Sam is just about to have his head bitten off by something or other—Dean can't remember the name of it—when Castiel is there at the last second, saving their skin like he always does. And not a moment too early.

Castiel's blade slices through the creature in a flash, and it's left lying on the floor of the abandoned building much like how Dean expected to see Sam. He presses a hand to its head, hollowing out its skin in a blast of light for good measure. You can't be too careful with things from purgatory.

Despite the blood splattered across the angel's overcoat, Sam pulls him into a fierce hug and lets out a heave of relief (rather than a sigh). Dean can't say he blames his brother; he'd practically clean that blood with his mouth right now if Castiel asked him to. It was way too close of a call this time.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam says when he finally pulls away. The angel bows his head, and his eyes follow Sam's when they shift over to Dean still tied up. "I think he might need your help getting down."

Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel looks at him like he should be able to free himself. "You know," he says sharply. "Sometime this century would be good." It's sticky and white, and he wishes he could say it felt like he was trapped in a web. It reminds him of a substance he dares not name for fear of it becoming reality.

Castiel uses the same blade and cuts through it like paper while Dean's mind is still travelling down the road of it-which-we-must-not-name in his mind. Voldemort could not even compare to this goo. Dean is too involved in his thoughts to hear his name being called. Castiel looks back at Sam when Dean doesn't react to his questioning.

"Come on," Sam says when Dean doesn't realize he's not wrapped in that stuff anymore. "Let's get out of here before something else shows up."

"Yeah," Dean answers shakily. "Thanks, Cas."

The angel nods, and slips the angelic blade back up his sleeve. Dean gets a sudden and overwhelming urge to repay Castiel for having saved Sam—of course—but also for freeing him of that…ick.

"Dude," Dean smirks, "You're coming with me tomorrow. As a thank you for always saving our asses."

Sam turns around to look at Dean, but the older brother just shrugs and wraps an arm around Castiel's shoulders.

When Dean wakes up, he clicks on the clock-radio in between their beds and starts singing along. He doesn't even know what the song is, but who cares because they're safe and he's happy, and he has a surprise in store for their angel friend.

Sam doesn't ask; he probably doesn't want to know.

"Morning, Sammy," Dean says when he jumps out of bed and stretches his arms above his head. "Sleep well?"

"I did, yeah," he blinks at Dean's growing smirk. It looks painful. "Okay. What's up with you?"

"I—" he goes through his bag to find clothes to change into, "—am going to bring our heaven-bound friend shopping." Dean punctuates it with a snap of his fingers.

Sam stares at Dean like he's just said he's giving up women and becoming a priest. Dean shakes his head and steps into the bathroom for a shower. No point in inviting Sam if he's going to be a bitch about it.

Sam is typing away on his laptop when Dean's finished washing up. He picks up a pile of folded clothes and rushes in the second Dean's stepped out. Dean throws him a questioning look, but he receives a closed door in response. Someone is grouchy this morning.

Dean turns the volume back up on the radio while he gets dressed. It takes a few minutes to slip everything on; he wants to enjoy it while Sam is out of the room. He laces up his boots, checks his breath, and turns the raucous music off finally. Clearing his throat, Dean closes his eyes and starts.

"Cas," he says, fighting the smile creeping onto his lips. "You are needed down on earth. Remember what I said yesterday? Yeah, that. Come on down."

The wind from the angel's arrival nearly knocks him onto his bed, but he catches his footing.

"What is it, Dean?" Castiel says flatly. It isn't much of an indication as to what kind of mood the angel is in truth be told. He always sounds like he's irritated or constipated. "I can't stay for long."

"It's time for a reward," Dean says, grinning. "I need you to come with me for a while."

"I have business—"

"Cas!" Dean snaps. "Don't be ungrateful."

The angel sighs and crosses his arms, "So what is the reward?"

"We're going shopping. For clothes. For you." Dean beams up at Castiel.

Castiel blinks, frowning. "I believe I'm needed back—"

"What did I just say?" The angel sighs. "Dude, look at yourself." Dean steps closer, pointing at the blood stain from the previous night. "You need to have a little pride in your body, or your clothes at least."

The angel's expression visibly darkens. "Pride is one of the seven mortal sins, Dean." He moves away from his charge's prodding fingers. "I will not partake in anything that is against the laws of Heaven."

"Relax," Dean grabs a small bag with his wallet in it. "I'm not asking you to commit a crime. Don't you trust me?"

"Then what?" Castiel tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. "I told you I don't—"

"Have much time. Yeah, yeah." Dean grabs the angel's arm and drags him out the door before he can stall any longer.

Sam rushes out of the shower then with a towel low on his waist, only to see the door closing behind Dean and the angel. He's too late to intervene, and intervention is most likely going to be needed. He's basically the voice of reason between the three of them. Which, considering he was addicted to demon blood, had his soul trapped in Hell with the Devil for over a year, and started the apocalypse, is kind of discouraging.

Castiel is frowning during the whole drive to the nearest store. Dean turns on some music when the angel starts fidgeting in his seat; maybe it'll keep him from flying out of the car just long enough. When they're finally somewhere close to civilization, Dean notices a thrift shop called Third hand's the charm.

Catchy.

"We're going in there," Dean points, "I'm sure we can find you a cooler, more relaxed outfit."

"I don't need to relax," Castiel snaps. "I have more important tasks, Dean."

"This is your number one today, Cas," he says pointedly. "You need to take your mind off of things for once."

The angel sighs but agrees.

Dean steps into the shop first, the bells at the entrance announcing his presence. A woman (with entirely too much blush and lipstick for one person) pops out from below the counter smiling like she hasn't had a client in years. And from the looks of things, she probably hasn't.

"Can I help you with anything?" She says hopefully.

Dean glances around the store; there's some costume jewellery from the 50's, a stuffed beaver, feathered hats, and clothes with colours so faded they could be used for a Tide commercial. He starts to doubt this is a good place to buy his friend new threads, until he spots a leather jacket hanging up in a far corner of the shop.

"How much is that jacket?" Dean says quickly, ignoring Castiel's growl from next to him.

The lady looks him over, then at Castiel who refused to remove his jacket before coming in. She was probably just sizing them up to decide what to charge, but the splotch of blood is kind of hard to miss. Her eyes visibly widen. The poor woman probably thinks they're going to murder her or something. She backs up slowly, her hands up in front of her.

"I don't want any trouble—"

Dean called it. Why couldn't Castiel just listen to him once in a while? Technically, he was listening since he hasn't disappeared yet.

"Miss," Castiel says firmly, cutting her off. "I am an Angel of the Lord—"

He claps a hand over the angel's mouth before he makes them look crazier than they already do.

"Take what you want!" she shrieks, her voice shrill. "Just don't rape me!"

She runs out of her own store before Dean can make any snide remark about not touching her with a ten foot pole.

"Well, then," Dean says heartily, "Let's see what this store is hiding."

Castiel crosses his arms, decidedly not moving from his spot. His lips turn into a thin line of annoyance.

"I'm getting you out of that coat whether you like it or not," Dean says seriously. "I don't care if I have to cut it off of you."

The angel blinks, dropping his arms after a moment. "What jacket were you speaking of earlier?"

There's no point in letting this golden opportunity for free used clothes go to waste.

Castiel is in a stall in the back with a mountain of clothes on the floor just waiting to be tried on. He can't figure out what to start with, or put things together in a way that will prevent Dean's disheartening words. He stares at the clothing for a moment more before taking action. The angel grabs the shiny jacket, a t-shirt with 'Van Halen' written on the front, and a pair of dark blue jeans; this is usually how Dean dresses, and he looks fairly confident in his outfits.

"You okay in there?" Dean says from outside. "I can help if you want."

Castiel pushes the curtain out of the way, and steps out embarrassedly. The shirt is sticking to his chest and ribs, the jacket is tight around his biceps and back, and the jeans are a bit too tapered, too revealing, for his taste as well. None of it is like his old outfit, and he doesn't feel confident in the slightest. He misses Jimmy's beige coat already.

Dean gapes at the angel; the words he had prepared on the tip of his tongue are lost somewhere, never to be found again. Castiel looks good, really good. Better than he thought he could look in 'normal' clothes. He had a feeling that underneath all those flowing layers there was a lean, attractive body just waiting to be discovered, but he didn't know it would be a diamond.

Castiel blinks, feeling hot in every spot Dean's eyes jump to. Dean's gaze is like molten lava dripping across his skin, leaving burn marks in its wake. It makes him feel strangely…proud. He startles out of his uneasiness long enough to remember just why exactly he didn't want to change his outer appearance in the first place; pride.

"Dean," Castiel says promptly. The man is still standing across from him, gaping. "Dean," he says again.

"Ye-yeah. What?" Dean says, closing his mouth before flies settle on his tongue and breed. "You don't like it?"

"I do not," he answers flatly, trying to cross his arms but finding his sleeves are too stiff.

"I do," Dean says without thinking. "I mean—this really suits you. Don't you feel better in this?"

"No," he shifts, pulling the shirt away from his skin. It feels suffocating compared to his white dress shirt. "I could barely fight in this attire, Dean."

"It's not for fighting, Cas," Dean corrects. It's for turning me and everyone else the hell on, he thinks. "I think you should keep it, but try some other stuff on, too." Before I get too hot and bothered, he stops himself from adding.

Castiel's brow creases, but he disappears behind the curtain without uttering a word. He grabs a plaid shirt that reminds him of the ones Sam often wears; it looks comfortable. The angel slips it on and pushes the curtain out of the way to ask for help. Dean had said he could request his aid after all.

"I can't find any—"

"Cas," Dean did not almost moan. "Why don't you have pants on?" That's all his brain can manage to ask, forget the lack of underwear.

"I couldn't decide on a pair of pants," Castiel starts, but notices the weird look on Dean's face. "Is something wrong? Are you feeling ill?"

Dean licks his lips subconsciously, taking in the unraveled look of his angel pal. They might not be able to stay just friends for much longer after this. Castiel didn't button his shirt all the way up, and it's about two sizes too big, falling off of one shoulder. And if that isn't enough, the shirt is barely covering up the curve of his hips and the length of his, well, length. As for his legs, there's just smooth skin as far as Dean's eye can see. He's really a sight to behold. It's making Dean all poetic and shit.

"Dean," Castiel says worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"We're leaving," he answers firmly. "And put your old clothes back on, but bring this stuff."

"Why?" Castiel steps closer, but Dean puts a hand to his chest. The smooth, smooth, hairless chest.

"Just do it," he snaps. Dean can't tell Castiel he's suddenly feeling possessive and doesn't want anyone in the outside world to know just how much of a catch the angel is. Plus, he's dangerously horny, and if he has to look at Castiel with his pouty lips, messy hair, and bare skin for much longer they both might not make it out alive.

Dean drives so fast back to the motel, careful not to directly or indirectly look at Castiel, that he forgets Sam is still in the room, and practically breaks down the door trying to get in with a mouthful of angel.

"I guess it went well," Sam says teasingly. At least he didn't have to worry about saving Castiel anymore since they were back.

Dean growls, and glares at Sam like his life depends on getting Castiel in bed. Also, he doesn't want Sam to see just how much a slight change of clothing can do for their protégé. It's for his eyes only. Apparently, being possessive is all Dean's competent at today.

"Okay, I get it. I'll be back later," Sam says, defeated.

Castiel blinks, his lips still pressed to Dean's because he's being held in place. Sam doesn't look back before he slips out for some air; it's not the first time he's had to leave Dean alone to take care of business.

Dean pulls back slightly, noticing Castiel opening his mouth to speak. "Don't talk," he says breathlessly, "Just get that shirt back on."

Castiel tilts his head slowly, "I don't understand—"

"Nevermind," Dean says impatiently, walking the angel back and dropping him on the bed. "Just enjoy your reward." Heaven knows he will.

Sinner or not, Castiel should be damn proud of the vessel he's using.

-End