A/N: I don't own Supernatural. I write for fun, and, hopefully, your enjoyment. SLASH Dean/Cas. If this offends you, then we are very different people, but I'm sure we can still get along. Please read and review! A fan fiction writer's only payment is favorites and reviews! Now, on with the show.

Shored My Ruins

Dean poured two glasses of Jack, his hands trembling, his heart beating hard enough for him to hear it in the silence. He had no plans for tonight, no ulterior motives, no cheesy rom-com ideas about getting Cas drunk and then pouring out his heart. They'd had a hard hunt, and drinks were called for. Still, he couldn't help that jittery, first date feeling in the pit of his stomach. Being alone with his Angel, drinking mediocre whisky and watching Three's Company reruns, it felt a bit... domesticated. It had taken Dean far too long to understand what he felt for Cas, especially since he'd never had anything to compare it to. Then, he'd moved in with Lisa, and he knew.

Every feeling he'd had for her, every bit of joy, pain, fear... all of those things were magnified tenfold when he was with the Angel. Dean was in love with him, and he hated himself for it. Cas was an Angel, and a dude, and he'd betrayed Dean, he'd hurt Sammy, he'd pulled Heaven down; everything that Cas had done meant that Dean should hate him, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. Hell, the more Cas hurt him, the more Dean tried to make it right. Screwed, that's what it was. Deviant, wrong, and stupid. Falling for a dude that wasn't even human, whose idea of the greater good was so very different than his own... but, Cas was human now, and that changed things. He was no longer property of the Lord. He was his own man, Dean's man, and Dean hated himself for thinking that way. So, no, he didn't have any plans to seduce the Angel tonight, but that didn't stop him from feeling like a kid on prom night.

"This show is confusing," Cas said, breaking Dean from his reverie. "Every episode is the same. Do they not grow tired of misunderstanding?"

"That's the point, Cas," Dean said, passing the Angel his drink. "It's a farce."

Cas frowned, and Dean spent the next fifteen minutes trying to explain farce, and satire, and parody, until he ran out of ways to phrase it.

"I guess it takes a sense of humor to really get it, " he said, giving up. Cas looked hurt at this, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked sideways.

"I try, Dean. I truly do. I'm sorry I'm such a bad pupil."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just not your bag, okay? We're good."

Cas continued looking at him, as of he was trying to figure out if Dean was lying, and then he gulped his drink. Cas' face flushed from the alcohol, a pretty, sweet blush climbing his neck and coloring his perfect lips a beautiful rose red.

Perfect lips, Dean thought. Good God, I'm in trouble. I might as well write him sappy love poems, and then kill myself.

"We can watch whatever, " Dean croaked out, sounding almost normal. "I've seen this one anyway."

"No, " Cas responded, almost too quickly. "You enjoy this, it makes you laugh. I like it when you laugh. It's lovely."

Dean felt a traitorous warmth spreading across his cheeks, and he knew he was blushing now, as well, but from embarrassment rather than his drink. He busied himself pouring them each another round, hoping Cas hadn't noticed that even the smallest compliment could set his face on fire.

"What shows do you like?" he asked, at last, to fill the silence.

"Doctor Who," Cas replied promptly, his voice jubilant. "It's funny, but also sad. The Doctor reminds me of you."

"Really? Why?" Dean asked, glad that Sammy was asleep. His baby brother hand been trying to get him into that show for years, but Dean always brushed it off with some smart-assed remark about having sex with women, or not living in Mommy's basement. Cas, though, made it sound appealing, if only because it brought a smile to his voice.

"I don't know," Cas replied, "he just does. He fights monsters, and saves lives. He tries to save everyone, but he can't. He just makes me think of you."

"Huh" Dean said, and poured them both another round. "Put some on."

"You wouldn't like it," Cas said, averting his eyes. "It's silly."

"Try me. C'mon, man, have a little faith in me."

"No, I'd rather watch your show. You like it."

Cas still wasn't meeting Dean's eyes, and Dean could swear he was starting to blush again.

"What are you freaking out about, Cas? Talk to me."

"I... don't want to disappoint you, Dean. I'm trying very hard to be a human you can be proud of. " The look on his face was breathtaking and heartbreaking: earnest and desperate and hopeful, all at once. Dean wanted to kiss him, his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids. He wanted to know if the Angel tasted as sweet and innocent as he seemed. He wanted to tell him that he was proud of him, proud to stand beside him, proud to give his life for him. Instead, Dean gave him a half-smile, and told him again to put the show on.

xxXXxx

That were four episodes into the show, and Dean was hooked. It was probably the fact that he was drunk, but it might also have been because the Doctor was kinda cute, and this Martha chick was hot. Cas had started him with his favorite episodes, though he kept assuring him that the best companion was Ruth, or Rose, or something like that. They were both on their sixth drink, and it didn't matter. The show was good, the whisky was strong, and Cas was leaning against him, even though there was plenty of space. For this one moment, life was good, and Dean was happy, which was terrifying. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly felt happiness, or joy, or anything on the same playing field. He almost felt like crying, but Cas would think he'd done something wrong. His biggest fear was disappointing Dean. Ironically, Dean's biggest fear was losing Cas; that Cas would sacrifice himself for Dean, so that Dean wouldn't be disappointed. He'd had nightmares about that. Losing Sammy would kill him, but losing Cas would leave him shattered, which might be worse: Dean Winchester stars as The Walking Dead.

"Dean?" Cas said, once again pulling him out of himself. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. How many episodes does this have?"

"It's been on 50 years, so quite a lot."

"Awesome. Maybe we can make a weekly thing of this, or whenever we have time."

"I would like that very much, Dean. I enjoy our time together."

"Just don't tell Sammy."

"Why?" Cas asked, wearing his patented look of bemused confusion.

"He's been trying to get me into this show for years. He'll be pissed off he finds out I'm watching it with you."

"Oh. Why did you choose to watch it with me? "

"Because it made you happy, " Dean's six shots of whisky said, whilst the man himself listened in horror. "I like the way you smile when you're pleased."

"I am pleased, Dean," Cas replied, his dark blue eyes sparkling, and a smile playing on his lips.. "This has been a very enjoyable evening."

Cas smiled broadly, and Dean smiled back, unfettered, and unreserved. "When I'm with you" the whisky said, forcing out all of the words Dean kept neatly buried,, "I feel more human. Cleaner, you know?"

"Me too," Cas said, suddenly somber. "Even before I lost my grace, you made me feel like a man. Everything I did was for you. I love you, Dean."

The words hit Dean like a truck, knocking the wind out of him. His lungs felt tight, his skin felt hot, and his heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Cas was still looking at him, his face open and earnest. Dean couldn't tell if he was expecting an answer, couldn't tell if Cas even understood the gravity of what he'd said, or the effect it would have on Dean.

Only a handful of people had ever uttered those words to Dean; Lisa had said it, repeatedly, until it had almost lost all meaning. Sammy had said it, rarely, usually before or after one of them had died. Bobby and Dean's dad had each said it once, and that was about it. Dean wasn't used to the term being used so casually, as of it were a simple, easy truth that needed to be told, but not examined. Hearing Cas say it - listening to the words roll so sweetly off of his tongue - was anathema to Dean. The idea that anyone, especially an Angel could love him... Dean didn't know what to say.

"Thank you," he finally sputtered out. "That's...wow, dude."

"Is there something wrong?" Cas asked, worried now. "Did I not do that right? Should I have brought flowers, or pie?"

"No, " Dean laughed, forcing a smile. "You did good. It's just-"

"You don't love me, " Cas interrupted, his smile faded. "I understand. We're friends, and what I said made things awkward. I'm sorry, Dean."

Cas poured himself another drink, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, Dean's head spinning. "I love you, Dean." Those four words made his stomach hurt and his eyes sting. He started to rub them, and realized he was crying. He'd had dreams like this; dreams where Cas professed his love, and they fell in bed together, not hooking up, not fucking, but making love. Dreams where it was so easy to reciprocate the Angel's feelings. But, now that his dream had partiality come true, all Dean could do was cry like a little bitch.

"The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost."

And, wasn't that the truth? Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Rufus, Sammy (over and over ) their dad, Jess, and even Cas... so many people who'd died, either for him or because of him. The closer he was to someone, the bloodier they died. Often, more than once. He couldn't (can't or won't), wouldn't, allow himself to be happy with Cas. He'd be signing the Angel's death warrant, even if, especially if, Cas wasn't technically an Angel anymore.

Cas finished his drink, and started to get up, and Dean realized the moment was passing, and his head was glad, but his heart was breaking. Sammy would tell him, Dean thought randomly. Sammy would risk it, consequences be damned.

"Castiel," Dean said, before he could stop himself. Cas stopped mid-step, but didn't turn around.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said, his back rigid. "I've overstepped the boundaries of our friendship. Please, forgive me."

"Goddammit, Cas," Dean said, getting up and approaching him. Dean laid his hand on Cas' shoulder and turned him until they were face to face. Cas still wouldn't meet Dean's gaze, and the sight of Cas' bowed head made Dean angry.

"Damn it, Cas," he said again, his all ready deep, gruff voice rougher and choked. "I can't, Cas. I can't get close to you. What are you wanting? Late night pillow talk, braiding each others hair, gossiping about Dr Sexy, MD? People like me, we don't get that. What we get is a short, bloody life filled with brutality and vengeance. I'll be lucky to see 40. Is that what you want? To burn my body while you just go on?"

"I'm not immortal anymore, Dean-"

"Who gives a rat's ass? You've been around forever. I'm just a blip on the radar for you. You're a freaking angel, dude. I'm just a guy in his thirties with a GED, $12 in my pocket, an alcohol problem and an arsenal in my trunk. What could I possibly give you? People like me don't get to have attachments."

"People like you?" Cas said, and Dean could swear he heard sarcasm in his voice. "Because I'm not a person? Dean, I'm not an Angel anymore. I'm human. I eat, drink, sleep. I risk my life, for you, Dean. I fell, I was hunted, I gave up everyone and everything, for you." By this time, Cas had walked back into the room, and poured himself another drink.

"Even as an Angel, I loved you. Which was a miracle. An ordinary miracle. I hurt when you hurt, Dean, and you aren't just a "blip on the radar" as you say. You are the man who made me feel anything. Hope, and compassion and freedom. That's what you've given me. "

Dean was speechless, unsure what was happening. To his mind, the subtext of this conversation had quickly morphed into text; he'd come as close to telling Cas his true feelings as he could, without sending a strip -o-gram. But, though he had long since stopped underestimating the Angel, there were still times when Cas was Extremely Literal Man. Like a child, Cas didn't like hyperbole. The amount of times Dean was able to compare Cas to a child also made him feel dirty. The other Angels he'd met, Balthazar, Anna, Hell, even Gabriel, had seemed to understand things: pop culture, human nature, common sense and tact. Cas had none of that. The only things he seemed to fully understand was war, violence, and Dean himself. Perversely, Dean found that incredibly sexy. The was something primitive in Cas, something dark, something that sang out to Dean's blood, making it hum when the Angel was around. They knew each other well, deep down on the level where their souls lived, and they could have full conversations with their eyes, despite not uttering a word. Cas was the closest Dean could come to having a soulmate, besides Sam.

"Cas," Dean said, his voice husky, "I love you, man. Don't ever think that I don't. I forgave you for hurting Sam, for pulling heaven down. When I watched you walk into that lake, a piece of me died. I carried your coat with me, through thick and thin, because a part of me knew you'd come back. I had to believe you'd come back. But, I don't know how to do this. I worry about Sam so much, it almost gets me killed. I can't worry about you like that. I can't."

Cas stood looking at him for a moment, his head cocked to use side, eyes narrowed.

"I don't understand," he finally said. "Love is supposed to make you happy, not afraid -"

"No, you don't understand. Everyone I care about, everyone that makes me even slightly happy ends up in ashes. Love sucks, dude."

"But, I love you anyway, weather we suck at each other, or not."

Dean smirked at Cas' verbal slip, and Cas took the opportunity to cross the room and take Dean's face in his hands.

"You're going to die," he said, tracing Dean's jaw with his thumb. "Perhaps it will be tonight, perhaps it will be in twenty years; that's not of import. I know from experience that it kills me when you die. But, it's worth all of that pain to be with you. That's why I keep answering when you call. I will also die one day. I don't understand. Will my death hurt less if I never make you truly happy? If that's how it works, why do people love at all?"

"I don't know," Dean said, clasping Cas' hand against his cheek. "I've avoided it, pretty much my whole life. People that get too close get dead."

"I'm all ready close," Cas said, "because I choose to be. Don't be afraid, Dean. If you love me, you won't be afraid."

They stood inches from each other, hands clasped, having a conversation with their eyes that could never be put into words. Fear, and loss, were a part of it, not just loss through death, but loss through betrayal, anger, and lies. But, trust was there too, and comfort, and a bond that could never broken, no matter how hard they tried.

They stood like that for a timeless period, and then Dean broke, pulling Cas against him, and kissing him the way he had in his dreams. Cas' lips were soft and full and responsive, and, for the first time in as long as Dean could remember, it occurred to him that the world was worth saving. Not for the greater good, for the scientists who cured cancer, and peace lovers who won the Nobel Prize, or even for Kansas's Greatest Hits, but for this: for these small moments when two people who loved each other could become one person, without any of the world's evil testing and tearing and bleeding them apart. This moment, with his hand in Cas' hair, and Cas' hand on the small of Dean's back, their eyes closed and their lips together, this one moment was worth every fight they'd ever been in, and every one to come.

"Holy shit", Sam said, his voice coming from the doorway. "I'm sorry, I'll just go somewhere... away."

Of course, those moments weren't meant to last forever.