Disclaimer: I don't own supernatural and I'm not making any sort of profit from writing this!

Notes: I've written lots of fanfics in the past, but this is my first for Supernatural, so I would appreciate feedback. This takes place during season 5, just after episode 18. Most of the urban legends in this are real local stories and places (I'll leave a note if they're not), I grew up in the place I'm writing about so I've heard my share of weird. The deaths and people in the story are all fictional – except for the Action Park ones, you really can pull up the fatality list on Wikipedia.

This story is also available, with explicit content on Ao3, under the same username, but split up as a series titled 'Another Day in Paradise'. The first part is 'Adventures in Domesticity'. I'm currently working on copying it over from there, and will probably make daily updates until I'm caught up.

Warnings: Very mild dubious consent, PTSD symptoms, Canon-typical torture scenarios, canon-typical violence, graphic sexual content (only in the Ao3 version!), some homophobic language and internalized homophobia

Thanks for reading! Please Comment/Review. I like to know how I'm doing!

Dean groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He felt like he got ran over by a loaded dump truck, and left to fester in a ditch for a week. Hangover. Probably. He rolled over, and squinted as the morning sun assaulted his eyes. Had Sam actually let him sleep past the crack ass of dawn? There must have been an entire herd of pigs flying through a blizzard in hell.

"I am getting too old for this shit," Dean mumbled and unconsciously felt for the gun he kept under his pillow. It wasn't there.

He sat upright, suddenly wide awake and aware that he was naked and freezing. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in his surroundings, and realized he was no longer in the filthy little roach motel he and Sam had booked a room in for the week. He was in someone's bedroom, and that someone had blue silk sheets. ...And a taste for modern art, judging by the colorful abstract paintings hanging on the walls. They were also fast asleep on the other side the unreasonably huge king size bed, with their back facing Dean and currently rolled up in all the blankets. Rude, Dean thought to himself, and gently shook the lightly snoring pile of crumpled up blue patchwork quilt. She didn't stir. At least he apparently went home with a girl who had some class this time. Hopefully she wasn't a cougar. He should sneak out while he still had some dignity. Quickly, Dean searched for his clothes.

"Fuck's sake," He whined, when he found that his clothes weren't tossed on the floor – or over the bench in the adjacent bathroom that was bigger than most of the motel rooms he'd stayed in.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder at the still comatose pile of snoring blankets. He swore to himself and tried rifling through the dresser. He really didn't have time for this. Sam was going to be majorly pissed if he had to work the case by himself. Wait... Dean dropped the pair of socks he was holding and stared at his left hand – at the elegant platinum band, etched with a Celtic looking pattern, that adorned his ring finger. His heart leaped into his throat, and he dove back into the drawer. He'd steal something if he had to. What was this, Vegas? Last time Dean checked they were in New Jersey hunting some asshole he-witch, so deep in the boonies that it could have been Kansas if not for all the mountains. How had he managed to get drunk and hitched in bumfuck nowhere? Had he even been drinking? Dean didn't recall having much more than a beer or two since they left Bobby's a few days back.

There was only men's socks and underwear in the dresser, and a dildo that had to be an exact replica of Andre the Giants... Little giant. Dean cringed and slammed the drawer shut. Gabriel was screwing around with him again. He had to be. There was no way he actually let himself get killed by Lucifer. Obviously he was the "witch" they were hunting and he had gotten to them somehow. The only other alternative was that he had just hooked up with a dude. Definitely Gabriel. He had to get out while the getting was good.

Dean ventured into the closet and found a bunch of suits that looked like the ones he and Sam wore while pretending to be FBI agents. Good enough. He grabbed a black tailored suit, but nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of an electronic alarm clock that was suddenly blaring through the room. Horrified, Dean peeked out of the closet to watch a hand reach out from under the blanket cocoon and fumble around trying to turn it off. Even from the closet, Dean could see a platinum band that probably matched his on the ring finger.

"Shit," He mumbled and grabbed the suit. There was still time. The pile of quilts didn't move, but the snoring had stopped. Dean scrambled to put the suit on, the silence nearly deafening. Cautiously, he tip-toed across the room and reached for the door handle, hardly daring to breathe.

"...Dean?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dead mumbled to himself. He knew that voice. "...Cas?"

"Are you going downstairs? Make some coffee," His angel replied without even crawling out of the blankets to look at him.

"Cas?" Dean asked, hoping he could hide the horror in his voice. "How long have we been married?"

The pile of blankets finally moved to reveal a very sleepy, irritable looking angel that had his hair sticking up in every which direction. He raised his eyebrows and seemed to be studying Dean like he was some sort of wild animal. "About five years. Are you alright? Have the panic attacks started again?"

"No, no! I'm fine. Right. Coffee. I'll, uh, see you downstairs." Dean nearly tripped over himself as he bolted out of the room.

He found the kitchen, and began searching for coffee and filters. He might as well stay, as running would get him a whole lot of nowhere. He knew that well enough by now. The only way out was to play along. Besides, it was just Cas. He could handle Cas – as long as he didn't wind up in bed with him again. That really didn't bear thinking about. Dean liked girls, with their soft curves in all the right places – the bustier the better. He had never, in his entire life, ever had any desire to do the dirty with a dude. True, he and Cas were much more than friends, but this... Gross. And apparently he had panic attacks? Since when? Maybe his coping mechanisms weren't necessarily healthy, but he kept a lid tight on that crap aside from the occasional nightmare.

"Of course, it's a Keurig. How do these stupid things even work?" Dean complained as he read the instructions on the back of a box of hazelnut K-cups that had to belong to Cas. By the time he figured how to work the contraption, Cas had wandered downstairs – in nothing but a pair of gray plaid boxers.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas, clothes please."

"Why? Are we expecting company?"

Dean sighed and handed Cas his coffee. He took a sip of it and sat it on the white marble counter beside Dean. Dean wondered how they managed to afford the place. He wasn't that good at hustling pool, and scamming a few credit cards wouldn't pay the mortgage on a townhouse this nice.

"You forget the sugar."

"Aren't you cold?" Dean quipped, annoyed.

"A little. Let's fix that, darling."

Dean absolutely did not squeal like a little girl as Cas pressed his body against his, and trapped him against the counter. He did nearly pass out when Cas tangled his fingers in his hair, and took him in a kiss that left him gasping for air. The only thought in Dean's mind, was that Cas tasted like hazelnut coffee, and he sort of liked the way he smelled – very faintly of cinnamon. What was left of Dean's sanity completely short-circuited, as Cas straightened his collar and scolded him for his tie being crooked. It felt good. Why did it feel good? No, no. He was not going there. Hell no. Not with Cas, or not-Cas. This Cas was nothing like the one he knew, if he was even an angel. Or, maybe he was what Cas would be like if he had human emotions. He had to find a way to stop this before it went too far, or turned into a time loop that went on for years. Gabriel was a little too proud of his work on that fiasco.

"Anyway, I'll go get dressed then I suppose we had best go to work," Cas said absently, taking another sip of coffee. "I don't relish the idea, though. Anna is an annoying harpy, and she doesn't keep my patient files in the order that I like them in."

"Anna?" Dean asked, frowning. Patients? He must be a doctor or something.

"My secretary, the red-haired one. She's a nightmare, works hard though."

"Oh, right. That Anna." Dean was sure the name wasn't merely a coincidence. He'd bet anything Cas' catty secretary had the same face as a certain Angel.

Dean was in over his head. Cas was driving his car, which made him nervous as hell even though he knew nothing around him was real. Still, how dare he touch Baby without explicit permission. Dean sighed and walked up the sidewalk to the police station. He shouldn't be angry; carpooling was economical and his job was on the way to Cas' office. Plus, he got his own unmarked police cruiser which was kind of badass. Irritably, he walked past the receptionist at the front desk without a greeting.

He had pretended to be a cop for so long, he figured it couldn't be that hard to be a real one. Besides, homicide investigation wasn't that far off from his actual (far less lucrative) job. He would just have to fake it til he made it. Where was his workspace though? He had a look around the station, while exchanging obligatory polite greetings to his co-workers. There was May, the receptionist that he had ignored like a total douche. She was actually a kindhearted little thing that liked to crochet at her desk during downtime. The Sheriff, John, was a complete assclown. None other than Jo Harvelle was a detective in Dean's unit, his partner in fact. He felt something twinge in his chest every time their eyes met, and tried hard not to think of the useless mission that had claimed her and Ellen's lives. Seeing her was even worse than the whole being married to Cas thing. He wasn't sure he could keep his game face on for long.

By lunchtime, Dean had a relatively good idea of who his friends were. Will from HR could go fuck himself, Jo (of course) was in his corner, and he already had an appointment to go drinking with Ian from the forensics lab over the weekend. Jack was good for taking shit around the water cooler with, and Frank was the office drunk who just got divorced. Oh, and John was a homophobic twat. He'd even commented at one point that Dean's marriage was disgraceful for someone who claimed to be an officer of the law. Dean had told him right where he could shove his opinion, which earned him a literal round of applause from Jo and Ian. ...Not that he was particularly thrilled to be playing the role of the token gay guy.

He shared an office with Jo. The wall on her side was covered with Country music posters, and notes for a separate case she was working were strewn across her desk. Currently, she was poring over the case file they had been assigned that morning. She ran her fingers through her curly blonde hair and sighed in exasperation.

"Dude was found dead in his apartment. No signs of forced entry, forensics says it looks like an animal attack. Something ripped his throat out, and his heart was missing. What the shit?" Jo thought aloud and threw the file to Dean who caught it.

"Sounds like a were - " He coughed. "Did they check the windows?"

"Werewolves, right? They eat the heart, don't they?" Jo said and laughed. "My father told me that story when I was a kid, yeah. Anyway, it was on the fourth floor so unless this guy's Spider Man, he didn't go in through a window."

"Definitely a werewolf," Dean agreed and relaxed. So, he was still a hunter – and so was Jo. Something made sense, at last.

"You know, there was that body last week that the other team had with the same MO, except the poor bastard was missing a kidney. Maybe it's a serial killer who marks his vics by leaving missing parts. That would be exciting!" Jo chattered, flicking through the photos of the previous victim on her laptop. "I've never had a serial killer case before!"

Dean sighed and shook his head. She had no idea. What if he got her killed all over again? Maybe she was right, maybe it was just some psycho. Or that crazy asshole Frankenstein doctor that he and Sam buried alive clawed his way out of his grave, and needed a few new parts. Dean cringed and spun around in his chair to face his desk. There was a photo of him and Cas sitting on a bench by a magnolia tree in full bloom, probably from their wedding judging by the matching white suits. Dean picked up the surprisingly heavy silver metal frame and took a closer look. Cas looked happy. He was pretty sure he had never seen the real Cas smile like that. He put the photo down and opened his laptop. He didn't want to think about Cas, and how he'd have to share a bed with him later. Anything but that. Maybe if he kept pretending it was just some shitty dream it would go away.

"Balls," He mumbled as he tried all of his usual passwords to no avail. He squinted at the police emblem on the log in screen as if it was mocking him and thought hard. Where was Sammy when he needed him? What mattered to this version of Dean? Cas, obviously.

"Ugh, you had to reset your password yesterday, too?" Jo butted in sympathetically. "It's your husband's name and your wedding date – that's what you always use. You told me to remind you that, remember? Unless, you ran out of different ways to type it, then you're screwed."

"Nope, but I guess that's why you're reminding me. You know what, I think I wrote it down. I'll be right back."

The good thing about small towns, was that the police station was also town hall, and no one looked twice at Dean as he rifled through the marriage records from five years ago. It didn't take long to find it. Apparently he and Cas had gotten married in the same town on June 7th 2015. Cas had also taken the name Winchester. Did that mean the year was 2020? Dean shook his head and returned to his office. It took him two tries to get it right, and the first thing he did was blast Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls so loudly the entire building could probably hear it. Finally, some god damned normalcy.

When Cas showed up to pick Dean up, he was too busy thinking about the murder case to care much about being Cas' little bitch. He'd pulled up the coroner's reports, and witness statements. Beyond that, it only got weirder. The bodies were torn apart like an animal got to them. The organs were torn out, not cut out. There wasn't any known relation between the two victims, except for the cause of death. One thing stood out to Dean, though. The dead man missing his heart, had been the recipient of a heart transplant a few years back – according to a comment that his wife made when Jo interviewed her. A little digging later, Dean had found that the other victim had been given a kidney transplant around the same time. His first thought, of course, was a vengeful spirit that maybe didn't want their tender bits parceled out to the living. But maybe it was –

"I asked how your day was," Cas said, sounding tired and irritable. He was obviously repeating himself.

Dean blinked and tore his gaze from the view of open farmland that they were driving past. "Sorry, It's been a weird day. Might have a serial killer on our hands. The victims are organ donor recipients, who are well... Missing those pieces."

"Someone cut their organs out?" Cas replied, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "That's barbaric."

"Well, tore them out. It would be a lot less of a mess on the walls if they'd been cut out," Dean explained. "How was your day, Doctor Winchester?"

"Not nearly as exciting as yours," Cas replied. "I spent most of it talking a suicidal terminal cancer patient off the ledge. Sometimes I wonder if that's really the right thing to do. In her shoes, death seems more like a mercy."

So Cas was a shrink. Dean cringed. Could it get any worse? If he was any good at his job, he'd see right through Dean's bullshit and there would be no end to the chick flick drama.

"Anyway, pizza?"

"God yes," Dean agreed. That was just what he needed, some good old fashioned greasy junk food. Good pizza was the only nice thing to come out of the tri-state area as far as Dean was concerned, well except for Bon Jovi and pork roll. Hopefully they also had a bar, because Dean needed a drink. Or ten.