A/N: i've been slacking a little with my other fics because 1) u have no idea how much homework comes with a maths A level, and 2) I'VE BEEN WRITING THIS HELL YEAH ENJOY BITCHESSSSS

The Bottle Episode

Of course, it starts off like any other case. It always does. They never expect anything weird, always the old 'salt-and-burn'. Cas figures this is mostly due to denial, but he doesn't say anything.

"Sam, you check in the back. Cas, you're with me," Dean whispers, torch scanning the walls. Sam nods and walks off. Dean heads forwards and Cas follows him.

They walk into the store room and Dean goes right, so Cas goes left. He can see in the dark – which always pisses Dean off – so runs his eyes up and down the shelves. Nothing suspicious, just school supplies. He listens for a disturbance, for the ghost of a former student causing trouble, but there's just silence. Of course, that's worse.

"Anything?" Dean asks when they regroup in the middle of the room. Cas shakes his head, so Dean says, "Alright, let's help Sam. He's probably got himself into trouble already."

They move towards the door. It slams shut and there's a click as it locks itself.

Dean runs to it, tries the handle, but it won't budge. "We're locked in," he grunts, and pulls out his lock-pick. He kneels to work, but throws his hands up in exasperation when there's no key hole. "It's a keypad lock, from the outside. Damn digital age."

"I could break it down," Cas offers, but Dean shakes his head.

"Wouldn't be able to, not with a ghost sealing it shut. Besides, we don't want a loud noise. Too many houses nearby. Last thing we need is the police on our asses again."

Cas nods. "What do we do?"

Dean stands, flipping on the light. His skin looks pale under the fluorescent lights. "Wait for Sam."

"What's he gonna do?"

"He can look in the office for a code or an override or something."

"Is there no other way out?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Come on, Cas. You gotta think about these things if you're gonna become a hunter." He points around as he says, "Tiny window, way up there. Walls are made of solid brick. Air vent isn't more than a foot wide. Single door."

"So, no way out?"

"Not until Sam gets here."

"Will he be okay dealing with the ghost on his own?"

"Yeah, he's a big boy." Dean rubs his neck like he always does when he's nervous. "He'll be fine."

He leans back against the door and slides down it until he's sitting on the floor. Cas looks at him but remains standing.

"Sit down, Cas, you're making me nervous," Dean says without looking him in the eye. Cas sits down awkwardly, crossing his legs in his lap.

They sit in silence for a few minutes until there's a loud crash and a shout of, "Dean!"

Dean is on his feet immediately. "Sam?" He raps on the small glass window of the door. "Sammy!"

Cas stands too, looking through the glass, but Sam isn't in sight. There are more crashes and a few yells of pain before a loud screeching and a glimpse of light leads to silence.

"Dean?" comes Sam's shout again, and Dean yells, "Over here!" Footsteps build in volume and Sam's face appears at the window, red and sweaty.

"Hey, I got the ghost," he says, out of breath. "It's – it's a lot harder on your own. Those things are fast. Anyway, it was attached to an old art project that's on display. Kind of felt bad burning it." He frowns suddenly. "What are you doing in a cupboard?"

"First of all, it's a store room. Second, the damn ghost locked us in."

"But it's dead. I killed it."

Dean tries the handle again, to no avail. "Are you sure? Could you have missed something?"

Sam thinks for a few seconds. "Actually, when he like, burned up, there was no heat. There's usually heat, right?"

"Right. So he was faking."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Not your fault, guy's just a dick."

"You okay?"

Dean nods. "Yeah." He turns to Cas. "You?"

"I'm fine," Cas replies.

"We're good," Dean says to Sam. "Don't worry. Just go gank the bastard."

Sam nods. "I'll keep you up to date. See you soon."

"You'd better," Dean grumbles, and Sam runs off.

Dean turns to Cas. "Well. Not how I prefer to spend my Saturday nights, but I don't think we'll be here long. Wait, could you fly us out?"

Cas closes his eyes for a few seconds and concentrates, but he feels something nudging against his grace as he tries to fly. He shakes his head as he looks at Dean. "There are sigils on the walls. I can't leave this room."

Dean lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Some ghost. Okay, well, Sam can take care of that too. For now, let's get comfortable." He sits back down on the floor, and Cas does so too, remembering Dean's comment from earlier. Although, he'd be more comfortable standing, seeing as the floor is cold and hard, but he sits anyway.

He can hear the faint buzz of the lights and Dean's light breathing and the noise made when Dean shifts his position every few minutes but apart from that, there's nothing.

Dean checks his watch after a while. "Oh my god, it's been ten minutes," he moans loudly. "This is the worst."

Cas just watches him.

"Alright, come on." Dean sits up straight. "Talk to me."

"What about?"

"Anything. This is boring as Hell. Actually, Hell was less boring, what with the torture and all."

Cas thinks and says, "I'm sorry for trying to be God."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, jeez, Cas, I just meant like, what movies have you seen recently. That's a little heavy."

Cas frowns. "I haven't seen any movies recently. Or ever."

"Alright, well. I forgive you."

Cas's eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I thought you knew that."

"You've never said it out loud before." He smiles.

"Okay, there we go then. Feel better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"No problem." He eyes Cas briefly. "You look uncomfortable. C'mere, sit next to me. It helps if you lean against the wall."

Cas stands and crosses the two metres or so between him and Dean and sits down next to him. He shifts around before concluding that he is indeed more comfortable.

"Better?" Dean asks.

"Better," Cas replies.

"So, Cas, what's the endgame here?" Dean asks after half an hour has passed. "You coming on cases with us."

"I want to help people," Cas replies, and he says it so simply and with such innocence that Dean doesn't feel the need to say anything else on the subject.

He gets up to stretch his legs, wandering over to the shelves to have another look around. He picks up a pen and some paper and says to Cas, "Hey, wanna play Hangman?" with humour in his voice, but Cas just frowns and tilts his head to the side so Dean sighs and puts the stuff back and says, "Never mind."

Making a loud, annoyed sound in the back of his throat, Dean slumps back down next to Cas. "I'm friggin' useless, man! God, I hate this."

"You don't always have to be useful."

"What?"

"You don't have to be helping people all the time. You're still a good person if you're trapped in a store room." He says all of this while facing forwards and looking at his knees, which are pulled up to his chest. Dean stares at the side of his face.

"Yeah, I know," Dean says eventually. They both know it's a lie. "Anyway, I'm mostly just worried about Sam."

"He'll be alright. Sam is very strong."

Dean just nods in way of a reply.

"Oh, that's something else. I'm sorry for bringing Sam back without his soul."

Dean sighs. "Dude, I'm pretty sure you apologised at the time. Why are you doing this all now?"

"To make sure you know I mean it. I guess we haven't really had that many quiet moments together recently. I'd be more comfortable knowing I have your forgiveness."

Dean looks over. Cas is looking at him now and his eyes are showing his feelings in that raw way they always do and he's not blinking, just breathing slightly through his mouth, lips parted a fraction.

"Cas, I'm always gonna forgive you," Dean says. "Always. Every time."

"Why?" Cas asks, voice a little harsh, which takes Dean by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Why would you forgive me? Dean, I've done bad things. Heaven is empty, thousands of angels are dead, thousands of humans, because of me, and my bad, stupid choices." He's got a look on his face; Dean's seen it before, but he's never been able to work out what it is. Now he sees it as fear. Cas is afraid that he's lost his goodness.

"I forgive you," Dean says slowly, "because it's you. Cos you make the wrong choice for the right reason. Cas, you're a good person. You fit that description better than anyone else I've ever met."

Cas smiles with his whole face; the fear is gone, or at least subdued. "Thank you."

Dean nods and faces forwards again. He checks his phone; no word from Sam. It's very early in the morning and he didn't sleep last night and he's finding it extremely hard to keep his eyes open, but he needs to in case of danger, and it helps when he talks to Cas, so he does.

"What's your idea of a perfect day?" Dean asks, turning to Cas with a grin.

Cas rolls his eyes. "Should I answer?"

"Yeah, man! C'mon." He nudges Cas's shoulder with his own. "Spill. Let's have a slumber party."

Cas sighs, entirely world-weary. "Alright. Let me think." He plays with his hands for a few seconds before saying, "There's this Heaven, an eternal Tuesday afternoon. I'd like to spend my day there."

Dean frowns. "Really?"

"What?"

"Just – alone? And, eternal Tuesday? You don't wanna mix it up at all?"

Cas purses his lips. "Oh. I don't know, then. What about you?"

"Easy," Dean says immediately, a smile forming on his face. "Me and Sam, fireworks, Fourth of July '97. Except, with mom and dad there, too."

"Dean –"

"I never said it had to be realistic, alright?" Dean says, voice testy. "I know that's not gonna happen. I'm just saying."

Cas just nods in reply, and Dean feels bad for snapping at him, so he says, "Alright. Uh…. Do you know how to play I-Spy?"

"No," Cas answers, "but I have a question for you."

"Oh?"

"Why do you let me come with you?"

Dean looks at Cas for a moment to see whether he's serious. "Cos you're my friend, Cas."

"You have a lot of friends. I've done a lot for you, but so have other people. Why me?"

Dean stares at him for a long moment, at this face he's seen so many times in so many different forms, that he's looked at through dirt and rain and carnage, that he's looked to in desperation and fear and hope, and says, "I don't know."

Cas nods, neither offended nor satisfied. He looks like he's going to say something else, but Dean gets in there before he can, asking, "Okay, we've done perfect day. Describe your perfect date."

"Oh." Cas's brow furrows. "I haven't given this one a lot of thought."

"Well, maybe start off with it being an actual date, not a babysitting job."

Cas glares. "It's not funny. You go first, then. I'll think of something to say."

"Alright, uh." He clears his throat, sandwiches his hands between his thighs. "Well, for a first date, I'd take them to dinner, some place fancy but not too fancy, you know, I wanna be able to joke around a little bit and not get glared at by old guys with monocles. Uh, then walk them home, maybe a kiss at the door if I'm feeling it, and then head home."

"Nothing else?" Cas asks, eyebrows raised.

"No, man. Not on the first date. I'm not like that anymore."

"Oh. My apologies."

"Anyway, for a usual date, like, after a couple weeks when I don't feel like I have to impress them anymore, a night on the sofa with pizza and beer and a Swayze movie, followed by sex and a good night's sleep."

Cas peers at him. "That's surprising."

"Good surprise? Bad?"

"Good, I think."

"Well, good. What about you?"

Cas chews the inside of his lip. "I can't imagine a scenario very well, seeing as I haven't been on any dates and don't know too much about the culture surrounding them, but what you just described sounds very pleasant, so I expect it'd be something like that."

Dean nods, not quite knowing how to take this. Cas keeps looking at him and Dean turns away, a prickly heat working its way under his skin, and it won't leave because Cas's eyes are still on his face. He feels himself turning red. "Man, it's hot in here," he grumbles to cover it up, taking off his button-down to help cool down.

"I don't feel it," Cas replies.

"Yeah, 'course you don't. Alien weirdo."

"I'm not – oh. You're joking."

Dean claps him on the knee. "Good job."

His phone goes off then. He pulls it out and flips it open and says, "Sammy?" with one swift movement, but there's nothing on the other end, and he glances at the screen to see that it's a text message, not a call: Interviewing the mom again. Think she seemed suspicious the first time. Thoughts?

Dean texts back, Yeah, do it, keep safe, and slides it back into his pants.

"Anything?" Cas asks.

"He's interviewing. We spoke to the mom earlier, and she wouldn't look us in the eye. Chalked it up to grief, or like, violation of privacy, but Sam thinks maybe she's involved, so he's going back over there."

"That's smart."

Dean stares at the wall opposite him, pressing his lips together. Of course Sam's gonna be alright. Of course he is, Dean would bet money on this fact. But still. He worries. He can't help it. He's been worrying about Sam since he was four years old.

"He'll be alright," Cas says quietly.

"I know."

Cas looks at him again, and Dean thinks about what he must look like, blue eyes wide and full of unnecessary concern, plush pink mouth maybe turned down at the edges, his fingers fumbling over one another in his lap as he worries. He stands up, walks around a few times, to clear his head.

"How long have we been here?" Cas asks as Dean weaves between the shelves, tapping the metal as he goes just for something to do.

Dean checks his watch. "'Bout an hour and a half."

"Do you need to eat or drink?"

"Nah, I'm alright. I can last longer than most people without my daily vitamins." He returns to Cas's side, leaning against the wall but standing instead of sitting, and Cas stands too. Their shoulders lean against each other. Dean knows that Cas doesn't mind, because he never minds, and Dean should mind, but he's selfish, he needs the contact, needs the strong warmth of the man next to him, even if it's just a brush of the shoulder.

"What about using the bathroom?" Cas asks, and Dean snorts.

"Why did that come into your mind?"

"I'm just thinking about your functions. We may be here for a while."

Dean's smile pulls his face up. "Nah, I'll be fine. Number of stake outs I've been on, I can hold it for a few hours."

"Is that also why you can go without eating?"

Dean pauses, tries to keep his face normal, but his eyelids flutter a little and he knows that Cas notices. "No, that's something else."

Cas isn't supposed to ask, and he knows this by now, he's cottoned on to that part of social convention, but he still says, "You can tell me. I won't think less of you."

"Yeah, I know." He sighs minutely, breathing it out through his nose. "It's like, when we were kids, me and Sam, Dad was always out, and we didn't have a whole bunch of money, so I had to get Sam food. And most of the time, that meant not eating myself. Hell, that's probably why he's the tall one." He laughs. Cas doesn't.

"I wish I could have met your father," Cas says, looking into Dean's eyes with those blues Dean has been thinking about. "I have a few things to say to him. Also, I'd like to hit him."

Dean huffs a laugh. "Well, I'd like to talk to yours, too."

Cas gives him a small smile. "You and me both."

They look at each other, and Dean sees the eyes and the lips and the hands and all of it, his messy hair and his backwards tie and his neck, and he turns away and sits down. Cas sits next to him.

Under these circumstances, most people would play a game or watch a movie in their heads or take the time to be productive, maybe think about life and their goals, and who they are as a person.

But Cas is not most people.

He spends the time thinking about just how much space there is between him and Dean, about the nitrogen and oxygen and carbon dioxide and argon and everything else between them, and wonders how it's possible for simple particles like this to stand out so much to him, to be so full of imagined tension and hypotheticals.

Dean, however, is humming quietly next to him and picking at the hem of his flannel, which he's put back on over the grey t-shirt. Cas watches; Dean's fingers are covered in rough skin but they're gentle to the point of being cautious. Cas marvels at the fact that Dean can go all these years being forced into ruthlessness, making tough decisions and sacrificing himself and hating his life, and still be so kind.

"How are you doing?" Cas asks quietly, and Dean stills for a moment before continuing to pull at a thread.

"Good. You?"

"Fine. Maybe you should sleep."

Dean turns to look at him, frowning already. "Cas, we're not exactly on vacation here. We're waiting for the thing that wants to kill us to die. It could come back, it knows exactly where we are."

"I'm here. I can defend us both."

"But your power, the sigils –"

"In order to attack us, the ghost will have to open the door. If the door is opened I'll be able to use my powers." He places a hand on Dean's knee without thinking and Dean exhales softly, and a human wouldn't have noticed it, but Cas does. "You should rest."

It's obvious that Dean's brain and years of experience are telling him not to go to sleep, but his eyelids are drooping a little and he's leaning too heavily against the wall, and so he looks at Cas for a long moment, sizing him up, and then nods lazily. "Fine. Not for too long. Like, ten minutes at most."

"Dean." Cas gives him a concerned gaze.

Dean sighs. "Fine. Half an hour."

"An hour it is."

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn't protest. He closes his eyes and sighs slowly, leaning his head back against the wall and crossing his arms across his chest. His jaw juts out and his hair falls in his face and the frown fades and Cas sees the innocence that's there when it's not being forced into the dark corners of his mind to make room for other things.

Within a minute, Dean is asleep, his breathing quiet and even. Cas removes his trench coat and drapes it as lightly as he can over Dean's legs and torso, and then doesn't move at all, even an inch, in fear of waking him up. He wishes that he could let Dean sleep for longer, seeing as he needs it badly, but it would just piss him off more than anything else.

After about ten minutes Dean shifts in his sleep, consequently sliding down the wall and leaning heavily against Cas's side. His head lolls onto his shoulder.

Cas stares at him. No more space. No more nitrogen and carbon dioxide and oxygen and argon separating their bodies. He feels the pressure of Dean, feels the texture of his clothes and the side of his face through his dress shirt. He's a bit heavy, but Cas doesn't mind even a little bit.

After an hour, he says quietly, "Dean."

Dean opens his eyes immediately, the result of a hunter's childhood. He looks around the room quickly, giving it a once-over, before turning to Cas, already fully alert. "Hey," he says, voice a little rough. "How long was that?"

"An hour."

Dean purses his lips, but doesn't comment. "Any change?"

"Not at all."

Dean nods and pulls out his phone to check his messages. Cas looks over his shoulder; there's a text from Sam: That's not the kid's mother, she was forced to say that. Won't tell me what made her do it. Coming back to the school to look for clues.

"He's coming back," Dean says. "Message was sent half an hour ago, he'll be here pretty soon."

"Good." Then he frowns. "Wait, won't tell Sam what made her do it? I thought it was the ghost."

Dean frowns too, looking back at the screen. "Huh. You're right." He texts back, What do you mean 'what made her do it'? Thought it was the ghost.

He flips his phone shut and pockets it, standing up and stretching his arms above his head, leaning back as he does. Cas watches the strip of skin that appears when his shirt rises up, and quickly looks away. His fingertips tingle.

Dean lets his arms hang by his sides again and looks down. "Oh," he says when he sees Cas's coat on the floor. "Did you…" Cas doesn't reply, so Dean looks at him, questioning. "Did you put this on me?"

Cas nods. Dean smiles. "Thanks, man, that's nice of you."

When Dean sits back down, his side brushes with Cas's. Cas clenches his fists, digging his fingernails into his palm.

Dean hands him back his coat but Cas doesn't put it on, as it would provide an extra layer between him and Dean and that's not something he wants, though he doesn't know why. It may be the dim lighting of the store room but Cas is noticing for the first time how attractive Dean is, how perfectly shaped his lips are, how long and dark his eyelashes. He stares, but then remembers that Dean doesn't like that, so looks away again. So many rules.

"Do you feel any better?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, thanks. A lot, actually. I forgot that sleep is actually beneficial." He yawns, closing his eyes, and Cas looks, in spite of himself.

"Do you always get four hours of sleep?" he asks in a concerned tone.

"Nah, not always. Less, most of the time."

Cas shakes his head. "Dean, you should take care of yourself more."

"Yeah, well, with everything that's going on, I don't really have time for sleep," Dean snaps, looking off in the other direction, and Cas knows this isn't directed at him, that Dean is always angry at something because there's always something bad going on.

"Did you ever think about taking a week off?"

Dean shifts, their shoulders rubbing together. "What d'you mean?"

"Exactly that. Take a week and stay in a hotel somewhere – not a motel, some place nice – and watch television and drink beer and sleep. Do you ever think about that?"

Dean is looking at him weirdly, and Cas realises he's got his worried expression on, and works to replace it with one more neutral. "Of course I think about it," Dean replies, "but it's not an option, not really."

"Why not?"

"Just, cos. Cos we've got people to save, things to do." He waves his hands vaguely. "You know how it is."

"You don't have to sacrifice your health for that. Maybe you should save yourself."

Even Cas can tell that this was the wrong thing to say. Dean's eyes narrow and his mouth opens, getting ready to argue, but Cas says, "Wait, no, that's not what I mean. That's not what I meant to say. I don't mean that you need to be saved, I know you don't. Not now, anyway. I just mean… I don't know. I worry about you."

"Why?" Dean asks, and there's anger there but it seems forced.

"Because, because you don't sleep, you hardly eat – don't argue with that, a few cheeseburgers a week doesn't count – and there's also the fact that you're constantly in danger."

"I've been in danger my whole life, Cas, you don't need to worry about that."

"But I do." He pushes past his reservations at being so honest and tells Dean the truth. The embarrassing, overly emotional truth. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"But why?" Dean's frowning so hard that lines have appeared on his forehead.

"You're my friend." It's said without heart or effort. They both know that there's something else, but Dean doesn't press, just frowns a little less and nods once.

"Don't worry. I don't like that. I'm fine."

"Well, good," Cas says, voice tight and a little bit strained, because that's not what he wants to say. Right now, he wants to take Dean's hand and look right into his eyes without stopping himself from looking for too long and tell him that he worries because he doesn't know what he would ever do without him. But he doubts that Dean would return the sentiment, or even feel flattered, so he stays quiet and leaves the issue for now, with sad eyes that he keeps fixed on the floor.

They're quiet for about ten minutes or so, Dean clearing his throat every now and then, before he says, "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Remember a few months ago, when we worked that case with Fred in the nursing home? The cartoons?"

"Yes."

"And we had that talk? About… how you were feeling?" Dean is being very cautious. It almost makes Cas laugh.

"Yes, I remember that too."

"Well, Sam came in, and we never really got to finish talking, and now, I don't really know what you're feeling, so…" He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, so, wanna talk now?"

Cas can't help but smile. "No, thank you, I'm alright."

"Why's that?"

"I… this is going to sound a little vindictive, but I think it was seeing Metatron destroy Heaven that made me see things in perspective. I mean, he did trick me into helping him, but I didn't do it on purpose, and he did. I've never done anything that I didn't think was right, and I see that now." He nods to himself. "I think I'm okay."

Dean looks at him with that weird expression again, with the hint of a smile and the wide eyes. Then he clears his throat and says, "Good to hear. That's a, uh, healthy approach. Proud of you." He claps Cas on the shoulder.

"Thank you."

Dean gives him a jerky nod. "Okay then." He starts to say something else, his mouth opening, but then his phone goes off and he doesn't get the chance. He checks the screen: This isn't a ghost.

Cas raises his eyebrows. "What?"

Dean frowns and replies, What's that supposed to mean?

"How is it not a ghost?"

"It could be something else," Dean admits, pocketing his phone. "There are things that can shape-shift, make themselves seem like they're something else."

"Is this dangerous?"

Dean presses his lips together for a moment before saying, "Last time we got a shape-shifter, we became America's Most Wanted. This isn't a shape-shifter, though. It could be more dangerous, yeah."

Cas knows that it's useless to try and console Dean, seeing as he just rejects it, so he says, "How's Sam doing? I don't often talk to him about anything but cases."

"Oh, he's fine." The frown on Dean's face eases up a little, but not as much as Cas thought it would.

"Is everything… okay?"

Dean sighs. "Couple months ago, he was looking at, maybe, going back to Stanford."

"And that's not good?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "No, it's good. I wish he would. But he won't."

"Why?"

"He'd be there for a few months, and he'd feel so bad about Jess and all the people he wasn't saving, and he'd drop out. And he knows that he'd drop out. So he won't go back. He's resigned to the job now, after that bitch Amelia did a number on his heart and all."

Cas watches Dean's hands as the index finger rubs up and down the seam on the knee of his jeans. There really isn't a lot of entertainment in this place, so Dean becomes his focus. "Why do you want him to go back to college?"

Dean sighs again, and it sounds rehearsed, like he's been asking himself this question for years and sighing that same sigh. "I want him to have a good life. College is great, you know?"

"Did you go to college?"

Dean is quiet for a moment. "No," he says eventually, quietly. "I have a degree, though. I took online classes in secret while Sam was at Stanford. I thought, what if he gets out and gets a fancy job? Moves to New York or Palo Alto, or, like, freakin' London? I wanted to be able to follow him wherever he went. So I took my GED and I went to a shitty online community college and I started studying tax law." He laughs at himself. "I was so bad at it, man. But I tried."

"Why did you stop?" Cas asks in a gentle voice.

"I stopped when dad went missing. I would have kept going, but then Sammy dropped out of Stanford and wanted to hunt with me, and I couldn't turn that down."

Cas feels a pang of sadness for Dean, for all the lives he could have had if he wanted, but didn't, because of his brother. Cas has hundreds of brothers and sisters, but he's never felt such a bond with any one of them. With any person at all, actually. Until the Winchesters.

It's true that Dean is his favourite, due to their history. How did he put it once? A profound bond. He's very fond of Sam, and he'd die for him without hesitation, but Dean is the man sitting next to him and leaning slightly on his shoulder, the man who taught him how to lie and how to laugh and how to do what you think is right, no matter what. Cas may have followed this advice a little badly in the past, but Dean is the man who forgave him.

"Your love for your brother is very strong," Cas says to summarise his thoughts.

Dean nods. "Well, I gotta look out for him, you know?"

"I understand." In a way, he does. He's looked out for people before. He used to try and protect Anna, before she fell, before she died. These days, the only person he really protects is himself. But to be fair, it's a pretty full-time job these days. Even in this small room with the man that he's come to think of as his best friend, he still feels the threat of something looming over him, filling his head with stuffing and worries.

"I appreciate what you do, too," Dean says self-consciously after a few moments. "Don't think I don't notice."

"What do you mean?"

"You, you know. Help us, and stuff. When you come on cases, you tend to… defend us."

Cas raises his eyebrows. "I do?"

"Yeah, you didn't notice?" Dean asks, squinting at him.

"No, I guess it was like second nature to me to protect you. I don't think I do it consciously." Then he thinks, ah, maybe I shouldn't have said that aloud. But Dean had asked him a direct question, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking out loud. He's never looked into those green eyes for such an extended period of time, never been close enough to feel Dean's warmth mixing with his own, never appreciated the intricacies of this man with the broken halo made of stardust.

In way of a reaction, Dean looks at Cas for a few seconds and then nods once and turns away. Cas doesn't see this as bad, more of a gesture of acceptance. It reminds him of something Sam told him, how if you tell a joke and no one laughs, doesn't mean they're not glad you said it.

When he would sit with Balthazar, back in the days when he still occupied Heaven frequently, Balthazar would tell Cas all about his adventures. He would tell him of Earth, a place where Cas had not been very often but wondered about a lot, and Cas would feel the edges of that bond of brothers brushing up against him as he listened.

As he sits with Dean, looking at the side of his face and trying to count the freckles with his superior eyesight, he expects to feel the same feeling, the hint of sacrifice and smiles and the clinking of glasses in an alternate universe where they were ordinary people. He instead feels something else. Warmer. Nerves. Stiffness in the pit of his stomach. His body remaining still, but fighting to reach over and, and –

And what?

He looks away from Dean's face, and shuffles his body a few inches to the left, letting cool air seep between their bodies. Morning breaks outside. Cas watches it with a frown.

Dean Winchester likes to think he has a pretty tight rein on himself, that he doesn't whine or cry for pity or hold Sam back for the sake of selfishness. But one thing he's always done, even when John would drill into him the practice of keeping everything to do with the job, is allow himself a good sunrise.

Sunsets have never really appealed to him. There's something about the sunrise, the easy transition from black to blue, like the bruises currently hidden on the small of his back, that makes him smile every time. There was cold, and now there's warmth. There was darkness, and now there's light. There were far away stars, and now there's one that's close.

He can't see the horizon through the tiny window at the top of the wall, even when he stands and approaches it. But he feels the heat slowly sliding its way onto his face, the light coming through the leaves on the top of a tree. He stood like this, close to a window, the morning after his mother's death. They stayed at a motel, John not wanting the charity of a spare room that the neighbours were offering, the cold sliver of tragedy already working its way into his heart. As soon as they got there, Sam was put in a bed, Dean was ordered to sleep, and John slammed the door behind him as he left. Dean kissed Sam and told him everything was okay, and Sam just stirred in his sleep, making tiny baby noises that Dean can remember to this day. Dean stood, looking out the window, waiting for his dad to return home, when he saw his first sunrise. His face pressed to the cool glass as hot tears invaded his face. The sun was a fire on the ceiling of the sky. John didn't return until the morning.

"Is there anything out there?" Cas asks in a hoarse voice before clearing his throat. Dean turns his head half towards the sound, but doesn't look at Cas.

"No."

"Then what are you doing?"

Dean doesn't respond, just jerks his head in a 'come here' motion. He hears scraping as Cas gets up off the floor, and footsteps as he makes his way over, and feels the presence and the brush of a shoulder against his as Cas stands next to him.

"I don't see anything," Cas comments.

"Look at the sky."

"What are you…" Cas starts, before closing his mouth. Dean glances over, and Cas is smiling.

"You ever seen something so beautiful?" Dean asks, smiling too.

"I'm not sure. Probably not."

"Probably?"

Cas just shrugs. There's a story behind that, Dean can tell, but Cas doesn't say anything, and Dean appreciates that, that Cas is letting him have his quiet moment, letting it be personal. He understands that Dean's been driving through sunrises and sunsets alike, and drinking so much coffee that the two meld together and he can't appreciate them unless there's complete stillness and there's nowhere for him to be. Of course, Cas could just not want to talk about it, but the little tilt of his head and his avoidance of eye contact tells Dean that he sees more than he lets on.

"You ever seen one of these before?" Dean asks.

"Yes, many times." Cas isn't blinking, looking out the window with such concentration. "It looks better now, though. I've never really thought about it before now."

Dean's smile widens a fraction. He finally breaks his eyes away from Cas and looks at the pinkish tints in the blue sky. No one has ever watched a sunrise with him before. Not Sam, not any of his old girlfriends, no one. This is mostly because he likes to do it alone. He likes to be with his thoughts and be able to talk to himself and his mother and anyone he likes. Right now, what he wants to do is talk to Cas. But he has nothing to say, nothing that won't break the boundaries he's set himself, or any of the hundreds of unspoken boundaries established between them. Do not talk about God. Do not talk about John. Do not talk about Hell. Do not talk about the nature of Cas's smile, or his eyes, or the wrinkles that appear on his nose when he squints at the sun. He stares at the last few things all the same.

That familiar feelings bubbles in him, and he tries to swallow it down, but it's not in his throat, it's in that space between his chest and his stomach, and usually he can quench it by digging his fingernails into his palm and closing his eyes but this time it's behind his eyelids with him, it's the shapes and colours dancing close to his skin, it's every nerve and fibre in his palm and his whole body and he opens his eyes and goes to sit down because the sunrise is over and he's getting too warm.

Cas stays for a while, though. He stands more casually than he did when they met, with his hands in his pockets and his feet shifting occasionally. Dean doesn't doubt that Cas is doing this consciously, to make Dean more comfortable, and he wants to tell him that it's not necessary, but he could be wrong and that would be an awkward conversation to have. Cas is still without his coat, and Dean pulls it over from where it sits close to him, drapes it across his legs briefly. Cas's back is turned and so Dean pulls the collar up to his face and breathes in, smelling cotton and air and safety. He closes his eyes for half a second before throwing the coat back to where it lay. He thinks about what he just did, then he stops thinking about it.

Cas turns and walks back to him and Dean purposely doesn't look, just digs his fingertips into the flesh on the inside of his thigh, trying Sammy's old trick of bringing clarity and reality into a world of things that can't be real. Cas slides down the wall and sits beside him and their bodies touch, a straight line of contact down their upper arms, and it's small and nothing but Dean still bites his lip and looks away when it happens. No, he thinks, over and over in his head, until he worries that he's saying it out loud. From Cas's reaction, he isn't. But he feels like he needs to, like he should shout it at himself and at Cas too, like this is all wrong and he's not learning from his mistakes and he's being an idiot, but he needs to shout at all of these ideas too, tell himself to open up to possibilities and think about what this means, think about what this entails, think about other people's individual happiness instead of just thinking about their survival rate.

He doesn't say anything out loud, and Cas sits beside him, none the wiser.

Dean's phone buzzes, which pulls Cas out of his train of thought. He'd been contemplating whether he has a home. He's welcome in the bunker now that Gadreel is gone, but it doesn't feel right. He feels at home right now, right here in a room he's never been in before, which is weird and he can't work out why that is. He felt at home in Bobby's house during the apocalypse, and in the cabin during the fight against the Leviathan. But he hasn't felt at home at Heaven in a long time, and that's probably for the best, seeing as he can't get back in. He's only just managing to keep it together as it is.

He leans over to read the text from Sam: It threw an iron bar at me. This isn't a ghost, I think it was messing with us before. Am currently chasing it around as it destroys stores. Any theories?

Dean turns to Cas and raises his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"What are the stores? There might be a pattern."

Dean nods, says, "I was thinking that," and texts back, What stores? Is there a pattern?

"When do you think we're getting out?" Cas asks.

"No idea, man. Knowing Sam, it'll be maybe a few hours until he catches the thing. Depends whether anything goes horribly wrong. Stuff does that a lot these days."

Cas huffs a laugh. He thinks about what will happen when they do get out of here. Will things be weird between him and Dean, a product of the secrets and feelings shared? Probably not. Maybe just weird on his part, seeing as the temptation to touch any part of Dean's skin still hasn't left him.

Cas has kissed people before. He's not even a virgin anymore. But he's so nervous about it, so scared about fucking it up and ruining whatever relationship he and Dean have. He gets that Dean is afraid to love, understands that every time he does it's used against him and everything turns out bad, and in his limited experience it's gone the same way, too. After he'd been plucked from his vessel and taken back to Heaven for training, just before the apocalypse, he'd reinhabited Jimmy's body and retained the memories. Jimmy's family had been captured. He'd watched Cas possess his daughter and felt so afraid for the one he loved. It seems to Cas that whatever part you play in this life, something bad always happens.

Except, out there in the normal world, bad things happen, too. There are people who have no idea that the supernatural exist but are still as afraid of commitment as Dean. There are mothers who would die for their children without knowing what they could be facing. There is love and heartbreak and death everywhere, not just in the life of a hunter. But Dean doesn't get this, because he doesn't know any better. Cas has been observing the Earth for years, helping people. And he loves them. He doesn't love humans for their circumstances, or their talents, or their heroism. He loves them for who they are when they don't know that they're being watched.

This is a random thought, and he doesn't know what it has to do with his current situation, so he disregards it.

Dean gets a text: 'Candy shops. Most of the candy taken. Trickster?'

"It's likely," says Cas upon reading the message over Dean's shoulder. Dean feels the pressure from him leaning over. "There are real tricksters out there that like sweet things and can be killed by a wooden stake."

"And with Gabriel dead, we can be sure this time," Dean mutters, before texting Sam, We think yes. Stake that bitch.

"This is good," Dean says. "This means we'll be out of here soon."

"How soon is soon?"

"Two hours, tops."

Cas nods. "Good."

It's come to the point where it's impossible for the silence to be awkward, seeing as they've been stuck in this room for hours and no amount of conversation could have filled that. The air is still and silent, but it's still filled with something, and it's like Dean can feel it on his skin.

"Why do you come with us, Cas?" Dean asks after about ten minutes, and it's very quiet, almost like he hopes Cas won't hear the question.

"I told you. I want to help people."

"Why?"

"To make up for what I've done."

"All you've ever done is help people." He's a bit pissed off, because they keep coming back to this issue, and it seems that nothing he says can convince Cas that he's forgiven, so he drops it. "Isn't there anything you really want to do? Don't you have any, like, aspirations?"

"Do you?"

This shuts Dean up for a minute, his lips pursing, his head turning away a fraction. "Hell, I don't even know if I want a family anymore," he says in that quiet, secret voice again. "All that would happen to them is they would get killed."

"I wouldn't let that happen."

Dean frowns, narrowing his eyes, confused. "Uh. Thanks, Cas. I guess." Then he laughs. "I don't think either of us will survive that long, though."

"You will," Cas says simply.

Dean looks at him, at how plain the expression on his face is, and says, "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

Cas rolls his eyes at the sentence from when they first met, but Dean sees the reluctance to answer. Cas is a good liar, and he should be lying by now. But he's not saying anything.

Cas sighs, pursing his lips as he looks down at his hands. "I guess I just don't think I'm worth it anymore. Or anything."

And that simple sentence, the simple confession of a man who hates himself so much for reasons that he can't see don't matter, it breaks something in Dean, not just his heart, but the tether he's been holding around his words, the things he's wanted to say but held back, it all breaks and he breaks down.

He takes Cas's hands, forcing him to look up, and says, "You are the most fundamentally good man that I have ever met, and god, I know that since the whole angel thing that my life has got a lot harder but it's got so much easier, so much better and brighter with you in it, cos like, I know that there's someone I can rely on. God, Cas, have you ever let me down? No, don't answer that, 'cos you're gonna say yes, but you haven't, cos you've always been doing what you think is best, for everyone. No matter what happens to you. And I wish I could be more like you, I wish I wasn't so selfish, but I am, I'm being selfish when I say this stuff cos I don't want you to go all self-sacrificing into fights because I don't know what I'd do without you."

Dean catches his breath and watches Cas's face, perfectly void of emotion, just a tiny smile and endless eye contact, always with the eye contact, and he's frowning at Dean now and his eyes move down to Dean's mouth and Dean frowns too and then one of Cas's hands extracts itself from both of Dean's and Cas places it on the side of Dean's face and Dean stops breathing, stops moving, he thinks his heart might have stopped beating.

Dean leans in and presses his lips to Cas's softly, hesitantly, wondering about the reception he'll get, and Cas kisses back so Dean kisses him again, firmer this time, and again, and again and again and his eyes are closed but he can see it all now, everything laid out in front of him, no worrying and self hatred and doubt in his mind, because all his thoughts are concentrated on Cas, Cas, how to get closer, how to feel more.

Cas leans back suddenly and says, "Dean," all breathless and worried and a bit confused but Dean shuts him up with a kiss because he needs this, he needs Cas, he needs someone to kiss him without thinking that he's a normal guy with a different name or past or personality, he needs someone to kiss him while knowing that it's him, and he needs that person to be Cas.

And evidently, Cas needs him too. There's a sadness in the way he grips Dean's shirt and hair so tight like he's afraid that Dean will run away, or disappear, or that he's dreaming. There's an urgency to the way he kisses that isn't passion, it's something desperate, like he's just realised that there's a hole in his soul and he needs to fill it as soon as possible to get back to the way he was before. And Dean respects that. So he lets Cas kiss him like one of them is dying, and he runs his fingers through Cas's hair like his life depends on it, and he concentrates on the feel of the kiss, lips and lips and tongues and spit and the way they're both ignoring the futility of all of it because it doesn't feel like that right now, it doesn't feel like God isn't around or they're fighting a losing battle, it feels like they're together and they always will be and everything will always be this good.

"Dean, wait," Cas says again, and when Dean tries to kiss him again, Cas pushes him away. Dean looks at him expectantly, and Cas just looks back, not saying anything, because he's confused as to why this is happening, that much is clear from his face.

Dean just shrugs.

Cas sighs, sitting back. "Now would usually be the point where I would fly off and think about things for a little while, but due to our current situation…" He sighs again. "I don't know where these feelings came from, but they're very strong."

Dean's heart reminds him that it's there. He'd been expecting Cas to say that it was wrong, that they should stop. "Yeah. Me too." He smiles and says, weakly, "Who cares?"

Cas looks at him sternly. "It's not funny. We may have been cursed."

Dean actually laughs, then, because sure, Cas banged a reaper, and he kissed a demon, but this isn't just physical. It's a complicated route to those who haven't been down the road before. "No, that's not – I don't know how to explain this. This is what it's supposed to feel like. You're meant to be confused. You gotta embrace it. It's part of the good stuff, if you let it be."

"I don't like being confused. It's not a frequent feeling for me."

"Yeah, see, that's part of the fun. You get to like, let it go, you know? Do what you want without worrying too much."

"But I am worrying. And so are you."

Dean smirks. "I didn't say it was easy, did I?"

Cas looks at him with the big eyes that he hasn't quite gotten used to yet. "I'm going to mess this up, I don't know enough. I'm going to say something and you're going to hate me, because I've always tried to do what I think you'd want me to do, but you end up yelling at me so I don't know that I can do this – oh, okay," he says as Dean grabs him by the tie, says, "Shut up, oh my god," and kisses him again.

"What are we going to do?" Cas asks later, as they lean against each other and the wall behind them, looking out the small window at the bright blue morning sky, and he's not just talking about right now.

Dean sighs, knowing full well what Cas is and isn't talking about. "Shhh," he says eventually.

"Dean."

"Come on, let's just enjoy it while it's simple."

"Sam will be back in an hour or so, maybe sooner."

Dean makes an annoyed sound in his throat and rolls his eyes. "Fine. Well, what do you think we should do?"

It's a heavy question, and any answer that he gives will be heavy too. Cas thinks about what he wants to say for a second. There are a number of options here: they could continue as if everything was normal, and pretend this never happened. Cas doesn't want this. They could continue as if everything was normal, and keep their relationship a secret. This is more appealing, but not quite right. Finally, they could go for it full haul, breaking out the metaphorical 'big guns', and really try. Cas decides that this is the option he wants as he finally finishes counting the freckles on Dean's face; thirty-six.

"I think we should try," Cas says.

Dean frowns. "Really? It's gonna be trouble, though. Your guy up there, my guy running around here, all those other guys trying to kill us."

"My father is… away right now. Sam will be fine. And we are already used against each other as leverage, I see no difference."

Dean still looks on the fence, so Cas puts his hand over Dean's and says, "Is there something else you'd rather do?"

"Well, I was kinda thinking we could sneak around, you know? I thought it would be sexy." He starts smiling, unable to stop it.

Cas smiles too. "Dean, we don't live in the normal world. Even if we do this 'sneaking around', there are ways to gain the information."

Dean looks into his eyes and nods, and Cas knows he should be thinking, this is so weird, this is Dean, I've known him for years, this is so weird, but he's not, and that's the weird thing. It's not weird that he really wants to kiss his friend. It's weird that it feels normal, like a part of him has just gone, oh, right, that's what that feeling was for all those years. A weight has been lifted from the back of his mind, to be replaced by need, simple and opaque and ever-present need.

"Okay," Dean says.

Cas raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Okay. I'm on board."

"Really?" He'd thought it would be harder to convince Dean of this, due to his severe opposition to all things commitment-related.

"Yeah." Dean puts his hand on top of Cas's, forming a pile of fingers and warmth. "May as well. Can't be in any more danger."

"Really?" asks Cas again, in delight this time, and he feels like an idiot, but he doesn't care, and that's not weird, either.

Dean looks down, and Cas is embarrassing him, so instead of saying "really" again like an idiot, he puts his hand on the side of Dean's face, feeling the slight scruff and smooth skin, and he takes a second just to marvel at what he can now call his, before leaning in –

And Dean's phone vibrates in his pocket.

"Hold that thought," Dean mutters before pulling it out and checking the screen. His brow furrows as he reads.

"What is it?" Cas asks, still close enough to Dean to feel his breath on his face.

Dean turns the screen around so Cas can see. It's from Sam: Got it. On my way back – is the door still locked?

"Well?" Cas asks. "Is it locked?"

Dean reaches up and tries the handle. "Yep," he replies. "Can you bust it open?"

Cas flexes his hands out in front of him, feeling the strength that wasn't there a moment ago. "Yes."

"So." Dean laughs nervously. "Moment of truth."

They both stand, Dean sliding up the wall to his feet, while Cas takes the more graceful approach. They stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the door. Cas stares at it, clenches his fist by his side to pretend like he's summoning his power or something, but he's just trying to get his head straight, to stop worrying that whatever happened in this room will stay there.

"It's gonna be okay," Dean says quietly, and when Cas turns to look at him, Dean is just staring straight ahead. Maybe he was talking to himself.

Cas raises his arm and places his palm against the door. His grace swells up inside him as he shunts it out through his fingertips, blowing the door twenty feet away from them.

"That," he says, exhaling, "is more like it."

"You back to normal?"

"Seems so." He steps through the doorframe, into the corridor, the daylight seeping in.

Dean follows before turning around at the faint sound of a car engine in the distance. "That's Sam," he says, instantly recognising the sound of the Impala's engine. He turns back to Cas. "He'll be here soon."

Cas just nods, but Dean glances around himself quickly before pulling Cas in close to him by the hips and kissing him, quickly but chastely, and Cas smiles into it. "That was a mistake," Cas murmurs, pulling back only fractionally. "I don't want to stop now." In other words, he doesn't want to let Dean go.

Dean just steps back, less than he would usually but still a platonic amount, as they hear Sam's footsteps echoing in the hall. He keeps steady eye contact with Cas, not wavering for a second, before he says, "You won't have to."