Rating: Mature

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Summary: Dean and Cas have been friends since high school – they bonded over their tastes in decent bands and general dislike of people. No they live together in a fat in Lawrence – and Cas is just now realising that he has a sexual appetite bigger than Kansas itself.

The amount of guys he brings home may or may not be making Dean jealous.

(Written for a prompt on the spn kink meme: Dean and Cas are roommates. Cas has a lot of sex, forever bringing back big burly guys. Dean gets jealous very easily, and a massive argument ensues around this**.)

Word Count: 6237

Notes: **Full prompt at the bottom.

Dean glanced at the door. Then back at the plates in front him. Then at the door again.

Pining? Who said he was pining?

He was just... patiently waiting. For Cas to get home. Because Cas was his friend and it was three in the morning and the short little bastard had probably forgotten to eat properly like he always did. If Dean didn't remind him to eat once in a while, Cas wouldn't. Simple as. And Dean didn't want his friend to starve, nope.

...Which was why he was sat on his couch at three am, with a plate stacked with sandwiches sat in front of him. Because he was scared that Cas hadn't eaten.

Mhm. That was sound reasoning right there.

His heart totally didn't leap or anything when the front door clicked. His legs also totally didn't propel him from the crouch in order to look expectantly at the door either, no sirree.

That shock of black hair swam into view, and Dean felt himself grin.

"Hey C-"

"Shhh, sh!" Cas was giggling, oblivious to Dean's greeting. And he didn't sound like he was on his own, "My roommate might hear -"

Cas stumbled forwards, looked up. His eyes clashed with Dean's.

"...us." Cas finished. Dean felt his smile slide off his face. There was a guy stood behind Cas, an arm wrapped possessively around Cas' shoulders - he was built like a tank, with big bulging muscles, and he had a decent three inches on Dean. He looked very square and boring, with dark hair and a symmetrical face, big square shoulders and probably a big, square personality, Dean thought bitterly.

Dean saw how Cas' eyes flitted to the coffee table, where the makeshift-3am-meal was waiting, and it occurred to Dean that he must look ridiculous. Stood in the middle of their apartment with a meal ready, waiting for Cas to get home like a overprotective boyfriend.

"Uhm..." Dean cleared his throat," Don't mind me - I'll just, uh, go. I guess."

Before either of the other two men could even have a chance to say anything, Dean had grabbed his coat and shuffled passed them and walked out the door, oblivious to the way Cas tried to grab his hand on his way out.

He may have forgotten his shoes, but he really didn't care right now. He was trying to push down the ache that was spreading through his chest.

He didn't care. Not really.

-x-x-

When Dean graduated high school, Cas had given him a present.

It wasn't anything special. Just one of those wooden bead bracelets that you got on peer stalls. It had hand crafted charms all the way around it - little angel wings, an anti-possession symbol (because Dean had gone through a stage of supernatural paranoia, which Cas had never let him live down), some decorative feathers. Nothing much.

But Cas had made it - he'd sat for hours with a tiny craft knife, chipping out the little beads and designs. Hence why he was a jewellery designer today - or, at least, an apprentice to one.

Point is - Cas had made him a bracelet for a graduation gift, and Dean hadn't ever stopped wearing the thing.

So on the nights Cas brought home a new, trendier guy, he'd take the bracelet off and hold it for a little while. The beads digging into his palm reminded him of the effort Cas had put into making it. Because he knew the little bracelet meant that Cas had cared enough to spend a hell of a lot of his free time making Dean a gift. It proved that Cas cared about him; cared about him more than the guys he was screwing.

That thought made him feel better. For a while.

-x-x-

"Last night was awesome,"

Dean let a tight grin slip across his face, nodding along as Cas sang praise about the nth guy to have sauntered into their apartment last night. They were sat across from each other at their breakfast island, chowing down on burnt toast and dressed in baggy sweats. Dean tried to ignore how windswept Cas' hair looked.

"Really? Better than Randall?"

"Randy," Cas corrected, "Randall was the guy last week, Dean."

"Oh sorry," Dean joked, "I'll try and keep up with your sexual escapades a little better in the future."

They laughed. Dean's grin didn't reach his eyes.

"But yes, Jacob was much better than Randy," Cas got this faraway look in his eyes, talking through his next mouthful of toast, "He did this thing with his mouth that -"

"Whoa, whoa," Dean held up his hands, leaning back from the table, "Spare the gory details, jeez. Don't wanna barf up my breakfast."

Cas rolled his eyes, "Don't knock it 'til you've tried, my dear straight friend."

There it was again - 'my dear straight friend'. Cas had adopted the phrase a while back, and every time he used it, Dean got the distinct feeling that Cas was poking fun at him somehow. But Cas had a lot of weird habits (like straightening out every remote control on the coffee table when Dean wasn't looking, who the hell does that?) so Dean just ignored it and carried on.

"So, got any new conquests planned for tonight?" He asked, casually, propping an elbow on the counter. Cas' face lit up.

"Yep - a recommendation."

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Yeah? Who recommended him?"

"A friend," Cas shrugged. He had a lot of 'friends' nowadays. "He's a great lay apparently. And I'm horny as fuck, so it should work."

"You're always horny as fuck, Cas."

"Your point?"

"Maybe you should stop this chain of guys," is what Dean wanted to say, but what came out was, "Touche. Go get laid then, you horny bastard."

Cas beamed at him. Dean tried to put the same enthusiasm on his face too, but he couldn't muster it up. So he just looked down at his toast instead.

At least Cas was happy.

-x-x-

That night, Dean awoke to the loud sounds of Cas getting fucked in the room across the hallway.

He turned onto his side and put a pillow over his head, barely managing to bear the sharp stab of pain he felt in his gut.

-x-x-

Dean was Cas' alarm clock. Had been since college. The guy couldn't work a phone alarm to save his life, and the first (and only) alarm clock Dean had bought him had 'mysteriously' been smashed to pieces the next day.

He didn't mind though. Waking Cas up had always amused him - the way Cas protested and pushed was sort of hilarious. And it wasn't like it was a chore - Dean always got up at the crack of dawn to go for a run around the block anyways. By the time he'd come back home, showered and dressed, it was seven am. So naturally, he'd wake Cas up (the guy worked a day job at the local library for some extra cash. The jeweller's hadn't employed him full-time yet, but they were getting there.) It was the way they worked, and that was perfectly okay with Dean.

One morning, however, he walked into Cas' room, only to find Cas sound asleep on the chest of a complete stranger.

Dean's heart sank. He didn't understand why.

It was another one of those nameless, muscled guys - Cas looked extraordinarily small, bundled up against all that bulging, tanned skin. The guy was snoring loudly. He looked like the kind of person who plucked his eyebrows a lot. Undoubtedly Cas would be telling Dean about the 'experience' that afternoon when they both got back from work.

He didn't let his eyes linger on the guy's arms, wrapped snugly around Cas' back and holding him close. Nor did he let himself think of what it would be like to be in plucky-eyebrow-guy's position. Instead, he backed out of the room, and quietly shut the door.

If he made a loud racket in the kitchen with various utensils, that was his problem. If that racket happened to wake the happy couple up then, well, that was just a pure coincidence.

-x-x-

"If Marty learnt the song from Chuck Berry, and Chuck Berry learnt the song from Marty, then who actually made the song?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Just shut up and enjoy the movie, Cas."

He could feel Cas smile against his leg - like he knew he'd just thrown Dean for a loop. He'd never considered the paradoxical implications of Back To The Future (never really wanted to, to be honest) but apparently Cas had. Bastard. He just wanted to confuse Dean. Lord knew it was easy enough.

This was how most afternoons were spent in their apartment - watching an old movie, sometimes a western (Cas hated westerns with a passion, but it was Dean's DVD player, so he had movie privileges) with Cas' head in his lap, and Dean's hand on the shorter man's shoulder. It was nice. Comfortable. Anybody looking at them like this would say they were a couple - but Dean knew better. Cas was about as interested in him as he was in the lamps mounted on the wall.

Didn't mean Dean couldn't secretly enjoy the closeness though.

Dean had known Cas for a long while now. They'd met in high school, bonded over decent bands and mutual dislike of generally everybody else, and had stuck together like glue ever since. After residing in their college dorm for a few years, they sort of couldn't see a life where they didn't live together anymore. So they'd found a nice little apartment in Lawrence where the rent was cheap and there was a takeout on every block. Nice and easy.

Then of course, Cas had gone and discovered his sexual appetite. Which, of course, was bigger than the state of Kansas itself. The first time he'd bought a guy home - a very big, very scary looking, very male guy - Dean had nearly had a heart attack. There was a hushed 'You're gay?' conversation in the kitchen, followed by Cas kicking him out of the apartment so him and this man could have some alone time.

Looking back, it was kind of hilarious how Dean hadn't known about his friend's gayness. The poster of Orlando Bloom in Cas' bedroom should've been a dead giveaway. Dean had just assumed it was a kind of 'ironic' thing or whatever. At twenty two, Cas still hadn't quite grown out of his little 'hipster' phase. The big-rimmed glasses he wore to read were enough proof of that.

So yeah, this year had been eventful. Cas was gay (a gay slut, really) with a love for old cheesy movies and a great talent for making Dean feel like the most inadequate human being to ever grace the earth.

It wasn't Cas' fault, not really - Dean was straight. He liked women. He liked their soft curves and the way they clutched him tight and moaned on the mattress. Their fragility. He'd never taken a second glance at another man. He was the kind of straight guy who'd slap his brother on the ass and call him 'Samantha' for fun. He was one-hundred percent straight.

But when he saw all these guys, he couldn't help but feel... disappointed. Inadequate. Cas never once gave him a second glance, and that was like losing a big gay race.

Which of course, didn't matter. Because Dean was straight.

He looked down at Cas in his lap, watched the way his eyelashes fluttered every time he blinked, felt the way his shoulder shifted when he breathed, and suddenly, it hurt. It hurt so much to be so close to someone - to Cas - but not be able to pull him into a tighter embrace. To not be able to kiss him whenever he wanted, or to just lie in each other's arms until they fell asleep.

It hurt. Like a bitch.

And Dean was quickly realising that he probably wasn't as straight as he initially thought he was.

-x-x-

The next week passed in a string of yet another batch of guys - two of which were so burly Dean was surprised they could even fit through the doorway. Every night, Dean had awoken to grunts and groans of pleasure. Out of habit, he'd taken his bracelet off and held it tight in his fist as he lay in bed. It was stupid, and sentimental, and downright girly - but it helped him ignore the creak of bed springs and the knowledge that Cas sounded like he was fucking enjoying himself.

Without you, some sadistic part of his brain whispered.

The sleepless nights were taking their toll. Come Tuesday evening, Cas was curled up next to him, leaning into Dean's side as they watched reruns of Texas Ranger. As usual, Chuck Norris was kicking ass, but Dean wasn't as attentive as he usually was. He was leaning heavily on his elbow, and his eyes were drifting shut. It was only seven pm.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"Mmmm." He mumbled in absently, his head starting to slip downwards. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"How are you tired already?" Cas asked, "It's barely gone seven."

"You're loud when you have sex," Dean said by way of answer. He heard Cas' teeth click as he snapped his jaw shut.

"...Oh." Cas shifted, sitting a little straighter, "I wasn't aware..."

Dean forced his eyes open, his head swinging around to face Cas, not expecting the other man to be so close. There was barely an inch between them. He licked his lips.

"No worries," he breathed, feeling his heart stutter when Cas leant a little closer, almost eagerly. He could feel the other man's every breath on his lips. The air froze. "It's good that you... uh... enjoy yourself, I guess."

Cas smiled in that way of his, and if Dean shifted he could press their lips together. If.

"That's just sex though." Cas said idly, glancing down at his hand. His fingertips were just short of brushing Dean's thigh, "Watching Texas Ranger with you is far more enjoyable, in my opinion."

That was when Dean stood up. Abruptly.

"I'm gonna... call it a night," he said lamely. He couldn't deal with the way Cas was looking at him because he knew he was imagining it - the longing in those big blue eyes, "I gotta get down to the workshop early tomorrow. We're interviewing new interns and... stuff."

That sentence was so pathetic it hurt. Cas looked at him - a long, piercing look - before he nodded.

"Texas Ranger can wait until tomorrow," he said, "Good night Dean."

Dean nodded hurriedly, "G'night."

Tomorrow, he though as he walked down the hall.

Tomorrow.

-x-x-

Dean was getting antsy. It was as if there was an itch underneath his skin that he couldn't quite scratch. And the itch got worse with every guy that came into the apartment. Every guy that put their dick in his best friend.

'Antsy' was going to 'angry' pretty quick. And nothing Dean did could stop the feeling swirling dark in the pit of his stomach.

Because every new guy that visited, Dean would think to himself 'there goes another guy that isn't me'. And for a 'straight' guy, that was a pretty gay thought.

So add 'big gay panic' on top of 'angry and jealous' and you get a very unlikable Dean.

That evening, 'angry, jealous and gay panicking' Dean was cooking dinner. Maybe he was putting a little more force into handling the pots and pans as he stomped around the kitchen than was necessarily needed, and maybe he turned the hob up too high and burnt the spaghetti out of spite - whatever he did, Cas noticed.

"Dean?" He asked, sitting down at the kitchen island.

"What?" Dean snapped, nearly dropping the frying pan as he spun around. Cas cocked his head at him, standing from the stool and sliding into Dean's personal bubble. Dean tried to ignore the close proximity, tried to ignore the way he melted a little at the concerned look on Cas' face, tried to ignore the tiny, irrational voice in his head that was screaming, 'Kiss him! Jesus Christ, he's right there, justfucking kiss him!'

Winchesters are great at ignoring their inner thoughts though, so Dean manages quite nicely in his ignorance.

"Tell me what's wrong," Cas said softly, running his palm down Dean's bicep and God, it hurt - it hurt so damn much because Cas would never willingly give him that touch. That little stroke of skin and Dean flinched away before he could stop himself. If he kept pushing Cas away, it'd be easier to deal with the constant rejection. That's what he told himself, anyway.

"Nothing," he gruffed in that sharp way. The way that clearly said 'everything's wrong', before he turned back to the cooker and started to clean up the mess around the hob. He'd spilled bits of burnt spaghetti, and now they were stuck fucking everywhere, "'M fine Cas. Just leave me alone."

A pregnant pause followed, and he felt Cas move behind him. Another one of those touches - slow, careful - landed between his shoulder blades.

"Dean -"

"I said leave me alone!" Dean snapped - he fucking snapped because he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed the stupid fucking frying pan and threw it to the stupid fucking ground, flinching at the stupid fucking clang it made. He knew that he was being an asshole. God he knew, but he just couldn't stop and it felt better if he lashed out in angry bursts rather than bottling up. It felt good.

Cas stepped back in shock. Dean saw his chance. He bolted for the door, grabbing his shoes and leather jacket, before storming out, ignoring the way Cas calls out after him.

If he ignored it, he wouldn't be able to kid himself that Cas actually cared.

-x-x-

When Dean came back an hour later, he was expecting an angry Cas to greet him. What he wasn't expecting was the very unmistakeable sounds of Cas having loud sex in his bedroom.

Cas cared so damn little that he couldn't even be bothered to be angry at Dean. It was a ridiculous, petty thought, because that's exactly what Dean had wanted; for Cas to not care.

But Jesus Christ, he could hear them. Hear the bedsprings groaning loudly, Castiel's loud keens of pleasure. It was making Dean clench his jaw; making him grip his thigh and grind his teeth because he couldn't take it anymore.

Cas didn't belong to anyone. Whatever Cas liked to do with his sex life was none of Dean's business - but goddammit, Dean couldn't help the constant itch of jealousy beneath his skin when he heard somebody giving it to his best friend. He felt like he'd been betrayed over and over - trampled on and forgotten like trash. Jesus he was a fucking mess.

All of it was just... wrong. Dean was the one who Cas went to talk to, it was Dean's lap that he'd rest his head on when they were watching movies together, it was Dean who cooked for the guy because he cared too dam much and wanted to make sure he ate right - nobody should have the privilege of making love to Castiel but Dean.

He ignored the fact that he'd used 'making love' instead of 'fucking' and shucked off his shoes.

Blood was pumping in his ears as he strode towards Cas' door. He didn't know what he was doing - no, fuck that, he knew exactly what he was doing. The sadistic, self-centred part of him loved what he was doing. He was gonna knock on that fucking door (the door he'd seen so many strange men flitter in and out of) and he was gonna get Cas out here and then... and then...well, it didn't matter what then because he would've stopped Cas from fucking another dude, and that was all Dean could think about right now.

Before he could even try and stop himself, he knocked. Three times, loud and sharp.

The groans of pleasure stopped, as well as the creaking of the mattress, and the vindictive part of Dean roared in triumph. He didn't want to try and guess at how long he'd wanted to do that.

There was a shuffle, and a displeased grunt, and then the door swung open to reveal a strangely empty room. Cas stood before him in nothing but his dressing gown, hair ruffled (like somebody had ran their grubby hands through it a thousand times. Dean gritted his teeth) and his throat flushed, looking like he'd just be taken straight from the middle of a porno. A good porno. He glared at Dean.

"Decided to come back after your hissy fit then," he snipped, and the clipped, half-joking tone was enough to draw to the surface all the anger and envy that had been brewing in the pit of Dean's stomach for the past four months.

"Stop it," he demanded, "I just want you to stop it. All these guys you sleep with - all these strangers -"

"Dean, there isn't even anybody in here," Cas hissed, clutching his robe with one hand whilst the other gestured wildly to the room - Dean ignored the foreign flush of embarrassment at walking in on his friend masturbating, "And even if there was, you couldn't do anything about it. If I want to sleep with somebody, I'm going to. I don't care if you don't like it, and if you've got a problem, then just move out."

That stung more than Dean liked to admit. He took a step back.

All he wanted to do was tell Cas all the reasons he wanted this to stop. Wanted to tell Cas that he wants to be the one kissing him, wants to be the one loving him and holding him tight and fucking him hard. Wants to be the one he takes to bed every night.

Unfortunately, Dean was never great at feelings 'n shit, but he was (and still is)extraordinarily good at miscommunication, so he says none of those things.

"Just because I can pull anybody I want, doesn't mean I'm going to let your blue balls parade loom over my head too," Cas sniped, and Dean - Dean fucking lost it.

"I think I get it," he says suddenly quiet. Cas notices the tone. His eyes widen. "The never-ending chain of guys. Why you get laid by a different person every damn day."

Dean leant in close, his brain screaming at him to stop. Stop because he knew that whatever was going to come out of his mouth next would be an awful, friendship-ruining thing. But it was like bile. All the built up feelings geared up towards Cas were pouring out of his mouth in one ruthless stream, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it. He wanted to hurt Cas as much as Cas was hurting him, and letting his mouth run was the way to do it.

"It's 'cause nobody ever wants to stick around afterwards for you, Cas. No one likes a whore."

The change is like static. As soon as the words are said, Dean wishes he'd never said them. Never even thought them because the look - God, the look on Cas' face tears him to pieces.

"Dean..." Cas chokes, his bottom lip trembling as he takes a step back. Dean reaches forwards on impulse, and endless prayer of apology ready on his lips. Cas I didn't mean it, Cas please don't look at me like that, Cas please -

The door slammed shut in Dean's face, and Dean's stomach twisted painfully when he heard a muffled sob behind the thin layer of chipboard.

He was so fucking stupid.

-x-x-

Cas stays in his room for hours. Dean doesn't mind though. A few hours is all he needs to gather his stuff.

He'd gotten his bags ready, and he was currently staring at a blank piece of paper, pen in hand, and he was writing his heart out. Because dammit, he was probably never going to see Cas again, and that thought alone was like having every bone in his body broken repeatedly. So he was gonna get everything out and on paper while he had the chance

The letter explained everything, and he could only hope it was good enough. Not good enough for forgiveness - but for Cas to understand that Dean hadn't meant a word of anything he said.

He re-read the letter one last time.

Cas,

You don't have to forgive me for anything I said, okay? I'm a jerk, and you didn't deserve any of that. By the time you've read this, hopefully I'll be out of your hair. You don't have to suffer my 'hissy fits' anymore, so I hope that makes you happy.

That's all I really want for you, Cas. I want you to be happy. You make sure you do that, okay? Do whatever it takes to make yourself happy. God knows I couldn't do it well enough, so maybe you can find somebody perfect to make you feel good.

You're not a 'whore' - I can't believe I even said that shit to you. I was angry, and jealous, and stupid because dammit Cas, I love you.

He'd paused there. Contemplated whether or not to scratch that out. But hell, he was never gonna see Cas again. So he'd carried on writing.

I've loved you for years. Yeah, weird right? You 'dear straight friend' is actually kinda gay, and also kind of in love with his best friend. Way to present my feelings, huh? Throwing pots and pans and getting angry over nothing. I guess I'm more terrible at expressing myself than I already thought.

Point is, Cas - I'm a prick, and I say bad things, and I'm just a generally bad person. Just 'cause you're my friend, doesn't mean you should have to put up with me. I've paid the next two months' rent in advance, and there's some leftover paella in the fridge. Please don't forget to take care of yourself. Do that for me, okay? And if not for me, do it for the next person that drops into your life and cares about you as much as I do...

I'll miss you Cas. Really will. But this is better for you. I want you to be happy, and doing this is the only way I can see that happening.

Love,

- Dean.

Dean took one last look at that, then scribbled out 'love' and put the paper on the table. The pen dropped out of his hand, as his eyes lingered on his hand. Then flitted to the wooden bracelet around his wrist. A sigh escaped his mouth. Two quick movements later, he'd unlatched it and dropped it atop the letter, along with his mobile. He didn't want Cas calling him. That'd just make things harder.

He left quietly, throwing his bag over his shoulder and letting his eyes linger on the apartment for a moment, before walking out. He posted his key back through the mail slot, pretending not to notice the way his eyes were watering, and proceeded to find the nearest crappy motel he could.

It only could've been his luck that there were no vacancies at the Glen Capri. After checking the next three motels, he gave in, and ended up spending the night in his Impala, parked out on a road in the middle of nowhere.

And if he sobbed here, at least nobody could hear him.

-x-x-

He woke with a throbbing headache and a sharp rapping on his window. It was a cop, obviously.

"Sorry bucko, gotta get driving otherwise we're gonna have to take you in."

Dean grunted his protest - why the hell couldn't he sleep in his own damn car? - before sitting up and running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He glanced at the rearview mirror and Jesus, he looked like death warmed over. Pale skin, blood shot eyes, grey bags and dark patches around his eyes.

His heart twinged when he realised Cas might look the same.

He apologised (petulantly) to the cop, before driving off. He figured he could travel up to South Dakota, get a job in Bobby's garage. He'd been working as a mechanic in Lawrence for a couple years now, and Bobby was a family friend, so the transition wouldn't be too hard to make.

Except, Cas wasn't in South Dakota.

Cas was here in Lawrence, probably still sat in their crappy little apartment, reading Dean's letter before ripping it up and tossing it in the trash. Dean wouldn't blame him if he did.

It was odd - trying to imagine a life without Cas. No grumbled protests of being woken up on weekdays, no complaints when Dean started talking about his favourite Clint Eastwood movies. Nothing that had made Dean's life so normal up until now. Regulated.

He imagined this is what paraplegics felt like when they woke up in hospital to find both their legs missing.

For a long time, Dean drove. He could've easily been halfway to South Dakota by now, but he kept running circuits around Lawrence. Like some miracle would fall out of the sky if he stuck around long enough. Maybe it would.

To distract himself, he jammed in a Zep tape and turned it up. 'Babe I'm Gonna Leave You' strummed to life, and Dean immediately slammed the thing off again. That was the one song Dean did not want to hear right now.

He sighed, gave up his pointless circuit, and stopped by a nearby coffee shop. May as well get a latte or something. He needed the energy after the night he'd just had.

He ordered some big, complicated coffee in a huge cup, and took it with a tired smile, handing over the money. He was a little short, having paid the rent on his and Cas' – no, just Cas' - flat for two months in advance, and - Jesus, he couldn't stop fucking thinking about it. Everything reminded him of Cas and it felt like he was burning up on the inside. It'd barely been twelve hours and Dean wanted to fucking die.

The car creaked as he got back in and shut the door. He would've driven off, if a bright curtain of ginger hair hadn't swung into view beside him.

"Charlie?" He croaked. Charlie tapped insistently on the window, her face stormy. Dean rolled it down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dean flinched, his headache growing at the screeching pitch of Charlie's voice.

"Morning to you too," he grouched. Charlie glared at him.

"You and Cas had a fight." She stated.

"News travels fast, apparently," Dean mumbled. Charlie slammed her hands on the car door, and Dean actually jumped.

"Don't go all jokester on me Dean Winchester," dear lord, Charlie could be scary sometimes, "Cas is worried sick, and you're out here buying coffee."

It still hurt to hear his name, so Dean ignored the comment entirely, "I need my energy, Charles. Driving up to South Dakota today - I'm gonna need to stay awake for a while."

Charlie looked like she'd just been smacked in the face.

"Are you deaf?!" She hissed, leaning threateningly through the open window, "Cas is going out of his mind because he's terrified you've gone and done something stupid, and you're driving up to South Dakota?! YOU INSENSITIVE ASSHOLE."

People were started to stare at them from the sidewalk now. Dean held up his hands in surrender.

"It's for the best!" He snapped, "Cas can do a lot better without me around, so -"

"Oh don't give me the pity parade, Dean. Cas told me about the letter you wrote. It broke his friggin' heart."

Dean stopped at that. "What?"

"It broke his friggin' heart!" Charlie repeated, "You two have been tiptoeing around each other for years, and both of you were too chicken shit to do anything about it! Then you go and drop the 'I love you' bomb in a letter, out of everything you could've done, and then you leave afterwards - hell yes, it broke his heart."

Dean's mind was reeling. Did this mean - did Charlie mean -?

"He loves you too, dumbass." Charlie said, softer now, as if reading Dean's mind, "So if you don't drive back to your apartment right now and fix your boyfriend, I will break you in half."

Dean didn't doubt that. He caught Charlie's gaze.

"Thanks," he said, "I needed that."

Charlie looked pleased with herself, "Go get 'em, Tiger. Preferably before Cas drowns himself in whisky and sorrow."

As he drove off, he definitely didn't miss the way Charlie called out "Run Forrest, run!" after him.

-x-x-

It took two knocks.

Two knocks.

Dean had barely finished the second one when Cas opened the door.

God, he looked wrecked. Like he hadn't slept in weeks; he was clutching Dean's letter in his hand, and Dean didn't get to finish his examination because Cas had thrown his arms around his neck and yanked him into a rib-cracking hug before he'd even so much as blinked.

"You idiot," he said, voice thick with tears, "You goddamn idiot. I love you - love you so much you fucking great big idiot."

Dean, for his part, could barely stand as he wrapped his arms around Cas' middle, burying his face into the shorter man's neck.

"Charlie told me. Helped me get my ass in gear," he admitted with a rough laugh, trying to ignore the way his eyes were stinging, "I'm so fucking sorry Cas. I didn't think you'd want to see me again. Not after -"

"Dean," Cas pulled away, and Dean's heart did a bunch of funny twirls when the shorter man's hands cupped his face, "Shut up."

Then they were kissing, and Dean nearly fell over. He actually careened sideways into the doorframe, but neither of them noticed because they were kissing. Cas was fucking kissing him. His brain had short-circuited because Cas' lips were on his lips and he couldn't breathe, couldn't -

"Wait," Cas gasped, pulling away, and Dean fucking panicked. He wrapped his arms tight around Cas' naval and pulled the shorter man so close it was hard for either of them to draw in vital oxygen.

"Dean - Dean I can't breathe," Cas croaked. Dean loosened his hold, cheeks aflame.

"'M sorry." He said lamely. And he meant it. Cas just shook his head fondly, carrying on.

"You left something behind when you disappeared," the shorter man said, before reaching into his jean pocket and producing Dean's bracelet, holding it before Dean's nose. Numb, Dean grabbed it.

"Thanks," he breathed. Cas looped his fingers around Dean's wrist, pulling his hand up between their chests.

"Take a look," Cas said, grabbing the end of the bracelet that Dean wasn't holding, pulling it to its full length. Dean ran his gaze along the beads, landing on a little charm that hadn't been there earlier.

It was tiny – barely the width of Dean's thumb; a delicate little carving of the side of the Impala, complete with headlights and windows and door handles. The rims were sculpted perfectly, and Dean didn't understand how Cas could do something so intricate without making any mistakes whatsoever.

"I started it last week, but I didn't have the proper... stimulation to finish it until yesterday," Cas said, bashful, "If you don't like it I can make a different one, if you want -"

"Don't be stupid," Dean said, slipping the bracelet around his wrist, clipping it in place. "It's perfect. I love it."

Cas positively glowed, and Dean decided then and there that he was going to try and get that expression on Cas' face as often as possible from now on.

He ran a hand through Cas' hair, pulling him close again, leaving a kiss on his forehead and screwing his eyes shut, breathing him in. Breathing in that scent - like cut grass and something grounded and earthy and wholly Cas. Breathing in his very essence. He wanted to drown in Cas, drown in the feel of him, the taste of him. Now he was in his arms, Dean didn't want to let go.

"Never let me be a moron again, Cas," he said into Cas' hair, "Just punch me before I do something stupid."

Cas nodded against Dean's chest, "If Dean Winchester strays into doofus-land, I'll punch him. Duly noted."

Dean just laughed. It felt good.

-x-x-

Life got a lot easier after that. Cas stopped seeing the seemingly endless supply of gay guys and stayed snuggled up with Dean most days. If they weren't working, they were together, and Dean fell into this little niche easy as breathing. It was pretty much the same as before – just with added cuddling. And kissing. And hurried handjobs in the mornings before they went to work.

Dean loved it.

And may the Lord hear him, he wouldn't change a damn thing.

Full prompt: Dean and Cas are roommates. Cas has a lot of sex, forever bringing back big burly guys. Dean feels uneasy about it but can't place why: sure, he's straight, he's not homophobic... he begins to realise his own feelings for Cas and he's scared. Cas is oblivious, talks to Dean about his latest conquest happily etc (bottom!Cas only please). Cas is really confident in himself, Dean isn't. Anyway - Dean keeps seeing/hearing Cas with his many men, and they joke as friends and roommates about it sometimes because Cas can have a laugh at himself but it's bothering Dean more and more. He's the one who sits with Cas's head in his lap as they watch TV, he cooks Cas dinner, and it hurts more and more as he falls for Cas knowing Cas is with other guys.

I want there to be a huge argument - Dean can hear Cas having sex so he loses it and knocks furiously on his door, demanding Cas come out. Turns out Cas is having some sexy alone time, he's just super loud. They fight verbally, both pissed off now, until Cas says something along the lines "don't blame me for the fact you can't get any, and I can pull whenever I want". Something like that. Then Dean delivers a killer blow, saying something really hurtful, I'm thinking "it's not as if any one sticks around afterwards for you Cas, no one likes a whore. " something slut-shaming and cruel, and to Dean's horror Cas starts to cry. Then a bit of h/c, because Dean is disgusted with himself, he loves Cas so much and he can't believe what he just said to Cas.

Dean confesses his feelings and Cas is utterly shocked but really happy and they kiss and make up etc happy happy fluffiness!