"Dean, when are you going shopping? The place is out of food!"

Dean bit back the choice words he had ready to fire at the young prophet. The past week hadn't exactly been a leisurely stroll through Central Park. There were five of them currently living in the Men of Letters bunker: himself, Sam, Kevin, Cas, and- Jesus take the wheel- fucking Crowley. Sam was bedridden; been that way ever since the close scrape with the trials. He was comparatively healthy- just exhausted and feverish. Could barely move. They had Crowley chained in the dungeon, stuck in a devil's trap. What else could they do? The cocky bastard hadn't been cured, not entirely, and they couldn't just leave him in that church. So Dean had found himself in the strange position of looking after the King of Hell. Kevin- well Kevin was perfectly able-bodied and Dean saw no reason at all for his demanding attitude. As for Castiel, well, they were still trying to work through that.

Castiel had met up them not long after the pandemonium at the church. It was sheer dumb luck, actually. Someone a bit more mystical would probably have thought some big hand, turning a big dial had planned it like clockwork. Dean was driving the impala- Sam and Crowley passed out in the back seat- making their way to the bunker, when no kidding Castiel dashed out of the roadside forest and all but threw himself in front of his speeding vehicle. He had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting the lunatic! He jumped out of the car, ran to Cas. Relief surged through him. When the angels fell out Heaven, he had thought the worst. That Cas might never be able to find them, or that he might even be dead. A thousand questions he wanted to ask, but he never got the chance to. Apparently, he wasn't used to human physical exertion because after a few heaving breaths, Castiel had crumpled to the asphalt. Leaving Dean with the inert forms of his brother, the King of Hell, and a fallen angel to look after.

Ever since, Dean felt like he was parenting children. The neediness of each one of them was inexorable. Whether is was to clean up after Sam when he vomited from time to time, or to show Cas how coffee makers worked, or to bring dinner to his Royal Majesty the King. Kevin certainly wasn't helping with his own uselessness.

If the fridge is empty, Kevin, you get off your ass and get more food. Was what he wanted to say. But he knew why the kid didn't. He was scared, and Dean didn't blame him. They had decided to hunker down and keep a low profile as much as possible to avoid the vengeful angels and the rioting demons that would surely be looking for them. Simply stepping outside of the bunker was risky and Kevin was a skittish guy. So what he ended up saying, without trying to conceal his annoyance, was, "Can you give me five minutes?"

He forced himself from his comfortable bed and started what had now become his hourly rounds. He traveled the short distance down the hall to Sam's room, rapping softly at the door before entering. It was dark in there, and kept cool for when Sam periodically broke out in fevers.

"Hey Sammy," From his nest of blankets and pillows Sam grunted a vague greeting in return. Routinely, Dean felt for a fever. Feeling none, he proceeded to grab the empty glass resting on the bedside table. He left the room for no more than thirty seconds and returned with it filled with ice water. "I'm Leavin' for a few. Gotta restock the kitchen. You need anything before I go?"

With some effort, Sam pulled himself to a sitting position and downed the glass Dean offered him. Dean watched to make sure he drank all of it. Again, he felt like a parent. But this was nothing new between him and Sammy. It was the natural order.

"No," Sam gave Dean an almost apologetic look. The younger hunter knew how hard his brother was working to take care of them all and he hated needing to be waited on. "I'm fine, you can stop babying me."

Dean grinned, "Have it your way. I shouldn't be long."

Before he exited the room Sam called out, "be careful."

"Always am."

Next, Dean made his way to the bowels of their dungeon. The middle of a devil's trap, Crowley sat chained to securely to a chair. He was whistling an all-too cheerful little diddy looking for all the world as non-chalant and unassuming as anyone. It was a far-cry from the state he had been in not three days earlier. When they first transported him here he had been a slobbering, bloodied mess. It took him no time at all, however, to bounce back to his old petulance. Though not fully cured, certain human characteristics had begun to resurface, the most notable of which, to Dean's greatest displeasure, was the necessity to eat.

"Ah, Squirrel, I am deeply humbled by your decision to descend from your pearly white on-high to come visit little old me. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Can it, Crowley," Dean rolled his eyes. " I'm going to get us some damn food."

"Taking requests, are you? Hopefully it's an improvement to last night, could've used a bit more basil. For the record, you should never pursue a career in the culinary arts. Also, might I suggest a few tea lights? A little candlelight could really upscale the ambiance of this gloomy little set-up. And real silverware. Not those plastic sporks you've got in troves. Honestly, a little class would be appreciated. Perhaps you might even consider joining me. It might be romantic." He angled his head to regard Dean with a crooked smile.

"I'll pass. I should be back soon. Kevin's here, so just...y'know, yell if you need anything. Or something."

Crowley scoffed. "Little brat jumps at his own shadow and you leave him in charge of the house? Really, Dean is that very responsible of you?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "If you mess with him, I will find out."

"And then, what, you'll punish me? Go right ahead. I could stand to be roughed up a bit. I've been so bored."

Dean clenched his jaw, "Yeah, okay. Whatever." He climbed stairs, refusing to carry the pointless conversation any further.

"Bring me back something tasty!" Crowely called out. Dean made a mental note to pick up some high- sodium sardines. To then douse with tabe salt.

Now to check on Cas. The soldier of heaven hadn't exactly been fit for battle after the fall. Dean still hardly knew a thing about what happened that night; Cas refused to talk about it, and Dean knew when to keep his mouth shut. It was a conversation they would have to have eventually, but for now the wound was still too raw. Cas had spoken very few words in general since the incident. He was going through what Dean considered to be a very severe depression. Of course, the feeling was familiar to Cas- he had felt something similar in his weakened state in their struggle against the devil- but nothing to this degree. He stayed in his room mostly, when he didn't need to eat or use the bathroom or shower- the last two highly embarrassing lessons that had needed to be taught early on. It was painful for Dean to watch the shame that washed over the former angel's face when he struggled with these basic human behaviors.

He turned down the hall that brought him to Castiel's room. The door remained open as it had since they got there. "Hey Cas, what's good-" he paused, troubled by the sight of Casitiel on his bed, lying on his back, arms and stiff and rigid at his sides. He stared at the ceiling with a most concentrated, intent look on his face. He almost looked like he was in pain. "Cas- are you okay?"

The man let out a long sigh, and then turned his head slowly to face Dean in the doorway. His face, which before had glowed with a certain of preternatural light, was now now ashen and sallow. World weary eyes were rimmed with red, as he looked at Dean sadly. The hunter's chest constricted.

"Can't sleep..." He muttered finally.

"Why don't you read a book, or somethin'? Lord knows we've got quite a library."

"No," he replied brusquely. "I want to sleep now. But...I don't know how."

Dean cocked a brow at the remark, "Whaddya mean you don't know how? You've slept here the past three nights."

Cas returned his vacant gaze the the ceiling. "Yes, but only because I stayed awake until I could no longer keep my eyes open." Now that Dean thought about it, Cas had been keeping pretty late hours. The hunter usually always went to sleep before him. "I don't know how to do it before the point of absolute axhaustion. How do you fall asleep?"

"...You just gotta, " That was tough. Frankly, after the countless restless nights he's had over the years, haunted by memories, Dean Winchester was not the best man to ask about falling into peaceful sleep. Still and again, he would do his best to try and explain this one. "I dunno, relax. Close your eyes, get comfortable. Right now you look like a corpse."

Cas shot him a rare look of defiance. It was comforting to see he still had some of his old spark left in him. "Easier said than done. What do you think I've been trying to do all this time? I even tried counting the sheep. Nothing has worked."

Dean leaned against the threshold of the door, arms crossed. "Well what do you want me to do about it?"

Once more a familiar wash of shame painted Castiel's face red, and looked to the far wall to avoid Dean's eyes. "I thought, maybe you could stay here."

"Cas- I'm getting ready to leave," Those imploring eyes gave him pause, however.

Dean was quiet for a long time. A memory he thought long-buried suddenly resurfaced in his mind. On nights he couldn't sleep, his mother would sit next to him while he lay in bed, smoothing his hair and humming softly as he drifted off. There were occasions growing up he had done something similar for Sam, keeping to his brother's side until the younger fell asleep. It was different with Sam. They were blood. It was his job to look after him. Could he do the same for Cas? Honestly, it seemed a little gay. Which was a whole new can of worms he didn't want to get into.

The relationship he had with Cas had always been tumultuous at best. Unstable. But somehow constant at the same time. There was always a current of something else too, something that Dean could scarce bring himself to think about, that flowed between them just beneath a thin sheath. Sometimes it surfaced in a look that lingered for too long, or a phrase spoken in a certain tone. Or a gratuitous brush of a hand. He was afraid to think too much about it. To consider what it might mean. Of course he could be imagining these things, but why would he do that? It wasn't in his typical nature to have thoughts like that about-

Dean cleared throat, " Alright, fine. I'll stay here 'till you fall asleep. But try to be snappy about it, I've got a whiny prophet and a bitchy demon king to feed." Cas' face lit up as Dean crossed the room and perched himself at the edge of the bed. Moments passed and the silence stretched on. Beside him Cas seemed wide awake, gaze once more trained the ceiling. Dean bristled. "Well?" he demanded.

"You don't seem very comfortable, Dean. I think it's putting me off."

Dean blinked, "You're the one who-! Never mind. Look, I've got things to do. Obviously, I'm not helping so why don't I just leave you to it, huh?"

"That's not what I meant. I want you to stay," Cas angled his head and surprised Dean with a rather demure smile. "I just think you ought to lay down."

There was that feeling again. That pull in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't have imagined that look on Cas' face, but it was so unlike him. What was he playing at? Dean rolled his eyes, "Fine." He conceded, but immediately he wished he hadn't. He situated himself on the bed, careful to leave ample space between them. He kept his jacket and shoes on.

This whole "human" business was not pleasurable at all. At least such was Castiel's opinion. Everything was so much harder now. The physical limitations he had braced himself for, but he had not been at all prepared to deal with the ostentatiously nuanced emotional side of the human condition. Assuredly, he had known a human's biggest weakness to be his irrational feelings, but he had been oblivious as the degree. Human perception, though flawed, was...penetrating. The guilt he felt for his grave misjudgment of Metatron, piled with his lengthy list of transgressions against Heaven and his family- he couldn't even bring himself to think on them now, such was the sorrow. It was crushing.

Then there was Dean.

For obvious reasons, they had been irrevocably connected ever since he freed the hunter's soul from Hell. He had held the man's very essence, saw it's purity and righteousness behind the tattered remains. It had been an intimate experience, one that Dean himself had no memory of, but would stay with Castiel forever. A theory could be made that if one were to follow the threads of their correspondence back to the beginning, it was Castiel's growing affection for Dean that ultimately led to his downfall. What could he say? Dean had always been special to him.

But through human eyes, Castiel began to see Dean in a different light.

It was the litte things. The ex-angel would sometimes find himself lost in the rhthym of Dean's hands, noting the subtle curves of his fingers, as they cleaned his weapons; the flare of his nostrils and how his eyes sharpened when he concentrated were highly distracting; the curve of his shoulder blades rolling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt held him enthralled.

At first, he didn't understand these misplaced musings and attributed them to the fogged paralysis of his guilt. Then earlier in the week as he eyes the hunter curiously as he spoke eyes rather vehemently to someone on the phone, Cas found himself unwittingly wondering what it might feel like to be kissed by Dean. The thought took him by surprise. The only time he ever had thoughts like that prior had been towards the demon Meg. It was confusing, but when unfamiliar warmth pooled between his legs, burning his cheeks, it became transparently clear. It was an undeniable biological fact, because he was steeped in human weakness, that he could no more control than he could stop the the inevitable rumbling of his stomach a few hours from now: he was attracted to Dean Winchester. Over the course of three days, realization slowly wove itself into an aching need.

What was more, he knew for a fact that Dean felt the same.

As an angel, Castiel had occasionally picked up on a few particularly savory thoughts featuring them both in compromising positions. Usually they were squandered with bursts of horror and shame when Dean realized them. At the time, these fantasies meant precious little to Castiel. Celestial beings did not experiece desire or sexual urges, though he expected nothing less from his human comrade who had a history of being led by his genitalia. What did it matter to the angel that Dean harbored latent homosexual urges when there was a higher cause?

Now, however, those little back-burner fantasies were what the humans called the "green light."

A few minutes and Dean found himself nodding off along with Cas whose eyes had closed several minutes earlier. He supposed he really should haul himself up and get the damn food, but sleep seemed like such a better idea. He allowed himself to sink deeper into sleep.

An undefinable amount of time past before the shifting of the mattress roused him from his light sleep. Groggy from the confusion that accompanied all mid-day napping, he peered with hazy eyes at Cas who had definitely moved a great deal closer to him.

Whereas before a healthy slice of the bed had been kept empty between them, it had since been eaten away by the bulk of Cas' torso which was now fully angled towards him. Their knees tocuhed. Their faces were only inches apart. Of course, people moved around while they slept, but it didn't stop Dean feeling any less uncomfortable.

Time to go. Careful not to disrupt the sleeping angel, Dean inched his way to the edge of the bed. A sturdy hand held his arm, stopping him.

"Stay," the murmur was nearly inaudible, Dean wondered if he even heard it. Though Cas' eyes were closed, the hand that held Dean's arm slid up the hunter's chest, resting there.

Dean was speachless. Beneath the weight of Cas' hand his heart pounded relentlessly. What did he do?

"Uh- Cas?" He cleared his throat. The other remained in the guize of sleep, shifting his body closer and pressing his foreheard to the hunter's left temple as he began to massage small circles on Dean's chest.

This was getting widly out of hand, at an alarming speed. Dean spoke again, notably loudly, "Cas?"

"Yeah?" Hot breath hit the side of Dean's face.

"I don't know what's come over you but- It's prolly just your holiness not used to curbing your vessel's hormonal shit, or somethin'-"

A sleepy half-smile tugged at the corner of Castiel's mouth. Shame prickled the hunter as he realized just how sexy he found that smile. "You couldn't be more accurate, Dean."

Sweat formed on Dean's forehead from embarrassment and arousal. He licked his lips gingerly, "In that case I'm willing to put this behind us and pretend it never happened. Call it part of the learning process, we'll be sure to find you a nice girl later on. But right now I need to go-" his breath hitched as Cas' teeth pulled his earlobe.

"Learning process? Why put off something you're already in the middle of?" his hand gripped the fabric of Dean's shirt as he bit down a little harder, earning a small groan from Dean.

To hell with it. Throwing caution to the wind Dean gripped Cas' face his both hands and crushed their lips together. Cas' hand twisted in the fabric of his shirt. Damn, but this horny Cas was feisty! His movements were nevertheless erratic and sloppy with inexperience, but they were driven by a persistence that his new found human nature instilled and made Dean's face grow hot.

Heavy breathing and hot, insatiable mouths traveled over each other's exposed skin. Soon clothing became stifling and Dean wished he had removed his shoes before laying down. The hunter's shirt was the first to go. Straddling his hips, Cas ran both hands from the Winchester's hip bones to the top of his pectorals, marveling at the at the defined tautness. Dean arched as the fallen angel's mouth latched onto one his nipples, sucking and biting intermittently. The hunter twined his fingers in his raven hair. "Damnit, Cas," he moaned.

"Dean!" Came Kevin's voice echoing through the bunker. The starkness of it sliced through the unreal, delirium of the atmosphere and they stopped instantly. "I thought you said you were leaving! The fridge is seriously empty. As in no food to be had."

Dean groaned, wanting nothing more than to punch the kid square in the jaw. Cas was looking up at him, lust still glazed his eyes, but they were questioning too: What would they do now? It was a damn good question. He had no idea where this was going, and he didn't really want to think about it right now.

"You still tired?" He asked, sitting up.

Cas shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't look like Junior took his patient pills this morning so it looks like I'm going." As the words left his mouth they sounded awkward. He really was at a total loss of what to do. Here he was shirtless, still sweaty from a hot make-out session with his comrade in arms.

"I understand."

"Good," Dean said with a curt nod of his head. He rubbed the back his neck before standing, avoiding the other's gaze at all costs. He threw his shirt back on, conscious of Cas' eyes on him. He turned to leave without another words, but Cas' voice stopped him in the doorway.

"Just so you know, it was infinitely better than I imagined it would be."

Dean bit back a smile before disappearing down the hall.