Sam went over to his brother's house earlier than he had planned. His day, in fact, had comprised of studying for the California bar and a phone call to his brother to wish him a happy birthday. Nope. Castiel had called and begged him for help without saying what it was for, crying out of sheer distress. It was Dean's birthday and the last thing his brother needed was to come home to a crying partner. It seemed he did a lot of patching things up these days. Castiel and his brother had been...arguing. Dean had been crashing on his couch a few nights a week. Sam wasn't sure what they argued about and he found he didn't care; all he wanted was for them to stop. They had been the perfect pair for so long but every time he came over it was tense to the point of hostile, less and less dishes and glasses because they weren't being replaced after they were destroyed against the walls of their home.

The fact that his brother had decided to settle down, move in...well, that was asking a lot out of Dean. His brother had a temper but the other man always managed to settle him down before any damage was done. They were meant for each other, really. Dean was Fire; all passion and temper. Castiel was Water; always there with a soothing influence over the the flames that could be endless. Dean was Earth, stubborn and immovable. Castiel was air, always the one to lift him to new heights and off the ground where Dean cast himself.

His brother had changed for the better when Castiel stuck around. He'd gotten the story from Dean once when they were drinking, and he'd only heard it once.

–

Dean was with an old army buddy at a club, the last place he had ever wanted to be at. They'd just returned for a six-week leave and his friend wanted to find a piece of ass to hang around with. That was fine, he just wanted somebody along. As for why...Dean was likely to leave once his friend found the girl so it was less of an issue trying to get the car back. He'd managed to segregate himself in the quietest corner with a beer, sitting at a round table and looking out at the moving people.

He saw the man staggering up the stairs, hands outstretched and pleading as he fought off a girl quite a few years younger than he was. "Look, m'am...please, I said I don't want to dance." The man was in a button-down shirt (sleeves rolled to the elbow), jeans and nice shoes. "Really..."

"Why not?" The scantily-clad girl was following him, hanging on him. "C'mon, tell me. Just come dance with me!" The girl was drunk and Dean would happily have ignored them both but he suddenly gotten dragged into the middle of it.

"I'm gay!" The dark-haired man practically blurted it out, clapping hands over his mouth as he said it. The girl, clearly, didn't believe him.

"Where's your boyfriend then?" Dean's attention got drawn to the finger being pointed at his chest.

"That's him. Right there." The blue-eyed stranger escaped the clutches of the female and threw his arms around Dean's neck, pleading frantically. "Just go with it! Please! I'll do anything! Get me away from her!"

What the hell. Why not? He had nothing to lose and he was bored, so, really, fucking around with barely-not-a-teenager's head seemed like a fun thing to do. Dean slung an arm around the man's hips, holding him close as he caught the man in a sudden kiss that clearly took him as off-guard as the girl, who then slunk away. The soldier watched her go with a grin. Who was this man?

Castiel found himself wondering as he was brought in for a kiss. He had to lean in to be heard above the music.

"Look, thank you for that. I...uh, I appreciate you covering for me but that was rather unnecessary." d

"C'mon. Let's get out of here." Dean grabbed the man's wrist and practically dragged him out of the club, leaving the pulsing interior for the smooth cold of the winter night. Dean led the way to his car where he got his leather jacket from the seat and shrugged it on over his t-shirt, picking up a pack of smokes from his pocket and offering one out to the other man (which he refused) , rubbing his arms briskly over his exposed forearms where his sleeves were rolled.

"I really appreciate that. She was just..." Castiel shrugged his shoulders. "Not my type." Wrong gender, for starters. "I'm Castiel, by the way." Dean took a long pull from his cigarette before leaning against the car. He wasn't a bad looking man and you could say that he was...progressive, when it came to partners. He usually drifted towards women and he didn't make his habits known, but if a pretty man happened to catch his eye, so be it. And this Castiel was pretty. They were approximately the same height but where Dean's eyes were multi-faceted green, Castiel's were a sharp and piercing blue. Dean's face was clean but Castiel's held more than a hint of shadow.

Castiel was shivering. Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged out of his jacket as quickly as he put it on, offering it to the owner of the blue eyes who took it with a very grateful "Thank you, again."

"I totally get it, man. Don't stress it. Figured we could both get out of there for a bit." His buddy had no doubt found his woman-du-jour and had already left. "Look, we can still salvage the night if you want. The only catch is I don't have an apartment."

Castiel arched an eyebrow. "That's a little presumptuous don't you think?" Dean shook his head.

"Nah, I didn't mean it like that." Oh yes he had. "Look, I'm back here for six weeks before I ship off to the sandbox again. I move around a lot." Good. The connection clicked in the scruffy face with a sharp widening of eyes.

"Oh..." He breathed. "You're a soldier." That explained a lot. The lack of hair, the completely clean-cut appearance and the beige t-shirt, the tattoo on his forearm. "No, it's fine. Look, we can buy a bottle and hang out at my place for a while. It's fine." Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was a bad idea but he didn't really care. "I just...I uh, came here with my brother, Gabe. I lost him. He won't really...care." He was likely already gone.

"I got a ride, so this whole thing works out perfectly."

–

Castiel was panicking. The kitchen of his house, his house with Dean, was a mess. There was flour everywhere (including all over him), eggshells all over the floor. There were empty egg cartons and dirty bowls on every available surface. All around him was the remnants of his birthday surprise for Dean. He was supposed to be baking a pie. His mother had sent him an email with a very strict how-to recipe and everything but Castiel was just not a baker. Or anything, really. He was a history professor at a local university who was hopeless in the kitchen, surrounded by 5 unmitigated disasters. Each and every one was black on the top and one of them it had simply fractured into a hundred tiny pieces so it was covered in a fine coating of black dust. He had called Sam crying because there wasn't else he could do; his marriage was failing and Dean was always angry with him, always short. The house was never perfect and every adoption they had tried to do was always taken away from them. They had stopped trying years ago. It was stupid, he knew, to attach the hope of his relationship onto a pie. He was desperate and hoping that with one, perfect pie for a pie-loving husband, they would be alright. It was going to be alright.

–

Castiel turned the key to his apartment and let them in, switching on the lights in his kitchen as he closed and locked the door behind them. They had stopped to pick up a bottle of whiskey before pulling into the building. His flat was not inherently nice; a lot of big open spaces on brick-covered walls, small, high windows. But somehow he had made the space work. The furniture was a deep red leather in contrast to the sharp chrome of his kitchen, he had taken down the walls and turned it into a studio. In the corner, behind some sort of a screen, was assumably the bed. There were lots of warm colored paintings on the walls. On the single wall that was plaster there was a TV and there was a table not too far from the kitchen that looked to be hardwood. The floors, however, were light (was that bamboo?) and it helped give the space a sense of self. One of the other walls was covered in bookshelves and it looked like the man had every book that had been written. Ever. The bathroom was hidden near the front door in the only closed room in the place.

"This is a nice place." As an understatement. Castiel shrugged.

"It's not really mine. I mean, everything in it is mine, but I'm sort of keeping it for my brother. He travels a lot and it's nice to have an apartment he doesn't need to worry about. All his other ones don't have anybody in them." The man with the deep, smooth voice actually blushed. "But it's irrelevant."

Dean was already in one of the couches, in Castiel's spot, cracking the bottle of whiskey open. The owner of the apartment huffed slightly as he sat himself in the armchair next to the man.

"My name is Castiel Novak." He had introduced himself before but had never gotten a name back; a name which he would greatly appreciate having.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Well, Dean, it's good to finally know that. After I bring you home." The flush on his cheeks deepened as he desperately reached for the remote, putting on the first thing that came to mind. Some movie about a super-hero, but the volume was low. Once Dean started drinking he started to interrogate Castiel, asking him about everything he did and everything he was, firing of five to ten questions at a time.

"I have two older brothers, Michael and Gabriel, one who's a doctor and the other is in some sort of business. I'm getting my masters in history. My thesis is on one of the generals of the Civil War. No, I don't really have a lot of friends. I uh, I study a lot. And I'm not very sociable. Nope, I can't cook for the life of me. It doesn't exactly run in the family, my brothers can't either." And so it went, everything from his favorite movies to his favorite music to what he did when he wasn't studying, how he was dating. If he was dating, to which he had a bashful reply.

"Oh um...no, not really. I wasn't kidding when I said I was gay." His cheeks were already on fire from the whiskey so he was glad that the blush didn't show. What this man must think of him.

Dean, for his part, was entirely enthralled. Something about this man intrigued him. He wanted to know every single thing about him. He wanted to claim this man in something that was more than carnal. There wasn't anything or any words to explain it. He wanted Castiel to be his. And so that was his ending point for the six weeks he was here. He would find a way to conquer this man and that would be the end of it. He wasn't even listening anymore. He was watching how the man would use his hands when he got excited about things, like his research and his work, and how his head would droop when his family was brought up and mentioned. Castiel was an honest-to-God, good person. And Dean had to have him.

Castiel was taken by surprise when Dean suddenly got to his feet and swooped Castiel into his arms. "What...I don't understand..." Blue eyes meet the green, that impossible landscape of color that reminded him of a kaleidoscope, and he knew he was a goner. Dean kissed him for the second time and that was it. Arms threaded around the soldier's neck as he another kiss was stolen from him. It didn't take long for them to end up on the bed, Castiel pressed down into the mattress with no shirt on as Dean Winchester's lips ravaged his throat. He was on fire. Their bodies fit together with no seams and every kiss from Dean set him on flaming all the more.

Somehow Dean had managed to get off their jeans, get out of their boxers, and flip Castiel onto all-fours. The dark-haired man's arm flew out to a table and reached desperately into a drawer and pressed a small bottle into Winchester's hands.

Castiel cried out as he was taken from behind, his head back and his back sharply curved as Dean's fingers gripped first at his hips and then, once they had established a rhythm, over the entirety of the man beneath him.

Dean's mind was clouded with whiskey and lust and this felt so absolutely right he knew that this man would be the end of him. The way he was moving under Dean's body, so responsive to fingers playing across his skin and the rock hard of his erection it was like he was playing an instrument. Every place and every combinations had him playing Castiel until he couldn't deal with anymore. He felt the man clench and spasm beneath him, falling to his elbows as he came hot with a cry over Dean's hand.

There was no way that Dean could possibly outlast him and after he been utterly drained he collapsed onto the mattress and gathered Castiel into his arms where the man promptly passed out, leaving Dean to pet at his hair and stare at the ceiling.

Six weeks found them inseparable and yet, they decided against all odds, to remain a full-fledged couple. The eventual repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell made it possible for Dean to carry Castiel's picture in his wallet and in his gear everywhere he went. For his part, it meant that Dean had somebody to go home to. Somebody other than his brother. He had a family.

–

Sam shook his head as he crunched up the drive. Cas and Dean had been through so many deployments and so much crap over the years it almost wasn't fair. As he passed through the door Sam realized why this was heartbreaking. He found his brother-in-law crying in the middle of the kitchen floor wearing an apron and oven mitts, flour smudged across his face and through his hair, scattered across the floor and the cabinets and even...good God, was that on the ceiling? The look of incredulity on his face only made the man on the floor cry even harder.

"Oh dear."

He managed to get Cas up and brushed off, drying his tears with a dishtowel. The man was filthy. There was flour in his hair and all over his clothes. Sam drew him into a hug which started off another sobbing wail.

"I just wanted to make a pie for Dean!" He was crying into Sam's shoulder and it was all so stupid, so petty. But he had just wanted this one thing. He so oblivious that he didn't even notice Dean texting his brother to get his ass home ASAP.

"C'mon, Cas. Be a good host and get me a beer."

–

Dean received the text and groaned. He just wanted a quiet day with no theatrics from his brother or his husband. That was it. But...nope. That was clearly not what God had in mind for him today. He took the Impala and drove home at a reasonable pace, cutting the driveway in the house of his pretty little colonial on the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. They had picked the house for the children they never got.

He opened the door and saw his husband, who frankly looked like shit, and the destruction of his kitchen. "What the fuck..." Castiel burst into tears again and Sam, appearing from nowhere, smacked him upside the head.

"Don't be a dick for once in your life! Look before you say something!"

And, for once, he listened to his brother. Green eyes took in the state of his kitchen, the pies that had been destroyed, and back to his crying husband, and it all clicked. Castiel, his husband who didn't cook (who couldn't cook), had tried multiple times to bake him a pie for his birthday. His heart caved and he walked over, drawing Castiel up into his arms for a hug and the combination of confusion and gratitude on his husband's face made him want to hit himself. Hard. He'd been such an ass for so long. Castiel tried as hard as he could to make Dean happy, to do everything for him. He did everything around the house. He made Dean his favorite drink every day when he walked in the door. He would schedule exams for students around his husband's schedule. He'd gotten Dean football tickets for Christmas and Dean hadn't even taken him. He'd promised, holding Castiel up on that altar, that he would love the man for better or worse. When the worse showed up, when they'd received the phone call after redoing the nursery five, six, then seven times...when their child was taken away before they'd had a chance to love them, he'd withdrawn. He'd blamed everything but himself and Castiel had killed himself to try and make it better.

And he'd just made his cherished Cazzy, his husband who he came home to every night, the husband who cuddled up on his chest every night even if they'd had a fight, his loving, forgiving, perfect husband suffer his undeserved wrath.

"It's okay, baby. I'm gonna go in there and eat every single of those pies because you made them. For me. And you didn't burn the house down." He knew he wasn't being fair to his partner. The childlessness was neither of their faults despite the chasm it had created in their relationship. Castiel wanted a child as much as he did and it wasn't anything they could to make the stars line up right. They only had each other and Dean had been treating his husband like shit.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Neither of the men noticed Sam slipping out of the house, his work for the day done. "I'm so sorry for everything. I've been such an ass." He cradled Castiel in his arms and rested his cheek against the flour-streaked black hair. "I'll get better. I'll treat you better. I promise."

All his partner had wanted to do was make him happy; enough that he would wreck himself trying to do something as simple as bake his husband's favorite dessert for his birthday despite the fact that it was (for Castiel) an insurmountable task.

"I love you, baby. I'll make up for everything I've done to you, you'll see."