The first time Dean walked by the stand, he was being dragged by his not-so-little brother towards the kale stall nearby. The yellow cart wasn't necessarily noticeable, but the sizable line in front of it that wound around the crowded farmer's market certainly caught Dean's eye. Dean grimaced at the thought of the sour liquid being consumed by all the people waiting. It was hot, as most summers tended to be in Kansas, but no amount of dry mouth could persuade Dean to brave the acrid taste of glorified lemon juice and sugar. Lemonade. Dean huffed a breath even as Sam's large hand wrapped around his neck to keep pulling him forward. If I wanted something burning my throat, I'd order a bourbon, Dean thought darkly, allowing himself to be dragged to the vegetable display at a further stall.

The next time Dean noticed the large yellow sign for lemonade, he glanced a little longer at the vendors selling the offensive drink. What adult in their right mind would start a lemonade stand as a career? Dean wanted to be able to mock the person responsible for the atrociously bright sunflower sign above the stall, but once again quite a large amount of people were lined up around the small business. A pretty successful lemonade stand, Dean conceded mentally, and tried to spy the workers beyond the crowd.

Above the fray, a short redheaded woman and a dark haired man were working up a sweat trying to keep up. Dean tried to get a good look, but his brother was on a mission to try the new vegetable shots they were advertising loudly down the lane. For a moment, right before Sam succeeded in pulling him away, Dean's eyes caught those of the dark haired man across the counter. Though he was serving an impatient customer, the lemonade stand man tipped his head forward. Dean checked behind him and looked back at the man still staring at him with a warm smile.

"Come ON, Dean! We're missing the presentation!" Sam was yelling, so Dean stopped resisting and followed his brother towards what looked like several scantily clad ladies shaking broccoli pompoms. Sam ignored the "chard-leaders" (What the fuck was a chard? Dean wondered idly) to stare at a large nutritional information display being projected onto the side of the tent. Dean flashed a young lady performing the choreographed dance one of his most charming smiles, but his gaze traveled back unbidden to the bright yellow stand still bursting with energy. He shook his head and glanced back at Sam, who had been trying to get his attention and beckoned him closer. With a groan, Dean joined his younger brother and tried to forget about the dark hair and blue eyes of the man at the lemonade stand .

That had been more than 6 weeks ago. Since then, Sam had begged Dean to return to the same farmer's market almost weekly, and Dean had reluctantly agreed. If Sam noticed Dean lingering near the lemonade stand, he didn't say a word.

One particular afternoon, as Dean strolled nonchalantly past Jemma's pie stand for the fourth time, he stole a glance at what was now becoming his favourite stand. It must have been a slow day because the redheaded girl, Anna, he had learned was her name, was absent and Dean had only seen about five or six customers patronize the blue-eyed vendor's stall today. Not that he'd been counting. Not that he'd been looking, even. But when he lifted his eyes to check out the stand as he walked by, again, the clearly bored shopkeeper lifted his chin from where it rested on his palm and straightened up to wave at Dean. Blushing furiously, Dean shoved his hands in his jean pockets and hunched his shoulders as he trained his eyes to the floor and sped up.

Dean was so busy trying to find his phone so he could text Sam to tell him they were getting the hell out of here that he didn't notice a hand shoot out in front of him. Dean didn't stop walking until the palm of said hand collided with his chest and he was forced to look up. The hand in question seemed to be connected to a body: the body of the man Dean had cleverly named Lemonade Stand Guy.

"Hello." Lemonade Stand Guy said calmly. Dean looked up, stricken.

"Uh... Hi?" Dean replied, face burning.

"Would you like some lemonade?" the guy asked, but Dean was still staring open mouthed at the man in front of him.

He was wearing a light blue, honest-to-God apron over a pair of jeans and a shirt that read "I HEART" with what appeared to be a large picture of a bumblebee underneath. Dean shut his mouth with an audible click. Seemingly undeterred by Dean's silence, the stranger continued talking.

"Oh yes, I see you've noticed my attire. Bees play such an important role in our ecosystem, Dean. Were you aware that recent research has shown that even the toxins in bee stings might be instrumental in preventing the transmission of the human immunodeficiency virus? Not to mention the delicious benefits of their hard work..."

"How did you know my name?" Dean blurted, cutting the man off. He tried to feel guilty for interrupting, but he was worried this guy would never stop once he got started on the "benefits" of bees. Or was it honey? Dean didn't really care, but when the stranger's cheeks tinged pink and he lifted his arm to rub his neck bashfully, Dean couldn't find it in him to regret causing this adorable reaction. Adorable? Dean thought, shaking his head. Where did that come from? He frowned.

"I'm sorry..." the man mumbled, looking up at Dean from below thick lashes. He was giving Sammy a run for his money on the puppy dog look. "I think I've met your brother... Sam?" he continued, but when Dean's expression didn't change, the man straightened up.

"I'm sorry," the man repeated, squaring his shoulders determinedly. He moved his arm from the back of his neck to jut out in the small space between them. "Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. I own that lemonade stand. I think I may have met your brother Sam when he was perusing Rita's kale stand."

Dean looked down at the hand offered to him, still frowning. When had Sammy met this guy? What had he said to him about Dean exactly? He looked up at Castiel, who gazed hopefully back.

"Alright." He said gruffly, grasping the man's hand. "I'm Dean." Castiel beamed. But you already knew that, Dean

"Would you like to try some lemonade?" he asked, hopeful expression still in place. When Dean leaned back, ready to politely, if insistently, decline, Castiel just moved farther into his personal space.

"It would be a free sample, of course. I have been offering them all day. Of course I have only been offering them to those I personally have made uncomfortable by implying previous acquaintance and knowledge of familial bonds."

After a beat, Dean snorted.

"Alright," he said again, smiling despite the awkwardness only noticing the mason jar filled with pale yellow liquid in Castiel's hand. The vendor eagerly deposited said receptacle in Dean's hand. "Thanks, Cas." The man smiled again, his eyes crinkling and his gums showing. Dean couldn't help but smile back.

A moment passed before Dean remembered the jar in his hand. Castiel stared expectantly.

"Right," Dean muttered, flustered by the steady eye contact. Smiling somewhat thinly, he brought the juice up to his mouth. Schooling his face, he took one big sip, silently praying his features haven't betrayed his absolute hatred of lemonade.

"Do you like it?" Castiel prompted almost immediately, but Dean's mouth was still full. Trying not to wince, Dean smiled encouragingly, ignoring the blush that returned full force at the man's phrasing.

"It's delicious!" he finally replied, mentally berating himself as the words spilled unintentionally from his mouth.

"Really?" Castiel asked, eyes widening and gums peeking out behind lips that spread wider into a smile. And how was Dean supposed to wipe that looks off someone's face? Besides, Sam and he visited this particular market on a regular basis. Hell, Sam had already met Cas, even talked about Dean to Cas. There was no way that Dean could make things awkward between them by insulting this guy's livelihood. Anyway, the lemonade wasn't that bad. For one of his least favourite drinks, it actually tasted quite sweet; almost like one of Jemma's lemon meringue pies. Not the sour concoction Dean remembered from his childhood. Plus Dean's eyes kept getting stuck on the tiny wrinkles at the corner of Cas's blue eyes and the corners of his lips. He found himself grinning pointlessly back at the man once more.

Suddenly aware of how long he had been silent, Dean cleared his throat loudly.

"How- How long have you and your wife been running the stand?" he asked. Dean's face immediately burned red at the transparency of his question. Damn it. He used to be good at it together here, champ.

Dean didn't miss the smug look in Castiel's eye as he made a point of furrowing his brow in confusion.

"My wife?" he said to himself loudly, finger on his chin. Dean barely repressed an eye roll. Cas lifted his hand to his temple, tapping idly. Then, after a moment of obvious and pointed contemplation, he gestured to the stand. "Oh!" he exclaimed loudly. "You mean my foster sister, Anna!" Shifting his attention back to Dean, he smirked openly at the charade, eyes twinkling dangerously. Dean raised his chin, clinging to his dignity, and nodded his assent.

"Just over a year now." Castiel continued in the same cheeky tone. "We used to live in Illinois, but we moved to Lawrence for more of a fast paced, city life." Then Castiel looked Dean right in the eye and winked. Dean's face lit up with another blush, so he took a sip from his cup to hide his embarrassment.

"How long have you been in Lawrence?" Castiel asked in turn, and Dean swallowed carefully because Castiel's eyes had lowered to track the movement of Dean's tongue over his lips as he spoke.

"I... It's only been a few months. Grew up here originally, but got the hell outta dodge soon as I could, you know? Now I'm back 'cause my d—'cause of some family stuff. Plus Sammy just got accepted to law school so he'll be leaving for Stanford in the fall. Couldn't miss seeing my little bro go off to his big new college." Dean explained. Castiel's stare bore into his and Dean had to fight to keep his mouth shut. Something about Lemonade Stand Guy just set him babbling. And his eyes... This dude could win a staring contest with Michaelangelo's best.

"It sounds like Sam is an important person in your life." Castiel replied seriously, and Dean nodded emphatically.

"Sammy's awesome. Best kid you'll ever meet, and a friggin' genius. Wants to study law so he can 'help out the little guy' as he puts it, but I secretly think he just wants to wear a suit to impress the ladies. He's been studying at Kansas University and he's so freaking good they gave him a full ride at Stanford for next year. I figure you gotta be pretty damn smart if schools are willing to pay you to study there," Dean babbled. Castiel smiled indulgently.

"You seem very proud of Sam. It must be nice for him to have such a supportive older brother," Castiel replied kindly, but Dean frowned even as he ducked his head modestly.

Truth be told, Dean hadn't been around much for Sam's first year at KU. In fact, he hadn't really been there at all. Sam had decided to stay in res to get "the full college experience" and Dean... Dean had spent much of the first few months trying to not to stare into the crystal ball of his future in this town that was his father's limp body surrounded by empties every morning. Consequently, most days were spent at the garage with Bobby, working on cars and saving up money for the night Dean would spend at the Roadhouse, trying to forget his father and the future he represented. Then, after the incident with Alastair... Dean had decided he'd best get the hell out before anything worse could come out of it.

Plagued by thoughts of the past, Dean ran his free hand through his hair, fretting. He was abruptly brought back to the present when Castiel reached up and plucked something off his flannel shirt sleeve, his hand coming to rest lightly on his bicep.

"You had a small piece of lint just there," Castiel explained lightly, but his eyes remained open and understanding. For one panicked moment, Dean wondered if he had said any of the things he had been thinking out loud, but then Castiel was releasing his shoulder and shrugging stiffly.

Dean shook his head to clear it and took another sip of the juice just to cool his apparently unendingly hot cheeks. Remembering that said juice was still the hated lemonade, he fought to keep the grimace off his face at the acidic taste.

"I should probably go..." he said after a minute, and Castiel nodded curtly. He stepped back, suddenly alerting Dean to the fact that Castiel had been standing quite close to him throughout their conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Casti—Cast—Cas. It was nice meeting you, Cas."

"It was lovely to finally meet you, Dean," Castiel said, eyes twinkling once more with humor. "I am glad I decided to approach you. I was beginning to think you might wear a dike in the asphalt in front of my stand and I simply cannot afford a lawsuit at the moment. Though," Castiel added, his expression considering, "I supposed an injured customer would entail a trial, and I'd look forward to seeing more of you throughout Sam's probable involvement in the legal proceedings."

At that, Castiel winked a second time and turned completely on his heel, heading back towards the stand to flip the "back in ten minutes!" sign over and greet the few customers already in line.

It wasn't until Dean was sitting in the driver seat as Sam placed bags in the trunk that he realized he was still holding the mason jar Castiel had given him.

Guess you'll just have to return it next time, Dean thought.

And that thought made him smile as he drained the glass cup, wincing at the bitter aftertaste of his least favourite drink.

The drive home went by without much talking. Though Sam did his best to hide it, without the distraction and familiarity of Dean's grumbling about vegetables, the cause of his absence over the past four months hung over their heads ominously. Sam hadn't outright asked, ( yet… thought Dean), so Dean hadn't elaborated. When his older brother had shown up with a split lip and a black eye six weeks ago asking about their dad's health, Sam had been too happy to see him to notice Dean's guilty expression and swollen knuckles. Despite the fact that Dean had been back in Lawrence making these trips to the farmer's market for more than a month now, the easy conversation that once dominated his time spent with Sam was now plagued by awkward silences instead. Dean pretended the pain in his chest was heartburn, and turned the radio up in the car.

When Dean had returned from his self-imposed exile, Sam had been driving a beat up dodge challenger.

"Not even from the good years!" Dean had immediately exclaimed when he noticed, and Sam had shrugged noncommittally.

"It's all I can afford right now, Dean," he'd said, and that had wiped the smug smirk Dean had been sporting right off his face.

Sam hadn't been able to continue paying for res after Dean had left. Despite the sizable chunk of savings Dean had entrusted to his little brother through his father; apparently Sam had blown through it too fast. Apparently, res was for those who could pay. Apparently, the little money Dean could afford to send over each month wasn't enough. Apparently, Sam's grades meant nothing if he technically had a legal guardian willing and able to house him. And God knew John could put on an act if it meant keeping at least one of his boys home and under his thumb. Dean had blown up when Sam had reluctantly explained the situation within the first week, but, as usual, Dean was only mad at himself. If he had have stayed…

Dean sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter. But he had not stayed. And if it took another six weeks of awkward fumbling for normalcy, he would take them gladly over the ache he had felt when he had been on his own.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand as he pulled up to Sam's apartment, Dean shook his head to rid himself of dark thoughts. Moving back to Lawrence had been a step forward. He'd done it because of Sam. Sam was on his own now, and it was Dean's job as his older brother to take care of him. Besides, John was… Well John was nearly out of the picture, wasn't he? So once that bow was neatly tied up, Sam could move on and have a normal apple pie life in Stanford. No fuck-up dad or brother holding him back.

"Burgers for supper?" Sam asked as they climbed out of the car.

"Sure," said Dean easily, grabbing two bags of groceries from the farmer's market. "You know one of these days I'm gonna find a good place and get outta your hair, Sammy, I promise…"

"Oh shut up. You know you're welcome here for however long you need. Jerk." Sam said, and Dean could feel his brother not quite looking up at him from beneath his shaggy hair. Dean's mouth quirked up at the edges.

"Bitch." he replied, and they both ducked their heads, smiling to themselves.

After they put the groceries away, Dean looked at the local ads for apartments again. When he first arrived, he hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider job arrangements. Once the news about John had reached him on the road, he had packed up and driven home without a plan. All he could think of was his little brother, scared and alone, not knowing where Dean was. Thankfully, he had made arrangements with Bobby Singer, an old friend of his dad's, to start up where John had left off. The work was slow to begin with; earning Bobby's trust had proved harder than he'd thought. Eventually, however, once Bobby could see Dean's disappearing act had had no effect on his ability to change a carburetor, Dean had steadily gained respect and subsequently more hours. Customers had even begun to request him by name, and even surly old Bobby couldn't refuse good business. So, Dean had begun to look for places. Crashing with your younger brother in his bachelor apartment was an okay line for a couple of weeks, but Dean didn't want to burden his little brother just when he had found his own place.

Once all the trimmings had been made for burgers, the brother sat at the table to eat.

"We're gonna have to go tonight," Sam finally said into the void.

Dean sighed. "I know."

"Thanks for coming home," Sam said. Dean tried not to object at the undeserved gratitude.

"Thanks for not kicking me out," he mumbled back, grabbing his brother's empty plate and heading over to sink to wash dishes before he could protest. Sam got up from the tiny table opposite the stove.

"Ready in twenty?" Sam asked, before heading over to his laptop. Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ready in twenty," he said reluctantly. Ready in never, more like, he grumbled inwardly.

Forty minutes later, Sam and Dean arrived at the small, mostly decrepit house they once called home. Sam immediately jogged up the stairs. Dean, however, walked slowly to the front door, pausing by the car parked beside them in the front lane. He caressed the hood automatically as he walked by. The one beauty that had come out of their father's distant and erratic behaviour: his baby, the '67 Chevy impala. John had never let Dean drive it, and Sam had never had an interest in it. Some nights, John would try his luck at a bar that still trusted him to pay a tab without starting a fight. But once John moved his drinking back home, Dean would sneak out and drive it out to the bars. He couldn't suppress a smile at the memories made in the backseat of his cherished car as he continued to where his brother stood in front of the door.

When he reached the threshold, the first thing that Dean noticed was the damaged door frame.

The attempt had obviously been made at repairing it, but the white paneling near the door knob was cracked, belying the real reason of their visit. Dean was reminded vaguely of a school teacher talking to him about suicide. "The first thing you wanna do if someone tells you they're in danger is get them to unlock their door," the teacher from somewhere in Alabama had said. "Why?" a young Dean had asked, wonder in his eyes. It was only their third or fourth school. It was back when teachers could still elicit anything other than contempt in Dean Winchester. "'Cause, son. When the police come a-knockin', they ain't gon' wait for a dead person to open the door. They gon' break that sucker down to save 'em soon as possible!" Dean let his foot drag along the splintered edge on his way into the doorframe. Within moments of stepping inside the house, Dean's nostrils flared with the scent of mould and decay. Gagging on the stale air, Dean rushed to cover his nose with his flannel shirt. Sam followed suit.

"We shouldn't have let it get like this," Sam said unnecessarily. They both knew their procrastination in cleaning the old house wasn't founded in laziness. Though the inhabitant of the dwelling may have vacated the premises long ago, the memories and past grievances were thick enough in the air that the two sons who were finally returning felt suffocated.

"You know, we could make him do this if he..." Sam had begun to say, but Dean turned to glare at his brother sharply.

"C'mon, Sammy, you know better'n that," he said gruffly, but his little brother's wide eyes kept any real bite out of his voice.

"Shit," Sam muttered, and his free hand lifted to shade his eyes above his shirt covered jaw. "I didn't... I didn't think it'd be like this, you know?" he said finally, and Dean had to physically repress his shudder at the crack in his voice.

"Yeah. Well. It is what it is," Dean said, unsure of an appropriate response. "Listen, Sammy, why don't you go out back and see if you can't find some bins or something? I'll try opening some windows, air this place out a little." Dean instructed firmly, throwing in a little go get 'em attitude to keep the tremor out of his voice. Sam nodded mutely as his picked his way through the hallway entrance littered with garbage and broken frames.

Wandering further in only threatened to break Dean's self control as he found the dozens and dozens of empty beer cans and broken bottles of Jack strewn haphazardly around the house. The stench of old alcohol had definitely begun to permeate his makeshift mask, so Dean tried his best to hurry the process of opening windows up. Leaning over dust ridden lampshades, Dean attempted to pry windows open past stained furniture and moldy curtains. A short time later, satisfied with the completion of his first small task, Dean returned to the car for the supplies they had brought in case the house needed some work. And boy, did it need some work.

Armed with bleach and rubber gloves, Dean squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Sam, in the meantime, had taken to amassing the impressive collection of cans and bottles in order to recycle them. They both avoided looking at the empty spot in the armchair in the living room. Instead, Dean entered the kitchen with a determined look in his eye. Upon spying the uneaten slab of meat infested with squirming white insects on the kitchen counter, however, Dean's resolve wavered slightly. Ignoring the burning stench of putrefaction and the rolling in his gut, Dean nodded to himself with dogged purpose.

"Let's do this," he muttered to himself, and immediately got to work.

It was only several hours and three bottles of bleach later that Dean finally called it quits.

"Okay, Sammy, that's about all I can handle for today." He said, dropping the broom tiredly. He hadn't even progressed from the kitchen. The fridge alone had taken ages; Dean had scrubbed tirelessly at the dried vomit embedded in the plastic of one of the handles. Finally, he had admitted defeat and dropped his sponge.

"Seriously, we need to get out of here, get to a bar, and get smashed," he called out, and heard Sam snort from the other room.

"Sure, Dean. Good idea. Let's go out and get wasted after cleaning up the disgusting house of an alcoholic shut in whose liver is keeping him in a coma as we speak."

Both their heads snapped up at the verbal admission. They had, of course, been thinking these exact words since Dean's return to Lawrence. Behind every awkward beat between conversation topics, underneath every careful lip bitten in lieu of retaliation, there lay this unspoken truth about their ever absent father, once by choice and then by necessity of health. Finally, uttered out loud, the big truth, the secret. It was Dean's reason for returning home, the reason the house had been avoided, and (not quite) the reason it was being cleaned by the two boys that very night. Both men stared at each other for a few, charged moments.

Then, instead of admonishing Sam's somewhat insensitive remarks, Dean suddenly got up, crossed the hall where Sam stood, grabbed the trash bag out of his hand, and walked out of the room without a word. Sam stared after him, ready to resign himself to more cleaning when...

"Well?" Dean called back, when Sam stood dumbstruck at the kitchen's threshold. "You comin'? Those fruity little bitch drinks ain't gonna drink themselves, Samantha!"

And despite the stains on the couch and the open windows and the loaded black trash bags littering what Sam once considered his home, the younger brother suddenly tore off his rubber gloves, tripping over the carpet in his haste to get past the front door.

"Wait up, jerk!" Sam yelled in return, and he could see his brother's mouth twitch as he held up the keys to the impala.

"Hurry up, Samantha! Or I'm putting Night Moves on," Dean said, grinning widely then, opening up the driver's door as Sam reached the passenger side.

"You wouldn't," Sam said, but Dean was already selecting the tape as Sam settled in.

"Driver picks the music..." Dean began, but the rest of his sentence was lost to the musical styling of Bob Seger.

And there was no more room for the silence when the familiar growl of the impala engulfed their off key singing.

Dean didn't even notice he had driven to his regular spot until they were in the parking lot, Sam doubtfully eyeing the seedy roadhouse.

"Ah, come on Sammy, we'll have a few beers, blow off some steam, and head back in time to watch some reruns on TV!" Dean said, clapping Sam on the back as they approached the entrance. "Or maybe you'll meet someone and I'll be spending the night in the impala, eh? Eh?" he goaded further, waggling his eyebrows, and his little brother couldn't suppress a smile a that.

"Gross, Dean! I don't want chlamydia." Sam argued, and Dean smacked him upside the head.

"This is a fine establishment and I won't have you insulting it in my presence. Besides," Dean added, pulling on the double doors, "Nothing a few pills can't fix. It's herpes you gotta watch out for, little brother."

Without missing a beat, Dean turned and sat at the nearest booth, already smiling at the young waitress who then came by to serve them. Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the menu.

"I'll have a…" he started.

"He'll have a bacon cheeseburger, no pickles. And same here, but extra pickles for me, sweetheart." Dean finished for him, winking at the waitress. Seemingly unaffected, the petite brunette cocked her hip, waiting.

"Oh and we'll have two pints of beer. Keep 'em coming!" Dean added with a charming smile. The waitress simply jotted his order down and left. Noticing his indifference, Dean pouted. Sam shook his head, smiling despite himself.

"What's gotten into you man?" he asked finally, after Dean hummed his way through three out of the four songs being played on (terrible) karaoke. The food had arrived and both had scarfed down their burgers with gusto.

"What do you mean?" Dean said then, finally looking up from his empty plate glare at Sam in the eye.

"I mean, you show up here out of the blue, claiming to wanna help with Dad and 'take care of stuff' after all this time, then you spend the next six weeks walking on eggshells, barely even arguing with me. You let me make you kale chips, Dean. I thought you might have a terminal disease. And now tonight you're all…" Sam waved his hand around in front of him. "This again. What the hell is going on with you, Dean?" Dean stopped drumming his fingers against the table in time to the Bad Company song a burly man was singing two tables away on stage. His shoulders tensed, and he gulped down a healthy sip of his third beer.

"So I'm a little more upbeat tonight… You complainin'?" Dean said, indignant.

"No, no, of course not. But… I don't know man, what's going on that you suddenly wanna go out? I haven't seen you hit a bar in the six weeks that you've been here. And don't even pretend I didn't smell the smoke and alcohol on you when you showed up that first night."

"Well maybe I wasn't in the fucking mood. In ace you forgot, a close family member of ours is in the goddamn hospital, Sammy!" Dean said, finishing off his beer and ordering another from the waitress.

"That's just it, though! Our dad's in the fucking hospital and you're filling out insurance forms and begging Bobby for a job as soon as you first showered in my apartment. You came to the farmer's market, Dean. And I saw you drink Castiel's lemonade. You hate lemonade." Sam said, staring up at his brother expectantly.

"What the fuck is this bullshit, Sammy? Since when do you call Lemonade Guy 'Castiel'? I'm not allowed to drink lemonade now? It's a goddamn type of juice, it doesn't mean anything." Dean started, and flushed red. Getting back on track here, "Whatever. Anyway, what, am I supposed to come back and just sit around not helping? You had exams. If I'd have known you didn't want me around to help, I wouldn't've come back at all." Dean says, slamming his beer down.

"Well maybe that's what I wanted. Maybe you needed to come home and just sit around and drink. Maybe you needed a second to figure out what was going and understand what you were feeling. I don't know, Dean, I don't know what I expected. Not Rescue-Dean, mister "No thanks, just a water for me" or mister "Sure, Sammy, let me drive you to the farmer's market again"..." Sam sighed, exasperated.

"Well, fuck, Sammy. If you didn't need my help you coulda just told me." Dean finally replied, all the fight gone out of him. "I'd've stayed away from your perfect life."

"You're missing the point, Dean. I missed you. I missed this. Not the weird, "let's take a look at these insurance forms, shall we?"-version of a perfect older brother. What kinda person doesn't take a beat and grieve after finding out his dad is in a coma?" Sam says quietly, looking up at Dean. "I don't get it. It's like after we cleaned that house up, you finally let go. And it was just… God, Dean, I missed my brother." Sam's eyes brimmed with tears and Dean had to look away. Waving down the annoyed waitress again, he called out:

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm gonna need somethin' a little stronger here please."

Sam shook his head again.

"So what, now you're gonna drink yourself into a oblivion and not talk about what just happened tonight? Those aren't the parts I missed, Dean." Sam snapped, lips pinched into a pout.

"Will you give it a rest, Sammy? Yeah, okay, tonight was somethin' else. That house… It was a pretty literal representation of all the shit Dad's put us through. And it was kinda like… Like it felt good to do something about it, y'know? I mean, God, I left you alone with that guy for, what? Four months? And you saw that house, man…" Dean looked at his brother with haunted eyes. "I thought I was takin' care of you, like I was supposed to, when I left. I thought you'd be better off. Dad practically said as much, at the end there. It was supposed to be for you. You had a chance, Sammy. But I ended up screwing that up pretty bad anyway. I didn't think… I didn't think it would be like this, Sammy. I didn't want it to be like this. And it's all my damn-"

"Dean. Stop. It's not your fault. Your money helped keep me in college while Dad spiraled. You couldn't have known he would get sick and I'm sure whatever you were doing was important for you." Sam said, curiosity creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. But his brother's look only darkened further at the unspoken question. The waitress set down his whiskey, and Dean drained the rest of his beer without looking up. "Besides, you should have told me that when you got here. I didn't know how you felt, I would have-"

"So what? You wanna have a talk about feelings and braid each other's hair? Come on, Sam. I came home, I took care of stuff with the hospital, and I started carrying my weight. It's the least I could do and I'm gonna keep doing it 'til the job's done. No talks or crying are gonna change the fact that dad's an asshole, and I'm the selfish fuck who left my little brother to fend for himself." At that, Dean tipped his whiskey back in one shot, and got up from his seat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna get trashed and get laid. Here. Take these, go back to your apartment. Or do whatever the hell you want. I better start living up to my reputation."

Slamming the keys to the impala down on the table when Sam didn't take them, Dean got up and head towards the bar. He tried not to watch as Sam ducked his head and grabbed the keys, free hand fisted at his side as he left the seedy bar immediately. The pit in Dean's stomach grew at the pain he had caused his little brother; he was gonna need a hell of a lot more liquor.

Taking a seat at the bar, Dean immediately ordered another whiskey from one of the bartenders. Then another. Then two more before he began to consider getting up to sing Simple Man with the bearded fellow who was belting out the song on the raised platform behind him.

Right about the time he was finishing his sixth drink, a bartender brought Dean a very tall, very pink drink instead of his refill of whiskey.

"Hey, man, this isn't what I ordered." Dean said, the words slurring a little already. Six weeks must have had really done a number on his tolerance levels.

"I know. This is from the gentleman over there." the bearded man replied, gesturing over to where a young guy who looked to be in his late twenties waved at him shyly.

The kid was overdressed for such a dive, and his eyes were wide with innocence. Try as he might, Dean couldn't find it in him to refuse the drink. Accepting the fruity concoction and raising it up, Dean nodded stiffly and smiled back. The younger man jerked up, clearly surprised with this reaction, and started to get up. Nervous, but somewhat intrigued by the kid, Dean tried to school his features into what he hoped was a charming smile. Though he'd had less practice with seducing men on purpose, Dean knew his smile was enough to convince most people to leave a crowded area. Instead of heading Dean's way, however, the strange benefactor was approached by three men who looked to be around his age. Slapping the young guy on the back, Dean saw one of them hand him a few bills. Ah, so it was that kind of drink. Dean thought.

Turning sharply back to the drink in front of him, he called the nearest bartender over, the big, burly one who'd served him earlier, to take it away and replaced it with another whiskey, double. Ignoring the burn on his face and the back of his throat, Dean downed the double, and ordered another by tapping his glass twice without looking up. It was nearing the end of the night now, and the group of guys who'd just embarrassed Dean were one of the last ones in the bar. One scrawny old man perched quietly in a booth, surveying the room with an unsettling empty glare as he sipped on his clear drink. Other than that, the bar was clearly winding down for the night.

Dean was staring morosely at the glass in his hand, contemplating leaving, when another different drink appeared like magic in front of him. What now? he thought, looking up from his hands, ready to confront the next unknown gifter. A pair of blue eyes stared kindly back at him.

"Hello, Dean." said a familiar deep voice. Damn , Dean thought stupidly, that's not how I remembered this dork sounding. Dean opened his mouth to reply in kind, but the only thing that came out was a large belch.

Mortified, Dean hurried to cover his mouth and tipped over the drink the man had placed in front of him. Cursing, Dean struggled to mop up the mess with the flimsy napkin he had been given with his drink. Cas had disappeared, and Dean couldn't help but envy the man's choice to leave. It had all happened so fast that Dean wondered if maybe he'd hallucinated the man. Just as Dean was considering the complicated task of retrieving his wallet out of his back pocket to pay for the obviously excessive amount of alcohol he had consumed, Castiel reappeared with a rag and a new drink. Dean did his best not to openly gape.

"Uh, hi." he began eloquently.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel repeated, setting down the drink. "I believe we've gone through this part."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Dean gestures to the now-clean counter.

"You are forgiven." Castiel replied, and Dean was hit with his earnest blue stare once again.

Unsettled, Dean looked down to his glass.

"This isn't a whiskey." Dean stated, noticing the telltale pale yellow of the drink in front of him.

"It's lemonade…" Castiel started to say, and Dean's alcohol ridden brain wasn't fast enough to catch the shake of his head.

"Dude. No. I'm -" he began, but Castiel held up his hand.

"Trying to forget something through means of heavy intoxication." Cas finished for him. Dean closed his mouth, eyes wide. Castiel rested his hand back down on the counter as he continued.

"Yes, I noticed. If I thought I could convince you to drink it, I would have switched you to water much earlier tonight. As it is, I've mixed lemonade and bourbon. It's fresh squeezed, I made it myself." When Dean still didn't take a sip, Castiel leaned in conspiratorially. "I promise it's just as good as what I gave you yesterday." Eyes never leaving Dean's, his voice dropped even lower. "If not better."

Castiel stayed there, inches away from Dean's face, for a beat. Then, grinning, Castiel winked at Dean and leaned back, tapping both hands on the edge of the counter as if it was all a joke. Dean, who was busy pretending not to feel the burn creeping up his neck, floundered for a moment before he closed his mouth and lifted the glass to his lips.

The unique tang of Cas' sweeter-than-most lemonade filled his mouth. As he swallowed, he tasted the familiar bite of bourbon hit the back of his throat and the combination wasn't as bad as he expected. Still, it was lemonade, and Dean hated lemonade. Didn't he? It was hard to remember when Cas was staring at him again. This time, however, Dean could see, even in the low light of the bar, as Cas tracked the movement of Dean's tongue when he licked his lips, that his pupils dilated.

"Hey Cas," he started, suddenly brave. "Do you wanna get outta here?" he said, leering openly at the man behind the counter. Cas' eyes widened further.

"Well, for one, you haven't finished your drink," Cas replied after a moment, and Dean made to down the offensive thing. Cas held the glass firmly against the counter. "And for two, I am not done my shift." Cas added, expression wry. "But, I propose a deal: you switch to water after this drink, and we 'get out of here' as you suggested in twenty minutes, after I finish up my shift. Sound good?"

Dean had only been half listened as Cas talked and jerked his gaze up from where it had been following the tiny patterns he had been drawing into Cas' fore arm.

"Huh?" he said intelligently, and Cas dutifully repeated the terms. Shrugging noncommittally, Dean muttered something unintelligible. while returning to his previous engagement of touching Cas' skin.

"Hmm. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm afraid I only accept explicit consent." Cas started apologetically, and, as if sensing the rejection in his voice, Dean straightened in his stool.

"Mmkay. Yeah. Yes. Bring me a water!" he announced happily, and Cas smiled indulgently.

"Fine. But you're drinking two of those at least before leaving tonight." Cas admonished, scurrying off to find Dean some water.

It was close to forty five minutes later that Dean was getting shaken awake on the bar stool.

"Wha?" he said intelligently. The familiar crystal gaze was filled with concern as it gazed into his eyes.

"I knew I should have sent you home in a cab. Dean, Do you have a way home?" he asked, concerned, but Dean just smiled sleepily.

"Yes." he claimed, smiling widely. "I'm lookin' right at it."

Dean got to his feet unsteadily. "Cas, baby, take me home tonight." Dean said, his speech slurred with alcohol and sleep. Cas looked around for a moment, as if unsure. Then, seeming to make a decision, he manhandled Dean from the stool, and half carried him to the door of the bar.

"You gonna carry me over the threshold, baby?" Dean said, nose brushing up against Cas' ear.

"If you cannot hold yourself upright, then I expect so, yes." Cas said, ignoring the shiver that ran up his spine at the whispered words.

"Aw, what a gentleman! You know what they say, Cas…" Dean said as they stumbled towards a toyota camry. Dean stopped, so that Cas was forced to stop too. He looked up at Cas expectantly, apparently awaiting his answer.

"No, Dean, what do they say?" Cas said finally, suppressing an eye roll.

"You always want a lady in the street, but a FREAK IN THE SHEETS!" Dean yelled, tackling Cas to the side of his camry, assaulting his neck in kisses.

"Dean." Cas said warningly. "Dean. Please stop, I just want to bring you home." he plead tightly. At the word home, Dean froze.

"Can't." he said, resuming his attack on Cas' neck. "Don't have a home." he mumbled, and Cas tried valiantly to keep from carding his hands through the man's hair. Realizing his only choice was trickery, Cas made a decision.

"Dean. You need to listen to me." he said, adopting the firmest voice he could manage as Dean sucked what would probably end up a substantial hickey into his collarbone. Dean looked up, pausing his shenanigans.

"Yes, sir." Dean said, a gleam in his eye. Cas tried to ignore the feeling that elicited.

"We can't do this here. Come home with me." Cas said in his huskiest voice, and Dean let out a loud groan.

"Yeah, baby, let's go." he mumbled into Cas' neck, and delivered a short peck to his mouth before sauntering over to the passenger's side. Sighing at his predicament, Cas reluctantly entered the car after him and they began their journey to Cas' place.

Castiel had spent the better part of their ride home attempting to stop Dean from unbuckling his seatbelt to lean over and paw at Castiel's crotch. Forty minutes was a very long time to be driving with a very inebriated Dean. The situation was not facilitated by Castiel's view, either. He struggled to keep his eyes on the road for the sake of their safety, but the task soon proved to be near inconceivable as Dean began to disrobe within the first ten minutes.

"Please, Dean." Castiel pleaded, eyes itching to watch the man beside him. But his request went unheeded as Castiel saw Dean take off his flannel shirt to reveal a thin grey shirt underneath.

"S'hot, Cas." Dean complained, and Castiel tried not to notice the bead of sweat that rolled down Dean's throat. Keeping his eyes trained frontwards; he ignored the movement out of the corner of his eye as Dean fanned himself.

"Havin' a tough time there, Cas?" Dean drawled from the passenger seat, and Castiel shifted as he turned his blinker on. "Maybe we should pull over." Came Dean's thick voice. "Or I could..." Castiel heard the click of the seatbelt for the third time. "Multitask." He finished, and his warm hands traveled up Castiel's thigh.

"Dean!" he cried sharply, and Dean paused slightly in his ministrations. "Please. Please try and..." Castiel lost track of his sentence as Dean's fumbling fingers gave up on buttons and reached instead for the growing bulge in Castiel's tight jeans. He took a steadying breath. "Dean. Try and... and occupy yourself please! I'm driving and this is dangerous." He tried again, exhaling sharply when Dean's warmth receded from his lap.

"Okay." Dean said, and Castiel could hear the smirk in his voice. "I'll occupy." He continued. Castiel was relieved to hear the click of a seatbelt. A few seconds later, he glanced over to see Dean sitting up straight. His innocent wide eyed stare contrasted starkly with the smirk that stayed firmly in place. "I'll be so good, Cas." Dean said solemly as Castiel focused on the road. "'Gotta focus on the road. 'Gotta be really safe." Dean continued to mumble, and Castiel nodded absently, relieved that the assault on his self control had finally given way to drunken babbling. Then, to his horror, Castiel heard the sound of a zipper. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Dean." He said warningly, but it came out as more of a growl.

"You jus' – you just focus 'n the road, mmkay baby? I'll stay over here, I'll be good." Dean was babbling, and Castiel became totally engrossed with the wide stretch of empty road in front of him.

Dean is severely inebriated, Castiel repeated silently to himself. He does not know what he is doing. You are here to keep him safe, nothing else.

He heard Dean make a sound at the back of his throat that strongly resembled a whimper and Castiel bit back a string of curses.

"Mm. Yeah. I'll be so good, baby." Dean was mumbling at his side. Castiel both wished he would stop and continue forever. "I'll be so good for you, Cas, make it so good. Yeah, baby, just like that."

Stealing a look sideways, Castiel could see Dean had begun to palm himself through his boxers, eyes closed and bottom lip trapped under his front teeth. The car jerked a little to the right, and Dean's eyes flew open.

"Like what you see here, Cas? Gettin' a little dis'racted?" Dean taunted. Castiel diligently kept his eyes forward.

"Dean, we're almost there." Castiel beseeched, voice breaking a little. Seeing it only encourage Dean further, Castiel was suddenly reminded of how he had managed to get Dean to comply earlier. Taking a deep breath, Castiel reached over to still Dean's hand in his lap.

"Dean." He said, lowering his voice, and he spared a glance long enough to see Dean's eyes snap open, green irises dilated to black. "Stop." Castiel said, tone commanding. He saw Dean swallow. "This," he continued, squeezing Dean's hand where he had been palming his erection. "is mine." He growled. Dean obeyed immediately, face flushing a pretty pink, which made the freckles on his nose stand out. Castiel tried not to think about how easy it was to slip into the role.

"Good boy." Castiel murmured, unable to stop himself. Dean's lips parted in surprise and red bloomed brighter across his cheeks. He dropped his hands to his sides and immediately stared through the windshield, effectively chastised.

Soon enough, Castiel was pulling up to his driveway. As he parked the car, he looked over to find a snoring Dean in the passenger seat. A thin line of drool that had turned a spot on his shoulder dark grey should have been disgusting, yet Castiel found himself smiling fondly. He got out of his seat and walked around to the passenger door. Opening it carefully, Castiel took the opportunity to observe his companion a little closer. Long lashes threw shadows on high cheekbones under Castiel's gaze. His eyes then fell on the plush lips of his unconscious passenger, travelling down to where a collarbone peeked through the unbuttoned collar of his Henley. Lower, his shirt was rucked up to reveal his left hipbone, where an undone fly showed a pair of plaid boxers riding low enough that Castiel could spot a patch of dark, wiry hair, incongruous with the soft, dirty blonde hair that he wore short on his head.

Castiel jumped suddenly at the realization that he had been staring at the sleeping man for several minutes now and debated the best method of waking his impromptu guest without startling him. He settled on laying a hand on his left shoulder and saying his name softly.

"Dean."

"Wha? Huh?" Dean exclaimed, sitting up straight.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you." Castiel said immediately, hand still resting on Dean's shoulder.

"Mmmh." Dean smiled sleepily, rubbing one eye with the heel of his right hand. "S'okay." He mumbled through a yawn, "I thought maybe you'd been a dream, Lemonade Stand Guy. But you're real, aren't you?"

Castiel smiled despite himself.

"Yes, Dean. I am real." He hesitated. "Do you... Do you remember what happened?"

Castiel bit his lip. Though it had only been a short nap, Castiel feared Dean might be disoriented and require an explanation as to why a strange man had decided to take him home.

"Mmyeah. You were gonna take me home and ravish me." Dean said, spreading his arms wide and giggling. Castiel shook his head.

"I promised no such thing." He replied firmly, and Dean pouted. Castiel ignored the dip of Dean's cupid bow, but concentrating on Dean's long lashed emerald gaze did not help either.

"You said!" Dean insisted, crossing his arms, and Castiel sighed deeply.

If getting Dean into the car at the bar had been a challenge, getting him out was nearing on the impossible.

"Dean." He said warningly, and the green eyed man looked up at him lazily.

"'Like it when you're bossy, Cas." Dean grinned, licking his lips. Castiel eyes automatically dropped to Dean's disappearing tongue. Dean laughed, triumphant.

"You like it when you're bossy, too!" he exclaimed, fist pumping once in the air. "I knew it!" he said, and got up from the car, almost knocking Castiel over in his excitement. Castiel attempted to give Dean room to stand up properly, but the other man was not having it.

"C'mon, Cas. I was so good for you." Dean whined, mouth back on Cas' neck. "Gimme some of that sweet lemonade, baby." Dean said, swaying his hips.

Castiel couldn't hold back his snort of laughter at that. Dean pulled Castiel away, eyeing him suspiciously at arm's length.

"You laughin' at my seducing skills?" Dean asked, eyes narrowed. Instead of denying it, Castiel simply raised an eyebrow. "Alright, alright." Dean sighed. "Not my best line. But c'mon Cas. Let's get it on."

Castiel lowered his eyes, shaking his head.

"As much as I would very much enjoy ravishing you with some lemonade... I think it would be best if we refrained from engaging in any activities of a sexual nature tonight, Dean." Castiel said reluctantly. Dean made an unhappy sound that very much resembled a whine.

"Come on." Castiel said firmly, taking Dean's hand and walking towards the entrance of the house. "Bed."

Dean let himself be dragged to the door, but stopped point blank before crossing the threshold. Frowning, Castiel looked back at him.

"I don't wanna." Dean said petulantly, and Castiel sighed heavily, returning outside in the night air.

"Dean..." he began, but Dean shook his head adamantly, a glint of mischief in his eye.

They stayed like that for a moment. Castiel still held Dean's hand in his, and Dean stood on the porch, feet firmly planted a foot apart. Then, suddenly tired of the game, Castiel stooped down to put one arm behind Dean's knees. Caught off guard, Dean tumbled gracelessly backwards into Castiel's ready embrace, sputtering. Castiel then straightened, one hand firmly grasping Dean around his waist, the other curled under his popliteus. Dean's neck was close enough that he could smell his cologne underneath the alcohol. He couldn't resist placing a tiny kiss against the strong cords of it. Hopefully he will not remember this tomorrow morning. Castiel thought guiltily, crossing the threshold and moving up the stairs to the guest room. Once arrived at his destination, Castiel dumped Dean unceremoniously on the large bed.

"Mmpf!" came Dean's indignant voice. "You carried me over the threshold, you finally gonna have your way with me now, huh Cas?" he said, shrugging out of his jeans already. Castiel turned away.

"As I said earlier, I believe it would be best for you to get some sleep, Dean." Castiel said, not without pausing at the doorway before leaving. "Goodnight." He said quietly, and made to leave the room.

"Wait! Cas!" came Dean's voice, and Castiel was loathe to ignore it. "I'm sorry, okay?" he said, rising from the bed. Castiel turned around slowly, taking in the half naked man before him. "Can I..." Dean said, hand at the back of his head. "Can I maybe sleepwithyou?" he finished quickly, words tumbling over each other. Castiel tilted his head, considering.

"By sleeping, do you mean engaging in sexual intercourse, Dean? Because I believe I have made it abundantly clear that I do not wish to—" Castiel began, but Dean rushed up and cut him off.

"No, God. I meant... I jus' meant sleep, man, Cas. 'Don't wanna sleep here all alone." Dean mumbled, his face turning that lovely shade of pink again. Castiel fought to say no to those freckles. He lost.

"Alright." He said, turning away again. Dean perked up immediately. "Follow me, then." Castiel said resignedly and crossed the hallway to his room, Dean in tow.

After Castiel had showed Dean where to find some clothes he could sleep in and an extra toothbrush he was free to use, they both settled into bed. It was almost... domestic.

Castiel lied on his back, trying to ignore the sounds of a very warm, very willing Dean settling in beside him. For a few minutes, they both lied stock still, two inches apart. Castiel could hear the steady breaths of his companion slow down, but he could somehow tell Dean hadn't fallen asleep yet. He counted the seconds in his head, unable to find sleep despite the late hour.

Then, after a few more minutes spent in awkward silence, Dean stirred, turning onto his side, facing Castiel. Castiel remained motionless, staring up at the ceiling with renewed and pointed interest. Dean huffed.

"Hey." He said finally, hand coming up to tap lightly on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel turned reluctantly to face Dean. Their gazes met, and Castiel found his body rolling over onto his side without his permission. Dean's face broke out into a smile as his hands traveled under the shared covers to meet Castiel's.

"Hi." Dean repeated.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel replied solemnly. They both hadn't broken eye contact.

Dean let go of Cas' hand for a moment to cover up a yawn.

"You should go to sleep." Castiel said, brow furrowing at the crack of Dean's jaw, but his words held no bite.

"I can't." Dean replied, hand coming up to cuff Castiel lightly on the chin, only to return to Castiel's empty hand under the covers. "Don't wanna stop lookin' at you." Dean said, eyes crinkling at the corners. The answer caught Castiel unawares, and it was his turn to flush red at the sincerity in Dean's voice. Heart beating wildly, Castiel squeezed Dean's hand harder, pulling him close. Then, covering up his uncertainty, Castiel let go of Dean's hand to paw at those beautiful hipbones. Manhandling him into position, Castiel turned his body so that Dean faced away from him. Grabbing Dean's hand once more, he splayed their fingers possessively over Dean's abdomen, nestling his chin on Dean's left shoulder. Dean chuckled.

"There's the bossy lemonade stand guy I know." Castiel thought he heard Dean mumble, but he ignored it in favor of dropping an open mouthed kiss onto Dean's t-shirt covered shoulder.

"Goodnight, Dean." He murmured against the skin of his neck.

"'Night, Cas." Dean mumbled back.

Dean had to pee. Dean had to pee really, really badly. He shifted in his half-sleeping state, groaning at the headache that immediately flared at the movement. Oh Shit, he thought dully. I'm hungover. It had been a few months since the rolling nausea of bad decisions was the first thing to greet him in the morning and he had not missed the unwelcome feeling. Squinting against the light behind his eyelids, Dean attempted to open his eyes. Cursing inwardly, he slumped back against his pillow, thinking back to the night before instead.

Slowly the events from his alcoholic adventures came back to him fuzzily: cleaning out his father's house, getting into a fight with Sam, meeting... Oh. Shit.

"Oh shit," Dean said out loud this time. Someone stirred underneath the covers behind him as Dean tried to sit up. Suddenly, the mass of blankets sat straight up, a mass of unruly black hair poking through the white linens.

"Damn." came the telltale growly voice of Dean's bedfellow. Dean grimaced.

"Hey. I know I'm not the prettiest sight in the morning, but..." Dean started, but his throat was raspy from sleep and dehydration.

"What?" Castiel barked, apparently only just noticing Dean's presence. "No."

Dean raised his eyebrows in question, but Castiel only groaned, hand coming up to rub his jaw.

"I meant to put on an alarm this morning and get you breakfast, but I got... distracted." Castiel said, disentangling their limbs and emerging from what looked like seven different covers to reach down to the floor. Retrieving his jeans from the night before, he searched the pockets until he came up with his cell phone. Sighing when he squinted at the time, he set it on the night table. "You were very... persistent." Castiel groused, and Dean blushed to the roots of his hair. Castiel seemed nonplussed as he burrowed back into the covers though.

"Too late now anyway, I suppose." Castiel mumbled into Dean's neck, wrapping his arms around his waist once more. He was back asleep within minutes, breath coming in warm little puffs at the back of Dean's neck. Dean couldn't suppress a grin at the large cat like man currently spooning him. He should have been embarrassed about the night before, but all he could think about was the weight of Cas' arms against his ribs.

Soon, however, Dean's bladder drew his thoughts away from the comfort of Castiel's embrace. Wincing slightly, Dean attempted to extricate himself gently from Castiel's grip. Unfortunately, it seemed, moving was not on Castiel's agenda for the day. Pulling a bit harder at the vice like grip on his torso, Dean let out the breath he had been holding, trying not to wake the man beside him.

Startling awake, Castiel's hands tightened automatically around Dean's.

"Where are you going?" came the grumpy sleep addled voice of his bedmate. Dean grimaced again.

"Cas. I gotta pee," Dean whined as the hands applied pressure to his nearly bursting bladder.

"Very well, sweetheart... Just come back...soon..." Castiel replied, eyes still closed as he rolled over onto his back. Dean was halfway out of the bed before he realized what Cas had called him. He also realized he had no idea where the bathroom was.

"Cas," he whispered urgently, but the man paid him no mind. "Cas!" he said again, shaking the man's shoulder.

Castiel's eyes snapped open and he sprung up from the mattress. Looking up at Dean with wide eyes, he seemed to finally understand their predicament. Flushing a dark shade of pink, Castiel tried to get out of bed, already babbling.

"Oh. Dean! Dean, I apologize! I'm not..." Castiel replied frantically, "I'm not usually this way in the morning... I..." Castiel trailed off at the sight of Dean in his shirt and boxers, practically dancing from foot to foot.

"Right! Bathroom!" he said brighty, and his blush spread to his bare chest. "It's... I'll just show you." He said and spread his palm forward for Dean to lead the way. They walked out of the bedroom and into a hallway painted grey. The walls were bare, and Dean could not for the life of him remember coming through here at all.

Thankfully, before Dean could concentrate further on what happened the night before, Castiel was pulling him into a room to the left and showing him where the guest towels were.

"Here. Once again, I apologize for my informality earlier. I hope I did not make you feel uncomfortable." Castiel said, looking Dean straight in the eye. Dean swallowed thickly.

"Feel free to take your time. I will prepare breakfast in the mean time." Castiel continued, but paused before leaving. "Oh. I almost forgot!"

He moved towards Dean, reached around him and plucking something off the shelf above the white sink. "Here. Take two." He said, rattling a bottle of ibuprofen in front of Dean. "It'll help with the headache."

And before Dean could protest that he was fine and didn't need coddling, Castiel was out the door and down the hall. Dean was left alone with his thoughts. He first relieved his bladder, and then moved on to the next order of business, showering.

Grumbling about "bossy lemonade makers" and "cuddly bastard", Dean took in his surroundings. The bathroom was large enough, with a very enticing shower in one corner that had obviously been added recently. Dean barely registered the pale yellow accents on the white tile when he noticed the body jets places all along the wall of the pristine shower stall.

"Oh hell yes." He said, not caring about how loud he was as he rushed to turn on the faucets.

Dean shirked off his t-shirt and boxers and stepped into the hot water. Humming in delight, he stood under the spray of the shower for a moment, letting himself relax. Thoughts about last night eventually creeped back into his mind though.

He had gotten drunk at the bar, he remembered that much. Then Castiel had appeared out of nowhere and given him more lemonade. Then... Oh.

Suddenly scenes from the night before were clamoring for attention in Dean's brain as he lathered himself in Cas' lemon scented bodywash. Asking, no begging Cas to take him home, his assault on Cas' neck by the car, a hazy memory of Dean's hands on himself in the car: it was all rushing back in Technicolor. Then, oh God , the "sir". His dick perked up in interest at the thought, but arousal was quickly overtaken by shame. He had begged. He had clung to this man he barely knew. And had Castiel ended up carrying Dean over the threshold? Oh, God. Dean cringed, hands frozen with the bee-shaped loofah held tight to his chest. His brain chose that moment to supply him with the memory of Dean asking Cas to sleep with him.

Dean Winchester did not cuddle.

Clenching his jaw stubbornly, Dean pushed the memories from his mind. He was plastered. It wasn't his fault. It was the damn lemonade stand guy turned bartender with his mixed drinks and blue eyes. If Cas said a word about last night, Dean would just pretend he didn't remember. He was wasted. Who could blame him? Dean scrubbed at his skin until it turned pink and finished up his shower.

Dean smelled the bacon from the hallway when he emerged in a towel from the bathroom. He was glad Castiel was downstairs because he had forgotten to bring clothes with him. Once he navigated the hallway to arrive at Cas' bedroom, he noticed some clothes neatly piled at the foot of the bed. Approaching it cautiously, Dean noticed a note on top:

Dean,

I apologize again for being such a careless host this morning. I chose a few items of clothing of mine that appeared to be close to your size. I thought you might enjoy a clean wardrobe after your morning shower.

(P.S.: If you would rather wear the same clothing from last night, please feel free to do so. I took the liberty of stowing your clothes in a laundry bag.)

C.

Indeed, Dean spotted his Eye of the Tiger t-shirt poking out of a reusable pink laundry bag a little ways away. He could easily have slipped it back on, but the temptation of clean clothes was too strong to ignore. He slipped the ACDC shirt Castiel had left out for him over his head, and pulled on a pair of grey boxer-briefs. They were a bit loose, though, so after some experimental wiggling, Dean slipped out of them, deciding to forego underwear entirely. Instead, he put on the pair of jeans Cas had selected and zipped them up. They were a bit loose around the waist, so they rode low on Dean's hips. The shirt was also loose, but shorter than Dean was used to. He pulled on the hem of it self-consciously when the soft spot on his abdomen peeked through as he lifted his arms in an attempt to tame his hair.

Glancing at the mirror again, Dean sighed resignedly and shook his head.

"C'mon, man," he muttered sternly to his reflection. "He's just a dude. A weird, dorky little dude who helped you out one time. Get it together."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, suddenly appearing at the doorframe. Dean cursed.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, cheeks burning. "What's up?"

"Breakfast is ready, if you'd like some!"Castiel said brightly, but Dean couldn't miss the glint in his eye as he turned back towards the hallway. "Come down whenever you're ready!" he called back, and Dean exhaled loudly through his nose.

"This is fuckin' good, Cas," Dean was saying a minute later, chewing a mouthful of eggs. Castiel beamed at him from his stance in front of the toaster on the kitchen counter opposite.

"It's even better with a little honey on it," Castiel replied, and returned to the small dining table with toast on a plate and a jug. Dean looked up at the smell of toast, but grimaces at the tell-tale yellow liquid sloshing in the clear receptacle. "I'm telling you," Castiel hurriedly added, misunderstanding Dean's grimace, "It seems unorthodox, but the honey really complements the eggs; you should try it! Besides," Castiel said in a conspiratorial tone, "honey has many health benefits. It contains a very high amount of fructose, a form of sugar that speeds up oxidation of alcohol in your system."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel.

"It is helpful when one has... overindulged the night before," Castiel explained, a smirk playing on his lips. Dean blushed scarlet and accepted the toast and drink wordlessly. At Castiel's pointed stare, he even added a small amount of honey onto his eggs. Castiel beamed.

"So, uh, listen," Dean started, clearing his throat loudly, "about- about the uh, over..." Dean stopped himself before he could say the word indulgence while looking Castiel in the eye. Castiel waited patiently. "About last night," he began again, and Castiel finally held up his hand where he sat to Dean right.

"There is no need for explanations, Dean. You had obviously had a difficult evening. I had noticed the fight with your brother before he left. You were clearly seeking respite from a bad mood in the form of heavy intoxication," Castiel said calmly, and Dean nodded again.

"Exactly," he said, uncertain. "And whatever I did, or say- or didn't do or didn't say... I just..."

"You do not remember your actions or words and do not wish for them to influence my judgment of your character," Castiel finished for him, and Dean was once again left gaping.

"Yeah," Dean said dumbly. "Exactly."

"Well," said Castiel crisply, hands clasped in front of him on the table, " in that case, I'd like to clarify that I only agreed to share a bed as a safety precaution, as I was loathe to leave you alone in your intoxicated state. I would like to assure you that nothing untoward transpired between us. I prefer my sexual conquests to be fully conscious and consensual."

Castiel's phrasing suddenly reminded Dean of his words last night. I'm afraid I only accept explicit consent. He blushed dark at the memory, as well as the effect the words still had on him this morning. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat.

"You worried about my virtue, Cas?" Dean tried for flippant, but the words came out in a croak.

"I simply wished to clarify, given your apparent inability to recollect last night's events," Castiel replied calmly, but Dean saw his gaze shift to Dean's collar, following the blush that had no doubt spread there.

"Right. Exactly," Dean agreed, bringing his hand up to rub his neck, cursing as Cas' eyes dropped to his strip of exposed stomach. "Exactly. So... If you could—Maybe if we could just pretend..."

Castiel's eyes snapped back to Dean's and he was assaulted with the intensity of his sincere blue gaze.

"I will be sure to strike all that happened last night from my memories of our time together," Castiel said firmly, but his eyes held a curious sparkle.

Dean's already flaming cheeks burned brighter at Castiel's phrasing. Then, as if reading Dean's mind, Castiel's gaze grew downright mischievous.

"That is, of course, on one condition," he said lowly, chin dropping but gaze still locked on Dean's.

"W-What's that?" Dean asked, eyes wide, unable to tear his eyes away now.

"That you give me the opportunity to make up for this morning's discourtesy. Would you like to accompany me to the farmer's market today, Dean? Anna is tending to the stand, but I would love to repay you for your patience with me earlier," Castiel said, and Dean could hear the unspoken deal. I'll take you to the farmer's market and we can both pretend my arms weren't wrapped around you and your mouth never formed the words "yes, sir".

Castiel stared at Dean a little longer.

"I could text your brother Sam and he could pick you up directly from there, if you'd like," Castiel said, coaxing an answer out of Dean. At the mention of his brother's name, however, Dean was startled back to reality. The past twelve hours or so had been surreal, but he knew he had left Sam in a bad place. Cursing, Dean pushed his chair back from the table.

"Or I could drop you off at your home, of course," Cas was mumbling, and Dean stopped in his tracks.

"No, Cas," he said, turning back to look at the man who was now staring determinedly at his lap. "Hold on, okay? I gotta text Sammy." And Dean turned and ran up the stairs to his phone. Seeing it laying on the bedside table next to Cas' made Dean want to smile irrationally as he picked it up and dialed Sam's number off by heart. Selecting , Dean quickly informed Sam of his activities last night.

Stayed over at someone's place. Sorry I didn't text. Getting a ride to the farmer's market later. C u there?

Dean tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter. He knew his brother wouldn't keep him waiting. Sure enough, his phone chimed with a new message.

Sounds good. Just finishing up the living room. I can be there around two.

Dean glanced at the time indicator on his phone. Eleven thirty. That gave them plenty of time. Dean walked back into the hallway and down the stairs to where Castiel stood at the sink cleaning dishes.

"Hey, you made breakfast, you don't need to do that," Dean protested, walking over.

"It's no trouble, Dean," Castiel said quietly, and Dean finally remembered to share his plan. Grabbing a dish towel to dry, Dean hip checked Castiel so he would move over.

"Aw, come on, it's no trouble," Dean responded cheerfully. "Besides, this'll give us more time to go to the market together, right? Gotta make it up to me for all that grumbling in bed," Dean said, and tried to ignore the way the tips of his ears burned at the mention of them sharing a bed. Castiel stopped washing the plate in his hands and gazed up at Dean for a moment with a look of pure adoration. Dean couldn't help but grin back. Clearing his throat, Castiel returned to his gentle dish washing.

"Shall I text Sam?" he inquired calmly, but Dean could have sworn he heard an undertone of excitement. Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I told him I'd be meeting him there at two," Dean said carefully. Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought maybe you and I could walk around a little beforehand? Get to know each other a bit better? At least so it's less awkward the next time we call each other... sweetheart. " Dean said, covering up his nervousness with a teasing remark. Castiel was too busy staring up at Dean with wide eyes.

"Dean Winchester, are you asking me out on a date?" Castiel asked, hitting Dean on the arm with the wet sponge.

"Hey! Watch it, man, you'll get my clothes wet!" Dean cried, but he was smiling too.

"I believe those are my clothes, Mr. Winchester, and you have yet to answer my question," Castiel replied, yellow gloved hands coming to rest on hips, fingertips wetting the edges of his blue and white plaid apron. A goddamn apron, Dean thought absently.

"Well, I mean, if you want it to be..." Dean replied hesitantly, and when Castiel's face showed no change, he plowed on. "Yes. Castiel... Damn, I don't know your last name," Dean said, and Castiel's mouth twitched. "Castiel Whatever-your-last-name-is, will you go out with me to the farmer's market where you work in the middle of the day?" Dean said finally, the words jumbling together in one breath.

All Dean could register was the wet sound of a sponge hitting the floor before Castiel was yanking his face down towards his, rubbery gloves sending soapy water down Dean's neck.

The kiss was brief. Dean barely had time to taste Cas' soft, but dry mouth against his before Castiel pulled away. Dean found himself chasing his lips, but Castiel put a hand to his now-damp chest.

"Yes," Castiel said breathlessly, kissing Dean chastely on the cheek. He turned back to the sink and pulled the drain as if nothing had transpired. Dean stood gaping for a moment when Castiel spoke again.

"Dean. You should be getting ready," he said, but Dean simply stared at the shorter man wearing an apron and yellow gloves.

"Go on!" Castiel insisted, and Dean closed his mouth to obey.

Just as he was bending down, struggling to hold up his loose fitting jeans with one hand while tightening the laces on his boot with the other, he heard Castiel call out from the kitchen.

"Milton!" the muffled voice came, and Dean frowned at the outburst.

"What?" he replied, confused. Castiel entered in the hallway and Dean was momentarily distracted by the sight of the man in an honest-to-God pink v-neck. The jeans Castiel wore slung obscenely low on his hips and Dean could not stop staring at muscles flexing in his arm as he reached up to rub his jaw.

"Milton," Castiel repeated as he reached down for his own shoes: a pair of mismatched converse. "My last name is Milton." Castiel looked up to grin at Dean, and Dean smiled goofily back.

Castiel Milton, Lemonade Stand Guy, thought Dean, smiling to himself. They made their way out of the house.

As soon as they got to the market, Castiel could tell something was bothering Dean. The man exited the car quickly, but then stood silent as Castiel followed suit. Frowning, Castiel tilted his head, considering Dean's posture. His eyes stayed glued to the floor and his hand came to play at the hem of Castiel's shirt as he bit his lip. Castiel's mouth twitched. Dean was nervous. It was laughable, really.

From the moment Castiel had spotted Dean with his brother, Castiel had equated the man with light: bright, exuberant, radiant. Even as he watched Sam dragging Dean across stalls, the man spoke with a wide grin, gesticulated often, and most of the time succeeded in making his brother smile. Once, when Castiel had glanced their way, he had witnessed Dean laugh. Sam was listening intently as Tim, the chard vendor, explained the health benefits of the admittedly disgusting vegetable. Dean had clearly been ignoring the two deep in conversation, until Sam had offered Dean what Castiel knew to be a "chard-shot". Dean had stared at the green liquid offered to him for moment. Then, suddenly, he had thrown back his head, mouth wide, in a laugh loud enough that Castiel could hear it over the clamoring Saturday crowd. He could not recall having ever seen such a beautiful sight. The image left him with one word: sunshine.

The man who stood meekly in front of him now was the complete opposite. Hunched over, Dean stared resolutely at the ground until Castiel approached him.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean's gaze rose immediately to meet his. His lip remained trapped between his teeth, however, and his harlequin eyes were wide with what appeared to be anxiety. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, Dean's nervousness vanished.

"Heya, Cas," he said. But Castiel detected a small strain in his voice that hadn't been there this morning. "Ready for our date?" Dean waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, smiling again. It wasn't the full-bodied laugh he had been privy to in the past, but Castiel would take the fake cocky grin offered now just as well.

"Actually, I'm not sure. I'm having second thoughts," Castiel said, hands in his pockets as he stopped by Dean's side. Dean stopped in his tracks, turning incredulous eyes back to Castiel. He couldn't stop his mouth twitching again at the sight of Dean so startled and confused.

"You little shit," Dean muttered, and grabbed Castiel by the shoulder, walking into the market without turning back.

They walked side by side in silence for a while. Dean's nervous energy was back, and Castiel cursed his own apparent loss in the ability to make conversation. What did people talk about? The weather? Castiel looked up at the sky for inspiration, but the clouds obscured the sunshine. He considered commenting on the unseasonable breeze when his eyes caught on the honey stand nearby.

"Did you know that bees don't hibernate? They cluster for warmth," Castiel blurted out without thinking, hoping to put Dean at ease. Dean turned to him, eyebrows raised, as they continued to walk aimlessly by Rita's kale stand.

"Uh. Okay…"he said, eyes narrowing. "You cold or something, Cas?" Dean asked, brow furrowing. Castiel assessed his comfort with regards to temperature.

"No," he answered slowly, wondering if he has misunderstood the question.

"Okay…" Dean said again, but the confusion on his face didn't leave.

They continued walking in silence.

"They vibrate their wings. To stay warm in the winter," Castiel tried again, and Dean looks down at him again, concern now present in his questioning stare.

"You need me to put my arm 'round you or somethin', Cas? 'Cause you can just ask, you know…" Dean starts, but Castiel cuts him off with an indignant squawk.

"Dean Winchester. I have watched you masturbate in the passenger seat of my car. If I wanted you to touch me, I would make my intentions plain," Castiel said, and Dean stopped in his tracks. Mouth working, Dean glared at Castiel for a moment. Then, his expression changed, and suddenly he was laughing. Castiel's frown melted at the sight, though his confusion at the outburst had not abated. Once Dean had stopped laughing, he smirked knowingly at Cas.

"So you were me watching, then," he said, smile widening at the drop of Castiel's mouth.

"I…" Castiel started, but then Dean started laughing again. Castiel definitely did not pout.

Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and started walking again. The tension was gone from his shoulders though, so Castiel could not find it in him to complain that he was apparently the butt of the joke. After a moment, Dean turned again to look at Castiel.

"Alright, well, if you're so comfortable with asking me to touch you," Dean started, and Castiel opened his mouth to protest at his unfortunate phrasing. Dean held up a hand. "What\s with all the bee facts?"

Castiel tilted his head again.

"I fail to comprehend what bees have to do with my ability to regulate my temperature…" Castiel replied uncertainly.

"Well… You're cold, right? You wanted to cluster together? Like the bees?" Dean said, and he wiggled his fingers in what Castiel took to be an approximation of bee's wings. Castiel snorted loudly.

"Dean. Bees cluster in order to protect their queen from freezing to death. It's an ingenious method of heat conservation, but I assure you I would inform you if I was in any danger of freezing to death," Castiel replied calmly, though his voice broke a little at the ridiculousness of Dean's words.

They had stopped at a stand advertising tomatoes and - How lovely,Castiel thought - more kale. Dean stopped evaluating the firmness of a particularly bright red fruit to fix Castiel with an odd look in his eye. Sensing that Dean had yet to understand the importance of a bee's survival in the colder months, Castiel continued on.

"Really, Dean. I was just informing you of an interesting way in which bees survive despite the odds against them. Bees are very important to our world's ecosystem," Castiel babbled, but Dean kept staring at him with that look that Castiel could not identify. When he made to keep talking, however, Dean stopped him.

"Okay," he said, his mouth lifting at one corner, "okay I get it. Bees are really important." Castiel relaxed at Dean's comprehension, despite the lingering feeling he was being laughed at. There was a lull in the conversation while Dean selected a tomato.

"So besides your little obsession with bees," Dean said.

"It's not an obsession, Dean, they are really-"

"Okay, okay! Besides your… interest in bees," Dean corrected quickly, and Castiel nodded his approval for him to continue, "what other things do you like, Castiel Milton?"

Castiel wracked his brain for an adequate answer. He spent most of his time tending to the garden, his bees, and the stand. When he had extra time, he helped his brother out with the bar, as he had the night before; though usually he did not quite so much enjoy that particular task. When Castiel didn't answer straight away, Dean laughed again.

"Cas, buddy, if it takes you that long to answer a simple question, we ain't gonna have time to get to know each other at all!" Dean said. Castiel rallied at the light teasing.

"I work a lot," he replied finally, and squinted again, thinking. "I enjoy reading, though, and tending to the bees. Though whether or not tending to bees counts as a hobby is debateable…" Castiel trailed off, then abruptly remembered Dean's earlier reprimand. "I'm sorry, you expressed a lack of interest in this particular arena. What do you do on your spare time, Dean?" he asked finally. Dean shook his head.

"Naw, Cas. I wasn't…" Dean started, but seemed to think better of it, "Your hobbies make mine sound stupid." Dean admitted looking down, a blush creeping up his neck. Castiel placed his hand on Dean's absently as they walked side by side without thinking. Dean jerked with surprise and nearly dropped the bag of tomatoes he was holding.

"I'm sorry," said Castiel hurriedly, cursing his lack of tact. He wished for the role to be reversed as they had been upon meeting Dean, but it was his turn to feel his cheeks burn as he quickly clasped his hand behind his back.

"I…" Dean started, but Castiel was determined to gloss over his faux pas.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said again, firm, and Dean closed his open mouth, licking his lips nervously. Castiel tried not to watch what he was discovering to be a common gesture with Dean. "I only meant to convey that I am positive nothing you love could be stupid. What are you interested in, Dean?" Castiel brings his eyes to hold Dean's gaze steadily. It proves to be a mistake when Dean opens his mouth to speak, only to yelp as he nearly runs into an elderly lady and a small child.

"F-" Dean starts, then covers his mouth, "I'm sorry, m'am, I didn't see you there. Here, let me help you with that…" he says politely, attempting to help sort out the mess of bags the lady is holding. He yelps again when the old woman bats his hand away with a sharp rap of her cane.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" she snarls, wrapping her hand more tightly around the child's. The little boy glares up at Dean before following his surly grandmother. Dean stares in shock.

"Well, fuck," Dean said after a beat. Castiel stared back, mouth agape.

Then, unable to hold back any longer, Castiel laughed loudly, all the tension running out of him. Dean's eyes widened further, but his mouth turned slowly into a reciprocating smile. Castiel let out a small high pitched squeal, and doubled over again, whole body shaking with laughter.

"This," he said, taking a gulp of air, "is going…" another wheeze, "so poorly!" he finally finishes, and Dean chuckles a little too.

"God, you're right…" Dean replied, running a free hand through his hair. His smile was strained though, so Castiel sobered up enough to explain.

"It's not you," he began, then frowned at the familiar phrasing. "No, I'm serious! I honestly don't think I can remember having had a worse first date."

Dean's smile disappeared, and Castiel groaned.

"No, no," he tried again. Sighing, he reached up and pecked Dean on the cheek, just so the frown could be replaced with the look of surprise and embarrassment that Castiel was starting to find unbearably endearing. Dean waited patiently for the explanation as Castiel continued. "It's just… You were uncomfortable, then I attempted to rectify the situation by making conversation, but only succeeded in making us both more uncomfortable… I just… My 'people skills' and a little 'rusty', as they say." Castiel dipped his head at the admission, laughter finally abating enough for him to explain properly. "And throughout this entire fiasco, I still haven't learned a single thing about you..." He hesitated before continuing, eyeing Dean cautiously. "Despite my definite vested interest in getting to know you better. I mean, I would like to at least secure a goodbye kiss later." he added, staring up at Dean with a straightforward gaze. His candor was mediated by the way he bit his lip, as if willing the words back into his mouth.

Dean had been cautiously eyeing him throughout his speech, smile growing, until his mouth formed a little "o" at the last sentence. Castiel smiled brighter despite the pink he knew was dusting his cheeks.

"Well," Dean said finally, after allowing his gaze to linger for a moment on Castiel's. "In that case, how 'bout we start by reducing our risk of collateral damage and finding a damn seat 'round here somewhere?" When Castiel nodded, , Dean smiled again. "Good. And don't think I didn't hear you say you owned bees, Cas. I wanna hear all about it in a sec'." He added, nudging Castiel a little to the side.

Emboldened by Dean's suggestion, Castiel began to turn towards the lemonade stand.

"You go find us a spot," he said, nodding Dean over to the deserted picnic tables past the market. "I'll get us refreshments."

Castiel turned away again before he could see the flash of dread in Dean's eyes at his words.

Dean walked over to some picnic tables a little further away from the market. The farmer's market was a pain to get to because it was a good twenty minute drive east from the main part of Lawrence where Sam lived. The drive from Castiel's had not taken as long, but then again, Castiel's house was also quite a ways from the downtown area. Nestled in a wide field that was once probably a farm, the locals gathered, daily or weekly, depending on the owner's time frame, to sell their goods. Though he would never admit it to his brother, Dean liked the market itself, with its natural bustling friendliness and brightly coloured stands. If there was one place Dean could envision a cookie cutter life, it was Lawrence.

He was picturing a sandy haired green eyed boy running up to a dark haired woman as a much older version of himself looked on when Cas finally showed up, two mason jars in hand. A new vision flashed through his mind at the sight of the squinting man in front of him. A dark haired man with blue eyes replaced the slender woman he had imagined and instead of a green eyed little boy, a border collie ran up to pretend-Dean as he returned from work to greet his partner who was tending dutifully to their tomato garden. Dean immediately pushed away the absurd thought and focused on the man approaching him now. It did not do him well to dwell on fantasies. Especially not ones about broad shouldered men in pink v-necks he barely even knew. Speaking of which… Dean thought.

"Hiya, Cas, whatcha got there?" Dean said, shielding his eyes from the sun that had returned full force in the apex of mid day.

"Your favourite!" Cas said, and held out a large jar of lemonade. Dean smiled uncomfortably.

"Uh, thanks, Cas! That was thoughtful of you," he said, hoping his tone did not betray his distaste. Dean sipped his drink, trying not to choke on the acidity. Castiel ducked his head, smiling a little as he sat down, and Dean saw the tips of his ears redden. Totally worth it.

"So, Dean," Castiel began.

"Alright, Cas," Dean started at the same time.

They both looked at each other in desperation. Dean held up his hand as if waiting to be called upon in a classroom. Castiel lifted his eyebrow at him, expression slightly confused, but mostly curious.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester," he said. Dean tried not to think about the professor voice. It sounded too much like the one Castiel had used to get Dean in the car last night. He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts.

"We gotta try something new," Dean said, and Castiel's eyebrow lifted further, though now his expression took on a more ravenous look. Dean swallowed. "I- I mean with how we're talkin'," Dean clarified, and the hunger receded slightly, though Castiel's eyes took a moment to unstick from Dean's throat when after he swallowed. He nodded minutely, eyes trained to Dean's. "I think we should play a game!"

"I believe I am familiar with this game. It is the question game, correct?" Castiel asked, head tilting. "It is what my sister Anna has informed me flirtatious women often suggest in order to indicate they are interested in someone," Castiel explained assuredly, and Dean blushed.

"What?! No, man, that's not…" Dean started, but gave up almost immediately. "Alright, fine, yeah, a lot of girls use it to ask dumb questions like whether or not you like to be on top or whatever…" Dean peeked up at Castiel, who simply smirked at Dean.

"But you do not plan on using it to this end, of course," Castiel finished for him with a wide, innocent gaze. Dean had been too busy wondering whether he should feel surprised or insulted by Castiel's smug grin earlier to complete his sentence.

"Right, no. Of course not," Dean said quickly, and rallied. "I just think it would be a good way to get to know each other without any more casualties." Castiel looked like he was about to start asking questions, so Dean quickly went on. "But you know, let's make it fifteen questions. And you gotta answer honestly." Dean watched as Castiel furrowed his brow as if the decision to accept these terms would impact the rest of his life. Dean waited patiently. He was getting used to reading Castiel, with his tilted head and mouth twitches.

"That seems amenable," Castiel replied finally, but held up a finger in pause. "But what happens if I do not wish to answer something?" Castiel asked, "Would I automatically lose the game?" He gazed at Dean very seriously, and he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the apparently high stakes.

"Nah, Cas, it's alright. Let's say that if you don't want to answer, you can just skip. And there's no explanation needed. Just take a pass and the game continues," Dean reassured him, and could have sworn he saw Castiel's shoulders relax minutely.

"This seems to be a good compromise. I will begin with an easy question," Castiel said formally, and turned to face Dean fully on the bench they were sitting side by side on. "Dean Winchester, what do you do on your spare time?"

"Honestly," Dean began.

"-that was the idea, yes-" Castiel cut in. Dean punched him in the arm and kept talking.

"Honestly, I haven't really had any 'spare time'. I work at a garage to help Sammy pay bills, I help sort out family stuff, I eat, and sleep," Dean said then, shrugging. He wracked his brain for the time he truly had a good time. Well, if I gotta be honest… he thought, taking an inventory of the past 6 weeks. "I actually think today's been the most fun I've had since moving back home." Dean flashed a dazzling grin at Castiel for effect, but the man's answering signature mouth twitch was half hearted. Thankfully, Castiel did not push Dean for more information. Besides, Dean thought wickedly, it's my turn.

"Alright, since you let me off easy, here's mine. How do you take your coffee?" Dean asked, eyes too wide to be as innocent as they looked. Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but relented once his searching gaze found nothing but feigned innocence in Dean's eyes.

"I prefer tea, with two teaspoons of honey. But if I must have coffee, I prefer it with four creams and four sugars," Castiel said, and Dean's expression morphed into one of disgust. "Why do I have a feeling this question had more meaning to it than simple coffee preferences?" Castiel asked, and Dean laughed.

"Is that your second question, Castiel?" Dean replied in kind.

"Are we starting another type of question game, Dean?" Castiel asked, challenging.

"Do you want to?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Could you keep up?" Castiel countered.

"Could you?" Dean said after a moment.

"Are you going to parrot me instead of finding a suitable question to ask?" Castiel asked, a laugh bubbling up at the absurdity of the conversation. Dean bit his lip.

"Are you gonna be a parrot… Fine, you win," Dean conceded, pouting at Castiel's smirk. "Don't look so smug, it's your turn to ask a question."

"Well, since you did have such a strong reaction to how I take my coffee… What significance does one's coffee preferences have for you?" Castiel asked, smiling when Dean's blush all but confirmed he had been avoiding the question to begin with.

"It's not a science or anything," Dean began. "It's just that I kinda feel like you can tell a lot from how people take their coffee." Dean shrugged, but Castiel shook his head.

"Not good enough!" he insisted, nudging Dean in the arm when he rolled his eyes. "Elaborate, please."

"I answered already! That's two questions, you can't add one on!" Dean protested, his cheeks still tinged pink.

"Technically, it wasn't a question," Castiel said then. He stole a cautious glance at the man beside him before leaning in, "it was more of an... order."

Dean did his best not to visibly shiver under Castiel's suddenly heated gaze. He could hardly keep up with the man's changing moods. One minute he was a shy, awkward mess; the next, he was ordering Dean around like he was a puppy. And Dean was… letting him? He shook his head to clear it.

"Fine, fine, whatever," Dean said, rubbing his jaw to dissipate the permanent burn that resided there apparently whenever he was around Cas. "So for example take Sammy. You've met my brother, you know that he's a total health nut, pain in the ass genius, right?"

Castiel nodded, though Dean wasn't sure he knew more than what Dean had told him about Sam.

"Sammy doesn't drink coffee if he can help it. He goes off about how it messes with his optimal energy levels and he 'prefers to get a good night's sleep'. Whatever. The point is, if Sammy has to drink coffee - like he's got some big exam or he stayed up late doing some nerdy shit - he drinks only the really expensive organic stuff and he drinks it black. Not 'cause he likes the taste, or 'cause he wants the best, most efficient cup of coffee to wake him up. Nah, Sammy drinks high quality, eight dollar a grain bullshit coffee 'cause he read on some blog once that unfiltered, low quality coffee can cause disease or something…" Dean trailed off, shrugging his shoulders again. "Anyway, what I'm saying is, I like to think the way people take their coffee says a lot about them. Sometimes you don't figure out how until you've got to know 'em a bit, sometimes the coffee question does the knowin' for you. It's just a thing I like to do…"

"I like it," Castiel said, and his smile is contagious. "But you know what my follow up question has to be now…"

"No follow ups!" Dean cried, suddenly nervous. This was moving into dangerous feelings territory real fast. "It's my turn anyway!"

"Fine. I'll wait my turn," Castiel relinquished. "In any case, I already know the answer." Castiel said smugly, and Dean's heart pounded painfully hard. How could Castiel know something Dean himself didn't even know... yet, his brain supplied helpfully. "I would wager you take your coffee black too, but for different reasons." Castiel smirked proudly at Dean's surprised frown.

Oh. He hadn't wanted to ask Dean what he thought Castiel's sweet coffee said about the man's character. He'd wanted to know about Dean. Well. That was… interesting.

"My lips are sealed," Dean said, covering up his mini panic attack with false confidence. "It's my turn, Cas."

"Go on then, Mr. Mysterious. I'll remind you that you've only fourteen more to go. Do not presume I am not keeping track," Castiel said, wagging his finger. Dean bit his lip in fake contemplation.

"I better make the next one good then," he said playfully and formulated his query in his mind.

After a few more easy questions wherein Dean asked Castiel who his celebrity crushes were, ("Dean, I'm afraid I do not follow popular culture…"- "C'mon, Cas, not even Harrisson Ford?" -"I do not know who that is, Dean." -"What?!") and Castiel asked Dean what his favourite dessert was ("Pie, obviously."), the question Castiel knew would arrive but had been dutifully ignoring finally came.

"So this chick is going to town under the covers and I'm losing my mind trying to keep it down, 'cause Sammy's in the other room of course and it's not like we're in the Embassy Suites here; walls are pretty paper thin. Anyway I guess I was pretty bad at being quiet back then 'cause three seconds after she does this thing with her tongue, Sammy walks into the bedroom in his PJs just starin'. I'm surprised, but I don't know if I should tell her 'cause she's still doing a real good job down there and I don't really want her to stop… But in that hesitation, she did that thing again and I…" Dean dissolved into laughter as Castiel tried not to imagine the sight of Dean "losing it" in bed. "Suffice to say, Sammy learned how to knock real quick, and that chick never stayed the night," he finished, still chuckling. Castiel shook his head at the story.

"So how's that for most embarrassing story? Although I'm pretty sure Sammy was more embarrassed than I was. Nineteen year old me didn't really give a shit about gettin' laid…" Dean's expression darkened a little at the admission.

"What about now?" Castiel asked before he could stop himself. Dean raised his eyebrows and winked.

"Ah, ah, ah!" It was his turn to waggle his finger. "It's not your turn," he said, but his smiled was strained again. "So tell me Cas, what's your family like? Got any Peeping Tom, cockblock brothers like me?" he asked a little too quickly. And there it was. The question Castiel had been debating using his "pass" on. Would it be suspicious to skip such a basic question? Would Dean's opinion of him change if he did? And if he didn't? He glanced sideways at Dean, but the man had thrown back his head to gulp down some more lemonade. The smooth column of Dean's throat was bared to him and Castiel thought, to hell with it!

"They're…" Castiel started, unsure of how to explain it. You can start with the truth, his mind supplied helpfully. Castiel tried again. "My family is very… conservative."

"Oh," Dean cut in and Castiel had the distinct impression that a lot had been said in that one syllable. Empathy flashed through Dean's eyes when their gazes met. Instead of shrugging it away, Dean smiled kindly. "You don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to." He said, holding Castiel's gaze. He smiled back gratefully, but ignored the easy out.

"No, no. I want to," Castiel said, and perhaps he was convincing himself too. He dove into the story without preamble. Best get it over with, he thought wryly."I expected, from what I had heard from those 'coming out' stories, a certain amount of resistance. My mother was a prominent figure in church, and my older brothers and I had always fallen in line…" Castiel stopped for a breath, pondering. "It's quite a long story, Dean, are you sure you want to hear about this? As far as I know, it is not necessarily custom to share this much on a first date. In fact, I see you're almost out of lemonade. We could get a refill instead!" Castiel suggested. Dean made a face.

"If you want to share, I'll listen. If you don't, you can still say pass," Dean said. "No excuses, no explanations. You can even ask me how I feel about casual sex now after," he added, nudging him lightly. Castiel smiled and stared at Dean a little longer than was necessary.

"Well, thank you Dean, but I believe the goal of this game was to get to know each other," Castiel replied firmly. He sighed before continuing. "It isn't particularly original. The poster boy in a religious community suddenly claiming to be a homosexual. It was unthought of. Absurd, even. So much so that many suspected I might be lying about it. They thought perhaps I was catering to the more liberal voices, trying to earn popularity and relatability. It wasn't until my 'condition', as they called it, seemed to affect others that my family grew truly afraid. I decided to do them a favour and move away." Castiel took a breath, stealing a glance at Dean, but the man simply nodded encouragingly. "So I looked up my estranged brother Gabriel. He had left the family long ago. We never mentioned him. Rumours flew for a while at church as to what he had gotten up to, but we were told he had lost his way, but if he were ever to find again, he'd be welcomed back like the prodigal son. I realize now how harsh it was for my parents to cut off their own child, but at the time it had seemed logical. Gabriel broke the rules. You could not be a part of the family if you could not adhere to the rules."

"Anyway, I found Gabriel easily enough. He was setting up shop in Lawrence and had already made quite a splash in the local news. That's when I realized he wasn't hiding. I left the day after I figured out where he was. I didn't tell a soul, I just packed up my favourite books in this old school bag I had used as a child when I went to Sunday school, and I was gone. I haven't spoken to my family since," Castiel finished. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing his bicep. Castiel leaned into the touch easily.

"Anna came to find me about a month later. She was a runaway that my mother had taken in 'to set an example' for other churchgoers. Anna was never any good at following orders. I wouldn't be surprised if my mother was relieved at her departure. Regardless, they never tried to contact me or Anna since we left. It's been nearly a year now," Castiel said. A year, and the access to his trust fund remained unhindered. Castiel pushed the thought from his mind, focusing on Dean's low whistle in response.

"Damn, Cas," Dean said, and Castiel nodded.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "I told you it was quite long." he added, apologetic.

"You're right," he said, his words distorted by a very loud yawn. Castiel turned, startled by the sound. "That was super boring, Cas. Way to be a drag," Dean said dismissively. Castiel's mouth fell open. Then Dean winked at him, hand moving to the nape of his neck. Curling his fingers around in the the hair at the back of Castiel's head, Dean rubbed soothing circles into his upper back, gentle movements in contrast with his crooked smile. Castiel smiled tentatively back.

"My apologies. However will I make it up to you?" Castiel replied, leaning in minutely. Dean grinned wider, the small tension that had formed between them breaking into easy camaraderie again. It seemed to be becoming a pattern with them. Castiel kept his eyes on Dean, whose eyes had crinkled at the corners, lashes casting long shadows over the tiny wrinkles.

Dean tsked.

"Is that your question, Mr. Milton?" Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head quickly.

The game continued easily for another hour or so. Castiel soon learned that asking Dean about literature or movies would gain him knowledge about all aspects of Dean's life as he was prone to ramble on into tangents about friends and family at the mere mention of pop culture. Castiel also learned that Dean and him both shared an evident enjoyment in making each other blush, which was demonstrated clearly in question number eight and ten. But best of all, Castiel got to watch, document, and categorize all the different ways Dean expressed himself through his body: the crinkle between his brows when Castiel told him that though he took pleasure in a well made burger, he felt less guilty indulging in a delicious kale salad; the way Dean's green eyes turned almost black with arousal when Castiel admitted he had tried on women's under garments (and enjoyed them); and Dean's laugh, which came in a myriad of forms, each more beautiful than the last.

He'd lost track of the time, as well as how many question they had asked each other. He was in the middle of relaying one happier story from his childhood, before Gabriel had left, when he felt Dean tense beside him. He turned to Dean, who straighten up from where his hand had been draped over Castiel's shoulder, shooting Castiel a familiar look of guilt mixed with fear before turning back to something in the distance in front of him. Castiel followed Dean's gaze and understood almost immediately.

"Ah," Castiel said quietly, straightening his posture as well. Though at times Castiel did not quite understand popular culture references or social cues, he was very familiar with the hitched breath of a man caught doing something he believed he shouldn't.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, approaching. Noticing Castiel, he grinned. "Hiya, Cas! So you've met! When did you run into Dean?"

"Yes, actually we met y-" Castiel began, but Dean cut him off.

"Today. We ran into each other today at the stand again," Dean said loudly. Castiel nodded slowly.

"Funny," Sam said, rounding on Castiel. He pointed his finger accusingly at Castiel. "You said you don't do Tuesdays! Today is Tuesday."

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Dean's smile faltered and he blanched. Castiel was unfazed though.

"Anna required some extra supplies, so I drove over to help her out," Castiel lied smoothly. Sam chuckled.

"Workaholic," he nodded knowingly, and Castiel smiled wanly.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I was just taking a break to offer your brother here some lemonade…" Castiel began, and Sam laughed outright.

"Don't bother! Dean ha-" Sam started, but Dean waved him off.

"H-has a sweet tooth. I have a sweet tooth. If you don't stop giving me free lemonade, I'll drink you right outta business!" Dean finished, flashing Castiel a bright smile. He added a wink when Sam wasn't looking. Castiel smiled uncertainly back.

"You're welcome to however much lemonade you would like, Dean," he said, and Dean flushed, still staring at him. Sam cleared his throat. Castiel reddened with embarrassment.

"You too, Sam, of course!" he added, but Sam was staring pointedly at Dean. Unsure of the meaningful glance Sam was throwing Dean's way, Castiel chose to ignore it and focused back on Dean.

"Actually, Dean," he said, a bit forcefully. Dean's eyes sharpened with curiosity. "I was hoping we could exchange numbers so you could help me out with that car trouble I was talking about earlier…" Castiel said, raising his eyebrows. Dean frowned momentarily, before catching on.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I'd love to help you out, Cas," Dean reached for his phone, winking at Cas again. Good call, he mouthed, but Sam was looking through Dean's purchases so far so he didn't notice. Castiel took Dean's phone and programmed his number in it quickly.

"Well, I should get back home," Castiel said vaguely, earning him a grateful smile from Dean. "It was nice seeing you Sam, Dean." He nodded at them both and smiled politely before walking to his car.

It wasn't until he was sitting in the driver's seat that he remembered he hadn't gotten Dean's phone number.

Twenty minutes later, Sam and Dean were on their way back to their father's house. Seeing as they had already stocked the pantry at Sam's place, they only needed a few supplies to keep them well fueled while they finished cleaning up John's house.

"So…" Sam started, and Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

"Spit it out, Samantha," he said finally, when Sam refused to continue.

"So you met Cas!" Sam replied, undeterred by Dean's dark tone. Dean huffed.

"Yeah. Nice guy," he said shortly. Sam smiled wider. Dean flipped his blinker on with a little more force than necessary.

"So nice. Him and his sister run that lemonade stand you like so much, you know?" Sam said, emphasizing key words in the sentence like Dean was slow.

"Yeah, I've met Anna. She's hot," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows at his brother. Sam frowned.

"Cas is pretty good looking too. Must run in the genes," Sam said, recovering his smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

"They're foster siblings, Sam. Last time I checked it doesn't work like that," Dean replied smugly. "And they look nothing alike anyway." Sam smiled wider.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. I guess I don't know as much about it. I don't really like Cas' lemonade that much. Too sweet," Sam said casually.

Dean opened his mouth to argue that actually its sweetness was the appeal, and couldn't Sam taste that note of something else in there? Dean may hate lemonade, but Cas' lemonade wasn't "too sweet". But Dean closed his mouth, thinking better of it.

"Whatever, Sam, enough about the lemonade, how's the house?" Dean said instead, and that effectively wiped the irritatingly knowing smile on Sam's face.

"It's coming. Slowly, but it's coming," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "When's our deadline again?" he asked, staring ahead at the road. Dean decidedly did not look at his brother when he answered.

"They want us to do it as soon as possible," Dean said quietly. "But I told them it could wait until the end of summer." Sam made to protest. "Forget it, Sammy. I got some money saved up from… from before, and I'm making enough cash to cover rent now. You don't gotta worry about hospital bills, okay? You just worry about getting ready for September." Dean turned to his brother at the last sentence, clasping his shoulder firmly. Sam smiled thinly.

"You don't have to do all that, it's not your job," Sam said. The anymore was left unspoken. Dean moved his hands back to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly.

"It is my job, Sammy. Who else is gonna do it now?" Dean muttered, looking away. Sam brought a hand to his jaw, features strained with tension.

"Yeah, yeah. I was there last night. I get it," Sam said darkly. "Don't you ever get tired of holding up the world on your shoulders?" He muttered, not low enough that Dean missed the words. He pretended he didn't hear.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence.

After that first tense day, however, cleaning the house quickly became a much easier ordeal. Though Dean's idea of blowing off steam - getting drunk at a bar only to end up at a strange man's house - had not quite had the effect he had planned, the boys soon fell into a quiet rhythm. Sam worked part time at a coffee shop and Dean went in for Bobby four times a week, but Dean's favourite days were those they spent sorting through their father's things together. Often times they weren't even in the same room, but one would find something of interest and call out to the other, reminiscing on happier memories.

The worst day was the one Dean spent cleaning out the bathroom. Not only because of how filthy the room was - why was there so much hair?-, but because he couldn't find a single item that would justify telling Sam a story and he found himself missing his brother's laugh. He sighed as he scrubbed the bottom of the bathtub. Sam probably wouldn't hear Dean even if he could think of something to say. He had finally finished with the living room and hallway, and was currently working on his childhood bedroom, which was farthest away from the bathroom Dean was currently cleaning. Dean had opened the door to his own room the third or fourth day, but the sight of his things strewn angrily across the floor had made his stomach turn, and he had ended up in the bathroom, heaving over the toilet bowl. Thankfully, Sam hadn't been home at the time, and Dean had cleaned the toilet bowl and just kept cleaning.

Another week had gone by and Dean still hadn't touched his old bedroom. Sam hadn't mentioned it yet, but the tasks Dean did instead of opening that door again became more and more superfluous. Sam eyed him with concern, but knew not to say a word. Dean silently thanked him for that.

It wasn't until Sam had returned to the apartment, claiming he was starving, that Dean thought about Castiel. How long had it been since their "date"? Dean counted the days mentally. Shit, he thought, pulling out his phone. It had been nearly two weeks. The boys had decided to subsist mainly on what they had stored at Sam's apartment, when they had time to go back there, as well as take out and convenience stores. Dean hadn't been in the mood to cook, despite the sparkling clean kitchen, and Sam hadn't mentioned the farmer's market since that day. Dean scrolled through his contacts. Chuckling to himself, he selected, "Lemonade Stand Guy" from the list and set out to type a message.

hey cas, sorry it took me so long 2 text u

Dean frowned at the message and erased it. So lame, he thought derisively.

hey cas. guess what? i figured out how to use a phone finally ;)

Dean was erasing this one before he even finished typing it. A winky face? He shook his head, regrouping.

hey cas. long time no see. id say im sorry, but i can think of other ways to make it up to u

Dean finally just pressed send without re-reading it. You could never go wrong with sexual innuendo, right? That's what every man wanted to hear. He looked at the screen for a minute. Damn it! he thought, quickly typing out another text.

this is dean btw

The response was almost immediate.

Hello, Dean.

Inexplicably, Dean smiled at the greeting. He read it in the growly voice he had come to associate with hot lemonade stand owners.

hi :)

Dean facepalmed after hitting send, but Castiel responded just as quickly as before.

I believe we've gone through this part.

Dean smiled at the mirrored conversation. Another text arrived shortly thereafter.

You had suggested a method of repayment for making me wait so long to hear from you. I would be interested in pursuing this topic of conversation.

Dean bit his lip, smiling wider.

repayment sounds like some kind of contract cas. u tryna get me to commit already?

I am certain we could mediate the terms without a written agreement. However you may always, of course, say enough's "impala".

Dean gaped at his phone. Bastard. On their first date, Dean had asked Cas smugly if he had ever used a safeword, expecting a blush and denial. Cas had not missed a beat when he had said, "Yes. Tell me yours." Dean had responded with "impala" automatically, before he had realized Cas had tricked him into answering without asking. Cas was treated to another question, as well as another blush from Dean.

As he texted, he was supposed to be getting ready for work because Bobby had called him in to work on an older corvette. The client had seen Dean arrive in his baby and had requested him personally to work on his own classic ride. Bobby had been thrilled by the new business and Dean had actually been excited for the change of pace from oil changes and windshield wiper repairs. As it stood, Dean cursed his schedule. Another ping from his phone distracted him as he pulled on his work jeans.

I apologize, Dean. I have made you uncomfortable.

Dean scrambled to reply.

did u hear me say impala? he wrote back quickly.

He immediately wrote another reply.

(im just getting ready for work at bobby's)

It was a minute before another reply came.

I should probably be working also…

you slackin off at the job?

I have wiped the counter four times, visited Rita's stand twice, and made up a tray of free samples that one person has sampled from.

They should consider monotony for a method of torture in war-like situations.

they do. its called white torture

Dean bit his lip before adding.

sorry. dad was in the military

He probably shouldn't have brought it up at all, but somehow Castiel always wrung these things out of him, no silly questions game needed.

I apologize, Dean. I did not mean to make light of military involvement. My brothers also fought.

its nothing. glad u texted me even if its just cuz ur bored ;)

That is not the ONLY reason I texted you.

sorry, ya. i meant cuz ur bored….. and u think im adorable.

Dean grinned stupidly at his phone again.

Hmm… I couldn't comment on your physical appearance. I'm afraid I've forgotten what you look like.

if u want a selfie u gotta ask

I want a picture of you, Dean. May I have one?

not even gonna say please?

Dean smirked at the phone in his hand, putting on his shoes leisurely. The reply was instantaneous.

Please.

Dean blushed. He looked down at his tattered jeans. Checking the time, he mentally rolled his eyes as he climbed up the stairs. He wouldn't change his entire outfit, that would be crazy. He did, however, know a shirt that was sure to keep Cas entertained with mental images for the day. He cursed himself a little for being so sentimental. But, God, this was a refreshing change from worrying about Sammy and cleaning this godforsaken house.

Once he had thrown on the ACDC shirt he had left folded by the couch in his dad's living room, he stood in front of the mirror. Trying not to worry about angles or lighting, Dean adopted a grin that suggested more confidence than the light blush that lit up his freckled cheeks, and raised one arm up behind his head so the loose shirt rode up past his hipbones. Snapping the incriminating picture quickly and irrationally glancing around to check if anyone had witnessed him alone in the house, Dean attached it to a message and pressed send.

it still kinda smells like you…

Dean waited, but the reply didn't come. Feeling decidedly stupid, he changed back into a plain black henley before heading out to the car. Sitting down at the wheel, he heard the telltale ping of his phone.

I apologize for my delayed reply. I was… distracted.

Dean suppressed a grin.

In fact, I think it would be best for you not to send photo messages to me while I am in public. I nearly spilled lemonade on my only client of the day. You're bad for business.

i was just tryna fulfill ur needs…

Dean thought about Cas spilling lemonade thinking about him. He bit his lip as he typed out his next response.

sir.

Dean waited a beat before turning the key in the ignition.

Go to work.

Dean could almost hear the growl in Cas' toneless text message. He unconsciously moved a little faster as he fastened his seatbelt.

as you wish

He wrote back. He spent most of the ride to the garage hoping Castiel had understood the reference.

Castiel smiled at his phone again. He had spent the better part of the day sending and receiving texts from Dean at the stand. The summer months were usually the busiest, but June meant a good two weeks of rain and thus, Castiel's main business suffered slightly. Castiel didn't mind, though. When Castiel had moved to Lawrence, he had resigned himself to a life alone. Castiel looked back on the first few days he had spent, chasing down a long lost brother, unsure if he even existed. He had spent a lot of time preparing to leave his home, but nothing had readied him for the anxiety of accepting responsibility for every single choice he made.

Castiel had grown up in a family that took care of its own… And nearly no one else. Though they were members of a church, Castiel's family's primary focus was on the sheep that followed the shepherd, not the one lost along the way. Castiel had once adhered to the strict expectations of his parents. He always knew, as he studied scriptures and faith, that his beliefs weren't truly the same.

At first, Castiel had rebelled in small ways. As a seventeen year old Sunday school teacher, he purposefully picked stories from the bible that promoted love and acceptance rather than judgment and blind obedience. After an unfortunate incident in which a child asked his parents why his older sister was being sent away for having a girlfriend, citing his Sunday school teacher Castiel as his main source for the belief that "love is love", Castiel was politely asked to step down from the role of shaping young minds. Abandoning the education of young children, Castiel instead focused on his own interests. He read any and all books he could get his hands on as he entered his post secondary education. Though his parents insisted that Castiel at least minor in theology, he was not completely prohibited from pursuing his interests in biology and literature. Eventually, in his early twenties, he formed a book club with three other youths at the family church. When it was discovered that their recommended books included many distasteful and antireligious novels, Castiel's mother quickly and effectively dissolved the little club.

It wasn't until Castiel met Balthazar that his family took a more direct approach. After he graduated, Castiel was encouraged by his family to pursue a medical degree. They could appreciate his love of reading and occasionally writing, but it was considered an interesting hobby at best. It seemed only logical to them that Castiel pursue a medical degree. So, ever the people pleaser, unable to bring himself to disappoint his mother, Castiel entered medical school. It was then that he met Balthazar.

His family immediately took a blatant disliking to the flamboyant older man Castiel had started spending his free time with. Balthazar was a quick witted fellow trust fund baby who in many ways was the complete opposite of Castiel. For one, he was tall, blond, and expertly coiffed. He wore deep v neck shirts and leather jackets, whereas a young Castiel dressed almost stiffly formal every day. When the two met, Balthazar had somehow networked his way into med school and was basking in his affluence unapologetically, while Castiel spent much of his med student days guilt-ridden and concerned with the ethics of his religion and privilege. They made an unlikely but inseparable pair.

Then, Balthazar had kissed Castiel.

Castiel half-smiled at the memory as he returned home from the farmer's market. It had been late one night when Balthazar had decided the only way to successfully pass exams was to make a drinking game out of the ridiculous amount of information they were expected to learn. Castiel had evidently refused, but that rarely stopped Balth from forging onwards. Medical books and a bottle of gin Balth had lifted from his parents' liquor cabinet sprawled on Castiel's floor as they steadily made their way through their review notes. They were in the middle of quizzing each other on metatarsals of all things, hiding out in Castiel's bedroom because Balth was on the outs with his maid again, when suddenly Balthazar had turned to Castiel as he recited the latin names of the bones of the foot. He grabbed Castiel's face mid sentence and slammed their lips together.

Castiel had barely begun to even react before his older brother Michael was walking through the door ajar, stumbling upon quite a scene.

Changing schools, being forbidden to read any books other than religious or school books, having a curfew at twenty three years of age… The aftermath of that inopportune moment still stung in Castiel's mind. Balthazar tried to keep in touch, explaining that he had just been curious, hadn't meant anything by it. He had even contacted Castiel's mother, claiming it was all his own fault and that Castiel had been trying to convert his lost soul to the righteous ways of God. The insincerity of the sentiment must have shone through though, because Castiel had overheard the conversation. "May God have mercy on your soul," she had replied coldly, and hung up. Balthazar hadn't contacted Castiel again.

It was nearly two years since that incident. The subsequent parade of eligible young women and unsubtle digs at Castiel's masculinity had come to a head almost a whole year later. That's when he had begun his search for Gabriel, the only sibling he had ever really considered an ally, before he had left the house as a young adult to 'make it on his own'.

And now, two years later, Castiel had somewhat established himself in Lawrence. Though he felt guilty at first, Castiel abandoned his studies in medical school and bought up the nearest property he could find that suited his needs in Lawrence. The rundown farmhouse formerly owned by a reclusive writer seemed perfect, and Castiel had used the money from his trust fund to pay for it in full, as soon as possible. At the time, he hadn't know what his next source of income would be, and he knew it was unlikely that he would be able to pay rent on whatever salary he received in helping his brother out at the bar he had established in town. So, reluctantly, Castiel had dipped into the money associated with the family he had supposedly renounced.

As he entered what he had come to call his home in the past year, he tried to dispel the feeling that he would never truly own the house that had been bought with the fruits of his family's labour and not his own. He sighed as he walked down the long entrance hallway to the kitchen at the end. He had never really been interested in Balthazar, but memories of him brought back a time in which Castiel had been his least afraid. Balthazar had been loud and full of life, and he sometimes wondered what life would have been if that kiss had been something more than just a drunken mistake.

He was startled out of his daydream by the chime of his cell phone. He smiled in anticipatory excitement.

guess what

Castiel hastened to type out a response to Dean's playful text.

What?

im done work!

Castiel could not think of anything worth saying to that, so he prepared himself some toast and honey, trying not to keep checking his phone. Perhaps he would tend to the bees. Summer time was the busiest for the bees. Though his small apiary did not need much supervision, Castiel had learned last spring that the best practice was to check the brood weekly when the risk of swarming was at its highest. He was about to don his veiled hat when another text came in from Dean.

wanna do something tonight?

Castiel's heart beat faster. Between Dean's mixed signals and the two weeks of silence, Castiel had all but given up on the man being interested. It was disappointing, when Castiel did not immediately receive a call or message from Dean after their first encounter at the market. He had hoped, despite Dean's clearly closeted sexuality, that they would have spent more time together. Then again, having once been in a similar position, Castiel could hardly blame the man for taking it slowly. In his limited experience with romance, Castiel had often been shy to move forward, content to keep the very few relationships he had had at a purely platonic level. Balthazar was always apt pointing out blushes and covert glances his way, whereas often times Castiel was completely oblivious to the attention he received.

In the case of Dean Winchester, however, Castiel could not seem to control himself around the man. In the short time they had spent together, Castiel had found himself irreversibly and completely fascinated by the man. Broad shouldered and often sporting a fierce frown, Dean held himself like a soldier. He was solid. But Castiel had, from the very start, somehow managed to get under this beautiful man's skin so that each look or well placed word lit his freckled face up with a dark flush. Dean Winchester blushing was not a sight Castiel would soon forget.

Castiel had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he failed to notice another string of messages appearing on his phone.

we could go for a ride in my baby

or maybe you could introduce me to your bees

but it doesn't have to be a date

we could b friends

if u want

Castiel chuckled at the increasingly nervous texts. This was another aspect of Dean Castiel had yet to understand: how a man so clearly pure and good, inside and out, could constantly second guess himself. Castiel hadn't missed the way Dean lowered his eyes at compliments and carelessly refuted praise. The blushes and awkward pauses were amusing, but Castiel hated the underlying tone of self-criticism that seemed to accompany Dean's thoughts in the process.

I would love to go for a ride in Baby. It would be my honor to meet her finally.

Castiel deliberately ignored the last few texts. If Dean wasn't sure what he wanted, Castiel knew better than to push him. Besides, he reminded himself, it had been one date.

pick u up at 8? came Dean's reply.

Then, a second later:

she cant wait to meet you either

Castiel smiled and texted Dean his address. Well. Perhaps this would make it two.

The house was spotless. If Dean ignored the closed door at the end of the hall on the right, he could actually call it perfect. He ignored the twist in his gut at the thought of eventually cleaning the dreaded room. He had entertained the idea of letting Sammy do it. His little brother had finally gotten up the courage to ask Dean, very carefully and very quietly, if he would like some help, but Dean had snapped at him shortly that it was his room and he would take care of it. He wasn't sure which was worse: the thought of going through the memories himself, or the shame of someone else watching him go through them, trying to "help". Dean didn't trust himself to go through his past with witnesses and yet, he couldn't find it in him to go through it alone either.

Pushing the confusing feelings towards his childhood bedroom aside, Dean was reminded of his imminent…date. Unfortunately, the topic of Cas, with its many implications and emotions, did not do much to assuage his roiling gut. At least Dean was alone in the small house; Sam had taken on another shift at the coffee shop, claiming he liked the work and needed to save up. Dean knew the real reason. He had taken on more shifts at the garage, had been keeping up with insurance and household bills, and most importantly, had maintained his (general) sobriety since he'd been back. This was Sam letting Dean take more on. This was Dean finally earning some respect.

The thought of that somehow irked Dean more than Sam's constant questions and doubting tones in the past. It was hard not to feel entitled to respect, considering what he had gone through to get away from this house. But, then again, it had been Dean's responsibility to leave, his fault. Staying meant putting Sammy in danger, disappointing his dad, ruining his own life. Not that his life was worth much now. Dean shook his head, finally stepping into the shower to prepare for tonight. It was a confusing mess of feelings that Dean once again did not want to examine. Resigning himself to be thankful for small mercies, he took advantage of Sam's absence to sing Heat of the Moment loudly and off key.

After his shower, in which Dean resolutely did not think about his "date", Dean got dressed in a rather tight pair of dark jeans and a plain white tee. Shrugging on his leather jacket, he looked at himself critically in living room mirror. He had just enough time to style his hair and wash Baby before going out. If he hurried, he could grab a burger on the way. Or not. Wouldn't a burger give him bad breath? Or would it assuage the nausea sitting deep in his gut? Why did he need fresh breath anyway? Was tonight a date after all?

Dean sighed at his reflection, finishing up with his hair and cursing himself for having spent so long on it. Then, after a thorough wash for baby and a second application of deodorant - just in case - Dean was off. Castiel had texted him his address a little earlier, and Dean didn't have too much trouble finding the place. Deciding to forego the burger (and stubbornly ignoring whatever reasons he chose to do so), Dean arrived a bit early to the slightly familiar farmhouse. He glanced at his phone four times before deciding it was too weird - and he was too anxious - to sit and wait in front of a house for fifteen minutes. If being twenty minutes early scared Castiel away, he couldn't be that great of a catch after all, Dean reasoned. Catch. An obligatory curse flew through Dean's brain at the offensive word.

"Goddamnit," Dean muttered, lifting his hand to knock.

He was soon rid of that particular task, however, because Castiel suddenly appeared at the open door. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the sight of the half naked man in front of him shut him up.

Castiel was standing stock still, apparently shocked into paralysis at the unexpected appearance of Dean at the doorway. His hair was messier than usual, and a five o'clock shadow attractively darkened the sharp jut of of Castiel's jaw, stretched mid yawn. From the looks of it, Cas had just awoken from a nap, thrown on whatever had been in the vicinity, and decided to head outside for whatever reason. Unfortunately for Castiel - and perhaps fortunately for Dean, whatever had been in the vicinity ended up being a pair of very small black boxer briefs and, confusingly enough, a bright blue and yellow flowered apron.

Goddamn, thought Dean. This man was going to give him a kitchen apparel fetish.

Dean's eyes traveled unconsciously past Castiel's startled gaze, down to his bare shoulders. over the cutting ridges of exposed collarbones. He got stuck on the nipple peeking out from behind one of the loosened straps of the ridiculous apron. Just above it, a small freckle contrasted nicely with the brownish pink. Dean wondered if he could feel the raised ridge of the tiny beauty mark with his tongue if he tried.

He was snapped out of his daydream by Castiel's arms folding suddenly over his chest. Dean looked up. Castiel's face was beet red, his expression livid. Unfortunately, the combination of an apron, that adorable scruff, and the extreme case of bedhead seriously undermined his intimidating wrath and Dean had the insane urge to giggle. His mouth twitched, and Cas glared dangerously.

" Dean," Cas growled, and at least that helped Dean sober up. "What are you doing here?" Cas said, and Dean frowned. Maybe fifteen minutes early had been inconsiderate of him. He blushed.

"Uh, I…" he stuttered. Cas moved his hands to his hips.

"It isn't even six o'clock. If you needed something, you could have called me," Castiel grumbled. Dean couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Cas. It's seven fifty," Dean replied, biting his lip. Cas' hands dropped from his hips and his face turned back to surprised sleepy, with a touch of horrified this time.

"What?" Cas cried, running back into the house, door ajar. Dean shrugged, still laughing a little and walked in. The man had already seen him practically naked after all. Manners were probably kind of useless at this point.

Cas was bent over, apparently searching under the kitchen table for something. He was huffing loudly, but Dean could not bring himself to be sorry for the view. After a moment, Cas obviously found what he had been looking for because he emerged from under the table with a horrified look on his face, clutching his cellphone in his hand. Dean tried not to laugh again.

"I have so many questions…" Dean said, and Castiel's look turned apologetic.

"Dean!" he finally said. "I am so sorry."

Castiel stepped closer, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder again for emphasis.

"It's fine," Dean said, but he was beginning to feel a little silly with his dark wash jeans and coiffed hair. His cheeks burned at the thought of how much longer he'd taken to get ready for tonight than he had for almost any other date in his life. Even though this wasn't even a date. In fact, it definitely wasn't a date because Cas had apparently forgotten all about it.

As if sensing the direction of Dean's thoughts, Castiel squeezed his shoulder, forcing Dean to look up at him.

"Dean," he said seriously. "It is not fine. I had been looking forward to since the moment you texted me earlier. I had been trying on different outfits. Really, I swear!" Castiel said, then motioned to his attired. "That's why I'm in… I had been in the middle of deciding what to wear when I noticed it was getting near time to leave and I had this great idea to distract you with baked goods since I was incapable of finding a single appropriate item of clothing. So I came down here to set the oven in my underwear, only to realize I didn't have a simple enough recipe on hand so I got out some of these old recipe books and started looking at them, but then I must have dozed off because I woke up because there was some idiot with some kind of broken exhaust outside, but I figured I would be best to put some semblance of clothing on before exiting my house to reprimand the man and then…"

Dean held up a hand, incredulous.

"So you're saying you couldn't decide what to wear, tried to distract me with baked goods instead, fell asleep, and then grabbed an apron on your way to chew me out for waking you up with Baby?" Dean asked, just to clarify. The tops of Castiel's cheekbones were pink again and his hand had dropped from Dean's shoulder. Dean could get used to that look. Castiel stared down at his feet.

"Yes…" he mumbled. He looked up at Dean, cautiously smile playing on his lips. "We really are quite terrible at this whole date thing, aren't we?" he said tentatively. Dean tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped at the word date. Instead of correcting him, however, Dean simply laughed. God, they really were.

"Well, nevermind that now. I should get dressed. I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Dean, I assure you I am usually quite punctual. This will not happen in the future," Cas said, shoulders squaring. Dean raised an eyebrow. "I mean, of course, if there was… if there could be a future…" Castiel backtracked quickly, and Dean smiled widely. "Oh, piss off!" Castiel said as he started to walk away. He punched Dean's arm on his way out.

"First thing's first," Dean said as Castiel entered the car, fully clothed and freshly showered. Dean paused for dramatic effect, staring seriously over at Cas. The man turned his laser focus onto Dean, who smirked. "You should take a moment because after you ride in my baby, she'll ruin you for all other cars." To his credit, Castiel did not roll his eyes. Instead, he just smiled back, an expression of fondness much like that of his brother Sam's washing over his features. Dean turned back to the steering wheel, revelling in the rumble of Baby's engine. Dean patted the dashboard almost out of habit, feeling the loud sound of her healthy engine. He smiled and turned to Castiel, who was watching him. Castiel grinned back.

"She's beautiful," he said, and Dean couldn't tell if he was just saying that, but he didn't care, because his stomach did that weird flip thing again. It was difficult to pry his eyes from his passenger, who had traded his floral apron and boxer briefs for a patterned button down and light jeans. Rushing, Cas had not had time to shave, so the natural bedhead and scruff remained. Dean wasn't mad.

"Right?" Dean said, caressing the dials of the radio fondly. "She's my number one girl." He said proudly, shifting into drive. "And you ain't even seen nothin' yet!"

Dean drove with confidence. The setting sun cast waning light on Dean's already golden features and Castiel was breathless. The way Dean revved the engine on purpose whenever he caught Castiel's eye did not help matters in the least. They spent much of the car ride in easy silence. Castiel had always been told Kansas was flat and boring, but he appreciated the long rolling plains littered with farms and store houses. It was calming. So he didn't mind it in the least when the "ride" they had agreed to wore on. Though Castiel asked, Dean refused to tell him where they were headed. He didn't mind anyway. It would be a long time before Castiel got bored of listening to Dean hum along to a song he didn't recognize while he drove.

Finally, after another ten minutes, Dean pulled off to the side of the road onto a tiny gravel path Castiel hadn't noticed before. They had been cruising along easily for a good twenty minutes on a smooth country road, but Dean slowed down considerably at the new turn. He winced as a rock got kicked up by a tire, but kept determinedly on.

"I hope our destination is worth it," Castiel said, half jokingly. Dean grimaced.

"Yeah, well, you better be a really good lay," he said distractedly, glancing at Castiel to convey a smile quickly, but turning back to concentrate on the uneven road.

"I assure you my skills are unparalleled," Castiel replied drily, and Dean barked out a laugh.

"Alright, Casanova, keep your pants on. We're almost there," Dean said, chuckling.

Surely enough Dean pulled off to the side again to pull into the driveway of a farm Castiel had noticed from the road. Stopping the car, Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition and smiled at Castiel.

Castiel glanced out at the seemingly abandoned old barn and back at Dean, slightly confused.

"We are at a farm," Castiel said, unsure. Dean grinned.

"Yes, but not just any farm," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows. "We're are Harry Cross' farm!" He finished, triumphant. Castiel blinked at him.

"Harry Cross," Dean said, tone growing uncertain. "Old man? Lives in North Lawrence? Sells popcorn to whoever'll buy it? C'mon Cas, don't tell me you've never listened to Old Man Cross!" Castiel shook his head, bewildered.

"Huh. Well," Dean said, clearly disappointed. He rallied. "That gives us something to do next time we hang out, I guess!" he said, and abruptly got out of the car. Castiel sat in his seat, unsure if he should follow. Dean appeared at his door, opening it for him.

"Thank you," Castiel said, rising out of his seat to join Dean.

"You're welcome," Dean said, winking. He turned towards the large barn in front of him and spread out his arms. "This, is Old Man Cross' barn," he explained, turning back towards Castiel. "Old Man Cross is an eighty two year old guy who lives in North Lawrence and runs a market out of his garage. He owns some land up here, but he never comes by and mostly kids use this place to pull pranks and," Dean's rhythm faltered for a moment, "and make out." Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively, holding out his hand for Castiel to lead on.

Still slightly bewildered, Castiel acquiesced, moving up to the entrance of the barn.

"Go on," Dean encouraged, and pushed the old door open for Castiel and he walked in.

The barn was ordinary. Somehow, Castiel had thought maybe it would be special in some way, but instead it looked exactly like any other barn he'd encountered. Some kids had graffitied parts of the wall and a couple of couches had been dragged in from who knows where to sit amongst the hay and old farming gear. The sun had long set and the entire place looked almost ominous. Castiel tried not to feel disappointed when he looked back at Dean. Dean, however, was not paying attention to Castiel at all. He had a small frown on his face, tongue caught between his teeth in contemplation. Castiel tilted his head, and the movement seemed to snap Dean back into focus.

"Okay, I know it's not much, but…" Dean trailed off, walking up behind him. Castiel felt him inhale a little sharply before the world went dark. Dean had placed his hands on Castiel's eyes. "Close your eyes." Dean instructed, and Castiel dutifully obeyed, despite the flutter in his gut and the loud beating of his heart.

"Are they closed?" Dean asked, and Castiel nodded, too nervous to say anything. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he did not know much about Dean. Unconsciously, Castiel went through his light self defense courses his mother had made him take as a young teen. He shrugged off the anxious feeling. He was reminded of Dean's golden hair in the car earlier and of his easy smile when a particular song came on the radio. Castiel rolled his shoulders back, mentally reassured.

"Okay," Dean finally decided to let go of his face, moving away. Castiel resisted the temptation to peek.

A few crashing sounds came from the far corner of the barn. Dean cursed. Castiel waited.

After a few more minutes, Dean's warmth bloomed at Castiel's back again as he placed his hands back onto his eyes.

"Ready?" Dean asked, and Castiel nodded again.

He removed his hands and Castiel opened his eyes.

The barn was lit with tiny fairy lights strung along the different beams and wood. The lights had gone out in some sections, but most of them were still intact. Dean had apparently also had time to move one of the less questionable couches to a better lit corner of the barn.

"Like I said," Dean mumbled, rubbing his neck. "It's not much. I know a bunch of kids used to come here with their dates when I was in highschool. I remembered they talked about the lights so I thought…" he trailed off when Castiel still didn't say anything.

He turned around to face Dean.

"Dean, it's wonderful!" he said finally, turning around to walk towards the couch.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, pride leaking into his bashful expression. Castiel beamed.

"Yeah," he said shyly. Dean laughed.

"Okay, okay. Go get comfy. I've got a six pack in the trunk with our names on it," Dean said, and Castiel did as he was told.

Dean returned a few minutes later with a cooler and a blanket.

"It ain't a picnic or anything, but I always got a little somethin' in the back of baby, just in case. Figured we could use it tonight, you know, 'case you get hungry or cold…" Dean said, propping the cooler open at the foot of the couch. Sitting down, Dean brought his hands to his lap. Castiel observed him as he fidgeted a little, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Castiel chuckled.

"Relax, Dean," he said, and couldn't resist pulling the man's hand into his own. Dean flinched at the contact at first, but then, expression changing to determination, he grabbed Castiel's hand and hauled it over his shoulder. Though Castiel could see the bright flush of Dean's cheek even in the low light of the barn, he didn't say anything as Dean settled further into place.

"Thank you," Castiel said, rubbing his thumb against Dean's shoulder. Dean cleared his throat, body still tense against Castiel's. "For the beer, I mean." Castiel amended, and reached down with his free hand to take one out of the small cooler. Dean opened the bottle and handed it back to Castiel, taking the second beer from Castiel's grasp to open it for himself. Castiel smiled gratefully and took a sip.

They stood in tense silence for a moment, before Castiel shifted his arm, wondering if, despite Dean's bold initiative, the man regretted sitting in this position after all. Then, surprisingly, Dean lifted his right hand to Castiel's that rested on Dean's shoulder and squeezed once. The look Dean gave Castiel was one of nervous questioning, but Castiel took it as a good sign, squeezing back and smiling at Dean. The nervousness in his gaze abated, and Dean began waxing poetic about his teenage years spent getting into detention and hitting on every girl in sight. Castiel laughed at a particular escapade in which a teen Dean was caught kissing the senior cheerleader in the storage closet at school.

"So, how many conquests have you brought here already, Dean Winchester? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me!"

The words were out of Castiel's mouth before he could remember his thin promises to himself to not force the issue of the nature of their relationship. Dean, however, seemed hardly phased. Instead, he fixed Castiel with a look from beneath heavy lids and long lashes.

"You'd be the first," Dean said quietly.

Castiel coughed on the sip of beer he had been attempting to swallow, and the moment was broken by Dean laughing as Castiel tried not to choke.

"Hell, if I'd've known you were that easy to mess with I'd've said cheesy shit like that ages ago!" Dean said, still clapping Castiel on the back. The comment was meant to ease the tension, he could tell, but not even Dean Winchester could fake the way his mouth had parted at the confession, face open and vulnerable in the moment.

Castiel sniffed, raising his chin in mock pride.

"Maybe I am simply acting impressed for your benefit!" Castiel said, thought he knew his argument was flimsy at best. Dean scoffed.

"All that spluttering was an act for my benefit?" Dean asked, incredulous. "Oh, sweetheart," he smirked, leaning in. "If you really wanted to get on my good side, you'd have to do a much better job of swallowing than that."

Castiel tried to think of a response to that, but was saved the trouble when Dean suddenly closed the distance between their lips, mouth brushing up against his tentatively. Pulling back almost immediately, Dean's gaze caught Castiel's, eyes wide. He seemed to be asking for permission. Castiel inhaled sharply through his mouth, nodding his assent, before deliberately sealing his mouth to Dean's.