I seriously need to get laid, you think as flash your ID at the bouncer before grabbing the sticky door handle and entering the bar. It's dark and smells like a mixture of sweat, beer, and desperation. Perfect.

You seriously need a good, satisfying fuck with some random hot chick (someone young and giggly and warm but also experienced and confident). Three months. Three fucking months since you last got any… the sexual frustration is killing you.

You guess that's what happens when you are trying to outrun the apocalypse. You don't get as many of those slow nights, breaks in between hunts, when you get to scope out whatever hick town you're traveling to, check out the locals, take home a sweet girl for the night and then move on to the next place tomorrow. No regrets.

Now was not the time to be distracted by girls – but you needed something. Sam was mad at you and went off hunting alone. God was dead. Angels and demons were fucking up your life left and right. You needed a release. You needed fun. And you needed to get laid.

Nothing wrong with some liquid courage, you think as you toss back a shot of cheap whiskey. It burns good as it travels down your throat, almost immediately providing a sense of calm and relief. You are 3… 4? in. You don't need to be drunk to hit on girls or take them home – but it definitely makes the process easier.

Plus… you would need beer goggles to get any tonight. The bar contains a whole bunch of grade-A uggos. Somehow you seemed to have wandered into a land of middle aged divorcees – and not the MILF kind.

You had previously checked out a couple of girls when you first walked in – blonde, cute, easy on the eyes – but after checking out the group for a little while decided they seemed to be woefully underage. College girls you could work with, sure, but you could tell pretty quickly these girls were 18 tops – and you did not want to be that level of creepy.

You are… 6… 7? shots in when one of the high school hotties saunters over to you (hips swishing against a too short skirt – really your parents let you out in that?) She sits down in the stool next to you. "Hey there – saw you starin' earlier. Thought I'd come over here and let you buy me a drink."

She grins and you distinctly notice her angle her arms so that she pushes her breasts out. Damn.

You growl, "I'm not really about giving alcohol to minors. How old are you anyway?"

She pouts, "Hey, I'm old enough! And I know what I want. I know how things… work."

You groan to yourself, already feeling the heat and anticipation travel through your body under the gaze of her amber eyes. "Well, then, let's get us some drinks."

You hadn't had that many, had you? Totally sober… right? Why were there so many Carlas… Karens?... Sarahs? in front of you… swirling all together in a beautiful spiral of amber eyes… She was so goddamn young and pretty. Had no clue about what dangers were out there… about the apocalypse. She didn't have the fate of the whole goddamn world riding on her like you did.

And for one blissful night, you get to forget. You've bought a few rounds and found out that she's an Econ major going to college nearby (such a lie… you still peg her as maybe, hopefully 18 even though she says she's 21). She likes dogs and watching reality tv and horseback riding. She lives with her parents but they won't notice if she's out all night…

She continues to talk as you find yourself moving closer to her, getting in her space, breathing the same air as her, smelling her sweet strawberry scent. A song comes on that you like and suddenly you are kissing her, getting lost in her lips, feeling her hands on your back and running through your hair. And you reciprocate, running your hands up and down her sides, along the nape of her neck, fiddling with the ends of her shirt, wanting to take her there and then.

Suddenly a pair of strong hands grabs your shoulders and you are ripped away from the pure bliss that is Cara? Shauna? What is this girl's goddamn name? and are pushed against a wall being glared at by a pissed off angel. "What are you doing, Dean?"

You slur back at Castiel, who has you pinned against the grimy wall of the bar, "What 'm I doin? What'r'e you doin? Take me back to… pretty girl!"

Cas just stares at you, disappointment clear in his eyes, as you struggle more, wriggling unsuccessfully under Cas' hold, "Let go 'me… f'gin angel…"

Cas lets go of you abruptly and, unable to balance, you fall to the floor. You look forlornly at the girl who you were so close to taking home move onto another dude. Goddammit. Fucking angels.

Pissed, you awkwardly stagger up, pay the tab (by throwing down an unknown sum of cash…) and stumble out of the bar, vaguely aware of Cas' presence behind you. You go to unlock the car when you feel the keys being abruptly snatched from your hand. "What the hell?!"

You spin around to see Cas glaring at you, keys in hand. "Dean, no. You are in no state to drive. You are under the influence of alcohol."

You don't see the logic of this, however, and lunge at Cas, who easily steps aside as you tumble onto the asphalt. Cas just shakes his head and grabs your arm, transporting you both instantly to your motel room.

"Godfuckingdammit, Cas! What was that?! We left baby in the parking lot! I can't leave her there with all those stupid drunks all ready to harm her… we gotta go back!" You flail and lunge at Cas, barely managing to push him up against the wall.

Castiel easily grips your wrists and flips you so that you're the one pushed up against the wall. The wrath of all heaven and hell is in Cas' ice-blue eyes as he glares down at you. "Is this what you do with your time as the Apocalypse is coming? You are supposed to be the Righteous Man. We have plans for you –"

You collapse against the wall, sliding to the floor, and Cas follows suit, still holding onto your arms. "Don't you think I know that, Cas? Don't you think I fucking know that? What am I supposed to do? I can't do this, man. It's too much. I can't fucking do this…"

You're surprised when you feel wetness on your cheeks, and are more surprised when you feel a strong pair of arms wrap around you. Your cries are muffled in Cas' coat. Cas makes a shhing noise and you wonder how he knows how to do this. As if he heard, Cas replies, "I have watched your kind for many years. I know the basics of how to comfort a human who is hurting… and I see that you are hurting…Dean, I know we ask too much. I know you did not choose this. But it falls to you, nonetheless."

You take slow, deep breaths, taking in Cas' odd scent, a mixture of fresh laundry and the scent of a warm spring day – like how you would think sunshine would smell. You still feel the alcohol coursing through your body, making everything cloudy. If you were sober, you would have pushed Cas away already. You would have never shown this amount of vulnerability.

But that Dean is very far away, and the Dean in this moment never wants to leave Cas' arms. Because, fuck, it's been so long since you've been held like this. And even though you would've gotten a good lay out of the blonde at the bar, she wouldn't have ever made you feel like this. Protected. Safe. Loved.

Your whole body feels warm and you are hyperaware when Cas begins to rub circles into your back, comfortingly. You angle your head and find your lips brushing against Cas' neck. It's soft and warm and you place soft, tentative kisses on his neck while breathing in more of the scent of sunshine. You want to steal that sunshine from him, steal it to warm your own soul, to bring some happiness back into you, to hold off against the darkness.

You are aware that you are drunk in the way that you are aware when you are dreaming. You vaguely know what's happening, but it doesn't really change anything. You were craving bodily contact so badly and now here is this person touching you, holding you so sweetly, and it breaks any willpower you have. You kiss Cas again, slowly kissing up his neck, then his cheek, then finally placing a long, sweet kiss on Cas' lips before pulling back and staring up at him.

Cas tilts his head, confusion apparent in his eyes. "What are you doing, Dean?"

You just shake your head, mesmerized by all the colors in Cas' eyes. "You're so fucking beautiful, Cas. How have I never noticed before how fucking beautiful you are."

You kiss him again, this time rough and hard and deep, trying to control him and the situation and what you're feeling. You feel hot all over and pressure starts to build inside you. You feel manic and crazed. You note anxiously that this is so much more than your normal one night stands. You feel that it's more with every stolen kiss and every touch and every murmur. But you push it down… you push it all down… the fear and doubt and shame… the knowledge that you are making a huge mistake…

Cas begins to follow your ministrations, cautiously letting a hand trail down your face. You're rough with him, pushing him onto the bed, aggressively ripping off his trench coat and tie. He remains endlessly sweet with you, however, no matter what you do with him. He takes it slow even as you try to push things faster, move quicker, outrun your own thoughts. He lazily caresses your face, contemplating every feature, finger running across your cheek, over your nose, settling on your lips. He runs his hands through your hair while placing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

You are reminded of who exactly he is and what he is to you. And you hate him for that. You hate him for turning this into more. For making you feel loved when you just want to use and be used. But his body is so warm and you need this… you need this so bad… You clench your teeth and move back away from his searching hands, ripping off your t-shirt and jeans, your boxers. You kneel on the bed in front of him and let him take you in with his eyes. You notice he is still fully clothed but there is something kind of hot about layin' it all out there as he gazes at you, so you let it be for the moment.

You start to reach out for him but he stops you, "Dean, I know you are just using me for what you need right now. And I'm going to… give you what you need. You've already given so much to the world. You deserve something back…"

What? Somehow that wasn't the hot and heavy language you particularly wanted… was Cas giving him pity sex? You move away from him and cross you arms over your chest, "…. Cas you don't have to fuck me if you don't want to. Free country. You can just go flap your wings and get out of here if you don't want this…"

You don't mean to sound this defensive but you can't help it. You're hard and vulnerable and not as drunk as you were at the beginning of this. Cas grabs your hand and stares into your eyes in that creepy-intense way, "Dean… I don't… I'm an Angel of the Lord. I feel myself empathizing with humans more and more. These feelings… I don't know what they mean. I do care for you, Dean. Very much so."

Nononononono… this was NOT how tonight was supposed to go. Easy forgettable fuck. That's all you wanted and now your fucking best friend (when did a fucking angel become your best friend?) is in bed with you saying these things about feelings.

But you need this. You need this so badly it hurts.

You push Cas against the bedframe, feeling the roughness of his clothes against your naked skin. "Cas… please… I can't… you saved me, man. You saved me from hell. And you've been saving me everyday since. And I… Iloveyou… okay? I said it? But this, what is about to happen, it can't mean anything. And I'm probably not even going to remember it in the morning." In point, you grab a bottle of whiskey that you had left on the nightstand earlier. You need this. But you also need to be drunk for this.

Cas looks at you sadly but whispers, "Okay."