The night was cold, and Castiel wrapped his arms around his chest protectively. He could see his breath in the night air. Breathing was a curious thing – he had never had to do so out of necessity before. Yet, here he was, standing outside the bunker, trying to work up the courage to go in. To face Dean.

The thing was, it wasn't as though he thought he would be unwelcome. This was Dean's idea, after all. Hadn't he told him to get his ass back to the bunker? Yet he didn't quite feel ready to face him.

Once again, Castiel had, as Dean would put it, fucked up monumentally. Once again, because of him, his family was suffering. He could still see some of his brothers and sisters falling to earth – though it had thinned out a little. He glanced around wearily. After his experience with Hael, he couldn't be too careful. He had to stay away from angels from now.

He pulled the zipper around him a little tighter, shuddering. The cold was becoming unbearable. Yet, he still had the feeling that he would be taken out of the freezer only to be put into the frying pan.

His "angel radio" was fading now. Just as well, Castiel figured. The angels were out for his blood. It was difficult to listen to his family plot against him – unaware that he was now unable to defend himself. Not that it would have made a difference to them. Actually, it would make it a whole lot easier for them to torture him.

Still, a part of him couldn't really blame them. He had devastated Heaven in his abysmal attempt to become the new God, and now he had ensured that his brothers and sisters could never return to their home.

Their home.

Because if Castiel was honest with himself, Heaven was no longer his home. It hadn't been his home in quite some time – not really. His home was here. His family were inside the bunker, and they were waiting for him.

He just hoped that Dean would forgive him. Their relationship had it's ups and downs throughout the past few years. He felt, though, that he would like to live past the turbulence and finally confess everything to Dean. Every tiny little thought and feeling he had been keeping bottled up inside of himself for the fear of rejection.

Of course, he knew his feelings weren't unrequited. They hadn't spoken about it out loud yet, but it was there in each prolonged glance the angel and the hunter sent to one another, each time they stood closer than a friend should to another friend, and most of all each time he saw Dean's eyes dart to Castiel's lips, as though he was a starving man and they were the cure to his hunger.

The thought of actually talking about it, though, was terrifying. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, how two emotionally incompetent men could possibly put their own baggage aside and have, as Dean often liked to refer to it, a "chick flick moment".

He wondered briefly if the relationship would have been resolved by now had he taken a female vessel. Probably not, he concluded. Although Dean had never really shown interest in the opposite sex beyond an occasional appreciative glance, the fact that Castiel's vessel was male didn't seem to matter to him. No, that wasn't what was stopping him. It was the fear of them losing each other that had delayed this so long.

The door opened with a click, and Castiel froze, glancing up at the beautiful man in the doorway. He was wearing a bathrobe, and gripping onto a shotgun, his expression furious for a second, before he realised who was in front of him. His face seemed to soften, and he was lowering the shotgun back into the holder inside his robe.

"Cas." Dean breathed in relief, stepping into his personal space.

"Dean." Cas replied apprehensively, eyes locked into the hunter's.

He needn't have worried about initiating anything. Dean's eyes were darting to his lips again – but instead of moving them away quickly so that he could pretend it was nothing, they stayed there.

"...Dean?"

He felt strong hands grip his arm, before he was pulled against Dean's chest.

As their lips collided, the two men groaned. Castiel felt a hand run through his hair, and he shuddered with need, pressing himself closer to Dean. As both their lips parted, Castiel could feel a tongue run over his own, the kiss deepening now.

Castiel could feel the thudding of his heart – he could almost hear it, though he was pretty sure he was imagining that sensation. It was not of import right now, anyway. Dean's lips felt soft against his own, and a soft growl escaped from Castiel. He tasted like apples and cinnamon.

Their lips came apart, but Dean wasn't stepping away. He kept his left arm around Castiel, his right hand still settled in his hair absently.

"It's good to see you, Cas." Dean murmured into his hair. "Welcome home."