A/N: Well, I don't know what happened - but this got way out of hand. lol.

Still un-beta'd, so if you see any huge mistakes, feel free to let me know.

There's one more part after this. :)


After Derek lets Dean take a scenic route around town, they decide to go to a local bar instead of just a liquor store.

They wanted to go elsewhere, but Sam is still probably at the motel – Dean tells Derek right away that he's his brother, so he won't get any ideas – and Derek says his house needs a lot of work done on it.

And of course the den is out of the question, seeing as it's the full moon and there's a bunch of young werewolves gathered there. (Plus, Dean is trying to avoid spending more time with Castiel than he already does.)

Dean agrees to the bar idea because, honestly, he doesn't know this Derek guy well; he could skin Dean alive if they end up alone somewhere. And bars are something Dean knows intimately. He could maybe hustle some people at pool while he's there.

XXX

Needless to say, Dean has no idea how drunk he is. They've been chatting about nothing in particular, and drinks have been coming his way – all thanks to Derek's generosity. He's not worried about being drugged or anything, though, because the hunter eye never truly goes away. He's been watching Derek's hands, and they haven't touched any of Dean's glasses – even to simply slide it over.

It's comfortable; Derek is a charming guy when he isn't in close proximity to that teenager. And Dean is good at talking to everyone, especially when he doesn't have to convince them he carries a badge.

"So, you're a hunter? There's a family here that hunts werewolves. The Argents," Derek says, the name almost cutting on his tongue.

"I go after whatever is killing people: vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons. You name it," Dean slurs in response, knocking back a shot of whiskey. He hisses with it, not used to such quality alcohol.

"And you're here because…" Derek asks, hoping none of his pack has been off killing deer or anything too blatantly obvious. He'd have to reprimand them, though, and that parts always fun for him.

"A ghost, probably. My brother's doing the research today, so I can't say for sure." Dean winks, adding, "I took a day off."

Derek stirs the contents of his glass, absently. "So did I."

"Awesome," Dean says, flagging the bartender down for another shot.

Derek pushes Dean's arm down gently when he lifts two fingers. "No, I'm paying. It's on me."

"Dude, it's been like two hours and I haven't paid a single round. Let me get this one or something." Dean chuckles, taking the glass from the bartender when he comes back.

Derek just shakes his head. "I can afford it."

Dean sighs, feeling grateful but kind of overwhelmed by the gesture. He likes being able to pay his own things, to be independent. And Derek is a nice guy; Dean would like to give him something in return for not spitting his name like he did that Argent family.

"Just, let me do something to repay you."

Derek starts to shake his head then stops when he thinks of something. "You can just keep me company. I haven't had a moment to breathe in a while."

"Sounds familiar," Dean says, laughing. His face is starting to heat up, and Derek's sitting closer than he remembers. Or maybe it's just the booze messing with his head. "But sure, I can do that."

As time passes, more people start coming in, making the bartender panic until he sees his co-worker come through the doors with a guilty expression on his face.

Dean looks around, curious mostly, while Derek is busy texting someone in his pack. There's a slew of hot women all around where they're sitting. There're brunettes with gorgeous, long hair, blondes with dark, brown eyes, and don't get Dean started on the redheads. They are tall, curvy and very, very down-to-earth.

For a moment, Dean spaces out. He's picturing one of them sitting in his lap, learning the inside of his mouth. But then Derek startles him, a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder.

Derek's brow creases; he can smell arousal all over Dean. Maybe he wants to leave with someone. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah." Dean grins, nodding over at the one who had him caught in a daydream. "You see that girl? Man, she is something." He nudges Derek with his elbow, trying for playful and friendly, but almost falling over instead.

Derek holds him steady, pushing him back on his stool. He looks over at the girl; frowns because he knows she's easy. He'd hoped Dean wouldn't go for women like that. "Yeah, so I've heard." He sounds bitter even to his own ears.

Dean watches Derek, raising a brow. "You don't think she's hot?" He's pretty sure Derek doesn't swing both ways - like Dean often does.

People are people to Dean; he doesn't really think about what's between their legs. It's about how they talk, move, dress. He can appreciate beauty, okay? He's an artist in his own way. But the way Derek is, comfortable with himself and just a bit rough around the edges, that's not someone Dean thinks is gay.

He hopes he's wrong, though.

"I think she's attractive on the outside only," Derek snaps, guzzling his glass of brandy.

Dean gapes, watching the werewolf swallow it down like it's nothing but water. That shouldn't be a turn on, right? Derek wipes his mouth, fangs slightly pressing into the wet lips…God, is it ever a turn on. Dean needs to leave, very soon. Or think about something else.

Derek orders another for himself, looking over at Dean who's wearing an odd expression on his face. When he sniffs, the arousal is still there, but he's looking at Derek, not the woman. It doesn't mean it's directed at Derek just because he's the focal point, though, does it? This is why Derek doesn't bother with flirting.

"You want a beer or something? You seem pretty gone."

Dean swallows, glancing back at the table with the buffet of hot chicks. "Yeah, I think I should slow down if I want to take one of them home." And not you, Dean thinks. But, if it was an option, he'd really like to take Derek home.

Derek makes this half-grunt, half-growl noise in the back of his throat without meaning to. Damn, he's being so obvious. Dean probably thinks he's a sleaze who took him out, and got him drunk on purpose so they could have a one-night stand after. But anyone, even the people who barely know Derek beyond the fire, would know he isn't like that.

Dean chuckles softly, sipping at his beer. "Is that agreement or disapproval? 'Cause I gotta say man, I'm too drunk to tell."

Derek doesn't want to lie for some reason, even though he's done it countless times in the past couple of years. There's just something upfront and genuine about Dean that makes it hard for Derek to lie. So, Derek says nothing, pretending to be distracted by his cellphone.

Dean blinks a few times, trying to keep the room from moving in and out of focus so he can get a good look at Derek's expression. He looks…unhappy. Usually, Dean wouldn't even pay attention to it unless he planned on getting in his pants, but Derek is someone who Dean thinks he'd – maybe – hang out with again. If ever he's in town.

"Did I say something wrong? Do you not like chicks?" Dean grips the neck of his bottle, waiting for something to hit him. A fist most likely.

Derek scowls, but it's mostly directed at the woman standing behind Dean, surely five seconds away from asking Dean if he wants a drink.

Dean tips the bottle back, nearly choking on the beer when Derek's eyes flash red. "Whoa, dude. I'm not saying you're gay. Don't get mad."

"I like girls fine," Derek grits out, throwing daggers at the woman until she backs away, frightened that she might become Derek's appetizer.

Dean does cough then, seeing the fangs elongate, pressing against those full lips. God, those lips…His cock twitches in his jeans. Fuck.

"So, are you dating that Stiles kid then?" he blurts out, unthinkingly. Let it be known, Dean cannot hold his thoughts back when he's thoroughly drunk. And there's a hot supernatural creature in his midst, that's not trying to kill him for once.

Derek scoffs, pressing his palm to Dean's back when he nearly tips over again. "No." And as an afterthought, "Why does everyone think that?"

Dean's eyes get comically wide. "You too, huh?" He laughs, feeling more at ease already. "Man, if I had a dollar every time someone thought I was dating Cas or my brother, I'd be richer than Bill Gates."

Derek snorts at that, his features turning back to human. He starts to move his hand away, but feels Dean move into it, seeking the touch. "You don't mind?"

"People thinking I'm gay? Not really. People thinking I'm incestuous, hell yeah." Dean sips at his beer, contemplating what Derek just asked. Did he get that wrong somehow?

Derek is laughing, and it feels pleasant. It's natural and good-natured, something he hasn't felt in a while. "I meant me touching your back. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Dean is watching him with an unreadable expression, though, the smell of sex practically leaking off of Dean now. He needs to drive Dean back home soon before the full moon starts making him crazy.

"Nah, it- it's fine," Dean admits with a tight smile. He glances away, trying to force the images of Derek's lips around his cock out of his head. What is wrong with him? Does the full moon affect humans, too?

Dean bumps his shoulder against Derek's, smirking. "I can get pretty touchy-feely when I'm drunk, anyway." Wow, that sounds dirty. Inappropriate. Dirty and inappropriate.

Derek's lip curls up at one side, and he bumps Dean back gently. "That's good." What. What is he saying? Dean is going to run out of here any second now…Especially when he notices Derek is not even close to drunk. Stupid werewolf metabolism. At least if he was drunk like Dean, he couldn't be blamed for pouncing on him.

Conversation is stilted after that. They both don't want to hit on the other, but that's the only thing that keeps popping up in their mind when they look at the other. So they drink in silence, and Dean pretends he isn't getting a boner just from looking at Derek's lips on that glass, while Derek tries not to smell all the pheromones Dean's letting off like some goddamn Axe commercial.

Finally, grateful for a distraction, Dean says, "I have to take a leak." He tries to stand, and nearly head-butts Derek in the process. Derek's smile is both shy and really attractive. It kills Dean a bit inside.

Derek uses Dean's drunken antics as an excuse to put his hands on Dean. And, wow, is that ever a mistake. He can feel the arousal all over Dean, rippling through his skin – much like the rippling muscles in his back and sides – and it's going to take a miracle for Derek to let him go.

"Do you need me…" He trails off when Dean nods, not even waiting for the end of the sentence. "-to help you get there, I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you were saying. I'm pretty sure I won't make it there without your help." Okay, now Dean just sounds desperately horny. Is the night over yet? Where's Cas? Shit, he shouldn't even think his name, he could pop in suddenly.

Dean waits a moment, trying to mentally cancel the 'prayer', but Derek is already gently pushing him towards the men's bathroom. There's a few near-falls, Dean toppling over like a tower, but Derek's hand is always there, firm and warmer than sunlight. Jesus Christ, is Dean a girl now?

It's as good as any excuse for Derek to follow inside, waiting behind Dean in case he starts to lean to one side, the other, or you know, back into Derek. But mostly it's to avoid Dean cracking his head against the tiled wall or the porcelain urinal. Safety first.

Dean stretches his neck a bit, glancing behind, and even in his drunken bliss, he notices Derek's gaze dart away. "See something you like?" It's just a little bit of a tease. There's no harm in it, right?

There's a growl nearly out of Derek's throat until he snaps his jaw shut. His tongue is nearly bitten in half from the speed of it, but thankfully he heals. His brain, however, isn't as cooperative as his muscles. "Yes."

Dean scoffs, shaking his head. Okay, so Derek flirts too. Big deal. It doesn't mean anything. Dean is the biggest flirt on the planet, and he's only serious half the time. He chuckles softly, giving Derek a saucy wink.

Dean's getting his pants up - slower than usual - zipping them, strolling over to the sink. Derek is leaning against the stall door, watching him. Trying to be casual, Dean watches Derek back in the mirror while washing his hands. He can't be blamed for trailing his eyes down Derek's body quickly, really. He's standing there like a gorgeous, modern statue. Derek's eyes flash red, and Dean's cock strains, presses in close to his zip, begging to be near all that…awesomeness.

Werewolves are a lot of things, but blind they are not. Derek saw the way Dean practically undressed him with his eyes, smelled the way the arousal shot up when Derek tentatively displayed his Alpha ability; he knows Dean's hot for him. And Derek is not one to pass up a good thing.

Dean barely has time to dry his hands before he's being spun, pushed back against the sink, and ground into like he's a human scratching post. Derek is sucking at Dean's mouth, claws barely human enough to slither in the back of Dean's jeans to drag him in closer. Their lips are raw, burning with how rough the kiss is, and all Dean can think is 'how long before I'm sober?'

XOX

"So, what's it like being an angel?" Stiles asks, trying very hard not to throw ten more follow-up questions at Castiel. It's not every day you get to meet someone, something rather, that's from Heaven.

"Tiring," Castiel replies plainly, looking out the window.

Stiles waits, but Castiel doesn't continue. "Um. Okay. So, why do you hang out with Dean? Is he like your friend or something? Do angels have friends? Can you have friends? I'd like to be your friend."

Castiel clears his throat, brows knit. "I am allowed friends, yes. Dean was my charge at first; I found his soul in Hell, and brought him back to Earth to be a saviour. That was a long time ago."

Stiles glances over at Castiel, then again, then does a triple take. "What? Dean was in Hell?"

Castiel frowns, folding in on himself. He doesn't want to discuss Dean and his wondrous existence tonight. Dean is elsewhere, most likely enjoying himself. Shouldn't Castiel be allowed a day to just sit in silence and be of help if needed?

"Okay. Guess you don't want to talk about that. My real name isn't Stiles, by the way. Everyone just has problems saying my real name. You know, my best friend is a werewolf, that's why I got into this whole mess. If it weren't for him, I'd be back home right now eating pizza and drinking coke, killing losers in Halo 3."

Castiel's frown deepens, but he doesn't say anything. Stiles continues rambling, about everything and nothing, hoping one of the things he's said will make Castiel talk, but nothing does.

"Do you like cookies? I think I still have some in my school bag if you're hungry. Oh wait, do angels need to eat? Probably not, right? Oh! We're here." Stiles drives as close to the entrance as he can, and turns off the engine. "Well, welcome to the den, Castiel."

"You can call me Cas if you wish. I've gotten used to the appellation."

"Okay, cool." Stiles steps out of his Jeep, and Castiel trails behind, eyeing the dark steps like they might break under his weight. "I promise it's not as sketchy down there as it looks up here. Plus, I might have to warn you: sometimes the pack gets very-"

"Stiles, get back!" Scott grabs Stiles, and drags him away as the other Betas rush toward Castiel, claws and fangs bared, ready to attack.

"-protective of me," Stiles finishes, trying to weasel his way out of Scott's grip. God, this is embarrassing. Mainly for them.

Castiel blinks once, arms flat to his sides, not moving a muscle besides his eyes. "Good evening."

Erica snarls, eyes glowing amber and just as bright as her long, blond hair. Boyd's claws start getting longer, his shoulders hunched as he steps up to where Erica is standing, prepared to lunge at Castiel when she is.

Stiles manages to squeak out, "Guys, I'm fine. He didn't kidnap me or anything-"

Scott growls to shut his friend up, and Erica and Boyd follow the older werewolf's lead. With a nod of his head, Scott makes Isaac appear from a dark corner, stalking over to Castiel with his face already in full wolf form. Jackson is flossing his teeth when he notices everyone wolfing out, and joins in just as quickly, growling louder than everyone else.

Stiles starts to protest – Castiel not doing a very good job at helping to avoid a fight – when footsteps sound from behind the entrance stairs.

"Guys, you're not being very polite to our guest. Stiles already said he isn't a threat. Unless you'd like him to be - which I don't recommend," Peter says smoothly, smiling at Castiel in passing.

He stands in front of Castiel, his back to him, crossing his arms. "I know you guys haven't been training that long, but this is ridiculous. You should be able to sense when you're outmatched."

Scott sputters, letting go of Stiles. "You're saying we should run?"

"I'm saying you should listen to Stiles. He seems to be the only one with any sense."

Stiles would be appreciative of Peter's words, if he hadn't tried to turn him – again – for the hundredth time this year. He always waits until Derek and Scott aren't around. But, on the bright side, having a werewolf with experience around is amazing. He can help keep them under control; Scott and Stiles alone aren't enough to keep the wilder Betas back.

Preparing to slip off upstairs with Castiel, Peter grabs Stiles's arm. "Where are you going? I'm not staying. Derek told me to keep an eye on the pack until you got here." Peter grabs his coat, and saunters up the stairs, leaving Stiles with his jaw hanging to the floor.

"Well, thank you Hale family," Stiles mutters, glaring at nothing in particular.

Castiel moves from his spot finally. "I can handle them, Stiles. Do not fear for your safety."

Scott reaches for Stiles to yank him back, but Stiles doesn't let him. "Dude, he's an angel, not a freakin' Kanima. No offence, Jackson."

"Bite me, Stilinski. You know I didn't have any control over that," Jackson spits, going back into the hidden room to continue his beauty ritual. Or whatever he spends hours doing in front of the mirror. Maybe cursing Stiles with a mini voodoo doll made of hair.

"Angel?!" Scott half-shouts, half-squawks. "Stiles, man, where do you find these things?"

"You're one to talk, werewolf victim number one," Stiles retorts. "Besides, Derek is the one who found Castiel."

Scott pushes past Stiles, getting a closer look at Castiel. They have an odd stare-off for a few moments, until Scott has to blink. "He's making my eyes water for some reason."

"Certain supernatural creatures are affected by my grace," Castiel explains, gazing at each of the wolves watching him with fear and curiosity. Scott rubs his eyes. "I believe you just waited too long to blink, however."

Stiles laughs, patting Scott on the back. "Dude, don't hurt yourself before we even get everyone else chained up."

"I didn't! He's bright! You don't see the – the glowy thing around him?" Scott looks to Erica, who just shrugs, and Boyd, who grins unpleasantly. Isaac isn't much better when he throws Scott a sympathetic look. "He's bright, I swear!"

"Okay, buddy. Don't worry. I'm sure he is," Stiles says, squeezing Scott's shoulder gently.

Scott sighs, looking back at Castiel. "What are you doing here anyway? Did Derek send you? I'm perfectly capable by myself-"

"Dude, no you're not. And I don't want to be alone with you guys when I look most like a human-shaped steak," Stiles cuts in, chuckling. "Besides, Jackson is going to raise hell, and we all know it. You see how he is when it isn't the full moon, and this is only his third."

"I'll make sure to keep you in mind if I need a snack, Stilinski," Jackson calls from the back.

Erica whispers something to Boyd, but before they can ask, Castiel flickers from his spot all the way to right in front of them, looking bored. "Is that proof enough of my nature? Or would you like me do something more?"

Boyd swallows, peering at Erica. She elbows him, and he swallows again before saying, "No, that's fine. We believe you."

Scott calls to Jackson, "Did you hear? He's an angel."

"Yes, I heard it when it happened five minutes ago, thanks." The light goes off, and Jackson comes out, cuffs already on his wrists. "Now, someone better hook these somewhere for me."

Isaac smiles at Castiel, ignoring Jackson. "Nice to meet you. I never thought I'd meet an angel. If you two need any help tonight, let me know."

"That is very kind of you, Isaac." Castiel dips his head politely.

"How do you…Wow." Isaac's eyes seem to glitter with fascination. "You're really an angel.

"Indeed I am."

Isaac's eyes dart from Castiel's face to his chest, over his shoulders, but he can't see the glowing that Scott was talking about. "Am I too new?"

"Perhaps you are trying too hard. Allow me." Castiel raises two fingers to Isaac's forehead.

Stiles raises a brow. What exactly is going on with the pack? Scott is still rubbing his eyes, Erica and Boyd aren't necking like usual – too busy staring in awe – Isaac is having his brain scrambled or something, and Jackson is acting as if angels pass through Beacon Hills every week.

Isaac sucks in a breath, and his eyes snap open. "Oh my god. W-what was that?"

"Just a glimpse of my true form. It's dangerous with humans, but with a supernatural creature, less so."

"You're…amazing," Isaac says, dreamily, almost like he's still seeing the image in his mind.

"I am but a mere shadow in comparison to the archangels. It is a pity many of them have died."

Scott stops rubbing his eyes to ask, "Archangels can die? You can die?"

"I can, yes. In fact, I have a few times already."

Jackson sighs, shaking his cuffs. "Hello? Am I invisible? The moon's going to be up soon."

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he and Scott get to work. Castiel only stands by, and leans down at times to check the chains and their efficiency.

Erica and Boyd only need to be bound by their wrists, whereas Jackson requires head, wrists and ankles. Scott doesn't need anything, and Isaac prepares himself a spot just in case it turns out he needs to be tied down after all.

XXX

"Are you gonna be okay? I have to go pick up some things at the store for my mom. She just left me a message."

Stiles smiles, putting his arm around Scott's shoulders. "Nah, I have an angel and Isaac. We'll be fine. Right, Isaac?"

Isaac leans against the wall, offering his most sincere smile. "Yeah. I can just growl if Jackson or one of the others tries to escape."

Scott frowns for a second but nods. "Okay, just text me if anything goes wrong."

"What could go wrong with Castiel around?" Stiles says, winking Castiel's way. "Go, do some chores then go for a run. We'll be okay."

XXX

When Scott leaves, the moon slowly starts going up, and Stiles is counting down the seconds until Jackson starts his fit. It's amazing how someone who should be as controlled as Scott – who is Derek's 2nd in command, by the way – tears up the den each time the full moon comes around. Stiles is praying this time will be the time Jackson finally gets a hold on his emotions, but he has a feeling it won't be.

There's a room Derek set up upstairs for them to nap when it's daytime or after school before pack meetings, and Stiles intends to use it. His dad won't be home until tomorrow afternoon, since he has a double shift, and Stiles spent all last night mentally preparing for tonight. So now he's thoroughly and completely drained.

Castiel follows Stiles upstairs, and offers to keep them back if Isaac calls for help. "You are young and need your rest."

"Everyone is young compared to an angel," Stiles quips. Then it hits him: how old is Castiel, actually?

"I lost count after the first few millennia," Castiel replies. "My apologies, I did not mean to impose upon your thoughts."

"No, no. That's fine. It wasn't personal or anything." Wasn't anything like wondering if you've seen me up in Heaven jerking off to trannies or if God has. Oh my God. He probably thinks I'm the biggest pervert alive now.

"I assure you, Heaven is not as strict as human media depicts it. And regarding your sexual preferences, most of my kin are indifferent to sexual orientation."

Stiles makes an abortive little movement with his hand, and decides it's better not to ask anything else. He tries to keep his mind blank of more embarrassing thoughts. "I'm just gonna…You know, sleep."

"I understand."

XXX

Meanwhile, rather than calling for help like he promised he would, Isaac is sitting on Jackson's chest, trying to secure his chains with one hand as the other presses claws into Jackson's throat and shoulder. He overheard Stiles's conversation, and doesn't want to interrupt his sleep if he can avoid it. No matter what Stiles says, he'll come running right with Castiel if Isaac needs help. That's just how he is.

XXX

Stiles is drifting comfortably for a while, feeling safe for once. How much more protected can you be than with a freakin' angel watching you while you sleep? Stiles stretches out, humming with sleepy contentment when the cool sheets make his skin tingle. Castiel is like a ghost in the background, not moving, breathing, blinking…Stiles's eyes slide open, and Castiel is staring at him from a corner of the room. Okay, maybe it's not so great to be watched over in your sleep.

Turning over to face the opposite way, Stiles sinks into the bed again, trying to find that perfect dent he's made in the fabric. He's just about slipping into a dream, almost ignoring the burning in his skull that means Castiel hasn't stopped looking, when-

"I must attend to the werewolves downstairs," Castiel declares, a flutter of wings the only sound he produces before he's gone.

Stiles sits up, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He's going to regret not helping if something happens. Castiel could be too rough with them, or one of them could get hurt fighting with another. Also, this is Stiles's initiation; he needs this to go well so he can officially be in the pack.

Scrambling down the stairs, Stiles watches as Castiel carries Erica and Boyd by their scruffs, easily securing them back in place with a …something. Stiles doesn't know how he manages to get their chains back on when his hands are busy holding them still. Mind powers maybe?

And wait a second, wasn't Isaac supposed to warn-Hello.

Isaac has his head thrown back in pleasure, his hands digging in messy brown hair, Jackson's mouth all over his cock while he straddles Jackson's chest. It's maybe a bit more than Stiles needed to ever know about his pack. But hey, between killing and fucking, this is definitely the lesser of two evils.

Stiles tilts his head when Jackson's cheek stretches with the force of Isaac's next thrust. He shouldn't be taking mental notes, should he? Isaac growls, writhing closer, and Castiel stalks toward Stiles with a pained look on his face. Yeah, probably not.

"Should we – uh – do something about them?" Stiles asks in a very high voice. Is it even his own voice?

"Isaac is distracting Jackson. If I interfere, Jackson will most likely come after you – since you are the weakest among-"

"Yes, thanks. I remember. Gotcha." Stiles forces a smile, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He really doesn't need to imagine being chased by Jackson, naked, with a boner, during the full moon. And…he just did.

Stiles's phone chimes in his pants, and he's almost afraid to slide it out. Castiel makes the phone appear in Stiles's palm and waits. "It's a message from Scott," Stiles tells Castiel. "He says he can come back now if we need help."

"It is your decision. This is a test meant for you," Castiel says, sounding serious and deeper than he should be considering there's a werewolf behind them getting his dick sucked.

Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of courage. When he looks over at Castiel, and he hasn't even broken a sweat, Stiles feels kind of stupid. They don't really need help; Stiles is just prone to panicking when big, shiny tooth are pointed in his direction.

Stiles replies that they're fine, and for Scott to go on that run now. And don't go by Allison's house, you stalker. You're broken up.

XXX

Instead of going back to bed, Stiles brings Castiel to the common room where Derek put a TV, and a couch for the pack to relax on.

Stiles sits first, and Castiel reluctantly follows. He feels more at ease when he can stand and pace. He never quite feels as comfortable folding his vessel in the way humans can and do. It will probably take a few more years until he can endure all of these positions.

Stiles is searching for something to discuss, and he looks so miserably tired that Castiel decides to help.

"Why have you not been turned like your friends? You mentioned Scott was your best friend earlier. Wouldn't it be more convenient if you were one of them?" And not to mention less life-threatening. Regardless of how careful they are, Stiles will always be most vulnerable; most likely to be kidnapped or killed.

Leaning over, Stiles pulls his laptop out of his school bag and puts it on the table in front of the couch. When his laptop starts up, Castiel wonders if Stiles is trying to distract him, or if he's simply ignoring the question altogether. But then Stiles pulls up a website, and points at it.

"This is what I do," he says, "I look up everything they need, all the details, ways to prevent turning in public…I'm good at this. I like this part. What I don't like so much is the hands-on stuff." Stiles chuckles, rubbing his neck. "I guess you noticed I wasn't very good at physical stuff, though, huh?"

Castiel considers Stiles a moment. He's very smart, observant, caring. He's a good person with decency and loyalty. He's funny, too. Or would be if Castiel was more in touch with human humour. But, regardless of that, Castiel can tell Stiles is witty and sharp; he's just like a perfect blend of Dean and Sam. It's fascinating.

Castiel finds himself smiling before he can help it, and Stiles's shoulders relax. He's glad that Castiel understands him.

They end up watching videos of the Betas that Stiles took with his phone a few months ago. Like that one time when Scott went out of control, and tried to steal all the ice cream in a five block radius. (Stiles kept it as evidence in case Scott decided to murder him for luring him away from his frozen treats.)

Castiel is still smiling, which Stiles takes as a good sign, so he shows him more. Like the one where Jackson insisted a shirt belonged to him, and nearly tore the chest apart as soon as Erica claimed it was hers.

Eventually, Stiles runs out of blackmail material to share with Castiel. But Castiel says he has something to share in return.

Castiel presses his fingers lightly against the laptop screen, and a group of young adults appear. Stiles is so taken aback by the angelic powers – yes, he kind of forgot Cas was an angel in the last hour – that it takes him a moment to realize they're running away screaming from Castiel. Castiel is in the video, and being hilarious without meaning to be.

"Wow, you move that fast?"

Castiel disappears, and reappears with a pillow in his arms. "Yes."

He hands it to Stiles, and Stiles can't help but feel privileged and kind of holy. Why else would an angel be bringing him stuff?

By the end of the video, Stiles has learned more about supernatural creatures than he'd really like to. "You have an interesting sense of humour. You're funny without even trying."

"I – thank you. Dean always tells me I need to loosen up." Castiel's brow creases, his hands curling in his pants. He hadn't meant to bring up Dean. Maybe Stiles doesn't like him, and this will dampen his mood. He hopes not, because Stiles is a very positive young man.

"Have you ever seen Legion? Somehow I feel like you could be in that movie." Stiles clicks through links in his folders, adding, "On the good side, of course."

"Is it about angels?" Castiel asks, tilting his head.

"Yeah. Badass, world-saving angels." Stiles grins, putting the pillow behind them so they can both use it. "Lean back, Cas. It'll be better that way."

"All right."

Castiel lets his back press against the pillow, prepares to say there's no difference to him, and then Stiles leans back as well. Then everything changes.

He likes the gentle buzz he feels from being next to Stiles, their shoulders touching lightly. Stiles may not be as human as he thinks, even if what makes him special isn't overtly obvious. It takes an angel to feel it, after all. And even then, it took physical contact. Or perhaps this is just what it feels like for Castiel to be able to relax with someone who trusts him. It's nice to be trusted by someone who isn't a Winchester.

Stiles settles in, and doesn't move when Castiel's hand brushes against the side of his leg sometimes. Castiel thinks he likes that, too.

XXX

The movie is only halfway done when Stiles passes out. His head is leaning on Castiel's shoulder, mouth slightly parted, and skin so pale Castiel wonders how often he spends in the den. It's such a warm area where they live.

Castiel closes Stiles's laptop, and transports him back to the bed he was using earlier. He drapes the blanket over him, tucks it in neatly, and allows his fingers to linger for a moment on his back. The buzz is still there, and instead of fading, it seems to be getting stronger. It takes a lot of will, but Castiel draws away, preparing to leave. Stiles had too much difficulty resting earlier when Castiel was watching.

Just as Castiel reaches the door, Stiles whimpers in his sleep. It seems, just like Dean and Sam, Stiles is plagued with nightmares he cannot rid himself of.

Castiel feels bad for leaving him alone in this room when he's so distraught, so he sits at the end of the bed, trying to give him some 'personal space'. But, unlike Dean, Stiles doesn't stir or jolt awake; he doesn't seem bothered with Castiel's presence there.

Stiles's breathing changes, gets slightly faster, and Castiel knows he's waking up.

Stiles squints, trying to see if Castiel is still around. When he notices him sitting on the bed, stiff as ever, Stiles taps at the side of the bed he's not using. He hopes this isn't crossing any lines. It's not like Stiles knows what Castiel does, how he lives, but he seems to be mostly…human.

Castiel stands, and instead of leaving, he walks around the side of the bed to climb in. Stiles lifts the blanket for him to climb in, and he does. Stiles is glad he's been getting better at reading emotions because Castiel is like Mona Lisa.

Falling back asleep only takes a moment once the warm body settles in next to Stiles. He's only partially aware of how close he's moved, and where his mind is going when he feels the skin of Castiel's palm. But he can't be blamed; he's still just a teenager.

He can't help remembering how sweaty and noisy Isaac and Jackson were - it was the first time he'd seen two naked people, besides porn and the lacrosse locker room - and his body begins to stir, roll against Castiel slowly, still mostly asleep.

Castiel doesn't know how to react; he tries waking Stiles, tries telling him what he's doing, but Stiles continues, whimpering Castiel's name this time. It's surprising, but Castiel realizes Stiles is still dreaming from how close he's curling up.

Castiel's afraid to see what the dream is, so he does the next best thing. He moves closer to allow Stiles to throw a leg over him, and Stiles cracks an eye open finally.

"Why do you have your coat on in bed?" His voice sounds sleepy, comfortable, and definitely aroused.

Castiel strips down in the blink of an eye, leaving only his boxers on. He never noticed they were white with navy stripes. That's new.

Stiles gawks. "Whoa, you're…hot." He wants to touch, let his hands roam over that bare skin, even though he already has his leg all over Castiel's hips. "Can I?"

Castiel tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "It's just a vessel. You may do as you please." He tries to explain about his true form, but Stiles isn't paying attention. "It belonged to a man named Jimmy Novak-"

"Uh-huh." Stiles's fingertips carefully follow along Castiel's shoulder and collarbone; he licks his lips.

"-he was a very good man. He is in Heaven now, but I've been given a vessel with the same physical appearance."

Stiles looks up into Castiel's eyes, hearing nothing that the angel is saying. His fingers splay on Castiel's chest, relishing the tingly feeling he gets. "Mm, I see."

He's too interested in touching all that pale, smooth skin to even ramble on like he usually would. Only Castiel's face and head have hair, the rest of him is as void of it as a newborn. It's amazing. Especially when all your friends are werewolves.

Castiel stays very still, not sure if this is all right, or if he should be reciprocating. There's no point for him to talk because Stiles has clearly stopped listening, but what can he do? No one's told him how to react, and he hadn't gotten very far with Chastity at the Den of Iniquity before she threw him out.

Stiles gasps softly, so sweetly, his eyes pleading, when Castiel tentatively curls his fingers around Stiles's hip. Then Castiel gingerly strokes Stiles's forehead – seeking truth, information, permission – and that just makes Stiles's breath catch again. Castiel can't say no. Not after what he's seen; all the hardship Stiles has been through. All the courage and strength he possesses in this slight body. So he doesn't.

There's a question left unanswered for Stiles: does Castiel want this? But he's never really been one to look before leaping, has he? He presses a kiss to Castiel's palm when his fingers slide along his cheekbones, cupping his face.

Why is it that Stiles always wants to be around things that are beyond him?

Castiel's brow crinkles in an adorable way, and Stiles can't wait anymore. He drags Castiel in, wrapping his thighs around his hips, forcing him to stay in place and just take everything Stiles has to offer – or until he disappears again. Whichever comes first.

Surprisingly, Castiel doesn't try to escape; he leans in to each touch, lips perfectly sealed over Stiles's, participating a hell of a lot more than either of them expected. Even Castiel's vessel is starting to wake up – the bulge in his boxers leaving a warm, damp spot on Stiles's loose jogging pants. Stiles really wants to touch it, or at least for Castiel to touch his erection.

It may have been spoken aloud – Stiles isn't sure when he's busy sucking on Castiel's tongue and wondering if he's supposed to get hard at the thought of him being older than Jesus – because Castiel is sliding his hand down Stiles's pants, stroking soft and gentle, squeezing just a bit tighter when Stiles whimpers, and Stiles -

Stiles is an inexperienced teenager, okay?

-Stiles is coming his fucking brains out, right in his pants, screaming and soiling a goddamn angel's hand, and fuck. It's the hottest thing he could ever imagine. He's going straight to Hell. Right after he figures out how to breathe again.

Castiel just watches Stiles catch his breath, slowly stroking, almost petting Stiles's flaccid cock. He would very much like to experience the same thing, but his own needs are irrelevant right now. Stiles seems to be struggling for air, and Castiel can't command his vessel to stop kissing the young man; he tastes like something to worship, to be enjoyed and touched reverently. And Castiel suspects his time on Earth has skewed his morals somewhat, because he's more than willing to perform any and all illicit acts Stiles wants – if he simply asks.

"Wow – that –" Stiles breathes out, flexing his fingers in Castiel's hair, nuzzling his stubble. It's softer than it looks. "Are angels allowed to have sex? Did I just ruin your life?" His eyes get wide. "Please tell me I didn't just make you get banished from Heaven."

"Yes. I am allowed. Do not worry. I enjoyed myself very much." Castiel presses forward, letting his hips rest snugly against Stiles's.

"Y-yeah, I can feel that. Just – gimme-" Castiel kisses him, nipping his bottom lip. "Oh my god, do that-" Castiel sucks on Stiles's tongue, warm fingers splayed underneath his sweater. "Oh, and that -" Castiel rocks his hips in, humming when his erection makes contact with something beginning to swell. "Fuck, Cas."

"I would enjoy that very much," Castiel murmurs, rolling on top of Stiles to press him down into the bed, needing to be closer. He traps Stiles's hands above his head, leaning in for another sultry, wet kiss.

Stiles grinds up, trying to time it just right to feel that slick heat against his hip when his shirt rides up, and throws his head back on a silent moan when the clothes is suddenly gone. These angels are dirty; Stiles is in no way objecting to that newfound knowledge.

Clearing his throat from the doorway, Isaac asks, "Am I interrupting? I heard Stiles scream from downstairs."

The door's open, even though Stiles recalls it being shut at one point. Or maybe it was in his dream.

Isaac leans against the doorjamb, a devious look in his eye, and a smirk to match. Oh, and, half naked while he's at it.

"I was coming to check on Stiles, but I guess you have it under control," he teases.

Stiles reaches for Castiel to hide under – since he's not sure where his clothes has been sent, and werewolves are way too comfortable in their birthday suits - and whines when Castiel's clothes is already back on. "I wasn't done with you!" Stiles protests.

Castiel swallows. His throat literally bobs inches from Stiles's face, and he is so tempted to sink his teeth into that flesh. So, very tempted. But he doesn't because he's a good kid. Well, maybe not particularly today, since he's corrupted a holy creature.

Castiel frowns, and looks over at Isaac. "Can you take a step back please?" Isaac does, quirking an eye. Even he wouldn't want to challenge an angel's authority.

Castiel flicks the door shut in Isaac's face, and he snaps his fingers to make his clothes disappear again.

Stiles's mouth falls open, getting a delicious taste of Castiel's tongue and teeth when he dips down for a kiss. He doesn't even wait until they're done making out before he says: "This is…awesome!" It's muffled by Castiel's lips, but Stiles thinks he feels Castiel smile anyway.

XOX

Dean can't help kissing back just as frantically, mind swimming, drunk off of more than alcohol. Derek is eating him alive in a public bathroom, claiming him right near the entrance, eyes flashing constantly to red. If Dean isn't careful, this could get out of hand really quickly.

Derek is scared the full moon will make him harsh, too strong; more animal than he wants to be. The last thing he wants is to scare Dean away because this should, really, never stop. When he tries to step away, and Dean won't let go, lets Derek know that Dean feels the same.

"Do you have somewhere…" Dean says between kisses.

Derek gnaws against Dean's pulse, thrusting his hips in close. "Yeah, but you won't like it."

Dean scoffs, groaning when Derek bits down on his throat. "Don't care. I've slept in motel rooms most my life. Let's go."

Who is Derek to argue with his elder?

XXX

Derek can hardly concentrate on the drive to his home. Dean keeps mouthing at his neck and chin, shoulder…Those lips are like something straight out of Playgirl, full and wet. Softer than anything in Derek's proximity should ever be. And Dean's smell-

He's making Derek's mouth water.

They make it finally, and Derek nearly rips off his door (and Dean's) in his haste to get them out of the Camaro. He carries Dean – when Dean proves to them both that he can't take two steps without needing to shove his hand down Derek's pants.

And if it weren't for how hot all that strength (and Derek) is, Dean would be mighty pissed. But they both know with how drunk Dean is, this is the fastest way for them both to get laid.

They only get as far as the first carpeted floor Derek can sniff out. Possibly the living room, possibly Derek's old bedroom. Derek isn't sure because Dean's smell is surrounding him; he smells like so much promise and release, and so many things that Derek realizes now were missing on Kate's skin. Dean is a good person, and this time Derek isn't going to let him get too far. He can taste the eagerness, the earnestness, all over Dean.

Dean moves like he's made of liquid and silk sheets, and completely unlike the way he walks and talks. It's obvious he's very experienced with seduction; Derek is jealous (of them). Why couldn't Dean have driven through Beacon Hills sooner?

Dean wants to taste everywhere just as much as Derek, and lets Derek leave shallow teeth marks all over his unblemished skin. Hickeys are already crazy hot, but this – the Alpha fang marks skating over flesh and muscle, leaving tracks and scrapes and tiny slits – is a thing of beauty.

"Derek," Dean grinds out. Derek's hips thrust in close, rubbing their lengths together on each slow roll. "Fuck, Derek!"

Derek freezes above Dean, eyes changing back to blue. "Is something wrong? Am I going too fast?"

Dean could almost laugh; the Alpha male – literally – afraid that he's being rejected. Who the fuck do the people in this town think they are to turn down Derek? Why else would someone this hot be insecure?

"No way. I was going to say-" Dean licks his lips. "-I really want you to fuck me, Derek."

There's a tremor to Derek's voice, an underlying growl waiting to scrape out of his throat. He fights to keep it back. "We don't have to-" Oh, but he wants to.

"Dude, you let me drive your car around." Dean grins, spreading his legs to give Derek more access. "Are you saying no?"

"Are you sure?" Derek's claws are, for the most part, blunt when they scrape up the inside of Dean's thigh.

"Come on, man. Or I'll change my mind."

It's a bluff, one that Derek can smell, but that's the point. Dean is still grinning up at him, his lips cherry red without those nasty-tasting gloss products.

"Then, yes," Derek grunts out, eyes ablaze.

Sheathing his claws right before grabbing hold of Dean's cock, he jerks it in a tight fist, groaning every time Dean moans and bucks up into his hand.

Secretly, Dean's been anxious to have someone inside him again. It's nice enough to be on top and know that the girl – or guy, often enough – is writhing because you're hitting all the right markers inside of them. But Dean is very, very drunk tonight; he just wants to sit back and let someone else do all the work. Derek is obviously the right person for that, because he's making Dean writhe and squirm like he hasn't in a long time.

Derek is more than ready to shove into Dean, but he can't make his eyes go back to blue, and his claws keep springing out when they get close to Dean's thighs. He needs to prep Dean, though, and he'll have to find a way to do it without his claws getting in the way.

"Hold your legs," Dean orders, his voice grating and gravel-rough.

"A little help might be-" Dean sees Derek digging his claws in the carpet. "Never mind."

It's a little frightening to not see what's going to happen next, when there's a half-beast thing dying to pound your brains out. The first press of tongue is so tentative, Dean can't tell if he imagined it. He shivers, pulling his legs tighter to his chest.

"Did you-" Derek's stubble rubs against his spread cheeks, tongue flat against Dean's entrance. "Holy fuck!"

Derek growls, burying his face in the heat there, sucking and lapping, thrusting his tongue in again, and deeper, and Dean is shaking, limbs falling away from his grip. And Derek grapples for him, claws only a slight pain in Dean's flesh as he throws Dean's thighs around his waist.

The head of Derek's cock barely breaches Dean, and he's already searching for thoughts that will keep him from coming. Derek snarls when he smells the arousal spike in the air, needing to bury himself to the hilt, but he refuses to let the wolf take over. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in raggedly, and his heart pounding so fast he can't even hear the howl Derek makes when he finally sinks all the way in. The stretch is amazing and barely painful, even without lube. But Derek insists on moving in slow rolls, stretching Dean properly around him, carefully lapping at the teeth marks he's left on Dean's stomach and chest.

"No, no, don't. Move, fuck. Do something. I don't want to come because you're chewing on my nipple, dude."

Derek's eyes go from red to burgundy, his fangs cutting into those juicy, pink lips that have had Dean half-hard all evening. And Dean knows he should be scared, should shut up, but he wants so bad for his pounding heart to be Derek's dick in his ass, breaking him open all over the floor.

Dean is moving too much, swearing, beautifully open and eager to all of Derek. Experienced once again. Why does it bother Derek so much? Maybe it's the full moon making him possessive of things he shouldn't want to keep.

"Stop, Dean. I've never been with a man. And on the full moon…" He growls, forcing his body to listen to him; the wolf keeps trying to take over, to flip Dean on his stomach, and mount him until he keens.

Dean knows Derek is trying to calm him down, but he can't help it. Something about the barely restrained heat behind Derek's gaze, the shallow, jerky thrusts, and the claws ripping in the carpet just inches from Dean's head has him grinding in for more. And Derek snarls, nothing but pure animalistic want in his crimson eyes, and- Dean is shocked into coming. Arching up so sensually, smooth and sinewy, Derek loses his mind to the beast inside.

Derek latches on, rough, and Dean only urges him on by panting in his ear. He fucks into Dean, much more aggressively than he would any other day, but Dean is asking for it, eager for it. And he impales Dean over, and over, until he howls in a display of satisfaction to being obeyed, claws and teeth all out and slowly digging into golden, taut flesh.

When Derek finally comes, Dean somehow does, too, having gotten hard again along the way.

They both pass out, curled up on the warm carpet. And it's easy for Dean to sleep, just like this. Dean doesn't even need a blanket when Derek is a human heater. Well, not human exactly; that's the , Dean needs to sleep off the alcohol and the sex thrumming through his veins. And, from the way Derek is still inside him, his cock twitching but mostly soft now, Dean knows there's no way he'll be allowed to move to somewhere more comfortable.

XXX

Derek wakes after an hour or two, and still has energy to burn – the full moon and all. He would prefer to have a round two of the most amazing sex he's ever had, but Dean looks so peaceful. He drapes a blanket over him – huh, they made it to Derek's bedroom after all, not three feet from the bed – and leaves him on the ground to avoid waking him up.

XXX

Derek goes to check on Stiles to make sure the angel isn't trying to put the pieces of the human back together. Who knows if the pack got to Stiles before Castiel could interfere.

When he jumps up to the window he knows Stiles will be near - the bed is there, and it's late – Castiel tightens his arms around Stiles. Still trying to keep all the werewolves away from the teenager. Derek can also smell what they've done; Stiles is going to pay for the dry cleaning tomorrow.

XXX

Derek goes back to his house, and drags Dean in bed with him, so they can both sleep off the rest of the night. Dean only stirs slightly, but it's to pull Derek in and nuzzle against the back of his neck.