Castiel did not understand Dean's fascination with the game of football.

It was a Sunday night, which meant that he would be trapped in front of the television screen for at least three hours while Dean cursed at the players who almost certainly couldn't hear him. Dean was leaning back in the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table littered with car magazines and traditional football-watching snacks. He held his bottle of beer in his right hand, his left absentmindedly tousling Castiel's hair. Cas's head was on Dean's lap, as it allowed him to stare at the ceiling in boredom without seeming impolite. He stretched his legs out across the couch, jiggling his feet with impatience. He sighed as Dean yelled at the screen again, cursing the player in blue for inappropriately grabbing the player in green.

"Dean," Cas could not hold in his exasperation any longer. "I fail to see what is so entertaining about watching teams of men run around fields angrily for hours at a time." Dean glanced down.

"You have no appreciation for the finer things in life, Cas." He smiled and took another swig of beer. "It's a nice change, watching other people get beaten up and tackled for their job." Dean extended his fingers through Cas's hair, lightly massaging his scalp. The former angel smiled, despite himself.

"Alright, but is it truly necessary for us to spend every Sunday watching the same game?" Cas tilted his head back a little, receptive to Dean's touch.

"It's not the same game, Cas. Each time it's different."

"I disagree. There are two teams, they chase each other around for an intolerable amount of time, they kick the ball into the u-shaped metal posts until the eventual victory of one group over another." Dean laughed.

"Tell me how you really feel, Cas. I don't think you made your point." Cas looked up at him, confused.

"I just meant that I think it is a rather monotonous pastime." He said. Dean sighed. He leaned down and gently kissed Cas's forehead.

"It's my own fault for thinking that you finally had a grasp on sarcasm." Dean set his beer bottle down and moved the head from his lap. He adjusted himself to be facing Cas, who had sat up as well.

"It's like…it's like hunting." Dean took a deep breath. Castiel sat up a bit straighter, focusing all of his attention on the man in front of him. They hadn't talked about their former life in a while, except to make the occasional offhand joke or reference. The former angel watched as Dean's calm, relaxed face reassumed the hardened look of a man who had been to war, who had seen the world collapse too many times to count. Cas softly placed his hand on Dean's cheek.

"Dean…" He began a silent plea. We don't have to talk about this. We don't have to think about this. It's over. We're here now. Look, football. Please be happy, Dean. Please.

Dean gently lowered Cas's hand from his face and took another breath. He seemed calmer, but he never released the angel's hand.

"It's like hunting. Each time you hunt a ghost, it's the same drill. Salt and burn." The grasp tightened briefly, then relaxed again. "But each ghost's methods are his own. The ending is always the same, but the hunt is always different." Dean closed his eyes briefly. Cas noticed how Dean never used the past tense when referring to hunting. The danger was always in the present. He was prepared to fight again, even if it broke him beyond repair.

I'm sorry, Cas wanted to say. I'm sorry I didn't understand football. I'm sorry I made you return to that state of mind. I'm sorry I brought the memories that haunt your nightmares into this real world, our home.

Instead, Castiel gently kissed Dean. He rested his forehead against that of the former hunter's. He held Dean's face in his hands and did not comment when he felt the tears of the other man slide onto his fingers.

"Thank you, Dean." He whispered. "I understand now."

Dean nodded, allowing himself to be encased in Castiel's arms. When Cas had first become human, it was often he who gained solace in Dean's tight embrace. He was the one who constantly needed to be held, to be reassured that he was not and would never be alone.

Now, he could only return the favor for the man he loved.

Castiel kissed the top of Dean's head and nestled into the couch. They watched football late into the night.