Angels have always been a pain in Dean's ass. They are arrogant, self-centred dick-heads; self-righteous creatures who love nothing more than to fuck up humans. Dean has met a lot of them in twenty six years and he always gets the same, cold treatment, like he's worth nothing more than vermin.

Despite all that, Dean is still fascinated by them. Forget the nasty behaviour. Forget their twisted mentality of ‘I-was-here-before-Father-decided-to-entertain-himself-with-mud-monkeys-aka-the-human-race.’ Forget their indestructibility. Angels still amaze him.

It’s all his mom’s fault. Her fairy tales about angels lulled him to sleep, accompanying him with sweet dreams. They seemed so perfect, so painfully above the human race, that Dean found them better than Dad’s knights and gunslingers. Mom always slapped Dad on the shoulder when she caught him telling stories about the fierce gunslingers of the West called Winchester—"Like the gun, son," he used to say.

"Like us," always protested Dean with a giggle.

His mom always interjected, introducing an angel here and there, and Dean would shift his attention, looking at her with fascinated eyes.

That was long time ago.

When Dean is sixteen, Dad is attacked by a demon in some filthy alley while he’s helping a little girl to escape. Dean passes hours in the waiting room with his Mom and Sam, waiting for Dad to get out of surgery, worrying and hoping that Dad will make it. Then, an angel with big, brown wings and a pristine suit approaches them, introducing himself as Zachariah, Dad’s superior, and asking Dean to have a word in private.

Angels are always been the part of job that Dad doesn’t want to talk about. It’s mostly because he has a hard time in trusting their methods: in their list of priority people’s wellbeing is in second position and Dad didn’t join the Department of Supernatural Encounters just for hunting demons and nasty supernatural creatures snarling in the dark, he joined them first and foremost for helping people.

The Department of Supernatural Encounters is one of angels’ creations, born with the purpose to have a police department dedicated to hunt demons and represents a link between humans and angels, although angels are the ones running it, all policemen are humans. Dad’s boss is an angel named Zachariah that Dad despises for his ruthless behaviour and methods.

Zachariah shows up in the hospital the day Dad is shot, while the Winchesters are waiting for John to get out from surgery, and asks Dean to have a word in private. He introduces himself as Zachariah, and treats Dean as if he has the goddamn responsibility to take his father’s place in the department, now that John is out of the game. Dean yells at him, furious at Zachariah’s cold-hearted and inappropriate behaviour.

Dad doesn't make it.

Dean does take his father's place, in the end, pushing away his dreams to work with cars. He goes to the Academy, the training school for all prospective people that want to join the Department of Supernatural Encounters. He gets a shiny badge that says he's Officer Dean Winchester, Department of Supernatural Encounters or, as everyone calls the agents of that department, a hunter.

All of Mom's family are hunters, driven by the same faith in the mission that Dad had – to accomplish and cleanse their town from demons and other nasty supernatural beings. Mary isn’t happy with Dean’s decision, but she supports him throughout his Academy years. Sam is less supportive, more sulking, and he still

Dean feels like he has to do it, like it's his place, a way to be. Five years later, Dean is still doing it, now working with his team, under Zachariah's guidance. Yes, the same old dickhead Zachariah; Dean hasn't changed his mind about angels.

Until he meets Castiel.

 

 

Dean Winchester doesn't usually have time to go out often. Sure, he likes to hit bars, get drunk and have some company, but his line of work doesn't let him have enough peace of mind to enjoy his rare days off. Sometimes he goes out with his team and they pretend they have normal jobs, that they don't have nightmares during the night about blood-written riddles dripping from the ceilings.

It's good to pretend and Dean goes with it, but today, the beer is not enough. He needs something stronger to forget the whiteboard in their office filled with information pertaining to the kidnapping of two young girls. Every clue hints at a demon and because of it, Dean is expecting some nasty consequences.

"Winchester, drink this," Victor pushes two shots filled with purple liquid towards him. "Nothing better than Purple Nurples to cheer you up."

Dean downs the first one without batting an eye. "Man, you shouldn’t drink too much; otherwise you won’t be able to bring your ass home."

"That's why I'm getting you drunk," Victor pushes the second shot glass into Dean's hand. "And it's ten times better. Put on a good drunk show, Winchester."

"Shut up, Henricksen," but Dean downs the second shot. They've know each other since the Academy and they share the same love for classic cars and guns. Victor has a .45 that he calls 'sexy girl' and when he is drunk enough, he talks to her like the gun is a real woman. Dean's attended his drunk shows more times than he can remember, and vice versa.

Dean looks at the counter of the bar, where Jo, the third agent of their team, is leaning, flirting with the bartender for some free shots. "You should tap that, Victor, before she gets bored of your lazy ass."

"You're not my fucking matchmaker, understood?"

"Whatever. I gave you great advice, asshole."

"Drink and shut up, Winchester. You're probably just horny."

"Not horny, son of a bitch," but he is, dammit.

Dean isn't really into relationships. He tried once. It didn't work out. But he enjoys sex same as ever. He doesn't date, but one night stands come easy to him and sometimes Dean just hits a bar to pick up some girl. Or guy.

Lately, though, he hasn't done it as often; work is biting his ass off. Other than that, his brother Sam starts calling off their usual weekly lunch at Ellen’s, being a little bitch, and stating that his new job is kicking is ass. Sam doesn't say it aloud, but Dean can read between the line and can see that Sam is more invested in his own job than in keeping their brotherly relationship. Dean doesn’t it aloud, of course, but he notices that and it hurts.

Maybe Victor is right, maybe Dean really needs a night to drink and fuck. Tomorrow he will be hungover, but damn, it can be worth it. He looks at the crowd, searching for something or someone that can distract him from his misery for one night. His eyes immediately spot him. The man is stepping into the bar at that moment along with a shorter man. He's wearing a trench coat that makes him look like a damn accountant in the wrong place. There is nothing unsure in the way he's walking though, or the way he sits in the last available booth and Dean follows his movements, fascinated. He's an honest-to-god angel, with big, black wings folded behind his back and Dean has trouble remembering that angels are dicks and he wouldn't approach any of them by choice.

The angel looks up though, like he's feeling Dean's gaze on his skin, and stares directly at Dean. He has piercing blue eyes, the bluest Dean has ever seen, and he stares at Dean as though he's seeing his naked soul. Scary thought. Dean's soul is not a very good view.

Jo arrives then, bringing shots and spilling half of the alcohol on the rounded table when she puts them down. She sits next to Victor and grabs the first glass.

"I didn't shake my boobs to have these little boys wasted! Come on, Dean! Keep up!" and she downs the first one. Dean is not far behind. Victor scowls at both of them.

 

 

*

 

 

"What's up, brother?" Gabriel elbows his brother in the side and Castiel glares at him. "Whoa, why the dirty look? I didn't bring you to any strip club! Mind you, I could have and it would have been awesome."

Castiel ignores the other angel and looks across the room again where the beautiful green-eyed human is sitting.

He didn't want to go out, but Gabriel insisted and when Gabriel has something in mind, he does anything to make it happen; in this case, getting his little brother out of the house to have some fun. As much as Castiel loves Gabriel, sometimes he wants to strangle him.

"Oh, I see. Nice view," Gabriel leans forwards, following his brother's eyes.

"Gabriel –"

"I like him too. Lips worth dying for, even if he's human," Gabriel isn't exactly a Separatist – no, the angels that want a clear separation between their societies are completely crazy – and he doesn't despise humans, but sometimes Castiel can relate; humans are suffering and complicated creatures. "Mind if I share?"

"Yes, actually," Castiel grumbles, his hand curling around his glass of tequila. "Not this one." He doesn't even know where this comes from, but a surge of possessiveness is stirring in his stomach.

Gabriel raises both of his hands in surrender. His wings are folded on his back, copper-coloured and brownish feathers, with a sprout of black where they grow out of his shoulder blades. His feathers are magnificent, capturing every flicker of light and twisting it into a deep shadowed-glow along the whole, impressive wingspan. Castiel's aren't that beautiful; pitch black, with long feathers always ruffled wrong, like the wind is having fun playing with them.

"When you get tired of him then?"

Castiel doesn't answer. He looks at the human sitting across the bar, drinking one shot after another with two of his friends. Castiel doesn't know why, but there is something that draws his attention to the man.

His soul is vibrant and shining, blissfully pure, but also full of emotional scars that dimmer the glow, sharpening the already rough edges and twisting them into hollow shadows. This is something Castiel hasn't seen often. It's compelling and he wants to know more of that tangled mystery.

He stares at the man until Castiel sees the young woman forcing him to stand and to go to the bar for alcohol refurbishment. The human stumbles a little to the counter, ordering other drinks. Without thinking, Castiel gets on his own feet and walks towards the beautiful human, missing the catcall from Gabriel.

 

 

*

 

 

Dean is leaning on the counter, his sight a little blurred, as he waits for his drinks. The bar is more crowded than before and he had to push someone to get to the bartender.

The bartender asks Dean if the blond chick is single and Dean resisted the impulse to laugh. Damn alcohol. He's starting to giggle.

"Hello."

Dean turns around to find the angel he was eyeing before an inch from his chest. It's strange, because the angel guy is shorter than Dean, but he manages to loom over him anyway. Freak.

"Hey stranger," Dean replies. Mr. Angel has no concept of physical boundaries, as he stands too close, but maybe it's too crowded and he doesn't want his wings to be touched by dirty human hands. Typical.

The angel tilts his head to the side. "I'm no stranger. I'm Castiel."

Figures.

"It's a figure of, you were, anyway," Dean starts babbling nonsense as he puts his elbow on the counter, leaning on it, trying to gain some composure from the drunken haze. "I'm Dean."

There is something in those piercing, blue eyes that makes Dean forget his reservations about angels. Or maybe he's just horny like Victor said. But he's lucid enough to know that it's not a good idea to hook up with an angel, even one as gorgeous as Castiel.

"Here, man," the bartender slides over Dean's drinks and gives a curious look at Dean's new companion. Dean balances the drinks in his hands, careful not to spill anything, and nods at Castiel's direction. "Nice meeting you, Cas." The nickname comes natural from his lips and Dean walks towards his table.

"Wait."

Dean turns around and finds Castiel impossibly close again, his forehead deeply frowned. He's thinking something and he looks doubtful too, more unsure of Dean's reaction than his own. Dean has never seen an angel in such a state and, damn it, he finds it cute. Except, angels are not cute.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Dean grins, amused. He raises the glasses. "Pretty set for now, man."

"Elsewhere," Castiel corrects himself. No blush of embarrassment appears on his face, but his eyes dart to the side before focusing again on Dean's. He's thinking or he's assessing and Dean thinks he passes whatever test Castiel puts him to. "Tomorrow."

Dean can say that he has to work, anything really, but his damn mouth gives Castiel an affirmative answer before he can even think of an excuse. Castiel smiles, gives some instructions, turns around, giving Dean a good view of his black feathers, and walks towards his table.

 

 

The dinner never happens. Dean is at Mom's brunch watching the baseball game, when his mobile rings with a 911 from Victor. He forgets about Castiel until late at night when Dean is collapsing in bed, face down, too tired to even take off his jeans and jacket. He thinks about calling Castiel, but Dean doesn't know his number. He doesn't feel bad, but closes his eyes and sleeps.

 

 

Demons are nasty creatures.

There aren't a lot of them around – thanks to the cleaning the angels did almost eighty years ago – but when they decide to come out from the darkest pits of the Earth, they show-off. always ending up in hurting and killing innocent people.

Dean takes down the Polaroid photos of the four young victims off the white board. He places them in the box to be filed elsewhere. Picking up the pieces of lives Dean hadn't had the chance to rescue and putting them in a damn box is always sad and heartbreaking, but it gives him a sense of closure. It's not a good sensation even if Dean's team catches the demon.

Every time, Dean feels like he is not enough; people deserve someone that can fight for them in every way imaginable and Dean is no hero. He does his job. He puts in all his effort, but things don't always work out.

He's alone in the office. Victor and Jo went to have a drink and Dean is organizing the mess, like always. He needs to have this moment to himself, to apologize to the victims. It's not healthy and it's not helping, like Victor keeps saying, but Dean needs it. It's one of those bad and self-destructive habits that his Dad passed onto him.

That's the reason why Dean would never get promoted: he needs to be first line. He needs to be in the field even if that means that he has to suffer ten times more for it.

"This work will kill you, Dean," his mother had said the last time they spoke. She doesn't mean that Dean will die on the job like Dad, but these are the sort of things that can kill you a little bit every day.

The phone rings and Jo's name flashes on the screen. "Jo? You okay?"

There are noises in the background and Jo giggles. "Dean, your nerd angel is here."

"What nerd angel? What are you talking about?"

"Dark hair. Dark wings. Trench coat?" Jo scoffs.

Oh, yeah, strange guy.

"He's alone and he's staring at the door. Maybe he's looking for you,” she chuckles. "Wanna get laid?"

Dean smiles. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want you to hook me up with anybody?"

"Your loss, Dean," her voice drops and she sounds serious. "Just, get out from the office."

Dean debates going to his friends, flirting a little with the angel he blew off a week ago, or organizing broken lives. He looks down at the folder of the closed case, the smiling face of the last victim. The fifteen year old Abigail Simmons punches him in the stomach. "I've got things to do. Enjoy your evening, Jo."

"Dean!" Victor snags Jo's cell. "Man, fuck it, come here. You need a break. You can go back to being the same old son of a bitch tomorrow. Get your ass over here," and he hangs up.

Dean stares at the cell in his hands then at the five coffees he drank in the last seven hours. He's tired, but not that tired and Abigail Simmons can wait for a night.

"Fuck it."

He closes the box, grabs his leather jacket and heads out.

 

 

 

Castiel is not the sort of guy that lingers. He's straightforward with little understanding that sometimes makes him tactless. Gabriel is his opposite; he's the flashy guy, the smooth talker, the one who stands up against any confrontation with a grin and his witty sense of humour. Castiel is the one who stares at people like he's going to smite them and people usually back away before Castiel can say a word. It's handy and Castiel prefers it that way, but sometimes he wonders what it would be like if he were like Gabe, more open and less awkward.

There is something wrong with his behaviour lately because Castiel keeps thinking about the green-eyed human he met a week ago. And yeah, Castiel is definitely lingering around the bar where they met. There's something in his gut that is telling him that Dean is worth his attention. He still remembers when Mother told him about the day she met Father, when she felt drawn to him even before talking and knowing him. Gabriel would call Cas 'a hopeless and naive romantic', but Castiel prefers to define himself as 'driven by academic curiosity'.

Castiel gives up when it becomes obvious that Dean does not intend to join his friends for the night. He is halfway out of his seat when he sees the man walking in. He looks beat, with dark circles under his eyes and Castiel feels the immediate need to ask him to take better care of himself.

"Dean," he calls in a low voice. Dean turns around. He looks like he doesn't recognize him, but then he smiles, apologetic, not surprised of his presence there.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel is 'Cassie' to his bratty brother and his past lover. It’s their way of mocking him, but Dean's 'Cas'? It fits, strangely enough.

Dean rubs his neck. "Sorry about the other day, man. Work got in the way and I didn't have your number."

Castiel is a very patient man. He waited for Dean all night, his wings moving restlessly for hours. "That's fine. I understand. You can make it up today." The invitation comes out easily because now that he has Dean in front of him, the weird fascination takes over the strangeness of the situation.

Dean grins, his green eyes are shining with new-found interest and Castiel feels lust flare in his stomach, settling in his groin. He wonders how many rules he would be breaking by kissing Dean on the spot. He'll probably burn at least ten steps. He keeps his feelings under control, though. Castiel makes space beside him, and Dean sits down, waving at his friends.

"They won't mind?"

Dean chuckles and shrugs. "Not really. Besides, I see them 24/7. They can handle a night off from my awesome presence." He orders a beer and settles into the booth. "So, Cas, you don't come here often."

Dean's lips are popping obscenely around his bottle of beer and Castiel follows the movement, slightly opening his own mouth. The glint in Dean's eyes makes Castiel think that maybe, just maybe, he's not the only one who's having dirty thoughts. He wonders how much Dean knows about angels and angels’ traditions, but he doesn't want to appear nosy, so he tilts his head to the side, enjoying the view.

Dean's knee bumps against Castiel's and it's definitely not casual. Castiel presses their legs together, putting both his elbows on the table and leaning forward. He can forget about his dislike of casual fucking if it means that Dean would be spread out on his bed that night.

"No, I really don't."

"We can head out if you want."

There is nothing Castiel wants more, but a high-pitched shriek makes him jump on his feet. His wings ready to spread because Castiel knows exactly what kind of beast is emitting the scream.

"What is it?"

Before Castiel can reply, people outside the parking lot start screaming and Dean draws out a gun that the angel recognizes as one of the Department of Supernatural Encounters – a steel and silver gun, carved with a Devil's Trap, Enochian sigils all along the barrel. Dean bolts for the exit, his two friends in tow.

"Stay put!", Dean yells.

They are all out in a split second, running towards the source of the supernatural shriek.

Castiel follows them outside, stops and considers staying behind. Harpies are difficult to handle, especially when they're hunting, but the three humans were trained to handle them, even if it's unlikely that they've ever met one. The last one Castiel faced ripped out the throat of his late cousin with one bite when the angel made the mistake of fighting her in open ground and not in the air where angels are definitely better fighters.

Without thinking further, Castiel takes off too, spreading his wings, flying over the parking lot and following the frantic screams. It seems like the Harpy is trying to get rid of the three hunters by throwing pedestrians at them. She’s flying low, clutching a woman in her claws, and her body, half woman half eagle is vicious and scary. She takes aim and launches the kidnapped woman against the three agents, hitting the blond female agent, Castiel's arrival from the sky throws the harpy off the balance, and he uses his grip, stronger than any other creatures, to knock her off the ground. The Harpy attacks the nearest human throwing him against the wall. Dean arrives immediately after and he shoots with precise aim at her heart. The Harpy lets out one last shriek before collapsing, dead.

Dean uncocks his gun and jams it into the waistband of his jeans. He runs to his friend, shaking him and calling his name. Castiel lands beside him as Dean calls an ambulance, a frightened look in his eyes when he checks the wound that his partner has in the back of his head. "Don't do this, man. Don't ever try."

The blond woman arrives immediately and kneels besides them. Castiel feels like he's intruding, but the distress in Dean's soul prevents him from walking away. This desire to protect and support is new for him, especially for a man who is virtually a stranger. But Castiel stays there with them anyway and waits for the ambulance to come.

 

 

 

Dean hates hospitals, their synthetic smell, the aisles, the lights, the fucking waiting room. He starts bouncing his right knee glancing nervously at the white doors where Victor has been taken.

Castiel puts a hand on his thigh in a reassuring gesture and Dean remembers the unusual presence of the angel, subject of his earlier fantasies. This seems wrong, by the way, 'cause Castiel is a stranger and he's touching him, which makes the interaction uncalled for. He moves away slightly, uncomfortable, and Castiel removes his hand.

"You don't have to stay," he barks briskly. Victor is in the emergency room, Jo is filling hospital forms, and an angel is sitting beside Dean. The woman the Harpy kidnapped was deadly injured—not exactly what Dean had in mind an hour ago when he left the department to have a night off.

"I know," Castiel replies. He stays there, a solid presence besides Dean in an uncomfortable hospital chair, with his wings folded behind him, barely touching the white wall. The hospital is for both species, humans and angels, so Castiel doesn't attract curious glances from the staff, but he's still the only angel there and some of the people in the waiting room are glancing at him openly.

Angels prefer to stay with their own kind. Despite their cohabiting, the few angels who decide to interact with humans occupy positions of power in business and politic hierarchies, with the result being having humans abiding by their rules and whims. Even if they’re occupying public positions, it’s really difficult to see angels in public places, so Castiel stands out from the crowd just being there, sitting with a human.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

"Interfere."

"I shouldn't have, you're right," Castiel admits, calmly. "But I've already faced a harpy, I knew what she could do."

Dean rubs a hand over his face. He's met civilians that want to help but this is the first time an angel has done something like this. "That doesn't mean anything, man. This is my job and you interfered. I'm an officer. You're a civilian. Your angelic mojo is not an excuse to do whatever the fuck you want." Dean ignores the reference to a previous hunt, but he registers the detail, cataloguing Castiel as one of the angels that fought during the war against demons.

"Angels are not exactly classified as civilians."

"Oh, right, 'cause they're fucking hammers of God, soldiers who don't give a damn about humans." Dean's being unfair, yes, but, damn it, sometimes angels are a pain in the ass.

"We're not all like this, Dean. We aren’t all Separatists," Castiel glares at him, finally pissed.

Dean was starting to think that Castiel was emotionless, so he welcomes that annoyance with a smile. Separatists are a good portion of angel population who believe in separating angel society from humans completely, and the way Castiel pronounces the word reveals a deep annoyance. "We are trained to fight. We fought wars to have demons scattered and unable to organize enough to be a threat like they are now. Angels are made different from humans; we're not driven by emotions and feelings. We know rage, envy, love and affection, but they are only a part of our judgement, not the judgement itself."

The implication of Cas's answer rolls into Dean's mind. Unable to come with a polite request of explanations but still unwilling to give an apology, he snorts. He knows a mistake from Castiel meant Victor, Jo and himself could have been killed, but, then again, angels are indestructible and it didn't happen. "I have to write about you in my report."

"I won't apologize for helping you and your friend, though I feel I should have reacted sooner."

Jo arrives in that moment, bringing three hot coffees. "I spoke with one of the nurses and the doctor will be here soon."

"He's going to be okay," Dean tells her.

"I know. I'll kick his ass for worrying me, though. As soon as he's better," her eyes are still carrying the worry, but she grins at Castiel. "So, bold move, angel. Were you trying to win Dean over?"

Dean groans and Castiel tilts his head to the side, confused. "Ignore her, Castiel. She's being a smartass. And, you, shut up and drink your coffee."

Jo slaps him on the shoulder, then she stretches her hand towards the angel. "I'm Jo Harvelle, by the way. Dean's colleague at DSE's. Thank you for what you did earlier."

Dean scoffs again and Jo arches an eyebrow, openly against Dean's animosity.

"Castiel," he nods in acknowledgement. "I hope your friend will recover soon."

"He will. He's a tough son of a bitch," Dean's sure that Victor will do fine.

The doctor arrives within minutes, easily spotting them. After showing their badges, Dean and Jo listen to the doctor's report: a concussion and two cracked ribs. The only serious wound will be his pride, comments Dean relieved.

"I'm glad he's fine," Castiel nods, thankful for the good news. "I'm going home, now. Give your friend my blessings."

Dean's hand stops his retreat and Castiel looks expectant. "I blew you off twice, now."

Castiel smiles, not even catching the double meaning in Dean’s words, "I'm sure you can make up for it."

Jo clears her throat behind Dean. He doesn't need to turn around to know that his friend is eavesdropping and pushing him – not so subtly – to invite Castiel out.

Which is exactly why Dean finds himself asking an angel to pass by his apartment and watch a baseball match that weekend.

 

 

Sam laughs when Dean inadvertently tells him. "You invited an angel to watch a baseball match?"

"Ha-ha, very nice, Samantha. Now stop it or I'll kick your ass." Sam keeps laughing, unfazed by Dean's threat. "I'm serious, Sam."

The last he heard from his little brother outside Mom's brunches (and Sam doesn't attend them as often as Dean) had been almost a month ago; their jobs taking over most of their time and sometimes his little brother could be too invested in what he did.

Sam's work hours are as bad as Dean's, which makes sense since Sam is the little bitch in the legal study he started to work for a couple of months prior. But the kid's smart and Dean knows that Sam will climb the corporate hierarchy before the end of the year.

"So, Castiel?"

Dean snorts. "Don't start."

"It's just – you never approach an angel unless it's for work, and now you're asking one out? But hey, I won't push." Sam raises his hands in surrender.

"Good, that'll save you from a very painful death."

"But you know –"

"Sam, drop it."

"Ok. I won't tell you how colossally stupid it is to take the edge off with an angel."

"That says a lot about how dumb you are."

"It says more about how dumb you are."

"Finish your rabbit food, Sam. Don't you have a job to go to?" He motions to the half-eaten salad with a grimace. Squeezing a meeting in their respective lunch breaks is the only way to see each other when the work is relentless.

"Whatever, man," Same turns serious. "How is Victor? Still in hospital?"

"Released today. He nagged the nurses to the point where they had to have the doctor sign his discharge papers. He even flashed his badge," Dean grins. "That's Victor."

"Zachariah agreed to have him work already?"

Dean rests against the back of the booth, his good mood immediately vanished. "We've got a new case. Demons. Again. Victor doesn't want to be left out, even if Zachariah puts him in charge of manning the desks."

"How bad is this time?" Sam frowns, and not at the mention of Victor's new duties.

"There are still people who sign crossroads deals," Dean replies.

Worst kind of people. Unsatisfied, disappointed, revenge-seeking people. After the law banning the summoning of crossroads demons, the number dropped considerably, but the percentage of illegal business that provides this service remains the same. Mostly because crossroads demons are difficult to track. They are the smartest, capable of twisting the situations to their favour, easily manipulating humans. It doesn't hurt that crossroads demons look and act human.

"Never mind." It's their first lunch together after a month and Dean doesn't want to spoil it with the ghosts of his work. "So, will you be at Mom's this Sunday?"

Sam looks contrite. "I'd love to, but we have a huge class action case starting on Monday and we'll work the whole weekend."

"Call her, at least."

"I will," Sam looks down to his tie, carefully inspecting it for oil stains. He checks the time regretfully. "I have to go."

Dean waves a hand towards him. "Go and kick some asses, lawyer."

Sam bolts to his office, with nothing more than a quick goodbye, his attention already focused on his imminent new case. Dean finishes his soda with two long sips; Ellen clears the table giving him a stern look, the same she always gives him when he isn’t dropping by her diner regularly. Or when her daughter Jo doesn't have time as well.

He bids his goodbye, returning to the DSE. Once there, Jo welcomes him with a smug smile on her face. "Guess who's here."

"Jimmy Hendrix?"

"Your angel."

"Castiel?"

"Oh, do you have more than one? You're full of surprises," Jo shakes her head. "He's here for the deposition. Well, he's talking to Zachariah now." She motions to the two angels, standing down the hall. Zachariah is towering over Castiel and from the distressed posture of their wings, they aren’t happy with the encounter.

Castiel spots Dean and looks him over, smiling slightly, and the conversation is over. "Dean."

"So you know each other," Zachariah is not happy. But, Zachariah is hardly happy, apart when he shows his twisted sense of humour. He doesn't ask if their acquaintance is what caused Castiel's meddling. Zachariah probably assumed it or maybe he knows Castiel enough to draw conclusions. "Good, good," Zachariah's lips curl into a fake smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Castiel is a consultant, but maybe you already know that."

"Not really," Dean casts a curious glance at Castiel. "Consultant, uh?"

Castiel seems to find it more interesting to stare at Dean, ignoring all the other people around them. When Jo hides a scoff under her hand, Castiel adds an explanation. "I'm not exactly a civilian, as I told you. But I'm working at the university, I teach Angelology."

So maybe, just maybe, Dean is too quick in thinking bad of angels.

"Fine, fine," Zachariah seems eager to dismiss the whole argument. "Winchester, Harvelle, brief in five." He walks away, flipping his brownish wings and disappearing in his office, leaving the two officers and Castiel behind. Jo leaves immediately, winking at Dean.

"I've never seen you around," Dean points out.

Castiel shrugs. "I haven't been consulting for a long time. But I know Zachariah quite well."

"Has he always been that much of a pain in the ass?"

"During the war he was quite relentless, but we didn't have the occasion to – indulge in pleasantries," Castiel takes a few steps forward, now effectively stepping into Dean's personal space. "You look troubled."

There's something wrong with Castiel; angels aren't fond of physical interactions with humans, though Castiel seem to gravitate in Dean's space without problems.

"New case."

Castiel frowns. "You should take better care of yourself."

Dean barks a laugh with no amusement. "Who are you, my mother?"

"Just someone who worries about you."

The earnest answer and expression make Dean bite off the snarky reply already on his lips. He wants to tell Castiel to piss off, but when Castiel goes back to his new habit of staring, instead of just feeling uncomfortable, Dean finds himself staring back.

Castiel is intense. There's no other way to put it.

DSE is not a quiet place, with officers and administrative staff going around and about continuously, but the noise, the constant blabbering, the rings of the phone, the constant coming and going... everything is swallowed up by Castiel's presence in front of him. His eyes focus only on Dean, his emotionless face with the underling yearn of something – and Dean is definitely up for it, whatever it is –, his lips slightly opened, like he's waiting for the kiss Dean has wanted to give him since their second encounter at the bar. Castiel is screaming his availability, quietly asking Dean for his full attention and a positive response.

Dean is a fine flirter, but this is another league. It's Castiel who's leading. The problem is where.

For the moment, Dean has to admit that he's quite taken with him. Which is definitely not a good prelude for an occasional hook up.

His natural mechanism of shutting himself out of commitment makes Dean lower the tone a little: "No need. I'm a big boy, and, frankly, we don't know each other that much."

"Still," Castiel tilts his head, pensive. "That's hardly an excuse."

"It is. And since when did we start talking about this stuff?"

Castiel frowns again and takes another step, almost touching Dean's chest, without looking away from his eyes. "Since you seemed incapable of believing in my good faith. Even if we're strangers to each other." He squints his eyes, like he's assessing something that requires all his concentration. Dean really needs to know if angels can read moods in the souls, or if it's just Castiel.

"Dude, personal space."

"I hadn't realised, sorry. My apologies," Castiel looks flustered, but moves away, and Dean breathes normally again, the sexual tension now bearable.

Suddenly, DSE's noises break the barrier that Castiel built around Dean's external perceptions. He blinks a couple of times, regaining his composure, while Castiel returns to his intense staring.

"Did you –"

Victor arrives and pats Dean on the shoulder, ruining the moment. "Come on, Winchester. I don't want to piss off Zachariah. Not when he's trying to send me home," he hides the limping well, but not the grimaces of pain that sometimes twist his face. Victor had already introduced himself earlier apparently, since he nods in Castiel's direction and passes them without any other words.

"I'll see you Saturday, then," Castiel reminds him.

"Yeah, see you Saturday."

Dean wonders how a person get under his skin so easily and how he's supposed to restrain himself on Saturday when Castiel will be a solid presence against his side with no potential interruptions in sight. He wants nothing more than to get laid, but he believes that it won't be just a simple fuck-it-and-forget-it, not in the way Dean is used to.

But who knows, Castiel didn't act PG-rated himself. And there’s a thought Dean would like to hold on.

 

 

*°*

 

 

 

A long time has passed since Dean had the time to go out with a friend that wasn't one of his colleagues. Hell, it's been a month since his brother came to his place, so Dean doesn't have beers or edible food stored in his cupboard. He goes on a trip to the grocery store and buys a couple of six packs. After weighting the food options, he gives up and hopes that Cas isn't against pizza deliveries, because there's no way he's going to cook something when he's almost dead on his feet after a forty-eight hour shift. There won't be a lot of occasions for Dean and Castiel to talk during the match, and it will be interesting to see how their night develops. If Cas asks, Dean's more than okay with skipping the foreplay and going directly to home base.

It turns out that Cas is okay with pizza, even if he scrunches his nose at Dean's mention of crazy hours and no time to prepare a decent meal between shifts. He takes possession of the couch and watches Dean move around the kitchen area while he orders on the phone, two big pizzas and a helping of fries.

"You could have told me you worked all day. I would have fixed you something."

"No fuss, man," Dean offers Cas a beer and sits besides him. It's a couple of minutes before the match starts and Dean calculates at least half an hour before the dinner arrives. "Pizza is always fine."

Castiel still has a severe look on his face and Dean suggests, without really realising it: "Next time, I'll drop by your place and you can make me dinner."

"Next Saturday?"

"It's a date," Dean clanks their beers together, winking at him. Castiel looks at ease with the insinuation so maybe Dean is not the only one thinking that. He didn't misjudge the sexual tension and Dean this he'll probably get lucky that same night.

 

 

*

 

 

Castiel doesn't know a thing of baseball, or sports in general. At all. Gabriel is the only one who knows about human sports and goes to basketball matches from time to time. But, again, Gabriel is the only angel Castiel knows who is interested in living as a human or, well, the only angel Castiel is inclined to ask advice from, that is.

Still, when Dean proposed to catch the evening baseball match of two unknown teams, Castiel had said yes without a second thought. Then, later, he asked for Gabriel's help.

"I think I have a special interest in a man," Cas begins once in his brother's condo.

Gabriel takes a moment to look at his brother before answering, with a wry smile playing on his lips. "What kind of special interest? Sexual? I can help with that."

Castiel shakes his head. His wings fluttering in distress, and a solitary feather falls on the floor. Both angels look at it, Castiel with no real interest, Gabriel with open concern.

Stressful situations are the cause of a loss of thick plumage. That single feather on the perfectly polished floor was a symptom of Castiel's inner debate and red flags for something more serious. "I'm not looking for a one night stand, but something more."

Gabriel cringes at those words, but he doesn’t said anything to make Castiel change his mind, which said how much trust he put in Castiel's judgement. Their other brothers wouldn't have been that thoughtful, especially if Castiel is implying what they fear most.

Instead, Gabriel has given him an advice, with his serious voice that, really, he doesn’t use on many occasions. "Make sure he knows, Castiel. Or it will get messy."

Then, Gabriel had tried to explain to Castiel the basic rules of baseball.

Now, looking at the TV screen, Castiel gives up on following the action, faking an interest he doesn't have. He prefers to bask in the knowledge of having Dean so close by, their legs and their arms touching discretely, while Dean is commenting on the actions and cursing from time to time.

The match finishes and Castiel thinks he didn’t do an awful job, humming strategically here and there. Dean closes the two take away boxes of pizza, piling them on the nearest table over a couple of old newspapers.

There's a moment of stillness where Castiel thinks of how to break the silence and Dean returns to lean back on the couch, both of them thinking or assessing what kind of ending to give to the night. Castiel's intention of making his point about deepening their relationship clashes with the need to possess Dean on his own couch, mapping every inch of his naked body with his bare hands and peppering Dean's face and mouth with kisses.

Without thinking, Castiel starts to pluck his feathers, playing with them to relieve the tension. Dean's face in unreadable, relaxed at least, but he doesn't betray his thoughts.

"Why didn't you tell me you hated baseball?"

"I don't hate it," Castiel admits. "I just don't find it fascinating when people swing a bat and hit a ball."

Dean bursts in to a full-throated laugh. It's the first time Castiel witnesses such genuine laughter from Dean; he has small crinkles around his eyes and he exposes his throat, throwing back his head, leaning on the top of the couch. Dean turns his head then, looking at Castiel with that playful glint in his eyes.

"It's fine," Castiel adds. Dean looks so carefree, finally, and Castiel licks his chapped lips, considering between leaning forward and kissing him or extending the moment longer. "I had a great time."

"Way to be lame, Cas." But Dean's eyes dart quickly to Castiel's lips, then to the TV screen.

"I want to clarify this," Castiel needs to say it. He needs to do it before he cannot prevent himself from doing something he could regret. "I don't do one night stands. Not ever, not with you."

Dean chuckles darkly, he turns to face Castiel. "It's a 'all way in or out'? I don't do ultimatums."

"No, just a warning. You ought to know," Castiel raises Dean's chin with his fingers, gently cupping his jaw. "Before I kiss you."

"No one night stands, got it." Dean's lips are soft and plump, hot and lascivious, and they're not pressing against his for long before Castiel opens his mouth, granting access.

He takes Dean's face in his hands, searching for the right angle to slide his own tongue in Dean's mouth and lick, reducing Dean to a panting mess against his chest. They're a mess of tangled legs, until he's half on top of Dean, now laying on his couch, with his hands in Castiel's hair and their pelvises aligned.

It's just one kiss, but they've built up a sexual tension from the first night they met, increased by the slight flirtations and casual touches. Castiel is not looking for a mate. He found his mate, the person that completes him, and even if Dean doesn't really understand that and his non-existent grace cannot catch up with Castiel's worked out grace and feel his intentions, he feels something. He has to, because his soul is responding, bending and shifting, under Castiel's inner sight. Dean is so responsive in both body and soul that it drives Castiel crazy.

It's just one kiss, but Castiel is swallowing Dean's moans in his mouth and he wants more and more and more. When they part for breath, Dean has a worn out expression on his face, but curious and open. Castiel knows that the kiss had the same effect on both of them and his grace burns under his skin, already pushing Castiel to reach for Dean's.

Dean laughs and the sound of it reverberates against Castiel's ribcage. "No fucking tonight? You sure?"

Castiel snorts and smiles, moving away from Dean and sitting back. He grabs Dean's arm, though, unwilling to let him go. "Positive." He doesn't ask if Dean wants him out, he refuses selfishly to give him an easy out.

"Okay, then," Dean kisses him again, without looking disappointed at all. Castiel's right wing, neglected before, slides around Dean's shoulders. Dean follows the movement with one eye, then, when the feathers touch his cheek, he closes his eyes and kisses Castiel harder.

 

Later that night, when Dean is in his deserted apartment, he calls Sam. This time, there is no voicemail, and the phone keeps ringing and ringing. Dean gives up at the third try. He drinks the rest of his beer and collapses in front of the TV, thinking about Castiel's chapped lips and his intense staring.

 

 

 

The day after, Dean finds Victor and Jo with smug smiles on their faces. Figures they wouldn't let him dodge the interrogation.

"So?" Jo sits on Dean's desk, almost knocking off the papers piled up.

"What? Don't we braid our hair first?"

"I don't want details, for my part," Victor says, but doesn't deny his interest.

"Don't 'I'm a manly man', now," Jo argues. "No one believes that anymore." She smiles at Dean. "Any details you want to share with the class?"

"Not really," Dean responds. When Jo snorts, wearing her 'are you kidding me' expression, he gives up. "Castiel didn't know shit about baseball, but it was okay."

"Did you get laid or not?"

"None of your business."

Jo clucks her tongue. "So this means that either you did, but it was forgettable or, you didn't." She looks at him with her 'cop' face, searching for lies, helped with the camaraderie they shared since they first were assigned together. Then, she draws her conclusion with a big smile, almost satisfied. "You like him. Dean Winchester really likes his nerdy angel. It's kind of cute."

"Shut up."

"You'll make a lovely couple."

"Jo –"

Victor shakes his head. "Do you know what you're doing?"

In some ways, it's the same concern Sammy showed He's tempted to say a sincere 'I don't know', when Jo, clearly on board with the idea of Dean smitten for an angel, interjects. "You know, Victor, sometimes you have to let live."

"It wasn't me who bugged Dean for details."

"He didn't give any, so it doesn't count." She slides down from the desk and goes back to hers, passing in front of their whiteboard with photos and evidence of their latest case.

This is not about deaths. It's more about trouble and the difficult tasks that are a bother. DSE hasn't caught a crossroads demon in years and Dean's team crossed paths with them just a couple of times. Every unsuccessful hunt left them with bile of resentment in their mouths.

For once, Dean doesn't seem to mind; this case is the best way to keep his thoughts away from dangerous places like the development of his 'relationship' with Castiel.

 

 

 

Castiel's place is much better than Dean's. It's in the classy area of town, right in the outskirts of the angel-only neighbourhood It's the area with the highest concentration of skyscrapers and tall buildings, designed specifically for hosting angels' apartments with big balconies to be used to soar into the sky.

Dean uses the indoor parking lot with access to the foyer where he finds a bank of elevators. He picks the nearest and goes to the highest floor, striding down the hallway until he finds Castiel's slightly open door. At the sound of his steps, Castiel opens the door with a small smile on his lips, pleased to see him. It's almost like he wasn't sure Dean was actually coming over. He's wearing a plain shirt and a pair of slacks and, Dean realises, this is the first time he's not wearing his trench coat.

"Hey, Cas." he takes advantage when Castiel closes the door to look around. "Nice place."

The apartment looks three times bigger than Dean's place, with the addition of the best view in town, elegantly furnished. An enormous library occupies an entire wall in the sitting room, stacked full of books, but there's also a TV in front of a couch which looks comfy and extremely expensive. A delicious smell is coming from the kitchen of which Dean catches a glimpse of at the end of the short corridor. Castiel wasn't kidding when he said that he didn't have problems with cooking food. The smell is awesome and Dean cannot wait to have dinner.

"Thank you."

"I was expecting more books," he teases him.

"Most of them are in the study room. If you want to take a look, I'll show you later. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

They look at each other for a brief moment, uncertain of how to greet each other. In the end, it's Castiel who steps into Dean's personal space and kisses him. The kiss was meant to be quick, but Dean opens his mouth and tugs closer by putting his hands on Castiel's hips. The kiss is something. Or maybe it’s Castiel, but Dean feels the kiss through his body, hot and bothered, scrubbing out the problems from his mind in a flash.

When he pulls away, Castiel's chases his lips; he gives him an additional peck, then smiles. "Help me set the table?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean's voice is rough and clipped. He passes a finger over his lips, chasing Castiel's taste and follows the other in the kitchen, tugging his jeans.

The rest of the evening passes with a renewed sense of familiarity that is scary and enthralling at the same time. They finally have the chance to talk about themselves, their lives and work. Dean is amazed by knowing that Castiel is the last of four brothers and, even rarer, his parents are one of those angel-human couples that are more legend than reality. They both died during the war against the demons, but from Castiel's expression, he's not holding any kind of grudge. Maybe he had a lot of time to deal with their deaths.

At some point, they find themselves on the couch, making out, their hands wandering through the different layers of clothes, rocking together, rubbing.

Castiel lost his shirt somehow, and Dean feels smooth and warm skin under his hands. He presses his palms on Castiel's back, trailing his way up until he reaches the sensitive area of the wing joints, circling them with the fingertips, light and playful. He’s rewarded when the angel bows his head, nuzzling against Dean's neck and giving better access. Castiel's wings lower, one resting on the top of the couch, shadowing Dean from the light like a black cover of tickling feathers, the other pressing against Dean’s right side lightly.

Dean looks at Castiel's wing intently, curious and worked out. The top layers are very different from the lower ones. They are longer and prickly, flight-worn and not radially aligned. They're neglected, feathers messed up and knocked out of place. The lower feathers are newborn, tiny and short, all fluffy and ruffled, smooth.

There are tiny indents of oil glands that Dean strokes before Castiel moves the wings. They're hidden under Castiel's shoulder blades and the joints that connect the wings to his back.

From what Dean understands, the bond between angel mates includes grooming feathers and assuring that they don't grow misshaped or in the wrong direction, which may cause problems during flight. The grooming belongs to the complex relationship between two angels, and only between mates or among very close relatives; touching each other's wings and feathers is a gesture that speaks of intimacy and family.

Dean didn't think when he started his massage, but now the logical part of his mind – the one not controlled by lust – is suggesting that further contact is not a smart move, considering. But, regardless of his reservations, his hands are twitching, wanting nothing more to dig in the softness of Castiel's wings. The angel is not pulling away or refusing contact, so this means something.

Dean sits up and licks his lips. He leans forward, with the purpose, to touch them, but he stops before reaching them. Castiel turns, offering his back, he lowers his wings, still on display in front of Dean. "You can touch them if you want."

There isn't a particular inflection in Castiel's words, but the meaning of those words are clear in his eyes. Dean debates knocking down that barrier or not, before deciding that, what the hell, he just want to pass his hands through Castiel's wings, not sign a marriage contract.

Dean puts a hand in the mess of Castiel's feathers, smoothing and petting them without too much thinking. They're softer than he thought, even the sharp ridged outer ones. He tugs one of them in place, smiling when he hears Castiel's pant, barely muffled. Gaining confidence, he kneels behind Cas, smoothing the messed feathers. Taking full advantage of Castiel's permission, he touches the little, newborn feathers in the scapular region, where the wings spurt from Castiel's back. The area is more sensitive than the wings themselves and Castiel shivers under Dean's touch while his wings are opening widely, eager to get the same, erotic treatment.

Dean's fingers get slick when he brushes the oil glands. He wonders what he should do with it, if he should keep grooming Cas, using the oil to ease the way through the misshaped feathers. Since Castiel doesn't say anything, and Dean is too reticent to ask for information, the man strokes the feathers, straighten them with the oil, until they're exactly like they should be.

It's relaxing once he gets used to it and when Castiel leans his wings forward to the touch, a Dean gives up and moans in pleasure. It gives Dean ideas and a deep sense of satisfaction. Who knows when they'll progress to the sex, but Dean can tug the feathers in his clasped hands, stimuli to add to the wagon, until Castiel is a bundle of pleasure under him - or, more likely, over him -.

His fingers shake and Dean is overwhelmed by the meaning of what he's doing and by the understanding that he's not regretting doing this at all. He should freak out, but he can't tear his hands away from those fluffy wings and from Castiel, who is now moaning, barely hiding his noises of pleasure as he bites his bottom lip. Dean wants Castiel to be vocal, to let him know how much he likes the treatment Dean is dispensing.

In the end, when Castiel's wings are finally groomed, he wraps Dean in the strong arms, deeply satisfied. Dean wonders, for a second, if he has to come up with an excuse and bolt - discretely - to his apartment, dodging the post-grooming cuddles that Castiel is so fond of, but the angel stops him.

"Stay," he orders with a quiet voice. "Stay for the night."

"If you insist," Dean picks up the control with his free hand, reaching instinctively for Castiel's wing with the other. He passes his fingers among the feathers and Castiel tightens his embrace. Minutes after, he's deeply asleep, a western movie flickering lights in the background and Castiel, wide awake, watching over him with an awed expression.

 

 

Dean is such a complicated human being.

Castiel looks at the pile of mid-term papers that he collected in the late afternoon with no desire to read or grade them.

The implications of Dean's gesture from the night before still linger in his mind. He was sure Dean knew about the meaning of grooming, but he probably didn't know what his acceptance meant to Castiel in terms of mating.

Mates. Right.

Castiel is aware that Dean is not exactly on board in that regard, and Castiel ought to explain to him. But last night he was in awe of Dean's decision to groom him. Dean's fingers and his hands blacked-out the functional part of Castiel's brain, reducing him to a boneless mess, overtaken by Dean and all those amazing sensations.

His Mother said that she felt hit by lightning when she met Father. She decided she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him in a matter of hours. Mating is instinctual like that, and Castiel never fully understood it until he found himself completely taken by Dean Winchester.

His wings twitch, longing for Dean's fingers, the faint, mating bond they created with the grooming is making Castiel's chest ache at the loss. His grace is affected by it, reflecting the distress into a physical level, on Castiel's wings and skin.

He scratches his neck, itching to grab his phone and call Dean to arrange something for the night. Even if it's not for grooming, Dean's presence will be more than enough to erase anything in Castiel's mind. He does that, and only when Dean answers affirmatively to it can Castiel breathe freely again. He has to wait for the end of Dean's shift, but it's okay, because Castiel is going to ask him to stay again for the night.

 

 

 

This time, Castiel welcomes Dean by kissing the life out of him. He slides his hands under Dean's shirt, palming his back and using this as a cushion when he pins Dean against the closed front door. Dean claps his hands around Castiel's neck, pulling him impossibly closer, ravaging his mouth with the same hunger.

When the angel moves to kiss his jaw, Dean stretches his hands to touch the wings, grabbing a handful of them in his closed fists. Castiel lets out a strange sound—half a moan, half a growl—and bites Dean's exposed skin until a red mark blossoms on the line of Dean's jaw.

Dean arches his back, grinding their hips together, but Castiel pulls away, breathing heavily. Dean opens his mouth, lips red from the kisses, and exhales a shaky laugh.

"Damn it, Cas. Way to blow my mind," he grins. "And I've barely stepped in."

Castiel's face is flushed, not in embarrassment, but from the hot encounter. "You're complaining?"

"Hell, no."

Castiel's hands slide out from Dean's shirt and Dean releases the feathers still grasped gently in his hands. They both take a few moments to regain their breath, then Castiel moves away.

"Hungry?"

"Had take-away at the office. But I won't say no to a beer."

"Of course," Castiel leads the way to his full-furnished kitchen, goes to the fridge and extracts a couple of cold beers, giving one to Dean.

The cold liquid washes down some of the excitement of the night, but when Dean catches Castiel openly staring at him with his piercing blue eyes full of lust, he decides that, what the hell, he didn't run from the office just to make out.

The sexual tension they've built up is killing Dean and after that mind-blowing kiss, there's no way they'll be stuck at first base tonight. Dean goes forward, biting into Castiel's bottom lip. Seconds later, Castiel is kissing him hard, pressing him against the same spotless counter they were leaning on and pushing his thigh between Dean's legs. Dean rocks on it immediately, his cock half-hard and ready for the action. Dean moans shamelessly and damn, his own voice is so full of lust and the desire to fuck that he looks like a cheap slut.

Castiel finds it exciting, not backing down with his little power play, inserting his hands under Dean's ass and lifting him up on the counter with no effort. He keeps kissing Dean, caressing his belly, his pecs and waistband, until Dean is tugging his shirt off and complaining when Castiel sticks a hand down Dean's jeans, barely touching his briefs, due to the awkward position.

"Great position, genius," Dean groans, itching to get naked and have Castiel's hands and mouth on his body. The angel doesn't let him add anything else, just surges forward, kissing Dean deeply. Then, Castiel grabs Dean's hips, pulling Dean against him and fumbling with Dean's fly.

"I'm full of surprises," Castiel replies. His angelic super strength is fucking exciting and the way he manhandles Dean like he weights nothing is damn hot.

When Dean gets naked—till on the edge of the counter, his jeans and briefs abandoned in a pile on the floor, his ass sitting on the cold surface—his cock is shining with pre-cum and Castiel is jerking him frantically. So damn close, but not what Dean has in mind tonight.

He grabs Castiel's wings, tangling his fingers in the soft feathers and tugs. Castiel hisses, but it's naked pleasure and has nothing to do with pain. Dean tugs again, this time harder. "Want you, Cas. Want you inside."

Cas groans and his wings flap, moving of their own accord to embrace his lover. "Dean, I need to –" There's still indecision in his voice, but his wings seem more honest than his judgement. They touch Dean's shoulder blades, looking for the skin-to-skin contact they're denied by Dean's t-shirt.

"I get it," he almost regrets that Castiel's hand is still on his cock, unmoving, because, damn, Dean wants to wrap his legs around Cas' hips and jump on him. "I got the memo, Cas, fuck me." He wants to tell Cas that Dean's let him in his life more than any of his past relationships. But he can't be open like this. The prospect is fucking scary, but Cas grew on Dean, Cas' presence and his company, and Dean needs him inside, right the fuck now.

That's all Castiel needs from him because he smiles, but keeps jerking Dean off. "I'm going to come," Dean groans in frustration.

"Please, do. I love your abandonment."

"Don't you dare."

"Our first time will not be on the counter of my kitchen," Castiel says biting Dean's bottom lip, sucking. The bastard chuckles. "It's unsanitary." Kiss. "It's not what I want for you." Another kiss.

"I cannot fucking believe it, asshole," Dean snarls, but without heat, as Castiel is increasing the movements of his hand and Dean moans loudly, spilling his come against Castiel's clothes and hand. He pants, dizzy from the orgasm, barely registering when Cas scoops him in his arms and brings him to the bedroom. Dean gets back to himself when the angel lays him down on the white sheets of the bed, kissing him lightly before getting back to his feet.

Dean opens his eyes, chuckling. "Now we're talking."

Castiel is finally undressing himself.

"You had me going there, dude. I thought that you weren't going to fuck me tonight."

Castiel spreading his wings in all their magnificent glory is so hot that lust flares again in Dean's belly and hardens his cock. The angel smirks. "Don't be silly, Dean," he uses his deep husky voice as he makes his way into Dean's spread legs. Castiel bends Dean's knees and rests his hands on Dean's thighs, licking Dean's bellybutton and trailing down, until he has the tip of Dean's hard cock on his mouth.

"Cas!" It's maddening torture – Cas' lips and hot mouth, his proximity, the way he's pinning Dean down on the mattress. Dean is out of his mind after just three minutes of licking, refractory time be damned. "Come on, fucking do it."

"Impatient, aren't you?"

"One of my best qualities, I've been told," Dean tangles a hand in Cas' hair as Cas starts scissoring him open with two fingers. Dean's eyelashes flutter and he stares hypnotized at Cas' wings and the way they fold against his back. Dean thinks about how hot it would be to touch them when Cas is inside him, wonders if the feathers will be slick with oil, what position they'll be in when Cas comes.

"You can do everything you want," Cas whispers, crooking a finger inside Dean and watching with awe as the hunter moans and wriggles.

"I want to touch your wings while you fuck me."

Castiel closes his eyes. When he re-opens them, they're blown wide with lust, the dark pupils taking over the blue of his irises. He slides his fingers out with a pop, places his hands on Dean hips, gripping him tight, and pushes in him. Dean gasps and Castiel starts a steady pace, thrusting progressively harder every time he pounds at Dean's prostate and receives a half scream of pleasure.

"Touch them."

Dean immediately grasps at Castiel's wings, now stretched over him, creating a bundle of incredible intimacy where Dean knows he can lose himself. The expression on Cas' face is so open, so affectionate, so loving. Dean runs his fingers over the feathers, the ones just born, fascinated with the way they sprout, most of them in the wrong direction. He stimulates them, like they're organs of pleasure, and he's re-paid by Castiel shivering under his touch.

This is more than just sex, and if Dean were in denial, this would be the moment to flip the cards and reveal his hand. But Dean's accepted what this is from the moment Castiel showed his intentions, wooed him and created a space in Dean's heart shaped like the feathery ass he's dating. Still. He's not ready.

Castiel stops, cups Dean's cheeks, reassuringly. He's going to say something, but Dean is not ready to hear it. The hunter keeps caressing the feathers until the moment passes and Castiel starts to pound into him again. There isn't time now for slow sex, Castiel wants to stake a claim and Dean wants to be claimed. He grasps at Castiel's wings again, this time tighter, pulling the feathers down while he's coming, adding the little pain that makes Castiel hover over the edge too.

The aftermath is heartbreaking. Castiel kisses him slowly, in adoration, then he slides out, leaving for a minute to gather a wet towel to clean them both. He manhandles Dean under the covers, spooning up behind him and embracing him in his wings like the most precious possession.

This should be goddamn awkward, only it is not.

 

 

Dean doesn't do well in relationships, but surprisingly this one with Castiel is lasting. In the space of a few weeks, Dean has his own toothbrush in Cas' bathroom and two change of clothes in the wardrobe. Coffee suddenly appears in the kitchen and Dean has a little glass bowl in the hallway where he puts his car keys. It's domestic and it's awkward if Dean thinks about this too much, but he forgets the insecurities when he's sleeping next to Cas.

There are times when Dean wants to stay alone, when the work becomes ugly or disappointing, but somehow, Castiel makes it better. Like that one time when Dean was involved in a bad case with multiple killings. When Dean caught the demon, it mocked him, saying that the five victims were only the appetizer and if they had dug deeper, they would have found the other fifteen he drained of blood in the basement of his house.

It was Castiel who took care of him that day.

"You're good," he said with conviction.

"Not enough."

"You can't save everyone."

"I can try."

"You're trying, Dean. You're fighting tooth and nail, but you have to know that you can't save everyone." Castiel's words were harsh, but his hands weren't. He cupped Dean's cheek, smoothing his thumb along the jaw and the thick stubble. "Don't kill yourself over this."

Dean nodded in acknowledgement. He closed his eyes, casting out the tormented face of the mother's victim from that afternoon. Her eyes were still burning in his brain, accusing and defeated, but Castiel's arm around Dean's waist kept him in place.

Every time he's in his crappy apartment, he misses that. Castiel, his comforting presence. Dean likes it and everything he and Castiel do seems to lead to more commitment. Dean's investing in their relationship. He's seeing a future over the long weekends passed in the bed or snuggled up on the couch or the not-so-casual drop-in Dean makes by Castiel's apartment. Sometimes he feels trapped, almost out of breath. More often than not, Dean sets aside his reservations.

Then, everything goes south.

Dean didn't mean to say it. He regretted it as soon as he saw the looks on Mum and Sam's face. They were having Sunday dinner together at Mum's house. Sam was bitching about a new paralegal called Jake who was always in Sam's way. Sam is not usually competitive, but Dean guesses that the antagonism has something to do with the cute psychologist that started working on the third floor of their law firm, Doctor Jessica Moore – who, according to Sam, is sweet and fun and gorgeous. When Dean teases his brother, Sam gets vindictive and mentions Dean's angel.

"You're seeing someone?"

Never mention to a mother that his sons are going out with someone, especially her lover-boy son. Mary blinks a few times. "You're serious about this?"

Sam grins triumphantly. "Dean is being all secretive, but he invited this angel to watch a baseball match at his place."

When Sam stretches over, Dean snags away the bowl with the last portion of mashed potatoes. "No treats for bratty brothers." Sam gives him the bitch face.

Mary reclaims Dean's attention. "Dean, an angel?" She arches an eyebrow, the same way Sam did when Dean first mentioned it.

He shrugs, putting the potatoes on his plate. "We've seeing each other for a while."

Dean is the centre of the attention in a split second. This time, even Sam is looking at Dean with wide eyes.

"Since when?"

"You're still seeing him?" Mary and Sam ask at the same time.

"It's just a month, Mom, no big deal." But it is, and his mother is already on cloud nine. He can see it in the way her eyes brighten up.

Mary puts a hand over Dean's, squeezing it, and gives him a warm smile. "Is he making you happy?"

That's the thing about his Mom. She just looks for reassurance that his son is happy. Everything else is irrelevant in comparison. "Are you happy?" But she seems to see something in Dean's eyes that makes her jump and hug him. "Oh, baby."

"Mom!"

Mary pulls away, not before passing a hand through his short hair, like she used to do when he was a kid. "Can I meet him? Never mind, bring him next Sunday. We want to meet him."

"Mom, I don't–"

"Yes, Dean, we want to meet him," interjects his brother. "This is a record for you. I want to see if he's real or if you made him up."

Sam looks more wary than happy, but, again, Mom is Mom and Sam is probably dying to meet Castiel out of curiosity.

"Shut up, Samantha. Why don’t you bring your girl then?"

"Because we’re not dating. Unlike you and your angel."

"Boys," Mom intervenes. "Dean, I want to meet him, please?"

How can Dean say ‘no’?

 

 

"Mom invited you for lunch next Sunday," Dean announces awkwardly. "She won't take no for an answer."

Castiel looks up, blinks, then nods, pleased. "Of course I'll come. I want to meet your mother."

"And Sam."

"And your brother. You speak so highly of him," Castiel puts the paper he's grading aside, along with his pen, giving Dean his full attention. "I want you to meet my family too, but we can start with my brother Gabriel. He's more – open."

Aka 'my whole family is a group of feathery assed dick-heads'.

"You don't have to."

"I told you, I want to. I was thinking of the right moment to ask you so your mother's invite comes at the right time."

Dean thinks the moment resembles a scene from a chick-flick was too much.

"I'll arrange something with Gabriel. Is it okay to have a dinner here?" Castiel frowns. "But I have to warn you: Gabriel is – very frustrating sometimes."

Dean wants to stop talking about the whole meet the parents thing because this is really too close to being a girly moments, but a warm feeling is already spreading over his chest. "How frustrating," he asks. "Crazy frustrating, bat shit crazy frustrating or ready for a lobotomy frustrating? Maybe he just needs to have sex. It makes miracles happen."

Castiel shakes his head and turns to his papers. "You'll get along with him. I don't even know why I was worrying."

"Are you saying I'm bat shit crazy?"

 

 

"So, this is your boy-toy. Well, I can't say you have bad taste. How's the sex?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. He wouldn't expect anything less from his brother, much less a bit of decency. Although, this is Gabriel, the one who took pissed on their Uncle Raphael's bushes because said uncle grounded him for the night. Not to mention that Gabriel did that in front of their uncle, before zipping up and flying away. That same Gabriel brought Castiel to a strip club for his sixteenth birthday with fake ID and left him there while he had sex with two strippers in a private room.

"Dean, this is my brother Gabriel. Gabriel, this is Dean, and please, behave. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

Gabriel tips an imaginary hat and grins at Dean. "So, gorgeous, you've got nothing to say?"

"Are you high?" Dean uses his best cop's voice. Disbelief is written clearly upon his face, mostly because Gabriel appears the exact opposite of his boyfriend.

"He's always like this, unfortunately," Castiel comments.

"You love me, Cassie!"

Dean snickers, especially at the death-glare Castiel sends Gabriel, but doesn't comment. Castiel motions for them to sit at the table before returning to the stove, taking care of the last preparations. From the kitchen he can hear Gabriel doing his usual to make Dean react. Dean talks back every time, but that seems to please Gabriel.

Despite the rocky start, they really seem to get along and Castiel feels relieved. Although, when he sees Gabriel's copper wings leaning towards Dean, almost looking for his touch, Castiel's instincts override his better judgement, urging him to push Gabriel away from his Dean. His body tenses up when Gabriel's feathers are almost an inch from Dean's cheek. Castiel puts a hand over Dean's thigh, staking a silent claim. His wings spread, his face transfixed in an angry scowl, as Castiel leans towards his brother, his eyes almost dark with fury.

"Cas, what the–"

Gabriel moves his wings of the way and raises both his hands. "Woah, Castiel. Drop your gun, cowboy." His eyes flicker to Dean, then to Castiel again, his expression softens, catching what he was looking for in Castiel's behaviour. "Territorial, huh, bro? Don't get your panties in a twist. He's all yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Gabriel, I think you should go," Castiel ignores Dean's question. His eyes are still on his brother, wary.

Gabriel stands up, flapping his wings a little in the process. As always, his feathers are perfectly aligned, neat and clean, the envy of every unmated angel. Gabriel passes a hand through his feathers immediately, putting them in place. "I'm going, I'm going. For the record, I'm not offended by your jealous outburst. As my little brother, it's possible I spoiled you and you grew up unwilling to share your toys."

"You should know, you broke all my toys," Castiel replies, a playful smile blossoming on his face. He loses his defensive posture, wings now folded, but when Dean stands up too, Castiel put an arm around Dean's waist. "Bye, Gabriel."

Dean gives Cas a dirty look, clearly confused by their exchange, but willing to let it go until they are alone again. Gabriel winks and nods in Dean's directions, before going out on the balcony and soaring into the sky.

The dying light of the sunset sets Gabriel's body in a red glow, while the shades of the evening darken his copper wings. Castiel stares at the small figure of his brother for a long time, regretting his burst, even as Dean frees himself from his arm and demands explanations.

"What the hell, dude? What was that?"

Castiel turns his attention to Dean, his face expressionless. "My apologies. It seems I overreacted."

"Ya think, genius?"

Dean goes to the bedroom, probably searching for some space. "Next time don't treat me like a possession. And, jeez, Cas, he's your brother!"

Castiel thinks about letting it go. But then his feet move og their own accord, striding to the bedroom. He reaches for his lover and crashes their lips together in a forceful kiss, the jealousy still playing dirty with his thoughts and actions. Dean widens his eyes, surprised, but he reciprocates immediately, hips instinctively bucking against Castiel's bulge.

Dean can deny he belongs to Castiel with words, but with his actions he's telling a completely different story. Dean's actions are more sincere. They reflect the responsiveness of his body, always in search of further contact, of Castiel's touches on his skin. Every time Dean stares at Castiel's wings, a lustful desire flares in his eyes, barely hidden by the unconscious shying away from Dean's part, like he's doing something disrespectful. This time is no different. Dean is looking at the wings, but doesn't stretch out to touch them. It's like Dean is always duelling with the desire to let himself go and his emotional restraints.

Castiel's heart swells a little and he embraces Dean tightly, engulfing him in a feathered hug. In other circumstances, he would take advantage of the situation making love slowly, savouring each moment, letting Dean sense the love and devotion Castiel feels for him. But today, Castiel needs something for himself.

He needs to mark Dean, to let his actions describe what Castiel is trying to communicate, counting on the gestures to draw a better picture.

Castiel sets a quick pace, stripping off Dean's clothes in a flash. He pushes Dean down on the bed and proceeds to undress himself. "On your hands and knees," Castiel orders with a steady voice. Dean raises his chin for a moment, as if he's considering a refusal, then he obeys.

Suddenly, Castiel slaps his ass, leaving a handprint on the unmarked flesh, caresses the area, then slaps him again. Dean lets out a whimper, more from surprise than pain, and braces himself. When Castiel continues his spanking, he doesn't move from the position, only grabs a handful of sheets, moaning Cas' name.

"You're mine, Dean."

This time, when Castiel caresses Dean's flesh, now redden and stinging, he circles Dean's hole with his fingertips, touching the wrinkled skin while his thumb traces abstract drawings on Dean's left ass-cheek. "Tell me."

Castiel stretches to reach the lube on the nightstand, opening the cap one-handed, struggling a little when Dean adjusts his position to spread his legs more. "Tell me, Dean." Castiel repeats, inserting one slicked finger inside his lover, but not moving.

Dean groans, fucking himself onto the digit, repeating 'yours' frantically between moans. When Castiel is finally sated with Dean's answer, he starts moving his finger, preparing him with one then two of them, while he massages Dean's ass, incredibly warm to the touch.

"Your ass looks good like this."

"My ass is always good, jackass."

"Yes," Castiel agrees. It's true, but Dean's ass now has Castiel's handprint on it and Dean isn't complaining, even enjoyed the treatment. That makes him hotter than usual.

Castiel penetrates Dean slowly, filling him with his hardness and gasping when Dean welcomes him with his usual tight heat. He pounds into Dean roughly, with Dean rocking back at every thrust, synchronizing with the speed of his hand-job, chasing the spark that inflames his body and mind, every fibre of his being. When Dean comes, spilling on the sheets, he rests on his elbows, moaning continuously until Castiel himself fills him up.

"That was –" Dean breathes heavily. His shoulders are glistering with sweat and his ass is still red and sensitive. Castiel pulls out, and Dean collapses to the side, looking at Castiel from below. "Fuck. That was one hell of a fuck."

Dean makes an amazing view, spread out on their bed – yeah, Castiel likes to call it that –, sated, with his pupils blown out and his lips half-opened, waiting for a kiss. Castiel trails a hand over Dean's arm and shoulder until he touches his plump lips, then, without resisting any longer, he bends over him, kissing him slowly.

"Love you," he whispers, still on Dean's lips. "You're mine."

"I am," Dean reassures, throwing an arm around Castiel's waist and dragging him down. "I am, Cas."

 

 

 

On Friday, Dean finds Gabriel at Castiel's place, sitting comfortable on the couch and eating marshmallows and gummy bears. He's watching what looks like it's a bad porno, with an Hungarian dude and an actress with fake boobs.

"Hey, Dean-o," he welcomes looking briefly at him. "Where's Castiel?"

"He's still working, you know, what normal people do," Dean answers rubbing his eyes and dropping on the couch. He stretches his arm and grabs one of beers Gabriel has put on the floor. "A porn? Why are you watching porn here?"

"My TV broke," Gabriel replies.

"Then buy another one."

"I did. They're installing it right know. But I got bored. The tech guys weren’t hot, and it's Friday, so I thought I'd drop by. You're not happy to see me? I thought we were great friends." Gabriel scratches his nose, then offers his sweets. "Sugar?"

"Man, that's disgusting. How many cavities do you have?"

Gabriel's wings move, almost mocking him. "Aaaaangel. You know, no cavities. Angel juice is awesome." He stops, leaning towards Dean, then smirks. "Oh-oh, someone has been a naughty boyyyyy!"

"Castiel is a fucking vampire," Dean says passing a hand over his neck where he knows there’s a line of hickeys.

"They're not love bites, Deanie-yo, they're claims," Gabriel doesn't seem annoyed by Dean's slowness or his ignorance of angel's interactions. More amused than anything. "Cassie has a possessive streak, apparently."

Suddenly, the idea of Gabriel looking and judging Cas' hickeys on his neck isn't appealing at all and Dean straightens up the lapel of his shirt. Cas needs to cut off this public displays or Dean will become the joke of his department, not to mention he'll lose credibility in front of witnesses.

"Any other reason why you're here, Gabriel?"

Gabriel rests his elbows on the armrest of the couch.

Memories of the night before, when he was bent over that couch, with Castiel pounding into him makes Dean look away. A boner in front of his boyfriend's brother is nine levels of inappropriate, especially considering that Gabriel won't let Dean ever live it down. He’ll probably enjoy himself knowing it, the perv.

"If you're done with your honeymoon period, I have a proposition that includes you, Cassie and me, alcohol and a strip club. You look like a male pro-strippers, you’ll be a good influence on my brother." Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows. "Even if it’s difficult to find a stripper with your lips. Anyway, in or out?"

"I think I'll pass. I'm on call tonight," he motions at his belt, where he keeps his badge. Dean ignores everything else that Gabriel said.

Gabriel scrunches his nose, disgusted. "You're no fun, Winchester."

"It's called work, and I know Cas has to grade tons of papers from his students."

"How responsible of you. Well, your loss."

"I’m sure we'll find our own way of having fun."

"I’m sure you will." Gabriel says pointing at Castiel’s marks. "There might not be enough space left though."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, come on, Dean, I know you like me," Gabriel's feathers brush slightly against Dean's cheek. It's involuntary, and Gabriel moves away quickly, but the sensation of softness remains against Dean's cheekbones. "Well, I gotta go. Since, Mr. and Mrs. Stuffed In The Ass are no fun. Tell Cassie I stopped by, and he better call me tomorrow with his apologies. He’s neglecting his big brother."

Dean thinks of Sam and the upcoming meal of doom. He doubts it’ll be as crazy as the one with Gabriel, but who knows. "Sure."

"Keep watching the porn, Dean. Instructive stuff."

 

 

Dean's team starts Saturday looking at a crime scene in the outskirts of town. A man in his forties had his throat sliced open and is laying on twigs and garbage. His fingers are curled and twisted in the rigor mortis, but his eyes are wide open, terrified, staring at an imaginary enemy.

A jogger made that horrible discovery early in the morning during his usual run. All the signs seem to point to a demonic ritual; there are marks on the man's skin, carved in his chest in a complicated map of symbols. The man was tortured before the killer sliced his throat, but no witness seemed to have heard the victim's screams.

They split up. Victor goes back to the office to harass the legal doctor for the autopsy results. Dean and Jo go to the apartment of the victim. Strangely enough, the victim has his driving licence and a couple of dollars in his wallet. The address brings the two hunters to a smelly building where a landlady with no manners guides them to a messy apartment. There are take-away boxes along every surfaces and several books of dark magic written in Latin.

"Someone needed to get laid," Dean comments as he reads the title of the books. A couple of them are false, full of crap and fake spells, but one or two are actually real dark magic books. Those have formulas for summoning demons and some voodoo curses. Mr. Victim is not the brightest crayon in the box, just an amateur, but sometimes, even amateurs can be dangerous.

A loud noise makes Dean and Jo turn around and they shift their attention from the apartment to the door, now closed. The landlady is still there, grinning evilly at them, her crinkled forehead frowned.

"Hey, lady, is this –"

The old lady closes her fists, cutting off their voices. "Sh, sh, little hunters. The hunt is just begun."

The officers extract their guns and Dean shoots at her shoulder. She waves her hand and throws them against the nearest wall. The landlady's face is twists into an ugly mask before she throws Jo against a table. Dean takes aim and shoots again, this time aiming at her heart. With a last desperate attempt to stop him, the demon crooks her hand, putting her remaining strength into taking her revenge.

Jo screams, but Dean is already flying towards the window and, after a loud crash, he's falling.

 

 

When Dean wakes up, he's in a hospital bed and needles of pain along his arm. Dean moves his fingers with a sigh of relief despite the stabs of pain.

Great. What a great week.

"Wakey, wakey, officer," a nurse with curls in her hair sits beside his bed with a kit for stitches. "You're a lucky son of a bitch, you know that? Falling from the second floor and landing in the garbage? Smelly business, but it saved your life."

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but his mouth is dry.

"Painkillers," she raises her needle. "I have to stitch you up. As I said, lucky fellow. Only a few scratches here and there and a long cut in the forearm."

"My colleague?" he manages to say through his chapped lips. "Is she okay?" The nurse – her surname is Masters, according to the tag on her scrubs – motions to the big plastic glass of water, without moving to help him.

"A couple of scratches too, but she's in the waiting room." Masters finally gives up and hands Dean the glass. "Now be still."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

She glares at him. "And quiet."

The nurse hums under her breath while she's stitching him up, lowering her tone every time she hears a hiss from Dean. Her fingers are firm and experienced, but the expression on her face is bored.

"There you go, officer. Next time? Avoid windows."

Dean flexes the fingers of his wounded arms, the pain numbed down by the anaesthesia. "I'll remember that when the next demon tries to throw me out of a window. I'll tell him to aim at the wall instead."

Nurse Masters chews her gum, pissed off. "So you want a cast and weeks stuck in bed next time? Nice," she remarks.

She collects her stitching materials ready to be thrown away even as she's spilling out instructions as if she's reading them from a manual. "No heavy lifting, take the painkillers the doctor prescribed you, and come back to get the stitches removed in a couple of days. Don't drive tonight and no alcohol."

Jo comes in, catching the last words. The nurse returns to her annoying humming and ignores the other woman completely.

"You losing your touch, Winchester? If I remember correctly, you used to be able to charm all nurses you came across. Don't tell me this is a side effect of dating a nerdy angel?"

"She's a bitch."

"Only because she didn't fall for your charm?"

"No, 'cause she's a bitch. I'm adorable."

"Keep telling yourself that." She looks at him worried when he stands up and has to close his eyes to fight the sudden dizziness. "You alright?"

"Drugs," he replies, taking his stuff from Jo's hands. He folds the jacket one-armed and walks towards the exit.

"You were lucky, Dean." Jo walks with him, her voice low. "I saw you falling out of the window and– " she pinches his side. "You’re such an idiot."

"Hey, it wasn’t me who decide to take a jump out of the window. By the way, do you know what happened?"

"Our Victim was an amateur. Wanted some excitement in his dull life. He summoned the wrong demon and didn’t know that it’s not a game. Oh, and Crazy Landlady was possessed by a demon. She died months ago." Jo shrugs. "Victor is trying to track the summoned demon, but the trail is cold. I’m going back to the DSE right away."

"Good, I’m – "

"No way. You’re going straight home. Painkillers aren’t our friends, remember? You’ll be as useful as a pregnant woman." Jo gives him a stern look. "No discussion. You scared the crap out of me."

"Come on, I'll be as good as new tomorrow."

Jo shakes her head, relieved that Dean isn’t being stubborn. "Victor first, now you. I've always said men are the weaker sex."

"I'll be fine tomorrow."

"I hope so," Jo opens the door of her car. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Before Dean can process what he's saying, Castiel's name and his address are on his lips and Jo arches an eyebrow, impressed, but doesn't comment. Yeah, damn painkillers.

When he finally gets back to Castiel's place, Dean's head is pounding painfully and his arm tingles from his fingers to the shoulder. Castiel isn't there, but when Dean checks his phone, there are two missed calls and a text asking Dean to call him as soon as he can.

Dean makes it to the bedroom, crossing the apartment in the dark, and lays down, fumbling with the buttons of his cell. Castiel's voice is frantic when he answers: "Dean! Are you okay?"

If the effect of the painkillers weren't almost over, Dean would ask how Castiel knew about his trip to the hospital so soon. It's unlikely that Castiel had the chance to see or listen to the news, since he spends the whole morning at the university. "I'm at your place. My arm fucking hurts."

"I'll come immediately."

"No need, man, I'm crashing here. A few hours of sleep and I'll be okay."

"I'm coming anyway," Castiel replies and it seems like he's hurrying, so Dean leaves it. He flips his cell close and hopes the effect of the painkillers is enough to cut him some slack from the pain and let him fall asleep.

When Dean wakes up, his head is pillowed over Castiel's belly, Castiel's fingers passing through Dean's hair. He's on his side, the wounded arm protected by Castiel's left wing, and the pain is only a vague memory.

Blue eyes are watching him with open concern, Castiel's fingertips trace the scars on Dean's arm. The hunter is expecting a painful sensation, but he feels none. He looks at his forearm, free from the bandages, and finds the wound cauterized. "How is it possible? Cas?" he sits up, wide awake. "Cas?"

Black feathers tickle his arm, while Castiel straightens up too. He looks unsure, distinctly indecisive, so Dean asks again. "Tell me, Cas."

"It's my grace," Castiel finally admits. "We're – there's a faint bond between us. I can sense if you're feeling violent emotions, like the pain. That's why I sensed you were in danger. My grace is trying to connect with your soul." He shakes his head, frustrated at his own words. "That's not exactly correct."

"Wait a minute. My – soul?"

"Angels can see souls, Dean."

It seems like nothing, but Dean feels immediately uncomfortable. Fuck, this means Castiel can see how broken he is, how many weaknesses...

"Stop it." Castiel orders harshly. "Your soul is beautiful, vibrant and pure."

"You don't have to lie, man."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

The earnest in Castiel's eyes sweep away Dean's doubts for the moment. He shrugs. "Whatever, dude. What does my soul have to do with your grace?"

"We're bonding, Dean," Castiel continues. "In angel relationships, one searches for the other's grace, trying to imprint and connect with it. My grace has been trying to bond with yours since the first time we met, but, of course, it can't find it, so it tries to connect with your essence, Dean, your soul. It's still faint, but I can share part of my grace with you." He points at Dean's wound. "It's how I helped you heal. I can't do more than that. Our bond is– from my part only." He adds with regret.

"How can I–," Dean stops abruptly. "Never mind."

"How can you respond to our bond?" Castiel guesses his unexpressed question with a pleased smile. "You just have to accept it. A bond is all about consent."

Dean puts a hand over Castiel's shoulder, scooting closer. He looks at the light stubble on Cas' face, at his full lips. When Dean's with him the rest of the world is far, far away. He's in a safe place, in Cas' arms and wings, and knowing what Castiel's grace is trying to do is– overwhelming. But intense. Damn, a week before they were hooking up and now Dean is searching for a bond, willingly? Talk about easy.

"I'm yours," he says, a little embarrassed, but it’s important that Castiel knows it. "You know it."

"I know," Castiel nods. "You'll feel me too. One day." And when Castiel kisses him this time, Dean feels something different, like a tug that pushes him to claim his angel with more than a simple kiss. It's a need for something, but when Dean tries to understand, the feeling is gone.

 

 

Sunday brunch at Winchester's runs smooth. Mary and Castiel hit it off and that probably has something to do with her weird fascination with angels and their sadistic desire to share and listen embarrassing Dean’s stories. But in the end, it's perfect. Sam manages to come on time and, despite a rusty beginning with Sam using his lawyer's skills to dig into Castiel's life and intentions – very, very awkward and even Mom couldn't have done a better job at embarrassing Dean –, they find a common ground in studies and literature. Both curious about their respective lines of work, the atmosphere for the rest of the brunch is relaxed and Dean hasn't ever had a better time with his Mom and Sam, and Castiel. Three of the most important people in his life all squeezed around a round table.

Castiel fits perfectly in his life and his family. Later, as a reward, Dean blows him in the parking lot of Castiel's place. He kneels in front of Castiel, knees on the concrete between Castiel's open legs, the door of the Impala pressing against Dean's back and the angel's moans filling the otherwise quiet parking lot.

So, everything seems to go pretty well, until Castiel's proposal.

 

 

Dean finds it on the table in front of the couch. Despite spending most of his time at Castiel's apartment, he hasn't move in. It's an amazing sensation opening the door and finding Castiel waiting for him, especially after a tiresome day at work, but the idea of giving up the last bit of his independency is still holding him up.

After one particularly bad shift, Dean finds the box on the table. It's simple, crème coloured, and very light.

"What is this?" Dean asks Castiel, fiddling with the box. "My birthday is in January. We're in May."

Castiel's smile doesn't falter. Castiel sits beside Dean, looking expectant, like he's actually the recipient of the gift and not the gifter. "It's a declaration of interest."

"A what?"

"In angel society, if an angel wants to court someone he will do so with an official declaration of interest," he nods at the box. "This is mine."

If Castiel didn't have that earnest expression, Dean would laugh in his face, give back the box and mock him forever. Or be offended that he's considered the subject of a courting.

"I thought we passed that stage."

"It's different," Castiel explains. "Angels can have unattached relationships, the human kind, but not for long." he motions to the box again. "This has a different, deeper meaning."

The full implications of Cas' declaration hit Dean hard. The box is suddenly heavy in his hands, carrying a burden and a responsibility Dean isn't sure he wants to have. They talked about angel traditions, of course, and Dean did a little digging on internet, but he never got around the courting part. Or at least, not the –

"Do you want to nest with me?" It isn't his intention to pronounce 'nest' so harshly, but this is frigging crazy. "I'm a man."

Castiel seems annoyed, his right wing twitches nervously. "We don't nest, Dean. We mate."

"Same thing. And, again, I'm a man."

Castiel shrugs. "It's not unheard of."

Dean puts the box down over the small table. He looks away, because he doesn't want to see the stricken look on Cas' face. "You're kidding."

"I wouldn't kid about something like this."

"You have to be. This is– madness. It's–"

"Dean," Castiel interrupts him. "It is so strange, so impossible to want to spend my life with you? I love you and I want to be with you."

"I'm not an angel, this can't be a– mating."

"It is. When humans want to spend their life with their loved ones, they propose, marry and have children. The same way angels mate. I'm not asking you to marry me. I could, even if it wouldn't matter in my culture. But a mating has a deeper meaning than a marriage. It's more than an exchange of vows and rings, it's the quintessence of sharing, an unbreakable bond made by my grace and your soul. I want us to have this." Castiel sighs, his eyes impossibly serious. He looks at the box. "This is the first step of the mating process: showing my intentions. You can either accept it or refuse it, it's up to you."

Dean rubs a hand over his face. "Cas, we've known each other for six months and you’re asking me to mate with you? It’s – it’s huge and I don’t even know if I want it."

Castiel stands up and Dean feels officially like an ass. "I've already told you that my Father was a human. Once, I asked my Mother why she chose Father and how she was so sure he was the one. In angel society we don't mate for chemistry or romance, it's more– metaphysical, and it's the grace that does the hitching. That's why there are so few matings between angels and humans," Castiel takes a deep breath. "You know what she told me? She said 'It's not a matter of choice. She said I'd see it all at once'. I didn't understand her words until I saw you at the bar that day. I saw your soul even before meeting you and I knew. Every time we got closer, I felt it, you felt right. Then I started to get to know you and I fell in love." Castiel's wings are moving relentlessly, giving away a nervousness that Castiel isn't showing in his voice. "Just think about it."

 

 

*°*

 

 

Dean does the first thing he could think of. He goes to his mother's place. He considers going back to his apartment or better yet, the nearest bar, but before he knows it, he's driving home.

Mary welcomes him with a hug and kiss on the cheek. She must see how troubled he is, because she gives him her best reassuring smile and invites him for dinner. She even prepares his favourite dishes and patiently waits for his son to confess what is going on.

Since he couldn't switched off his cell, Dean leaves in the jacket, but the ringtone is loud enough to be heard to the kitchen.

Castiel doesn't call once.

In the end, between an episode of Doctor Sexy MD, Dean confesses what happened.

"Oh, Dean."

Dean furrows his brows.

"You're exactly like your father in this," Marry says. "Always ready to give everything when your heart is set. You're in love with him. I know this is scary, because Cas is an angel and he's asking something for something that a human might not be able to handle, sometimes. But mating is a serious matter in angel society. Mating is forever."

"That's what I'm scared of," he admits quietly.

Mary shakes her head, puts her hand on Dean's thigh, reassuring. "Sweetie, that's not what you're afraid of. You're scared of not being enough for Castiel, that he's spoiling the chance of a lifetime with you, a human, that cannot give him the same bond he can have with other angels. You think you're running away from commitments, but that's not true, Dean. You're the most responsible man I know. You've always been like this, since Sammy was a kid and you set your mind to the fact that his safety was your responsibility. You never back down. You commit yourself every day at work and you blame yourself when you disappoint someone."

Mary's face is serious, but there is a softness in her eyes. Dean's faults aren't weaknesses in her heart. They are something that makes Dean special, precious. Dean's throat starts tightening up as he catches her tone of voice, when he realizes just how proud of him his mom is.

"I know you were in love with Lisa, but you left her when your job got in the way of her happiness. You don't commit yourself because there's always something that stops you and you prevents those commitments before you can disappoint anyone."

"I – " Dean looks down. Damn tears prickling in his eyes.

"You two are in love, I see that. You need to trust Castiel, his feelings and his wishes, because he's not the kind of person who fools himself and others. Dean, do what makes you happy or you'll live with this ghost forever."

 

 

 

It's almost dawn when Castiel decides to move from his sitting position on the bed to the kitchen, stomping his feet a little, still half-asleep. The events from the night before had plagued him, refusing him the comfort of sleep. He shouldn't feel this exhausted, but the stress has caused a massive loss of feathers, that now are laying all over the bedroom. He doesn't have any desire to clean them, not when the fear of losing Dean has his stomach in a painful grip.

He looks at the empty coffee pot on the counter. Usually, the pot is fuming after Dean prepares coffee for himself, leaving at least two cups for Castiel. The lack of their usual routine is a stab to his chest and another feather falls on the floor, black like the color of Castiel's life without Dean.
'You'll see it all at once'.

Castiel keeps looking at the coffee pot, eyes dull and the taste of bile in his mouth. Maybe Dean is coming home later, when he's cooled down. Or maybe Castiel will come back home and find Dean's stuff gone.

He tries not to focus on his bond with Dean, tries not to search for evidence of his mood. Castiel restricted his grace so that it wouldn't search for his companion and now Castiel feels the physical consequences of his self-control. It's painful to breathe, his body barely containing his mad grace. The bond is stronger than he first thought and it's going to be a slow and difficult process to reintegrate his grace into normality – is really happening? Is he really going back to his pre-Dean period? –.

A noise distracts him. Door closed, heavy steps, the tinkle of keys put in the glass bowl.. Castiel is out of the kitchen in a second, his eyes wide, and a lump in his throat stopping him from saying anything when he spots Dean in the sitting room, picking up the box he left on the table.

"Dean."

Dean turns around. He's got dark circles under his eyes that match with Castiel's. Instinctively, Castiel lets his grace search for his mark in Dean's soul and it finds it intact.

"Dean. It's fine," he let out before thinking. "Mating is not necessary," he lies.

His grace is going to drive him crazy with the need for stability, but it's fine. Castiel can control it, for Dean, he will. If he stays. "It's fine," he croaks out, doesn't move, watching Dean standing still. "I love you. Stay."

Dean opens the box. His face changes, from determined to awed, as he sees one of Castiel’s mating feathers in there. It's one of the ones Castiel plucked out himself with the sole purpose of giving Dean a token of his essence. Dean walks towards Castiel, still holding the box in his hands.

"Yes," he says. "If you're still asking, it's yes."

It happens all at once. One moment Castiel is scared and pleading, desperate to have Dean still with him, and in the next Castiel is kissing Dean fervently, cupping his cheeks. Dean is kissing him back with the same passion. He puts down the box and Castiel moves his hands to cup Dean's ass, lifts him up, wrapping his arms under Dean.

They keep kissing all the way to the bed, until Castiel puts the hunter down. He undoes Dean's jeans, sliding them down enough for Dean to kick them off along his with shoes. The rest of their clothes come off quickly and with little care, leaving them finally naked, their body skin-to-skin.

Dean's fingers curl around Castiel's cock and start to move. He hooks an arm around Cas' neck, yanking him down for an open-mouthed kiss that swallows down Cas' hitched breath at the increasing speed of Dean's movements. He's rock hard, but his skin itches to look for something else, to bask in Dean's yes, and the implications of his choice.

His mate – he now can say that – let out a moan when Castiel nips and bites at his fully-exposed throat. Castiel sucks the area with enthusiasm, leaving a red mark against Dean's freckled skin, visible to everyone. He moves down, this time kissing Dean's collarbone, nipping the skin between his teeth and leaving another mark.

"Fucking hell, Cas, that's–" Dean passes his thumb over the tip of Castiel's cock, now slicked up with pre-cum, but Castiel stops him.

"I want to come inside you. I want you to feel me." Dean's long lashes flutter and Castiel kisses his forehead tenderly. "You're mine. You're finally mine."

"I've always been your, idiot," retorts Dean. He looks up, cheek flushed and pupils wide. "I want to feel you. I want to feel it."

Castiel's mouth dries completely. An intense surge of excitement stirs in his belly, threatening to tip him over the edge without being touched.

"I want to feel your grace."

Castiel knows that when he slides inside Dean that he's going to come immediately, but damn, he needs it so bad. He needs to feel another mark of ownership, coating Dean's insides with his come. It's almost an animalistic instinct as he puts two fingers in his mouth, slicking them with saliva and frantically starting to prepare Dean. His loves Dean's mewls at the sudden burn, but Castiel showers him with attention, kissing every inch of Dean's body he can reach, shushing his pain with pleasure, until Dean is panting, desperate to come, his cock hard and leaking between their bellies.

Castiel slides in slowly, careful not to hurt him more, then he stops, waiting for Dean to grow accustomed to his cock. Dean's lips are cherry read, soft and sensitive, and Castiel licks them. "Come on, Cas, move," Dean arches, impaling himself on Cas' cock. He closes his eyes, opening his mouth as he draws a shaky breath, writhing over the sheets. "Need you."

"Dean, look at me."

Dean lets out another shaky breath and looks up at Castiel looming above him.

"I want your eyes on me, all the time."

Dean inhales as Castiel thrusts into him, stealing his breath away again. He tries to keep his eyes on Castiel. And when his eyelashes flutter, it's enough to make Castiel groan in displeasure, like Dean's disappointed him. But that doesn't stop Castiel from thrusting into Dean harder, this time to regain his attention and monopolize it.

"Cas," Dean opens his legs even more, arching his back when the new position makes Castiel pound his prostate again and again. He reaches for his lover, tangling his hands behind Castiel's neck and surging to meet his lips. He's so close, so damn close, and Castiel fills him amazingly.

Castiel tastes like perfection and heaven. Castiel buries himself deep inside Dean, with that adoring expression on his face, like Dean is his heaven.

"My mate, love," Castiel whispers before kissing him hungrily. He always knows when something is troubling Dean's mind and his insecurities are taking over. He doesn't seem to have problems in reminding Dean how much he's really worth, not now that Dean finally accepted Castiel as his mate.

Their tongues are duelling at a slow pace. They're savouring each other, sharing breath, saliva, and something more intimate. Castiel's grace aches to be united to Dean's soul, and from the look in Dean's eyes, he wants to feel it too.

Castiel bites Dean's bottom lip with his teeth, stealing his moans of pleasure. "I need your consent, Dean."

"You have it, Cas!" Dean screams, grabbing Castiel's arm tight. "Damn, I'm yours! You know it!"

Castiel's face breaks into a smile, almost carefree. "No take backs, Dean."

"Never."

Castiel moves a hand from Dean's hip to his shoulder. "Look me in the eyes."

The angel's blue eyes start glowing, white and golden, but Dean doesn't look away. Castiel's wings are magnificent, spread out on his back, showing an impressive wingspan and black-raven feathers. In a sudden movement, he embraces Dean's body in his powerful wings, so the two of them are now pressed close in a blanket of soft and ticklish feathers.

Castiel stops his thrusting, on the edge of the orgasm, and lets his grace do what it wants. His power is like a wave of water and Dean opens his mouth in a silent scream, the grace finally free to touch Dean's soul, encountering acceptance. The union of their bodies and their essences is too much and Castiel goes into sensory overload, spilling his seed inside Dean at the same time that Dean screams and paints their bellies, dirtying some of Castiel's feathers.

They roll on the bed, side by side, Dean kept close by one of Castiel's wings, while they try to regain some strength.

"Is going to be – always like this?" Dean asks after a while, still panting. "You'll kill me one day."

Cas chuckles, amused, and his wing bends, pushing Dean to rest against his sweating chest. "No, we will be able to control it. Especially after the real mating ceremony, when we will be truly bonded."

Dean snorts, closing his eyes and getting comfortable against his lover's side. "Ceremony? You never told me about that. Who's wearing the gown?"

"We should really discuss the ceremony and the angel traditions."

"Definitely not now," Dean entangles their legs together. "What time is it?"

"Five o'clock. Still a couple of hours, you can rest."

"Celebratory sex is mandatory tonight," Dean's voice is already slurring from the tiredness.

"And what did just do?"

"This was post-yes sex, but there's no time for another round, so, celebratory sex is postponed until tonight."

"Your logic astounds me."

Dean laughs against Castiel's throat. The first light of the dawn enters the room, but they're both too tired and fucked out to care about that. Instead they press closer, careless of the sticky mess between them – Castiel will probably regret this choice when his feathers are all glued up together in a couple of hours –.

"We're getting mated as soon as possible." Castiel swears, on the verge of succumbing to sleep. "You know what this means, right?" Castiel keeps Dean against the chest, his ear pressed to Dean's heart. "You have to meet my whole family."

"Lucky me," Dean comments, but, hell, he is.

 

 

 

The family dinner with the angels is a predicted disaster.

Michael appears perplexed at the beginning, then openly furious at the end of it, due to Dean's unwillingness to take shit from anybody when provoked. Lucifer bitches the whole time, from appetizers to desserts, prodding and commenting every two minutes. Raphael, who was invited to the dinner by Michael not Castiel, is the nastiest. The relationship between Raphael and the four brothers is strained at best, but it doesn't spare Dean Raphael's bitching about how degrading and meaningless their mating is for Castiel. Dean doesn't have any problems with putting him in his place, but Raphael makes the entire dinner a nasty business.

The only one who doesn't attack either of them is Gabriel who basically laughs during the whole meal, siding with Cas and Dean.

"Dickheads." Dean sits on the couch as soon as they step into Cas' apartment. Or their apartment, now.

Castiel fetches a couple of beers from the fridge before sitting next to his lover. "I agree." His eyes are tired, but he snuggles into Dean's side with a sigh.

"Raphael is an ass." Dean takes a sip of his beer. "How can you stand him? Family reunions must suck."

"We don't do family reunions luckily and Raphael– He's still holding a grudge against my Mother for choosing my Father as a mate."

"Song remains the same," Dean comments. "No wonder why old Raph is trying to smite me with his death glare. Oh wait, can you smite someone for real with your angel mojo?"

Castiel rests his head on Dean's shoulder, for a long moment. They don't speak, wrapped up in a comfortable silence, until Dean mumbles something about needing a bed and a good night sleep. He can't wait until the day from hell is finally over and he can end it the same way it began, in Cas' bed, snuggling and listening to each other breaths.

 

 

*°*

 

 

Dean is in the middle of a briefing when Zachariah asks him to have a word in private. It turns out Zachariah heard about the upcoming mating ceremony (Jo and Victor are loud like that) and wanted to clear up the rumour. Instead of being pissed off, Zachariah seems off balance, unsure of his own reaction.

The day keeps getting better and better when Michael calls Dean on his phone – who knows how he got it –, asking Dean to spare a few moments so they can talk.

"I thought you had enough yesterday," Dean says when he sits down across Michael. The angel chose a secluded spot in a classy bar, far away from the counter and indiscreet ears. "What do you want?"

Michael's face scrunches at Dean's blunt welcoming. He's probably thinking Dean not only has terrible table manners, but was also raised by pigs. "As I said over the phone, I want to talk to you." Michael sighs, sipping his drink. "You know our parents' story. You know that they were human and angel."

"Cas told me."

"Did he tell you how hard it was for them to reach a balance after their mating?"

Dean bristles. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Humans don't have grace to complete the full bond. It's true, they can use their soul, but it's so difficult to handle that it's almost impossible to get them work together." Michael stops and looks Dean straight in the eyes. "It's like mixing together ingredients for a bomb, and one tiny flare can set it off. Only, it's not a bomb, it's a nuclear explosion and it will burn you and Castiel. Matings are between our own kin. Humans are not meant to bear this," he grimaces. "Humans are not worthy of mating with angels. We’re just different. And I know that, deep down, you acknowledge that too."

It’s like being hit by a baseball bat. Michael’s words play against Castiel’s assertions that everything is fine. Dean is not necessarily an insecure man, but, being chosen by an angel as a mate is something huge and sometimes he has his doubts.

"It’s none of your goddamn business."

"It is, Dean. Castiel is my brother. I care for him," Michael replies, then stands up. "I’m sure you realise that I want his well-being. And that means avoiding him future troubles." He ends the conversation, careless of Dean’s reply, glad to have planted the doubt in Dean's mind.

Castiel knows that something is wrong the moment Dean steps into their apartment. And yeah, Dean sold his place in the end.

It's like Dean's expression says something that puts Castiel on the edge. Castiel looks straight into his eyes, serious, and says. "Don't even think about it."

Later on, Castiel explains why he hid the truth, because Michael was right, but only to a certain extent.

"It's going to be okay, Dean," Castiel reassures him. "You're different from Father." He scoots closer, putting a hand on Dean's arm, his forehead frowned in deep concentration. "Don't you feel it?"

Dean does. He isn't sure at first what he is feeling, but it's an amazing sensation that starts from his chest and spreads to all his limbs. It steals his breath, Castiel does, without needing to touch Dean. Slowly, Castiel smiles. Another tug and this time Dean focuses on trapping that feeling.

"What is it?"

"It's my grace, Dean. It's looking for your soul and you– you're touching it."

Dean opens his mouth to protest because yeah, Cas you're drunk, there's no way my soul is skinny-dipping in your grace. You've watched too many sci-fi movies?, but he feels it again. This time loaded with what Castiel is experiencing right now, the same, deep sense of fulfilment, the same love. It's different from the mind-blowing sensation that overtook him during that one time they had sex. It's tender and affectionate, almost normal, and that’s the thing that throws him out off balance. In the middle of the sex is one thing, but while they’re quietly conversing? That’s different.

"You're not my Father. You're a very special human and we connected right away," Castiel continues. "I never said a thing about how difficult it could be for you because I know it won't be. You accepted me a long time ago and your soul kept trying to connect every time we were together. I haven't responded with my grace, as much I wanted to, but I felt every time you were searching for me." He kisses Dean lightly on the lips.

"I thought–"

"I know what you thought." Castiel says sliding his hands under Dean's shirt, pulling it away. He presses his palms flat on Dean's back, pulling him closer and biting his neck. "And you’re wrong. Now please forget your conversation with Michael. I know what I’m doing. I trust you and you have to trust me. Michael can go fuck himself."

Dean leans against the angel, closing his eyes and enjoying for the first time the joy of having Castiel marking his collarbone at the same time as his grace touches his soul. It's the most erotic feeling he's ever felt because it's fuelled by trust and companionship.

"Cas–"

"Yes?"

"Your brother is a dickhead."

 

 

 

It turns out Dean has a dick-head for brother too.

"You're kidding, right? You're not serious."

Sam is supposed to be the brains of the family, but sometimes he's a really big pain in Dean's ass. When Dean announces his ever looming mating ceremony – hello? It's like marriage! Dean Winchester is marrying! - Sam's bitch face throws Dean off balance.

"No, this isn't a joke, Sammy," Dean repeats tiredly.

Mary gets in between her two sons, hugging her firstborn tightly. "Oh, Dean, I'm so happy for you!" Her green eyes are shining with tears. "My baby is getting married, oh, sweetie!"

"It's not a marriage," snorts Sam, bitching like usual. "It's –"

"It's like marriage," corrects Dean. "It's made of trust and love and companionship. It's marriage."

"You'll have a damn collar around your neck!" Oh, Sammy did his homework. Not surprising.

"I know."

Castiel explained it to him when they were discussing the ceremony. The collar is part of the tradition, one of the many things that will remind Dean that he belongs to Castiel. It’s done in every human-angel mating, as a sign of the human embracing his honoured position as an angel’s mate. It's tangible proof of being off the market.

At first, Dean wasn’t happy at all with the collar, but he grew accustomed to it, mostly because he finds it hot wearing it, likes how it screams he’s Castiel’s. He likes to know it, not just in their bedroom, but at all times During work they agreed that it would be hidden under the collar of Dean's jacket, but apart from that Dean will show it.

“How do you feel about that?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck tiredly. "It's my mating, Sam."

"It's barbaric!" Sam's words hit him like a whip, merciless. "Dean, you can't –"

"It's my choice, dammit!"

"You think it’s your choice."

"It is! Sam, what the hell –"

"Boys," Mary intervenes. She sends a hard look at her second born, disappointed in his reaction to the news. "Sam, you should trust Dean's judgement. He's right. This is a mating, but it's not something barbaric or sordid. It's a joyful event and a huge honour. And if you can't see how lucky Dean and Cas are to have found each other, you should at least feel happy for your brother."

Dean gives her a thankful smile. Sam seems ready to starts bitching again, even if his expression is now guilty, but Mary shakes her head, preventing his complaints. Sam is out of the house in a second later.

It reminds Dean of Sam’s high school years, when living with the teenager was hard work, especially when Dad was still alive.

It hurts that his little brother is not accepting this, and after meeting Cas’ family he'd thought it'd be a relief to tell his own.

Mary takes her son's arm. "He'll come along. I know it, and he'll give you away." She’s probably right, but Sam’s rejection still stings. "Tell me everything. When will it be?" She claps her hands together, excited. "Since it's the first mating between an angel and a human in eighty years I think you should have a two-way ceremony. You can combine angel and human traditions. What do you think?"

"Mom, it’s going to be so much work."

"Nonsense. It’s your mating. It only happens once, so don’t you dare say it’s too much work. I’ll take care of that, if you want."

"I’m not sure I want this. You’re scary."

Mary laughs heartily. She looks at John’s photo over the fireplace, then smiles. "Let me talk with Castiel. I’m sure we can do something together."

Dean groans.

 

 

"Daddy!"

Dean opens his arms and scoops up his son. Alec looks exhausted. His two year birthday party had made him tired, but Alec didn’t want to miss a second of it and he kept running around, showered by his relatives’ attentions.

The sandy blond head rests against Dean's heart, and Alec closes his eyes, relaxing in the arms of his dad. Alec's cheeks are flushed red from excitement, and the corner of his little mouth is dirty with chocolate. Gabriel’s chocolate, probably. Dean has to have a word with him because there’s no way his son is going to become a sugar-addict like his uncle.

Castiel comes up behind them with the rest of the pie in his hands. Dean throws an interested look at it, and Castiel rolls his eyes, exasperated, before taking part of the crust and feeding his mate.

"You two are exactly the same," he comments as Dean chews happily. Castiel pats Alec's head. The child moves, but then relaxes under the caresses of his Dad, nuzzling closer to his Daddy. "He's such a Daddy's boy," Castiel adds with a smile.

"Watch your tongue, Mr. Don't be a naughty boy," he lowers his voice, but Alec doesn't stir, just grabs Dean's shirt in his little fist.

"Oh, no, he's just like you," Dean chuckles, looking from his son's grip to his mate, now clutching his shirt unconsciously. "See?"

Castiel moves his hand from Dean's hips to the handprint on Dean's forearm,, dark red, on his lover's fair skin. It's more than a simple scar. Dean looks at his shoulder, feeling his chest tighten. Both the handprint and the collar decorated with Enochian sigils he has around his neck are their angelic wedding bands. The scar was burned into Dean's arm with Castiel's grace and soul, and the collar is the evidence of Dean's belonging to Cas. They also have human wedding bands around their ring fingers, from the human marriage ceremony that Mary wanted for her son.

Sam came around, eventually, full of apologies and asking for forgiveness, that Dean, of course, granted. He was the one who gave Dean away, and now he's competing against Gabriel for the title of World Best Uncle (but the angel uses sweets, so it's not actually fair).

After their mating, Dean and Cas moved from the skyscraper area to one borderline between the two parts of the town. Then, a year after, Lucifer gave them the most beautiful gift. Because of him, Dean and Castiel adopted Alec who was only five months old at the time. He was an orphaned angel and both Dean and Castiel fell in love with him at first sight. They filed adoption papers with help from Lucifer who threatened everyone in order to speed up the process.

"Alec is beat. I'll take him to bed," Dean says. "Run away with us. Let them clear everything up."

Dean looks around, spotting his brother and Sam's fiancé, Jessica. Them, Mom, the family friends, and Castiel's brothers – all of them, including an always pouting Michael – are chatting with Dean's colleagues.
Castiel smiles, placing a kiss on Dean's jaw. His fingers trace the line of the leather collar, as he wraps a wing around Dean's shoulders.

"Mean," he says, but Castiel follows Dean into their home. They spend half an hour looking at Alec sleeping peacefully in Dean's arms, his hand still grabbing Dean's shirt as they sit surrounded by Castiel's wings. They don’t have the heart to put him in his bed, so they stay there, together, staring at their present and future, their grace and soul tangled together, basking in each other's company.

 

A/N and acknowledgements + link for art post --> @ my LJ