Title: My Boyfriend, Cas
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None, really.
Warnings: Language, sexual content, violence
Summary: Dean's loving relationship with Castiel, explained from Dean's point of view.
A/N: I wrote a fic called "My Boyfriend, Dean" that was told from Cas' POV, and I decided it should have a companion. The format is similar, but I feel like they turned out to be quite different!

I hope you like it. :)

My boyfriend, Cas, is a sexy motherfucker. I've come to terms with that… finally. I used to think there was something wrong with the AC whenever he would get up in my face because I would get so hot. The burning feeling I got would make me angry, but I didn't know why I was so angry. Turns out it was all just because Cas was being a sexy motherfucker. I hadn't been ready to acknowledge it.

I remember how I thought, at first, that my gaze was drawn to his lips and his blue eyes only because he was always invading my personal space. If he stood further away from me, I would be fine. A part of me knew, really early on, that this handsome son of a bitch was going to change my life in some way.

I knew Cas was different somehow. I felt, in advance, that he was going to give me problems of the sexual variety. So it happened that even when he wasn't around, I started to think about him more than I ever thought about any woman. When I didn't know where he was, I got tense and irritable. When he was in trouble or threatened, I got furious. I didn't always know what to make of him, but I had an instinct to protect him.

I needed to be around him. I wanted to touch him. When I finally got the balls to push him down and take what I had been wanting for so long, I felt free. I'd been craving everything Cas, but a little kiss was a triumph. A peck on the lips quickly turned into something deep and heated. The rest is history.

Now that I've got my beautiful angel, I like to tell him how sexy he is just to see him blush. Cas doesn't know what he does to me. He doesn't understand why one of his confused stares can get a kiss out of me. What he does get is that I want him all the time. Taking off Cas' clothes has become one of my favorite hobbies.

I've gotten him to take up showering because I like the way he looks when he's wet. I like to bury my hands in his thick, dark hair. I like to suck him off in the shower until he's trembling and weak in the knees because he's gorgeous when he's aroused and overwhelmed. I love to see him like that.

Another sexy thing about Cas? The way he says my name.

"Dean," he breathes to me while I lure him towards the shower with kisses and touches. "Are you sure I should join you? Sam will be waiting for you."

"Cleanlinessis next to godliness," I mutter in reply and let my lips go back to tasting his skin. I can feel his heart thudding from our contact. He's going to resist feebly because Cas likes to try being polite for Sam, but we both know how this will end.

He says, "But… I'm not dirty."

"You're about to be," I promise.

My boyfriend, Cas, doesn't get many of my jokes. A punch line is more or less killed from all the explaining I have to do for Cas to get it. Sometimes I just give up. You would think that would be an issue in our relationship, but Cas' inability to understand a reference has become a pretty good joke in of itself.

He tries to understand humans and I think he views the television as the Bible of being human. Cas tries to learn as much as he can so he can know all of the pointless shit I know so intimately. He watches so much TV that sometimes I'm afraid he's going to burn his eyes out. I've caught him watching all sorts of things, including America's Next Top Model, House, Deadliest Warrior, Hell's Kitchen, Conan, and Days of our Lives. There's no real pattern to what he watches. I have gathered that he thinks The Simpsons is disturbing. I think he can't get past their bug-eyes and yellow skin. Seinfeld goes way over his head and he thinks the friends from Friends are way too friendly. Cas feels the same way about any crime drama that he feels about any medical show. His superior knowledge on the topics of murder and medicine get in the way of him enjoying either.

TV is what Cas does while I sleep, that is, when he's not watching over me. That's another thing I know he does, and it makes me feel kind of embarrassed in a pleased way that he's interested in me even when I'm asleep. I often wake up to the sight of his blue eyes on my face. Depending on the day, I might say a variation of, "Good morning, beautiful" or call him a Pattinson perve even though I know his intentions are pure. Usually, I don't have to say anything because his sweet angel face and his nearness inspire a lot of morning sex.

The TV at the wee hours of the morning doesn't bother me and sometimes it makes me happy to hear the low sound when I wake up in the middle of the night. Cas' favorite shows are Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie. I'm a little bit suspicious that he might have a crush on the Captain, or maybe the genie. I'm not sure.

One day, out of the blue, Cas tells me he thinks he would be a good dog whisperer. I say to him, "Okay, Cas. I'm sure you would be." I love his non-human perspective on life. I wouldn't have him any other way. He's gaining a lot of knowledge from the boob tube, but his familiarity with great films is still pretty pitiful. That's where I come in.

"Ghostbusters," I wave dramatically to the laptop while Cas gets comfortable next to me. "That's what we're gonna watch tonight."

"Why?"

"Because, Cas, it just isn't right for you to know what the Ghostfacers are while you're in the dark about the Ghostbusters."

"Oh, is there a connection between the two?" Cas gasps and stares wide-eyed at the laptop screen.

"No, because the Ghostbusters are awesome."

Cas' commentary has me on the edge of fits of laughter the entire time. "Dean," he says, "That's not what slime looks like."

"It's not a documentary, Cas," I groan back.

A few weeks later, I teach him about The Bat because he's close to my heart. Sam finds a way to hook me up to all the Batman movies. "You and I are gonna watch all the Batman movies together."

"How many are there?" Cas whines.

"A lot. Hey! Don't give me that look. Batman is awesome. I wanna watch the new Batman with you and I'm not taking you until you watch these," I say, "But we're totally gonna skip Batman & Robin. And Batman Forever."

I make him watch Batman from the 80s first because it's important for me that Cas learns about all the 80s films from my childhood. Sam and I watched Batman together just like we watched Ghostbusters together. When Cas watches the pearls fall from Momma Wayne's soon to be murdered body, he gets absorbed into the film and his face fills with emotion. We watch Batman Returns, mainly for Catwoman, and then skip ahead to the newer ones.

When we finish watching The Dark Knight, Cas turns to me and says, "If you're Batman, what does that make me? Two-Face?"

I'd filled his mind with DC goodness, but he saw more than a story about heroics. I was beginning to gather that Cas was sensitive to metaphors and symbols. We'd watched four films and, of all the colorful characters, he identified most with the disfigured man. Confused, I blink at him and ask, "You think Two-Face has the hots for Batman?"

My boyfriend, Cas, is forever repentant. He doesn't think he's good enough, and sometimes that breaks my heart. He's a hunter now, like me, because he wants to balance his ledger. He thinks if he can save enough lives, he might be forgiven. Cas wants atonement for things that can never be atoned. I know that feeling well.

Cas isn't a baby or an idiot, even if I have teased him like he is. I think he relives every decision he's ever made hundreds of times. He sits quietly sometimes and I wonder if he's thinking about all the angels that died by his hand. He'll never be able to make the numbers add up. It doesn't work that way. One life can never make up for another.

Even if he is never able to forgive himself, I've forgiven him. I don't know if that's the right thing to do or not, but I don't give a shit. Everyone has it in them to be a murderer or a hero. We're both to blame for countless wrongs. For one thing, I wonder if Cas would be so conflicted and torn if he'd never met me. I feel like Midas in reverse. Everything I touch turns to shit. I don't like thinking about what role I might have had in corrupting Cas.

He's nothing like the angel I met years ago. He's made so many mistakes that Cas philosophizes about even ending the lives of monsters. He's asked me before if I think a wendigo or a zombie feels remorse. If they do, does that matter? Cas is a soldier that doesn't like to kill, but he does, maybe because he loves humanity more than the Supes. He'll protect a human over anything else, almost any day.

He's a warrior with a heart that can still be broken. One day, we arrive at a scene just a second too late. A handful of seconds earlier and we could have ganked the ghost in time to save its victim. Instead, for whatever reason, we were a few seconds too late. As soon as Cas touches her, the life leaves her body, as though it was his touch that killed her. He sits in her blood quietly, looking down at her wide, sightless eyes. He's still trying to heal her, to bring her back.

"Cas, c'mon. We have to go," I say grimly. The longer he sits there, the worse he'll feel. I don't know what he's thinking, but I imagine it's nothing good.

Cas can't budge. He wants to stay to keep the dead body company. There's something different about this corpse that used to be a person. Despite the lack of color in her face, she looks like an ordinary 15-year-old girl. I wonder if she reminds Cas of someone he used to know. Or maybe, she's just his limit for now. Everyone has a limit of how many dead bodies he or she can see at one time. You recover from it, or you don't, but you remember that lifeless face for so long it haunts you.

"She's dead," I remind him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the corpse. Cas pulls away, leaving an invisible piece of himself behind. I make an effort to pull him along. When we're sitting in the car, I hesitate at starting the engine.

"It wasn't your fault," I tell him. I don't know how many times I've heard those words spoken to me. Somehow, these words are easier to believe when I'm the one saying them to someone else. "You did what you could."

"I know," he replies, but I'm not sure if he does.

My boyfriend, Cas, is one of a kind. Apart from Sam, nobody's been able to put up with me for so long. I've never had a better or more loyal friend. Cas must be something special if he can handle the shit that is me. I do what I can to make him feel special, but I'm not sure if I'm any good at it.

Okay, so maybe my idea of being nice to Cas usually involves feeding him something or giving him something to drink even though he can survive without food or drink. I can't help it. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right? I already have Cas' heart, but I buy him doughnuts, pizza, beer, hamburgers, milkshakes, ice cream, sandwiches, vodka, eggs, coffee, and bourbon on the regular. I know he can still taste even if he doesn't need nourishment, because he makes tiny, pleased noises when he bites into something he likes. I give Cas everything I can think of because I want to find out what he likes best so I can hear those sounds of pleasure, so I can watch him enjoy something, and so I can hear him say something is good. I'd give him the moon if I could, but the best I can do is take him to eat 'the world's best' everything and take him to restaurants that I can't afford. I went as far as to buy him a birthday cake even though it was stupid.

I have enough fingers to count the number of people that have eaten my cooking with a few left to spare. Cas is one of those people. The number of people that have driven my car is even smaller. One day, I made up a reason for him to touch a part of me that is sacred. The first time I let Cas drive my baby, I admit, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I found a driving manual and made Cas study the entire thing before I let him set foot in the driver's side of my car. He learned everything there was to know to drive in good 'ol US of A in about five minutes. Like everything with Cas, knowledge doesn't always translate perfectly, so I wouldn't let him drive without me sitting beside him.

"You have to be gentle with her, okay? Treat her with respect. Without the Impala, we have nothing," I say to Cas before handing the keys over. It feels like I am handing him a piece of myself.

"I'll be careful, I promise," He says.

"This is so freakin' weird," I say from my seat next to Cas. "It doesn't feel right to be sittin' shotgun in my own car."

Cas adjusts the rearview mirror delicately and shoots me a nervous glance. I probably shouldn't have told him I'd pluck out some of his feathers if anything happened to the car. "Dean, maybe I shouldn't do this."

"No, I said it's okay."

"You're nervous," Cas says. "It's making me nervous."

"Sorry," I straighten up. I try to offer him a smile, but I can only feel my face frowning. "This is important, Cas. Someday, I might be knocked out or too injured to drive and you'll have to be the getaway driver. I sure as Hell ain't lettin' you poof us out of trouble, leaving the Impala behind. You have to learn to drive, just in case."

"If you say so," Cas sighs and puts his hands where I had put mine so many hundreds of times before. It shouldn't be so sensual to see Cas' hands gripping the wheel and becoming familiar with the stick, but it is. I watch like a hawk as we ease out onto the road.

"Slow down!" I cry as we get to a stoplight. I squirm in my seat, having horrible visions of Cas rear-ending the car in front of us. The Impala halts to a quick stop several feet behind the other car. "Don't drive so fast into red lights, okay?"

Cas is edgy and unsure of himself as we get onto the highway, which only makes me feel more nervous. "Okay, Cas. You can speed up here. Go faster."

"You're always telling me to slow down!"

"Not to get on the highway! You have to go fast," I urge him and then feel the horror of Cas obeying me a little too well. "Not that fast!"

"Dean! You're not helping!" Cas hisses.

"Watch the road!" I tremble as Cas merges. I can only relax several minutes later. Cas is paying attention to the movements of every other vehicle on the road and for a new driver he isn't so bad. "Okay, so you can put on the cruise control here."

Cas drives me around for over an hour. It's surreal, like I'm living in an alternate universe where I don't always have to be the driver. I can feel every time he touches the car as though he is touching my own body. "Pull over here. We'll stay here for the night."

Cas sighs with relief and pulls into a motel. I open the door and freeze. When he opens his and sets a foot down on the vast amount of space he'd left between the car and the line, he understands why I start laughing. I can only laugh because the car is intact. This is one horrendous parking job. I stand back to examine it. "Diagonal parking, huh?"

"Dean," Cas pouts. There aren't any other cars parked in the vicinity, but that is no excuse, although Cas tries to use it. I walk over to him and he readily offers me the keys. I hold his hand and smile.

"I love you, baby, but we've gotta work on your parking skills."

"I like it better when you drive," He says.

"Me too," I snicker. His embarrassment grows so I pull the hand I am still holding to my lips. The adorable expression on his face only makes me want to kiss him again, so I pull him in and do exactly that. "You did good."

My boyfriend, Cas, is the last person I want to see. When I bite the bullet, when I meet my Maker for the final time, I want Cas to be there. If he's there, I know I won't be afraid. I don't believe in very much, but I do have a feeling in my gut that tells me I met Cas for a reason. I don't remember the first face I ever saw, but I'm guessing it was Mom's. Mom always said angels were watching over me, and that turned out to be true. It just seems fitting that Cas should be there with me at the end. Maybe we can go out together, in a blaze of glory.

I think about dying more than I probably should. It's hard not to when the person I love most doesn't age and doesn't get sick. He's older than I can imagine and he'll probably enjoy several of my lifetimes over long after I'm gone. That thought breaks me into pieces. He might find someone else, like the dude in Highlander, and I'll end up just being a footnote in Cas' long life.

I wish things could stay like they are forever.

I don't want to grow old while Cas stays the same. I don't want to get weaker than I already am. I know better than most people how fucking easy it is to die. Still, I'd rather die quick and bloody than slow and sad in a hospital bed. Maybe I won't get to choose how it happens, but I know it will happen. I know Cas will stick around too, for better or worse. I imagine I'll go like most hunters, ugly and when I don't want to go. If I can look at his beautiful, perfect face when the last bit of my life draws out, the pain won't bother me. Even if I don't get to say anything to him, it'll be all right. If I have to go to Hell again, I want to take the memory of Cas' face with me.

"Are you sure you don't want me to heal you?" Cas asks me while wrapping a bandage around my shredded chest. It stings and aches.

"No," I say with a smile. "This is nothing. Just a flesh wound."

Red stains the bandages immediately because my wounds don't shine like Cas', they just bleed. I try not to wince when he fastens the last bit together. He places a kiss over my brow, and God if that isn't all the healing I need. I recline back and pull Cas with me even though it hurts. No matter what state I'm in, I want a taste of his lips. "Thanks, Cas," I whisper between kisses. "You're one damn fine nurse."

From on top of me, he starts pressing his mouth all over my skin and I sigh with pleasure. Angel kisses feel exactly like you might imagine. Blissful. Sometimes he gets especially kind and loving when I'm hurt. His lips ghost over my wounds and my fingers weave into his hair. When Cas looks at my faint bloodstains, he seems more human than angel. "You should be more careful."

"Why?" I ask. "I like it when you pick up my pieces and put me back together again."