The first time Dean found a note under his motel room pillow he decided it was a mistake. Something left behind by the last people to stay in that room or perhaps something the maid had left for another- no that was stupid. He didn't know what it was but he was certain that a) it wasn't for him and b) it was the cheesiest, girliest, sappiest thing he had ever layed his eyes on.

And it made him grin like a sixteen year old girl watching a chick-flick.

In black swirling handwriting was a line that he was pretty sure came from a famous poem.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Dean stared down at the scrap of paper and, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that it wasn't for him, glanced around before pocketing it. Although it wasn't for him, he still wanted it. He wasn't sure why but he certainly wasn't going to over-analyse it.

The second time he found a note it was in the pocket of his favourite leather jacket and he started to get this distinct feeling that someone was playing a prank on him. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards despite himself as he read the next few lines in that same handwriting.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach,

He couldn't help the slight feeling of anticipation that came with the delusion that it wasn't a joke. He slipped it into his pocket along with the other surreptitiously, hoping Sam wouldn't notice.

The third note was found in his duffel bag amongst his guns and knives.

when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

The now-familiar black handwriting was starting to bug him slightly. Who was leaving these notes? Who knew where he was? The only person he could think of -the only person he would want it to be- was definitely out of the question of it being... Or was it? Dean paused. He could hardly breathe. His mind switched to thoughts of those hands carefully writing out these words and what little breath Dean had hitched in his throat. Pushing the thought from his mind he placed the third piece into his pocket.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

Dean's face lit up in a goofy smile as he caught sight of the black words on a scrap of paper on the Impala's dashboard. Snatching it up quickly he ran his gaze across the words and his heart jumped, a warm feeling spreading through his stomach causing him to shiver.

Sam's arrival made him jump and shove the paper away hastily into his pocket. He immediately began to jabber about the case to distract himself and to keep Sam from being suspicious, but subconsciously Dean's thoughts flickered to the colour blue. Blue sky, blue tie, blue eyes...

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. were the next words Dean found on a torn off piece of paper. His brow creased slightly as he read and re-read the words. He couldn't help but think that there was a slight lack of romance in the words etched out onto the page. But then he paused. I love thee freely. I love thee freely. I love thee. I love you. Someone was leaving Dean a list of how they love him and he was thinking about a lack of romance? Dean shook his head. Who was this person and what is with the anonymity?

Sighing he stowed the words with the rest.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

Dean twirled a pen around in the fingers. He was writing out what he had of the poem so far. He didn't want to google the rest because he loved not knowing what the next reason was but he'd decided that if he understood the poem then maybe, just maybe, he'd know who wrote the lines out for him.

One common theme stuck out -okay, two, but "love" didn't count right now-, there was a distinct religious theme running through the poem. All the talk of grace and praise and souls led him in the direction of one person and he knew better than to get his hopes up but at this point he... No. Dean thought. Don't go there. It's not him, it's not him, it's not him. He leant back in the chair, dropping the pen down on top of his annotations. He gathered up the scraps and returned them to his jacket pocket. Rubbing his eyes he decided he needed to sleep. And to stop thinking of a stubbled jaw and a certain trench coat.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, ...and with my childhood's faith, were the words written on the next piece Dean found and his lips curled upwards at the phrase 'I love thee with passion'.

And then there it was again. Faith. Childhood's faith to be precise. As though they had grown out of that faith. And while Dean hated himself for it his mind jumped straight to one person. There weren't many people he knew that could relate to growing out of faith. Growing out of faith... Giving faith up... Leaving it behind because it no longer seems possible. Because his Father is gone.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. Dean grinned as his gaze swept across the swirling, elegant writing. There hadn't been a note for almost a week and his mind had briefly entertained the idea that this person had moved on or that it had all been a joke. The new message gave him comfort and a wave of relief flooded through him as he clutched the small white sheet of paper.

'A love I seemed to lose.'

Dean couldn't help but think that the wait was meant to reference that line and he smiled. He ran a finger across the words, feeling the slight indentations, an almost unfamiliar feeling spreading through his stomach. He sank down onto the uncomfortable motel bed, sighing happily and holding the paper tight to his chest.

Adding the most recent message to the rest Dean read over the poem so far, mouthing the words as he went. He couldn't escape the fact that the poem sounded almost finished. Well, Dean thought, might as well ask.

He stood up slowly and, glancing around quickly, called out, "Cas? Um, can we talk?" He asked. "Please. It's, um, kinda important." He tacked on the end.

He paused; standing there he began to feel quite stupid. Sighing disappointedly he turned to flop back into his chair.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean straightened up abruptly, "Cas!" He accidentally burst out spinning round to face the angel. "You- You surprised me."

Cas looked slightly embarrassed and Dean took a deep breath to steady himself. "I need to ask you something." He started hesitantly. Opening his mouth he tried to explain. And then he closed it. He exhaled sharply through his nose. He stepped to the side so Cas could see the scraps of paper littering the table.

Cas' eyes widened slightly and his right hand drifted upwards as though he were reaching out towards them but he pulled it back. "Dean." He whispered. His eyes found Dean's, hesitant with a hidden hint of hope.

"Are these yours?" Dean asked, heart beating wildly in his chest, already knowing the answer from Cas' reaction. He stepped forwards.

Barely an inch from each other, Cas nodded once. Dean lifted one hand and pressed it gently to the other man's face, eyes flickering between those full, kissable lips and those shining, blue eyes. Leaning in he pressed their lips together.

When Dean pulled away Cas automatically tried to follow him and a faint blush spread across his skin as he realised. "Cas?" Dean whispered, foreheads pressed together and one hand on the back of Cas' neck. "How does the rest of that poem go?"

Cas smiled and pecked Dean on the lips, "I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death." He recited.

Dean smiled in response and pressed his lips to Cas' again. "I like that." He murmured. "I love you too. With all my life."