, his orgasm hitting him so hard he swayed into the tile wall in front of him.

His elbows buckled from the weight and his knees threatened to give out while he tried to pull himself together. Finally he straightened back under the stream of water, tipping his head back like he might be able to flush away what he'd just done, what the strands of come between his fingers were proof of. Shit and fuck.

He jerked off thinking about Cas.

Like, not even in a 'chick that has Cas's face but also boobs and a vagina' kind of way. No, he imagined Cas on his knees in front of him, sucking Dean off like a friggin' vacuum. You know, totally normal spank bank material. Friend stuff. Not creepy at all.

Dean tipped forward until his forehead thunked against tile.

Fuck, pretty much.

&

Now that Dean knew there was some small part of him that wanted to bone Cas big time until they were drenched in each others sweat, not to mention other, more fun, bodily fluids, breakfast was, well, awkward. For Dean.

Cas went about his routine like there wasn't turmoil wreaking havoc on Dean's mind, only glancing curiously at Dean like Dean was acting slightly off, not like his whole knowledge of himself and the world around him was being rewritten.

As per always, Cas offered Dean his second slice of toast. When their fingers touched, Dean dropped the bread, panic laughed, and then fled, all the while claiming bowel trouble and a forgotten load of laundry that needed some urgent tending to.

&

On the way to Bobby's garage, Dean called his brother and got his voicemail.

"Hey, man, just calling to say thanks for coming over last night. Yeah, I can't wait to tell you in person how awesome it was to see you. Really great!" he barked out, fully on the nuts side of things.

Before he gave himself an ulcer he hung up and threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

&

It took Dean spacing out for a third time before Bobby finally snapped and called him into his office. Which was really just the library in his house, right next door to the acres of land he'd overhauled into a salvage yard.

Distantly there was a mechanical whirring of Benny trying to fix the engine Dean was supposed to be arm-deep in when Bobby demanded, "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Times like this, Dean genuinely forgot Bobby was as much of a father as his real one and saw him only as the guy who could fire his ass if he wasn't careful. At the very least, he'd rip him a new one, and that was just as bad.

"Nothing, just--"

"Nothin's about right. Dammit, Dean, you in some sorta trouble again?"

Dean shifted guiltily under the reminder of just how many times Bobby'd had to bail him out. More times than he deserved, anyway. He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at the hard gaze Bobby was laying into him with. "No, sir."

Bobby's chair creaked as he sat back in it. "Don't 'sir' me."

"Right. Sorry."

Bobby heaved out a sigh that implied Dean was a pain in his ass as much as he was the family he cared about. "Quit apologizing, it's making me feel bad. And sit your dumb ass down already."

That was worse than the verbal berating. At least then Dean knew he was being scolded for slacking on the job. This was about feelings.

"Somethin' on your mind, kid?" he asked as Dean begrudgingly did as he was told.

"Nope." To prove it, he gave Bobby his usual bullshitting smile. "Everything's okie-dokie."

Bobby narrowed his eyes at that. Dean kept up the grin. No way in hell was he losing this one.

"Right," Bobby eventually drawled, sarcasm turned up high to let Dean know he thought Dean was a dipshit. Message received. Then he softened some, melting more into mentor than ass-kicker. "You need to cut back your hours? I know you can handle the work, but if you're needing time to adjust, if it's Sam--"

"Bobby. C'mon. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're fine, alright. That the same kinda fine you were when your daddy died, or how about when Cas thought about goin' away for school?"

With his jaw clenched, Dean got back to his feet, the chair he'd been sitting at scraping across dirty floorboards. Benny was still using power tools in the yard outside and Dean was eager to get back to that. Right. And eager to avoid whatever heart-to-heart Bobby thought he was suckering him into. Hell no.

"We done here?"

Bobby held eye contact long enough that Dean knew he saw right through him. Good for him. Then he let out a gusty breath and waved Dean away, with the warning of, "Next time you go all space cadet in my garage, Benny'll be the one with the cute new job title. You got that?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said back, just to be a bitch, and Bobby sighed at him a second time as he made his escape.

&

It being a Friday, Benny and Dean went out for drinks after work.

Which, of course, meant they headed over to the Roadhouse where Ellen would have already caught wind of Dean and Bobby's conversation because Bobby couldn't ever keep his damn trap shut. Worse than one psuedo parental figure was two psuedo parental figures, and being a lifetime friend of the family, Ellen took her role seriously, especially since Dean -- and Sam -- were technically orphans.

Dean made Benny join him in a booth near the back instead of taking their usual place at the bar, which got them a scowl from Ellen behind the counter and a raise of the eyebrows from Jo over near the dartboard.

Jo was the reason they even came. Benny and his damn crush.

"Boys," Jo said when she not-so-casually strolled their way a short time later. Because she was a smart ass, she pulled her notepad and pen out of the pouch in her apron and looked them over with no recognition at all. "What can I get for you, handsome?" That was an overly flirty question aimed at Dean, one that came with a gratuitous show of cleavage like she wasn't the annoying brat of a little sister he'd never actually wanted in the first place.

(Never mind that weird stretch of time in his early twenties when they came close to having sex on more than one occasion. The threat of Ellen shooting him with the shotgun she kept behind the bar far outweighed both his desire to get laid and whatever mutual attraction fleetingly popped up between him and Jo.)

"Pull that shirt down a little more and ask me again, sweetheart," he drawled back, matching her pervy tease for pervy tease.

"Dean," she complained, folding way too easily for Dean to feel victorious about it. "You creep. What're you two even doing back here? You know my mom's just gonna come over and ask about your feelings, right?"

Shit. Ellen was already looking eager to storm the booth.

"Howdy, Jo," Benny said from across the table. "Don't mind Dean here, he's been squirrelly all day."

Dean scowled at Benny. The asshole.

Jo took it upon herself to slip into Dean's side of the booth, forcing him to scoot against the wall. The longing look Benny cast Jo's way had Dean feeling smug for the half-second it took Jo to start pestering him with questions.

"Is Sam okay? Is it a girl? Did Sam get a girlfriend? Crap, Doctor Sexy didn't go on hiatus again, did it? I've never seen a grown man wallow like that."

"Ha," Dean said. "Bite me."

"Fine, I'll just go tell Mom you want to talk--"

Dean snatched Jo by the sleeve, stopping her in her mocking effort to leave the booth. Pleased that her manipulations had worked, she sank back beside Dean and grinned.

"First of all," he told her, "I hate you. Second of all, go to hell."

"Brother, that any way to talk to a lady?" Benny pitched at him with some conspiratorial eye flaring at Jo. So, this was two-against-one, then? Well, screw them both.

Dean was ready to say as much when Jo slipped out of the booth in a rush of sudden excitement. He figured out the cause for it when Cas was suddenly swapping places with her, dropping beside Dean quicker than his brain could keep up with.

"Thank god," Jo was saying, and Dean realized it was her hands that had guided Cas into the spot. She still had a hold of his shoulders, and for one dizzying second Dean felt a territorial urge to claim Cas as his own so strongly, he felt his stomach kick all the way up his throat. Then Jo backed off and said, "You fix him," which made Cas pin one of those intense stares on Dean, like if he looked hard enough, he might be able to see into Dean's soul.

Before Dean could work up a retort, Benny was sliding out of the booth too.

"Think I'll follow that lead," he told Jo. Together the two of them gave Dean a look that suggested he get over his man-pain before they walked off towards the bar.

Dean watched them long enough to notice Ellen had her eyes narrowed and lasered in on him like she was trying to suss the situation out, and it was a good reminder things could've been worse.

At least until Cas sat his hands on the table in front of them and Dean caught sight of Cas' nervous habit of folding them into fists so his knuckles rested atop the wood. He was also staring at Dean with a shitload of worry.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Why does everyone keep asking me that? Jesus."

Cas wasn't deterred in the slightest. Instead, who the hell knew how, things seemed to click into place for him. He lowered his voice and intensified their eye contact. "Is this because of last night?"

Dean didn't even know what 'this' was supposed to mean, but that didn't stop his heart rate from tripling.

"Cas, we cuddled, I didn't friggin' hump you in your sleep."

The denial was too sharp even to his own ears, but as far as he knew, Cas was still out of it when Dean had actually humped him in his sleep. It was lightly though! And Dean had been mostly-asleep himself, so he was calling a 'didn't count' on the whole thing. What happened in the shower after also fell under those stipulations, by reason of... well, because Dean said so.

"Dean," Cas started, torn between pushing the subject further or buying into Dean's bullshit.

"What do you want me to say, man? Want me to tap into my inner-angst just so we can hold hands and heal and after we're done, we'll make ourselves some real neat friendship bracelets? 'Cause, let's see, I've got--" He started counting them off on his fingers. "Dead mom. Dead dad."

"Dean," Cas cut in, his eyes dark, and Dean knew he was crossing a line here. "That's enough."

"So back off," he pretty much growled.

Of course, that was when Meg dropped into the booth across from them, a sudden and very much unwanted distraction.

"Clarence," she greeted Cas with, all sultry smiles and an intentionally honeyed voice. Her gaze landed on Dean after and she dropped every fake-nice thing about her. "Jughead."

"Hell bitch," he bit right back.

Her lips curled into a dry, mean smile. "Keep tuggin' my braids like that, a girl might think it means something."

"Yeah, like go away," he told her. "Don't you have some kid to go steal candy from?"

"But you're already so sweet," she said, eying his mouth hungrily. "Makes me wanna see how many licks it takes to get to the center of your cute little tootsie pop."

Dean crowded the table to retort, but Cas stepped in first.

"Could you give us a minute? Please?"

She kept her gaze locked coolly on Dean's before deciding, eventually, to play along. When she got up, she said, "Sure thing, baby," and came over to rub her face in Cas' hair. It had Dean pulling away with a glower, like being that close to her was an actual pain. Then again, watching Meg nuzzle Cas was legitimately pissing him off, even if Cas looked like he was getting felt up by a friggin' shark right now.

Finally Meg pulled away with a pointed smirk at Dean before sauntering out of sight. She left an uncomfortable, strained silence in her wake, which was probably her intention, and Dean felt his hatred for her grow anew.

"'Baby?'" was the first thing he could think to say, and it was an accusation more than anything.

"That was... new," Cas admitted.

"'Cause otherwise you've been lying to me this whole time. What the hell, Cas, I thought you weren't riding that crazy train?"

"Would it matter if I was?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because!"

"That's not an answer, you know."

"Cas, man, she's full-fledged nuts. Like the kind that lures people into traffic. How do you not see that?"

"Probably because I can relate."

That was a hit that landed as solidly as it was intended to.

Six months ago, Cas spent two weeks in what Dean has only referred to out loud as 'the timeout box' but was actually a mental institution that took patients in on a voluntary basis.

Cas's brother, Gabe, had died from a freak accident, and it sent Cas on this half-cocked, impulsive roadtrip that spanned eight states to try and find his dad, who at that point had been MIA for going on twenty years. That had actually been one of the things they'd bonded on early in their friendship; because, hey, nothing said 'lifelong bffs' like 'deadbeat dads.'

Dean had given his own responsibilities the one-fingered salute and went with him. Hell, he drove the son-of-a-bitch and paid for half the expenses, but after so many stops at diners and motels and leads that went nowhere, Cas gave up and they returned to Sioux Falls three days after missing Gabe's funeral. And that was the straw that broke Cas. Literally, it broke him, and though Dean sat with him that first day at the hospital, sick with worry and scared out of his mind, he couldn't make himself show up any other time after, too scared of what it meant.

So for two weeks Cas did group therapy and macaroni art, or whatever the hell else they did to cure away the crazy. He got better and meanwhile Dean carried on like life was normal and there wasn't a gaping hole where Cas was supposed to be. That's where Cas bonded with Meg, who volunteered, even though it seemed friggin' counterproductive to let her near anyone already on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Since then, Cas had been unwaveringly protective of his friendship with her, and maybe if Dean wasn't so busy feeling like shit for failing Cas, he'd get it. Instead, because it was easier, he took his self-loathing out on her.

"Cas." Dean had to swallow past a lump in his throat. "Come on."

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Yeah, like Dean was going to open up about the sudden flutter in his stomach Cas gave him. Shit, no.

Sensing Dean's unwillingness to talk about his feelings, Cas got up. "I'll see you at home," he said, lingering just in case Dean protested his leaving. When he didn't, he shuffled off to gather up Meg, and the two of them left without a backwards glance, which hurt way more than it should've.

After a minute, Benny rejoined him. Benny was a decent friend. He sensed Dean's bad mood and only said, "All good?"

And when Dean said, "Peachy," hollow and without feeling, Benny didn't push it.

&

Sam got a hold of Dean a few hours later, when Dean was at home. He wouldn't say he was sulking, but he was sunk as far into the couch as the cushions allowed and Star Wars was on TV. The shitty remakes, too, just to really punish himself.

"Oh, hey! My brother who's dead to me," Dean answered with. "What's up? Me," he spoke over Sam, "I'm awesome. I hate myself, and Cas hates me too, but other than that?" He held the phone in front of his face to bark into it, "AWESOME."

He put the phone back to his ear in time to hear Sam ask, "Is this about that voicemail you left me?"

Dean muted Star Wars. He didn't need more than one thing to feel angry about right now.

"It's about you going all Jason Bourne on me! I didn't need you screwing with my head, Sam!"

Sam was sputtering defensively on the other end. Eventually he managed to string together a group of words. "Wait, is this about Cas? Are you saying I was actually right?"

"I'm saying, keep your damn nose out of my business."

Sam laughed. "You're so see through, you know that? Maybe try talking to Cas instead of lashing out, Dean. You know, adult conversations? Not toddler tantrums? Not that this isn't cute. And I'm so happy for you finally--"

"Yep, bye," he said, hanging up.

He was lifting the remote to turn the TV back up when the front door swung open, revealing Cas. They stared at each other for a long beat before Cas pushed the door shut behind him and headed straight for his bedroom.

Dean unmuted the TV and called out sarcastically, "Hi, honey! You're home!"

Having shed his coat and kicked off his shoes, Cas wandered back into the main room. "Are you drunk?"

That was a stupid question. Dean didn't even have a beer out in front of him. "Are you?" he slung back.

Cas frowned and veered into the kitchen. Because of the open layout of their apartment, Dean could see him raiding the fridge from his spot on the couch. He came out of the thing with a beer, which was rare. When Cas drank, as seldom as that happened too, he usually went for the hard stuff. Outside of his habit of sneaking sips off of Dean's beer, anyway.

"Maybe," he answered, and the sloppy way he screwed off the bottle cap and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can made Dean aware of what he'd missed when Cas first came in, and that was that Cas was wasted.

Meg. Son of a bitch.

He was rising to get up and help Cas, but Cas was already collapsing like dead weight onto the couch beside him. He shoved the beer at Dean and ordered, "Drink."

Dean took it from him and set it on the coffee table near their legs. "Yeah, no thanks, drunky Brewster. You reek."

Cas lolled his head against the cushion behind him. There was a soft thud when he hit the wall instead.

"I went to the liquor store."

"And?"

"I drank it."

"Cas," Dean said on a worried sigh.

"Meg drank more."

"I bet."

"Now you drink," he insisted, sitting back up for the beer. "We need to talk and that only happens with the help of this." He tilted the bottle towards Dean's mouth, like he might actually feed it to him himself.

Dean snatched the beer away a second time and managed to haul Cas up and off the couch before any protests could be made.

They were halfway to Cas' bedroom before Cas figured out what was going on. "Dean," he said. He stumbled over the coat and shoes he left on the floor in the hall. Dean's name was said again when he pushed Cas into his room.

"Come on."

"Don't be upset with me," Cas pleaded with Dean, and he looked so lost and pathetic about it, it made Dean's heart clench, stupid traitor that it was.

He tugged down the blankets on Cas' bed. "Get in."

"Dean," Cas repeated for a third damn time.

Dean caught him around the elbow and brought Cas close enough that he could help him out of his clothes. Even with Cas keeping his eyes on Dean's face, watching him with a gaze so loaded Dean could practically feel it, he stayed detached, still feeling burned from their fight at the bar. Because that was the thing about Dean. He was loyal to a friggin' fault, which meant he nursed his hurt feelings like he was getting paid to do it.

Dean tugged at Cas' zipper to get him out of his jeans, curling his fingers and popping the button, which was when, out of nowhere, Cas leant forward and kissed him.

It lasted long enough for Dean to think, very clearly, holy shit.

And then he thought it again, shoving Cas off of him.

"Cas!" His voice jumped up a pitch. "What the hell?"

He could taste the secondhand booze, that's how drunk Cas was, and Cas finally seemed aware of that.

His eyes were wide. Whether it was regret or shock at his own freaking doings, Dean didn't know, but Cas fell backwards a step. "Dean. I didn't--"

Cas' hand flew to his mouth, but it had nothing to do with rejection or the fact that he totally sucked face with Dean. He started dry heaving, and Dean just barely dragged him across the hall to their shared bathroom in time.

For entire minutes Cas curled over the toilet bowl and prayed to the porcelain gods until there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up.

When he was finished, he flushed the toilet and sat back against the tub behind him. His face was pale and glossy with sweat, his nose runny. His hair, too, was this mess that was both plastered to his forehead in places and straight up in others. He looked like absolute shit. And standing in the hallway under the pretense of giving Cas some privacy, Dean felt such a surge of protection for the guy, just this powerful possessiveness to simply know Cas always, that it nuked whatever wounded feelings he'd been holding onto all night. Mostly, anyway.

He slid down next to Cas, sitting on the floor with the sink cabinet behind him. They were facing opposite directions, which made it easy for him to clasp Cas's neck with the intent of offering comfort.

Cas drew his knees up, sighing, and rested his forehead against them. He turned his head enough to meet Dean's eyes.

"Sorry," he started, but Dean gently shook him.

"Would you shut up? I don't care."

Cas swallowed. His eyes were watery, and Dean could tell it wasn't just because of the vomiting. "Do you hate me?"

Dean felt his own self-worth take a dive. His voice, when he answered, was rough and shaky like it was him asking for forgiveness here. "Don't be stupid."

"I would do anything for you," Cas admitted, and it was said with so much brutal honesty, Dean knew it was true. Didn't mean it wasn't being vocalized through drunk-filter. Dean had said a lot of dumb shit himself while under the influence of his friend Jose Cuervo.

"Okay," he said, tugging at Cas to get up. It wasn't fair to have this conversation when Cas was three sheets to the wind and Dean was full-on sober. "You get it all out of you?"

He meant the puking, but Cas gripped Dean around the wrist to halt his upward movement. It stopped Dean close enough he could see the crazy flecks of blue that made up Cas' eye color. "Please don't hate me."

The fact that Cas thought that was even a possibility was what made anger charge its way through his body. He dragged Cas to his feet and shoved him against the sink. Cas went limp at first, but then something changed and the pity he'd been wallowing in fled the fuck off, replaced with a sudden shot of defiance. He met Dean's gaze like he expected an argument, but he didn't care. He was going to say what he wanted to say regardless of how uncomfortable it made Dean.

Dean gave up the grip he had Cas by and backed off.

"I don't hate you, Cas. You're my best friend. Now brush your damn teeth and get in bed before I change my mind."

&

The next morning, breakfast was, once again, strained.

Dean scrambled eggs at the stove while Cas, looking like death, stood in front of the fridge wearing his boxers, one of Dean's ratty old band t-shirts, and a flannel robe. The bright light from the bulb inside made him glare. Even just standing must've been a bitch, because Cas was starting to sway.

"Sit down before you pass out," Dean commanded without looking away from the skillet. When Cas only moved his scowl from the fridge to Dean, Dean snuck a quick glance at him before snorting.

"Fine, but no chance in hell you're getting the Heimlich."

That made Cas move. The fridge door shut with a soft thwack and Cas took a seat at their crappy kitchen table that was missing part of one of its legs, held up instead by a small stack of phone books. They used grocery ads for placemats. Because that was how fancy people like them rolled.

"It's CPR," Cas grouched back, rubbing his temples like he might be able to will the headache away.

Dean grabbed the water and aspirin he'd already had out and set them in front of Cas. "What?"

He had to duck away from Cas's stare and busy himself at the stove again. Still, he was listening when Cas said, "You meant mouth-to-mouth, not the Heimlich."

There was probably a psychological reason for bringing it up in the first place. Maybe just good ol' fashioned masochism.

Dean slid the eggs from the pan onto a nearby plate, then grabbed a slice of toast that'd already been warmed in the toaster. He placed that in front of Cas too, who still hadn't touched the water or aspirin.

"Eat," Dean ordered. He stood at Cas' side and waited.

"I don't think I can." Cas was starting to look a little green around the gills. Dean might've been more sympathetic, if he didn't feel so strongly that it was Cas' damn fault in the first place for getting loaded with Meg.

Dean nudged the plate closer to Cas. "Hair of the dog. Come on."

When Cas only leaned back to get away from the greasy smell of food, Dean dragged a chair around and sank right onto it. He scooped up a forkful of eggs and held it towards Cas.

"We can do this the hard way. Open up."

Cas' hangover glare turned into a ruffled feathers glare. He ignored the offering of food -- and the mocking airplane noises Dean was trying to rile him up with -- and grabbed the toast instead.

With that first bite, Dean smirked and ate the eggs himself.

&

Dean took Cas's drunk freakout as a cosmic do-over.

They didn't talk about the kiss, or the bed-sharing of the night before that prompted Dean's brain to wander down some pretty messed up roads. Instead, it was as if none of it had ever happened.

The only time it got remotely weird was when Cas picked up his coat and shoes from the hallway, and neither of them could pretend they weren't remembering the rest of the events of the night.

But Dean was a man used to heavy emotional repression, and Cas was a guy used to getting dragged under Dean's emotional undertow, so the awkwardness was ignored and life, well. Life carried on.

&

"I like you like this," Benny said, peering at Dean from the other side of some beat up Nova that wasn't worth the repair. They were both leaning over the open hood, elbow-deep in its engine, though Benny had started to slack. "It's a good look on you."

Dean wiped his sweaty forehead. He knew from years on the job he was only smudging grease around, but an itch was an itch. "What, me working and you flapping your piehole?"

He meant it sarcastically, but Benny leaned back and laughed. "You get your mind cleared out?"

And Dean knew he was talking about his mini-panic about Cas. There wasn't anymore spacing out. No public squabbles. Even Ellen had quit staring at him like she was going to mother his issues away

"What can I say, man," Dean answered back, grinning big. "Life's awesome."

&

It was all smooth sailing until Dean met Lisa.

Awesome, yoga teacher Lisa, who was bendy in ways that should've been illegal.

It was actually kinda Cas' fault in the first place, since the guy was obsessed with this hippy cafe called Blackbird that served, of all things, some damn fine toast. Dean had questioned the importance of this on pretty much every occasion that had him trapped in some tiny ass corner of the place, bumping elbows with little old ladies and germy kids, but it was Cas' equivalent of the Roadhouse and only a douche would deny him it.

Which, sure, Dean happened to frequently be, but there were so few things Cas was stubbornly insistent about. Blackbird toast was one of them.

So, anyway, one Thursday around noon, Dean was at one of those embarrassingly tall tables that always made him feel like he was overcompensating for something, his usual black coffee and turkey on rye sandwich in front of him, when some chick dumped all of her belongings beside him.

A purse dropped first, half its contents spilling out, and then one of them whipped cream diabetes frappawhatevers followed.

"Whoa," Dean said, pulling to the side to avoid the mess. He, super protectively and kind of dorkily, slid his hand around his own meal to keep it out of the hazardous zone. "Sorry, pal. Seat's taken."

"Oh," she said. Which was when Dean actually looked up and, well. Insert a cliche meet-cute here. The girl was gorgeous, and Dean? Who had not so much as bad-touched himself since the whole Cas fiasco, lest he accidentally triggered whatever'd been tripped in the first place? He pretty much fell in lust on the spot.

She started gathering her things, sweeping the mess into one disorganized pile. "God, I am so sorry. I just thought, well. Empty seat. The only empty seat in this whole place, actually, so of course it's taken. You know, not to overshare, but that? The metaphor of my life."

She seemed to realize Dean was staring, so she stopped moving and held out her hand.

"Hi. I'm Lisa."

"Dean," he greeted back, taking that offered hand in his own. It was a good shake. There was definitely some mutual lingering before she pulled back.

"And you're sitting here with... wait, let me guess. Longterm girlfriend you've been in a freakishly long and content monogamous relationship with? God. It's always that, isn't it? Or creeps."

Dean, when he laughed, was surprised to find it bursting out of him genuinely. He liked the look she gave him when she heard it, like she was just as surprised by its honesty.

"You know," he said, all charm, "something like that."

Ten minutes later when Cas finally showed up with his normal-scowl intensified because of a bad morning that included several vomiting children and many gold star stickers threatened to be taken away, Lisa was still there, her and Dean curled into each other like the head and tail ends of a pair of parenthesis.

"Hey!" Dean said when he spotted Cas, perking instantly. "There he is, my longterm girlfriend."

It made Lisa laugh and nudge at him with her elbow, which was his desired result, if he was being honest here. It also made Cas' glower split into a frown because he was lost on the joke. It was kind of a dick move on Dean's part, but he so rarely flirted anymore. It was making him a little hyper, not to mention overeager.

Lisa nodded at Cas, smiling friendly. "I'm Lisa. And that is one nice coat."

"Thank you," he said back stiffly in his 'I don't trust strangers' voice. He was like half a second away from turning prickly, which was pretty much his default in social situations, so Dean intervened before things spiraled into awkwardsville.

"Hey, grab your order, I'll swipe you a chair." To Lisa, he said, "Be right back," and hopped off his barstool to find a matching one for Cas.

Only instead of heading for the counter, Cas turned and followed him, hot on his heels and crowding his personal space.

"If you had other plans, you could've said so," he said to the back of Dean's head, his voice clipped.

Dean moved toward a couple tables near the back corner, ones wedged in by the bathroom.

"Would you relax, man? I just met her. She seems pretty cool, though, right? Plus?" He glanced back, eyebrows wiggling. "Hot."

Cas huffed.

Dean scanned the tables and said, "What's the problem?" Because he wasn't stupid. You don't know a guy for going on ten years and not know all his moody friggin' tells. And besides, "You're the one always telling me I need friends. Lisa? Friend."

He gave up the pointless search for an empty chair and turned around, right on Cas. They wound up pretty damn close, their elbows tangling briefly before Dean broke away to poke Cas in the chest.

"Hot friend," he pointed out to Cas. "Do not ruin this for me."

Cas's jaw clenched. Dean knew this without breaking eye contact because there was this little muscle near the crease of Cas' left eye that tended to twitch when that happened.

"I thought we were meeting for lunch?" he said, and somehow he made it sound like some huge Lifetime tearjerker of a betrayal.

"Cas," Dean whined, throwing his head back to properly emote at the ceiling.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!"

"So, I'm a third seat."

"Ugh. It's wheel, you nerd. And, no. Jeez."

"But you like her?"

Cas was tilting his head at Dean. That muscle had stopped twitching, but that just meant Dean was getting the full brunt of Cas' intent gaze he had no trouble laying into him.

Dean didn't even know what the big deal was. They had lunch with Meg all of... okay, never. Point, but Meg was scary and Lisa was awesome. And it wasn't like Cas had never hung out with any of the girls Dean had liked before. And this was new, who knew where it could lead, but it wasn't going to go anywhere at all if Cas was a bitch about it right off the bat.

Dean wound up taking too long to answer.

Cas' eyes went soft. And then they went hard before he turned around and left.

"Cas, c'mon," Dean called after him, sighing. It didn't stop him and eventually Dean was just standing there watching him go like some sad sack loser.

Whatever.

He got back to his table with Lisa, who sensed that trouble at home was soon to be a'brewing and offered to vamoose, but then they started talking about work and their families and somehow he wound up twenty minutes late back from lunch, Bobby bitching at him because of it.

He also snagged Lisa's number, which she programmed into Dean's trusty ol' flip phone herself.

&

Dean went on four dates with Lisa before he realized, the whole time? Apparently he'd been having some kind of domestic dispute with Cas at home.

Call him slow on the uptake, but Cas in the morning had always been churlish and grumpy, so how was Dean to know the weeklong silent treatment was intentional? Or that Cas' disappearing act whenever Dean got off of work wasn't because the dude just got suddenly busy?

Jo was the one he found out from, one evening after work. He was at the Roadhouse, for the ambiance, just digging into one of Ellen's godsent burgers when Jo planted herself across the bar counter and stared.

She kept on staring, in fact, as the seconds dragged by.

"What?" Dean finally said through a mouthful, only because he was starting to feel like an animal at the zoo. Jo lifted an eyebrow at him, which he would've been able to interpret if he hadn't left his mood ring at home. "What?" he repeated, louder.

"Just trying to figure out when you turned into such a jackass."

Dean scoffed. And then he scoffed again when he realized she was dead serious. "Okay. Well, means a lot, coming from you."

"You don't even know, do you? Jesus, Dean."

He wracked his brain for anything he might've done to piss her off, but aside from their usual banter, nothing jumped out at him.

"Cas," she clarified, like that was supposed to mean something to him.

When she didn't elaborate any, he prompted, "Okay?" nice and slow.

"Haven't seen you guys together in a while."

She was being way too casual. And Dean knew that tone. All loaded and leading.

"How's that make me the jackass? You got a problem with Cas, he's a big boy. Take it up with him."

"Are you two fighting?" she came right out with, her eyes locked on his, all slitted and accusatory.

"No," he said, rolling his eyes. What was this, high school? Good christ.

With a shrug, she moved down the bar some, faking busy work. "Yeah, well. That's not what Cas said."

"Cas is an eleven-year old girl," he snarked back automatically. Then her words registered. "Wait, he said we were fighting?"

"I mean, it was more of a throaty growl, all--" She dropped her voice like eight entire octaves to imitate, "'Dean is an assbutt,' but, yeah," she went on normally, "he's totally pissed at you. You dick."

"Gimme a break. I didn't even do anything."

Annoyed, Jo came right back in front of him, bracing her hands on the counter so she could get directly in his face. "Really? 'Cause Cas says otherwise, and me? I tend to believe the guy who's not an asshole."

&

"Dude."

Not bothering to knock or get permission first, Dean pushed his way into Cas' bedroom. Cas was at his desk, his laptop lit up in front of him.

"Are we in a fight?" Dean demanded.

Cas' eyes were owlishly large and round. "Yes."

Dean palmed his jaw roughly. He felt his face growing hot, partially because this whole damn thing was embarrassing, he felt like a friggin' teenybopper arguing over dreamiest douchebag, but also? He was pissed. He liked to think they were friends enough that instead of stewing, Cas would tell him straight up if there was a problem. Apparently not.

Feeling stupid for being the last damn one to find out, Dean chirped, "Good to know," and slammed the door behind him.

&

A couple minutes later it was Cas' turn to storm Dean's room.

By then he was sprawled on his bed, angrily attempting to mellow out with his iPod on, headphones in and Metallica cranked all the way up and blasting therapeutically into his skull.

"You don't get to be mad at me," Cas said straight away, and Dean had to tug the headphones out. He stared back blankly until Cas told him, "I'm angry with you," like it was some kinda pissing contest between them.

"Yeah. I got that. Thanks," Dean threw back, sticking the buds back in his ears, but Cas rounded the bed before he could tune him out, coming even closer.

"Do you even know why, Dean? Do you have any clue whatsoever?"

Dean made a face while he mockingly thought on it. "Gee, let's see. Uh, I left the toilet seat up?"

Whatever he should have said, that wasn't it. Dean was expecting Cas to get furious, but instead he just looked like he'd been punched. Worse, like Dean was the one who did the punching, like the blow couldn't haven't been more personal.

"Cas," Dean started.

Cas swung around to leave but Dean pushed to his feet, his iPod forgotten.

"Give me a damn break here," he called after him, anger making him reckless. Cas was still a man on the move, so Dean lurched forward and grabbed him around the bicep, jerking him back around his way. "What's your problem, man? Meg holding out on you? Funny, considering she's such a huge sl--"

Cas planted his palms against Dean's chest and shoved.

"Don't," he warned him.

Dean nearly tripped over a pile of laundry. When he straightened back up, his arms hung at his sides limply in a totally deceptive way because he was tense in every friggin' part of his body. Laughing, and full of bravado he could only halfway muster, he said, "Or what?"

Cas kept crowding him until the back of his legs hit the waist high dresser his TV was perched on. He felt it wobble at the press of his weight. Still Cas boxed him in.

He couldn't help it. He leaned forward, put his mouth right against Cas's ear. "You are one kinky bastard, Cas, you know that?" he teased. "Like it hard?"

Cas fisted his hands in the front of Dean's shirt, roughly prying Dean off of him. Dean had nowhere to go but to tilt back, his legs trapped between Cas's and the dresser, sock-covered feet just barely on the floor. There was this weird moment of realizing they were pressed together pretty damn closely, and holy shit was there testosterone and tension leaking out everywhere, but Cas was pissed. More than Dean had ever seen him before, even.

"Of course," Cas said through his teeth, "because everything with you is about sex, isn't it?"

That was a weird curveball. And Cas was, what, accusing him of being some kind of sleaze? Fantastic.

With the kind of clarity that came on like a cold shower, it made him recall jerking off in the shower, guided by the singular fucked up thought of Cas blowing him.

White hot shame shot through him.

He tried to dislodge Cas, looking away as he did so, but in his guilt his attempt was pretty weak. "Alright," he told him, "c'mon."

But Cas wasn't letting go.

"You're infuriating," he insisted instead, but it didn't have the same venom as before. It was more like Cas was losing steam but he hadn't said his share yet. "And you do leave the toilet seat up, often enough now that I know you're doing it on purpose."

"Once," Dean attempted, but Cas' hands curled the front of his shirt even tighter.

"We haven't spoke in over a week, Dean. A week. It took you this long to even realize as much."

"So? C'mon, man, I thought you were busy."

"You were busy."

There was an accusation in there that was hard to ignore.

All of a sudden it made things click.

He met Cas' gaze square on and said, bewildered, "Is this about Lisa?"

Not that he was expecting an affirmation, but Cas let go of him completely. Dean slipped to the flats of his feet, still so close though their arms brushed.

"Cas?"

He had to drag the eye contact out of him, since Cas became interested in a spot three inches down and to the side of Dean's head. When they were looking at one another again, something shifted so that it was Dean who was suddenly in control.

And there was something there, too, a pull in the space between them.

Never let it be said that Dean was an idiot, because he wasn't. It took him all of three seconds to realize Cas was staring at him the same way he'd pretty much stared at the Impala all his life, and that was that it was his and he was completely in love with it.

Which. Holy shit.

Cas realized Dean was having this epiphany as soon as he finished having it. His eyes blew wide open in panic.

"Dean--"

Dean pushed past Cas, sliding his hand over his mouth.

Cas loved him. Yeah, no shit, but he wasn't talking regular love here, was he?

When Dean turned back to Cas, Cas already looked like he'd been told to fuck off, his shoulders dropping and his face so damn sad it made Dean get vicarious pangs. His heart ached too, and at first he thought it was because their friendship was about to get royally messed up and broken, but then he realized it was because Cas thought Dean was going to reject him and that was not okay. That was dead wrong, actually.

"Cas, I..."

Heart battering hard now, Dean moved in front of Cas. And then his heart sort of sputtered like a shitty lawnmower, which gave him time to question what the hell was happening and, jesus, what was he doing, but then Cas squinted at Dean like he was honest-to-god trying to, like, translate Dean-speak into Cas-speak and it was like someone turned some big cosmic dial that clicked everything into place -- high school, college, countless road trips, that shithead Balthazar who flirted with Cas that Dean hated with a fiery passion, all the nights it was just the two of them when Cas could've been with anyone, literally anyone, he was so damn gorgeous, holy shit how was Dean just figuring this out now?

With actual concern, Cas quirked his head, frowning slightly. "Are you okay?"

Dean shook out his tingling hands.

And then he launched himself forward, grabbing Cas by the face and hauling him into a kiss that was reciprocated the second it started. There was no hesitating, no moment of weighted consideration, it was instantaneously the best idea Dean had ever had and clearly Cas agreed.

Unlike the drunk kiss they both had somehow let themselves forget about, this one turned intense fast, Cas sliding his hands around the back of Dean's head just so he could keep him there.

Body parts crushed together and it was both too much and not enough, which was such a mindfuck especially because Dean's thoughts were bouncing all over the place like an overactive kid hyped up on sugar.

Cas made a noise that slipped inside Dean and traveled straight down to his dick, and that was it, that was what calmed the turmoil.

When they broke apart it was to stare at one another, a mutual moment of awe and a silent what-the-fuck and is-this-real.

Cas smiled gently. Happily, like he'd never been more content. And then he moved back in, but that didn't seem right anymore because out of the blue Dean was remembering freakishly longterm and content monogamous relationship and --

Shit. Lisa.

Dean swallowed and brushed past Cas, running a hand through his hair.

"Dean?" Cas called after him, turning to watch, and Dean spun back around on him, overwhelmed.

"What the hell? What the hell, Cas?"

They loved each other. Okay. But what did that even mean, anyway?

Dean was straight and Dean liked Lisa. He liked her a whole goddamn lot, actually, and yeah this was Cas, Dean would choose him over just about anybody save maybe his brat little brother, no contest, but how was that any different than usual?

Cas seemed to get all of that without Dean having to tell him. He was trying to hide the fact that this whole thing hurt like hell, but still, he stood tall and looked Dean straight in the eyes and proclaimed, "You're drunk."

Which was a lie, they both knew it, but it was also an out. A way for them to blow the whole thing off without any repercussions.

Probably it made him a coward, but Dean chuckled weakly. "Yeah," he agreed, swallowing when Cas visibly wilted. "So."

"Friends?" Cas pressed, after a beat.

Dean hauled Cas in for a hug. "Cas," he said, his face pressed into his best friend's neck. He held on tight and promised, "For life."

&

The car windows were fogging and Dean's naked ass was stuck to the Impala's leather seats.

Lisa was in his lap, beautiful and half naked herself while she sucked a path clear up his neck, and all Dean could think about was how Cas skipped breakfast that morning. Over and over in his mind he replayed their awkward encounter, and, yeah, an enthusiastic hip wiggle from Lisa gave him a moment of distraction but then, a second later, down that same road his mind traveled.

It'd been three days. Three days since the makeout that wasn't, and Dean and Cas weren't falling into place like normal. Instead Cas kept his distance, and when they spoke he never said more than he had to, and it wasn't like Dean was keeping a diary or anything, but they weren't even hanging out casually anymore.

It was a repeat of before that Dean could really do without.

And then, like that, he knew. He knew.

Sensing her sole participation, Lisa pulled away. "The usual not doing it for you today, huh? Guess I'll have to improvise," she said, and she started to tug out of her jeans, but Dean stopped her.

"Dean?" she said.

His throat went dry.

"Can we talk?"

&

Cas was at home when Dean found him.

He was kneeling at the kitchen table trying to balance the stack of phone books that were attempting to shift awry when Dean swept into the apartment, the door slamming behind him.

The tip of Cas' head poked over the top of the table and Dean spotted him immediately. He looked ridiculous, his hair sticking up every which way, a befuddled frown on his face because as far as Cas knew Dean was out for the evening with Lisa.

Jesus. Dean really was a jackass.

Cas straightened as Dean came closer, and his confusion turned into worry because of whatever Dean was staring at him with. It was probably heart-eyes because, nope, no more denying it, no more pretending this wasn't the most profound thing to ever happen to Dean. He was gay out of his fucking mind for Cas.

"You son-of-a-bitch," Dean laughed, he was that damn thrilled.

Cas caught on quick, but they'd done this before. Twice, actually. Dean didn't blame him for the wary way he kept the table between them, not convinced that this was going to be anything more than a rough kiss that ended fast.

"I broke it off with Lisa," Dean told him, watching Cas's eyes grow big. He commented casually, "Yeah, so, turns out? Being in love with your best friend? Kind of a moodkiller," and waited for it to click.

Cas just stared. For so long that Dean started to doubt what the fuck he was doing here. But then Cas smiled and it was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen, more beautiful than the Busty Asian Beauty girls he'd jerked off to since his inagural masturbation some twelve years ago, so, yeah, he was totally gay for the dude.

It gave him the courage to come clean with it, though his voice was hoarse with how terrifying it was to say it out loud.

"I love you," he said, each word spoken deliberately and clearly. No more takebacks. "Cas," he kept going, and he was starting to smile because it was easy to admit the next part. Easy like breathing. "You are it for me, man. I think I've known since high school and the scary part is I don't want to fight it anymore. You're so awesome, Cas, you're the best person I know, you give me your second toast all the time, you--"

"Dean," Cas cut in roughly. "Shut up."

And then they were kissing right there in the kitchen, so enthusiastic that their poor table was being pushed around from the clumsy, frantic way they were grappling at one another.

Cas pushed Dean against the refrigerator.

"Are you drunk?" he demanded.

"Well, yeah."

"Dean."

"I haven't had a sip." His eyebrows waggled. "Wanna breathalyze me?"

"Were you serious? Before?"

"Cas. Yes. I swear to god, yes."

"Okay," Cas said, and then he was on Dean again, pressing his whole body against him.

They stayed like that for several minutes, mapping each other out right there with the fridge's door handle biting into Dean's back and every dirty roll of Cas's hips making things wobble nosily on the shelves inside.

It was Cas who got them moving towards a bedroom. He tugged and Dean followed and by the time Dean was stumbling backwards onto Cas's bed they'd both shed a significant amount of clothing, all of which was now strewn about their apartment.

Dean laid back while Cas got on his hands and knees and crawled until he was directly over him, his arms braced on either side of Dean's head.

Shit got real, fast.

"Dean," Cas said, and there was no pretending this wasn't about to change everything. They were shirtless, Dean was pretty sure that was Cas's boner poking at the jut near his thigh, and his dick was just as attentive too.

It was scary, especially because for all Dean knew Cas was a virgin saving himself for his marital bed, but there was something about manning the waters together that made it seem okay. It wasn't like Dean had ever had his dick touched by another man before either.

Cas was still staring, and Dean got distracted by the bob of his Adam's apple, which tugged down and then leapt back up.

"I love you," Cas said, heavy with meaning, and Dean's eyes flew back to his. Cas met them immediately, reassuringly, to affirm that, yes, dumbass, it was true.

Dean huffed out a short laugh. Cas, too, and then they were both laughing in earnest at how stupid they were, how stupid they'd been, look how easy this was.

Fast, though, the mood turned. Just like that. Cas was staring down at Dean fondly, but also? Pretty damn hungrily, his chest starting to heave as his breathing got more and more shallow.

Dean wrapped his hands around Cas elbows, curled his feet over Cas' ankles, and flipped them.

Now he was the out of breath one on top.

They stared at one another like a couple of sex-crazed weirdos and then it was a no-stops porno from then on. Dean went straight for Cas's mouth, kissing him like he'd been doing it his whole life, as Cas stuck a hand between them and worked on freeing Dean from his pants.

It was awesome and Dean had that thought before Cas had even so much as accidentally grazed his dick trying to pull down his jeans. When that graze turned intentional, Cas's fingers wrapping around him with only a second of hesitation, Dean's mind pretty much blitzed out.

"Fuck," he groaned, doing just that, fucking down into the loose fist Cas knew how to make, his fingers sweaty and slick which made the glide goddamn heaven.

Dean tried to reciprocate by going for big, open-mouthed kisses that dragged groan after groan from them both until Cas slid his other hand up the back of Dean's neck to pull Dean's head down and hold him there, tongue-fucking him.

Another, more throaty groan from Cas was all the encouragement he needed. Lowering onto his elbows, Dean put all his weight on his left side while he reached down with his right hand, palming Cas through his pants. That was a good touch, apparently, because Cas flung his head back, breaking their kiss. Dean kept going, squeezing Cas's dick like there wasn't a layer of denim between them, moving his mouth so he could put his lips on the throat that was straining with a silent gasp.

"God," he said into the overly warm skin of Cas's neck, sucking the spot he talked into. "Cas. I want you. Is that weird? I don't care."

Cas nodded vigorously, tightening his fingers around Dean. "Yes. Dean," he pleaded. "Please."

"Yeah. Shit. Come on, Cas. Come on," he encouraged him, tugging now at Cas's zipper. Cas didn't let Dean do more than get his pants halfway unzipped before he was thrusting upwards, slicking precome over the back of Dean's hand, a wet trail of it that got even stickier when Cas did it again, groaning.

Cas let go of Dean so that they could feel each other, so that it was skin on skin, and Dean was pretty sure he was going to explode one way or another because nothing had ever felt this good before.

It got way more intense when Dean lifted his head and found Cas staring right at him. It went from basic, mindless rutting to some seriously sappy-eyed lovemaking.

That lasted, like, three minutes tops before Dean sped up.

"Cas," he breathed out. "Cas. Cas. Oh, god."

Cas dragged Dean back down into a kiss, his fingers digging painfully into the back of Dean's skull, and Dean lost it. Their rhythm got completely fucked as Dean rocked through his orgasm, and then it was gone for good when Cas followed, crying out.

After, they needed a few minutes just to come down. Dean was even more out of breath, and he dropped his forehead to Cas's, nuzzling it for a second before he rolled off, flopping lazily to the side.

He threw the arm not tucked against Cas out to the side, relishing the coolness of the bedsheet. He felt awesome and boneless and now he had inescapable firsthand knowledge of what Cas's o-face looked like, so there was no going back.

Turning his head to the side, he looked over at Cas, whose chest was rising and falling with quickly inhaled and exhaled breaths. Dean's gaze traveled lower. Cas had come all over his stomach. Probably it was both of theirs. His dick was mostly soft and sticking out of the top of his jeans, and Dean never knew he had that particular kink before but, turned out? Half-dressed sex with Cas? Kinda did it for him. By, like, a lot.

"We're doing that again," Cas announced, and Dean dragged his gaze back up to Cas's. "Very soon."

Dean laughed and rolled over, tucking his nose into Cas' shoulder. "Just say when."

Cas' hand came up to run through Dean's hair. It started out lazily but then, very quickly, he was groping for more contact, shuffling closer.

"Now," he said, full of urgency. "Now, Dean."

&

"Hey, asshole," Dean called Sam during a pee break the next morning. Cas was already whining from the bedroom that Dean was taking too long, so Dean shouldered the phone and flushed, finishing the voicemail. "You were right. About Cas. So, thanks. Or whatever. I owe you. And get a haircut, would you, you look like a girl."

&

The end.