Warnings: This chapter contains profanity and mild sexual content (m/f pairing) but not explicit. Actually, apart from the occasional f-bomb, it doesn't even deserve the M rating. Sorry, but ... plot.

This chapter is set partly between 5.04 and 5.05 and partly during 5.06: "I Believe the Children Are Our Future". I've borrowed some dialogue from the show, but as always, I will be skipping most of the plot and assuming that you already know what happened in the episode.

Happy reading, and leave a review if you like it.


Something had changed between Dean and Cas, but Sam couldn't decide if it had changed for the better or for the worse. There'd always been this … tension between them. Sam would have called it sexual tension except that Dean was aggressively, unequivocally straight, and Cas was, well, an angel. Sometimes when they stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time, Sam was tempted to reevaluate his assumptions. Maybe Dean really had been overcompensating all these years. Maybe angels weren't as free of human urges as they liked to pretend. But then he remembered that Cas was socially awkward and probably didn't realize staring was rude, and Dean had a competitive streak the size of the Grand Canyon. No way was he gonna blink first. Yeah, that was a much more likely explanation.

But something had definitely shifted while Sam was away. In some ways things had gotten even more tense, and in others they'd just gotten … weird. Like when Cas popped in to report on his search for the Colt, and Dean spent most of the conversation staring over the angel's shoulder with a mesmerized expression. Sam would have thought he was just spacing out, but his eyes were moving, tracking side to side and up and down as though tracing the shape of something only he could see.

"Dean," Cas finally said in an annoyed, "pay attention" kind of voice.

"Sorry." Dean ducked his head, cheeks a little pink, and muttered under his breath something that sounded like, "It's fucking distracting."

For some reason this made Cas blush too, and a shy smile curved his lips. If Dean had been staring at Cas, then Sam would have instantly revisited the sex theory, but why would Cas be flattered by Dean checking out the wallpaper behind him? And Dean hadn't licked his lips or shifted in his seat or done anything to remotely suggest he was turned on. Although his hands did twitch a little like he was restraining himself from reaching out to touch … something.

It happened more and more frequently over the next few weeks, and Sam started to wonder if there was something really wrong with his brother. Maybe Dean was having seizures. Maybe he was hallucinating from a brain tumor or Lyme disease. But it only happened when Cas was in the room, and the spot Dean chose to stare at was always directly behind Cas. Cas didn't always bother to snap him out of it either. Sometimes he just kept talking like Dean was paying attention. And then Dean's eyes would flash to Cas's face, and he would say something that would prove he had been paying attention, but a second later he'd be gone again, staring at the wallpaper of whatever crappy motel room they were staying in that day like it was the most beautiful work of art ever created. And Cas would sigh, but he didn't look annoyed. He looked … happy, content. Sam couldn't figure it out.

Dean still spent an inordinate amount of time looking Cas in the eye too, and Cas still looked back unblinking, but now it seemed less like a staring contest and more like a silent conversation that Sam was not invited to join.

Two weeks after their reunion, Sam bit the bullet and just asked. "Dean, what the hell is going on with you and Cas?"

Dean instantly tensed up. It was subtle. Sam was probably the only person in the universe who would have noticed. And maybe Cas. These days the angel seemed to know Dean better than Sam did, but Sam still knew his brother well enough to know when he was broadcasting "I don't want to talk about this."

"What do you mean? Nothing's going on," Dean said in a tone that instantly convinced Sam that something was definitely going on.

They were driving down the interstate, chasing another lead on the Colt which would probably turn out to be a dead end like all the others. Sam knew that if Dean was ever going to talk about it, it would be here. This car was his home. He felt safe here, in control. Plus driving gave him a good excuse to avoid eye contact.

"It just … It seems like you two have gotten closer since he broke with the angels," Sam said, treading carefully. Don't push too hard too soon. With Dean you had to ease into anything involving emotions. "Like you trust him more than you used to." More than you trust me, he didn't say. That wasn't what this was about.

"Dude fucking died for us, Sam," Dean snapped, still in that defensive tone that told Sam way more than the actual words. "That earns a lot of brownie points in my book."

"Yeah. Mine too, but …" Screw it, Sam decided and dived in headfirst. "Why do you keep staring over his shoulder?"

Did he imagine it, or did Dean go a little pale? "What are you talking about?" Dean scoffed.

"Sometimes when he's in the room, you stare at the wall behind him."

There was definitely a flicker of fear in Dean's expression. "So I space out sometimes. In case you hadn't noticed, it's been a busy few months. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep."

"No. I know what your spaced out face looks like, and this is not that. You're looking at something. Dean, are you having visions or hallucinations or something?"

"What?" Dean looked at Sam for the first time, and he actually seemed surprised. "No."

It sounded sincere, but his brother was a champion liar, and they'd been on shaky ground lately. "You would tell me, right? If something was really wrong?"

Dean must have heard the fear in his little brother's voice, the unspoken plea of "Don't make me lose you again". He dropped the defensiveness for a moment and said, "Yes. If I was sick, I would tell you."

Sam nodded, feeling a knot in his chest that he hadn't consciously noticed before loosen a little. "And this thing with Cas?" he asked, trying to take advantage of the brotherly moment while it lasted.

But Dean shook his head and stared fixedly at the road. "It's nothing. It's just …" For a moment he got the strangest look on his face. It was lost and longing and happy and sad all at the same time, like he was remembering something good, but something he would never have again. Then his expression closed off like a door slamming behind his eyes. "It's nothing," he repeated flatly. "Please drop it, Sam."

It was the please that did it. Dean never said please unless it was really important. Oh, he'd say it to strangers, to waitresses and cops and traumatized witnesses. He'd flash that devil-may-care smile and say please sweet as sugar, and usually he'd get whatever he wanted, but he knew that wouldn't work on Sam. With Sam he had to mean it or he'd better not say it at all. Sam would rather have a rude brother than a manipulative one. So if he was saying it now, he was very nearly begging.

Sam turned on the radio and found a classic rock station, a peace offering. Dean gave him a sideways look that said quite clearly to anyone fluent in Winchester Code, Thank you. Sam smiled and turned up the volume.

~o0o~

He hadn't lied, Dean told himself. He wasn't hallucinating. Cas's wings were really there even if Sam couldn't see them. And he wasn't sick. It just felt like he was.

It was like when you knew you were coming down with a cold because nothing tasted good. But it wasn't food that had lost its appeal. It was sex. And he tried. He really tried. He flirted with every woman of an appropriate age who crossed his path, annoying the hell out of Sam in the process. But he got more satisfaction from the bitch faces Sam threw his way than he did from the mostly encouraging responses of the women.

He even went home with a bartender named Sophia. She had dark hair and big, dark eyes. She liked vintage cars and classic rock and could name every Clint Eastwood movie ever made. In other words, she was exactly his type, or at least his type when it came to women. Things were going great right up until she got his shirt off and noticed the scar on his shoulder.

She noticed the tattoo first, and she practically purred, "Very sexy," and kissed it, wet and open mouthed, and his skin hummed, and he thought maybe he could get over Cas after all. Then she noticed the scar and traced it curiously, puzzled by the unusual shape. As soon as she touched it, he flinched.

"Sorry," she said, snatching her hand away. "Does that hurt?"

"Yes," he lied. It didn't hurt, but it felt … wrong. So wrong that his erection wilted and the warmth of arousal seeped out of him, leaving him cold and half naked in a stranger's bedroom.

"Sorry," she said again, and she pulled him down for a kiss, carefully avoiding contact with his shoulder.

He tried to get back in the mood, but it all felt wrong now. She was too soft. Her moans of pleasure were too breathy, too feminine. She smelled wrong. He wanted sharp angles and the rasp of stubble. He wanted deep, guttural groans. He wanted the smell of thunderstorms. He wanted Cas.

He rolled off Sophia and sat up, hiding his burning face in his hands. "I'm sorry. I can't do this," he mumbled into his fingers.

She sat up too and stroked his back, but it wasn't a sensual touch anymore. It was friendly, reassuring, and he relaxed under it, relieved that she wasn't going to push him or get insulted. "There's someone else, isn't there?" she said matter-of-factly.

He nodded.

"Yeah. I thought I recognized the look. I'm a bartender. I see a lot of broken hearts."

He risked looking at her. "You're not mad?"

She shrugged. "Why should I be?"

"Well, I was kind of … using you. To help me forget."

She smiled. "Who says I wasn't using you for the same thing?"

That actually did make him feel better in a weird way.

"So what was her name?"

"Cas." He chose not to correct her choice of pronoun. Technically Cas wasn't a him either.

"And you were in love with her?"

"Still am. Probably always will be." It was easier to admit it to a stranger, someone he'd never see again. Was this why people went to therapy? So they could say things out loud without actually telling anyone who mattered? Maybe he should give that a try.

Yeah, right. Therapy cost money. And you had to tell the truth because they were fucking trained to spot when you were lying.

"What happened?" Sophia asked.

Ah. Case in point. Well, he was an angel. An actual angel, wings and all. And when we had sex, it created some sort of psychic connection, and we don't know what other side effects there might be, so we can never have sex again. Oh, and the world is ending, so this isn't the best time to get into a long term relationship if we could even have a normal relationship what with him not being human and all. "It's complicated."

Sophia smiled. "Isn't it always?"

"It's very complicated. Like, theoretical physics complicated."

To her credit, Sophia dropped the subject.

Dean looked around for his shirt.

"You can stay," Sophia said. "We could watch a movie, order a pizza."

He was tempted, but he wasn't entirely sure she was really on board with the no sex thing, and he figured he'd better get out while he still had some dignity. So he said, "I have to get an early start tomorrow," which wasn't a lie.

She walked him to the door and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Dean," she said. "Try to be happy."

He smiled. "I am happy. Sometimes." And it was true. When Cas was around, he was happy. But Cas always left, and then Dean felt like he had a mild toothache in his whole body, a phantom pain that nothing could soothe.

He didn't even try to hook up with a guy. He knew it wouldn't work. If it wasn't Cas, it wouldn't work, and with a guy it would be far too tempting to just … pretend. Close his eyes and see what he wished was there instead of what really was. He'd never done that, and he never would. If he wanted a fantasy, he could jerk off in the shower while thinking of Cas. And he did. He thought of Cas smiling at him. Cas laid out beneath him, panting, bucking, begging. Cas spreading his wings.

God, he couldn't stop staring at those wings. And he knew Sam had noticed even before his brother said something, but he couldn't fucking stop. And Cas didn't mind as long as Dean also paid attention to what he was saying, so Dean stopped trying to stop. Sam could just go on being confused. It was none of his damn business.

~o0o~

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew the angels tended towards extreme solutions. Wiping an entire town off the map to prevent the breaking of a seal for example. But he never thought Cas of all people would advocate the murder of a child.

Dean was staring at Cas — directly at him, for once — and again Sam got the feeling that some sort of communication was passing between them that he was not privy to. There was no way Dean would agree to this, was there? But Dean stayed silent. Apparently it was up to Sam to be the voice of sanity.

"We're the good guys," he said, speaking as much to his brother as to the angel. Dean had been acting so strange lately. Sam had no idea what he was thinking most of the time. "We don't kill children."

Cas looked away from Dean and focused the full force of his nail-you-to-the-wall stare on Sam. Good God was it terrifying. How did Dean consistently win staring contests with the guy? It took all Sam's self control not to back into the corner like a cowed puppy.

"A year ago," Cas growled, (and it was an actual growl; maybe he was letting a little of his true voice through) "you would have done whatever it took to win this war."

Hurt flared hot and bitter in Sam's chest, and almost instantly it was transmuted into anger. How dare Cas use Sam's bad choices to justify this? "Things change," Sam snapped, the anger giving him courage.

They glared at each other, man and angel, each utterly convinced they were on the righteous side. This is how wars start, Sam thought, and he wondered, if it came down to it, whose side would Dean take? Would he choose the angel over his brother just as Sam had once chosen a demon? Sometimes he looked at Sam like he didn't even recognize him anymore. And sometimes he looked at Cas like … like he was the only bright thing in a pitch black room, the only thing that gave Dean hope in this hopeless situation.

Sam felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Dean pushing him back, stepping between Sam and Cas. Sam recognized the posture. It was what Dean used to do when Sam and John would fight, winding each other up until they almost came to blows. It was a stance that said, I am not taking sides. I'm just making sure no one does anything they'll regret. I am Switzerland.

"Okay," Dean said, keeping his voice calm and even. "Wings down, Cas. We are not going to kill him, all right?"

Sam relaxed minutely. Thank God Dean was still enough himself to make the right call. Wings down? That was an odd thing to say.

"But we can't leave Jesse here either," Dean continued. "So we'll take him to Bobby's. He'll know what to do."

Sam wasn't sure about that. Bobby did have more lore books than anyone Sam had ever met, and even more knowledge crammed into the head under his grimy trucker's cap, but Sam had a feeling even he would be stumped by this one.

Cas focused on Dean again. He still looked angry, but he seemed to … unruffle slightly, like a bird letting its feathers settle once a threat had passed. Was that what Dean meant about wings? "You'll kidnap him?" Cas said skeptically. "What's going on in this town now is what happens when this thing is happy. You cannot imagine what it will do if it's angry. Besides, how will you hold him? With a thought he could be halfway around the world."

"So we …"

Sam could hear the wheels turning in his brother's head, trying desperately to come up with a plan, anything that would convince Cas not to do this. So Sam said the one thing he knew would never occur to Dean. "We tell him the truth."

They both looked at him incredulously.

Sam looked at Cas. It had grated on him every time Cas called Jesse an it or a thing. He noticed that the angel hadn't once said Jesse's name, and he knew why. Cas was trying to make this easier for himself, and Sam wouldn't stand for that. If Cas was going to do this — and Sam didn't see how they could stop him — then he was going to feel the full weight of it. "You say Jesse's destined to go dark side, but he hasn't yet. So if we lay it all out for him — what he is, the apocalypse, everything — he might make the right choice."

For a moment Sam thought he was getting through. There was a flicker of something behind those icy blue eyes. Compassion? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was human. But then it was gone, and Cas was cold and impassive, a soldier on a mission. "You didn't," he said. The words twisted like a knife in Sam's gut, but if Cas saw, he didn't care. "And I can't take that chance," he finished flatly.

Dean took a hasty step back a second before the angel disappeared with the ghostly sound of flapping wings.

~o0o~

It wasn't what Sam would call a win, but Jesse was safe, hidden from demons and angels alike. Cas was no longer a small plastic action figure of himself, and Julia Wright was alive if even more traumatized than before.

Sam woke before Dean and went out to get breakfast, or rather lunch since they hadn't gone to bed until five o'clock in the morning. When he got back, he heard voices through the motel room door. He stopped, key in his hand. He wasn't normally prone to eavesdropping, but he'd heard his name.

"If you ever talk to Sam like that again," Dean was saying in a low, dangerous voice, "we are through. Do you understand? I know he's never been your favorite person, and I'm not asking you to like him. I'm not even asking you to forgive him. But he's my brother. Don't make me choose between you."

Sam knew who he was talking to even before Cas replied, "You're right. I apologize. And I respect him for trying to make amends even if I find it difficult to forgive."

There was a brief silence, and Sam was about to put his key in the lock when Cas said, "You can still see them, can't you?"

Dean laughed dryly. "What gave it away?"

"You do tend to stare." Cas sounded amused.

"Well, I told you they're fucking gorgeous."

Sam frowned. Obviously they were talking about whatever had Dean looking over Cas's shoulder all the time, but they weren't giving him any clues as to what it was. Cas didn't sound concerned, so it couldn't be bad. Right?

"Cas, how much longer is this gonna last?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. To my knowledge, this situation is completely unprecedented. What we did was forbidden by the oldest laws of Heaven, and even if we weren't the first to take that risk, there were special circumstances in our case."

Okay, that sounded bad.

"So it could be permanent?" Dean sounded fearful and hopeful at the same time.

"I don't know," Cas said again. "Have you experienced any other effects? Strange feelings?"

There was a pause. Then Dean said, "No, nothing. Just … that."

He was lying. Sam wondered if Cas could tell. If he could, he didn't call Dean out. He just said, "I take it you haven't told Sam."

"No, and I'm not going to," Dean said firmly. "And neither are you."

"Dean, I would never betray your trust like that," Cas said, sounding hurt. "Besides, I … I agree that it was a private experience and not something I would wish to discuss with anyone but you."

There was another silence, but Sam didn't dare open the door. He hardly dared to breathe. That silence was so full of unsaid things it was spilling out of the room like a flood. He just knew they were sharing one of those speaking looks that he couldn't interpret.

Finally Dean said, "When will I see you again?"

"I don't know," Cas said. "Soon."

"Soon is good," Dean said, a smile in his voice.

And then Sam heard the rustle of phantom wings. He counted to ten before opening the door. Dean was sitting on his unmade bed, fully dressed except for his shoes. There was still a faint smile on his face, but Sam thought that he'd never seen his brother look so sad.