A/N: *updates a year later*

Basically, guys, I wrote this last October, rewrote everything last May, and am finally updating it today. I have no idea when the next update will be, but I promise there won't be such an insane wait this time! The next chapter should be up in two-ish weeks, so make sure to sub! J

"The upsides?" Dean repeats incredulously. Since when is crawling all over Castiel like a needy girlfriend an upside? As far as Dean can tell, there is nothing beneficial about not being able to think straight whenever Cas is in the room. Calling it an upside is a freaking joke, and Dean is no mood to laugh right now.

"Yeah, Dean. You're opening up more," Sam continues, still posed casually in his chair, as if the words coming from his mouth aren't absolutely insane. "As weird as it might sound, I think it's helping you get in touch with your emotional side."

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean says, shaking his head in awe. "I can't believe you're actually pleased about this."

"No, hey, don't get me wrong, we definitely need to get that thing the hell off of you—the spastic bursts of affection are pretty weird—but at the same time, I think you'll have gained some valuable insight from this once it's over."

"Some valuable insight," Dean echoes in disbelief. "Yeah, okay, Sam. Know what else I'll probably gain? Some kind of weird freaking skin virus from having a goddamn cursed beetle on my back!"

"Dean—"

"No, Sam, I'm not buying your bullshit."

Sam throws his hands up in frustration. "Open your eyes, Dean! I've been telling you that there's something between you and Cas for years, but you haven't listened. Now, the goddess of love herself has intervened and started pushing you two together. Don't you think that means something?"

Even though Dean is abundantly aware that Sam means well, he can't help but feel more than a little annoyed that his brother keeps harping on this. Just because the effects of the spell are slightly more potent when Cas is around, doesn't mean Dean is freaking head over heels for him. For all they know, the curse only gets stronger around Cas because his angelic aura magnifies whatever magical crap he's close to. Or maybe it's just one big coincidence that doesn't actually mean anything at all. Who the hell knows? Certainly not Sam. And Dean is right about to explain this to him when, out of nowhere, a sharp stab of pain punches him in the gut and renders him speechless.

"Dean?" says Sam, noticing his pained expression. "You good?"

Instead of replying, Deans clutches his middle in agony and groans. Tears spring to his eyes as another jolt of pain runs tortuously up his spine like needles.

"Dean!" Sam's alarmed face swims into view and Dean feels Sam's huge hands close around his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"It—hurts," he chokes out, knocked breathless by yet another sickening wave of nausea. Blindly, he stumbles backwards and collapses onto the couch, relieved to at least have something solid to cling to. Black dots dance before his vision and uncomfortable hot flashes spark beneath his skin like rogue fireworks. "Fucking hell…" he groans, dropping his head into his hands and grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He knows what this is—it's the same ache he felt when Cas left the first time, except now it's ten times worse. That familiar sensation of hunger and need pulls at his heart like a hook, but unlike previous times, it now feels as if the organ is about to be ripped from his chest. His blood rushes noisily in his ears and sweat begins to bead on his forehead.

"Cas!" Sam calls frantically, standing up. "Come in here man, Dean's getting sick again and I think—"

But before Sam can even finish speaking, Cas is already there, rushing into the room and shoving Sam aside. "Dean?" he says in concern, dropping to his knees before the sofa and cradling Dean's face in his hands. His eyes are wide, worried, and impossibly blue. "Are you okay?"

As soon as Cas's hands meet his skin, Dean gasps as if he just surfaced from a swimming pool. Immediately, sweet relief washes over him like a cool breeze and all of the pain melts away like snow. He reaches for Castiel, desperate for more contact.

"I am now," he says hoarsely, throwing his arms around Cas's neck and pulling him into a tight hug. When Cas wraps his arms around Dean's back to reciprocate, Dean melts bonelessly into the embrace. Flooded with a burst of dopamine and relief, Dean nuzzles his face into Cas's shoulder, breathing deeply into the material of his coat. "You smell so damn good, Cas…"

Like warmth and Ozone and a little bit of aftershave…

"Christ almighty," Bobby whistles from the doorway. "It's worse than we thought."

From his seat across the room, Sam stares at him, looking more than a bit shaken. "Dean, that was insane," he mutters. "You went from completely fine to practically dying within seconds, and Cas was only two rooms away."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, the word muffled by Cas's hair. It's so hard to focus on what Sam's saying when his entire brain is clouded with the smells, sights, and sensations that accompany having Castiel so close. It's as if Dean is hearing everything Sam is saying from the other end of a tunnel—the words are audible, but terribly muted and vague. Distantly, he knows he should be just as alarmed as Sam and Bobby, considering he nearly blacked out just now, but he can't bring himself to care. Cas is just so warm and comforting and wonderful that he simply cannot see the point in focusing on anything other than him.

"Dean, I am concerned about your health," Cas states worriedly, his hand absently petting the space between Dean's shoulder blades. "I believe there is a very dire conflict at hand."

"And what's that, angel?" Dean asks dreamily. He runs his hands through Cas's hair, entangling his fingers in the dark waves at the nape of his neck. "Tell me. You always say the smartest things."

Cas sighs and props his chin on Dean's head, apparently having decided it's useless to try and explain anything to him. He looks at Sam and Bobby with a grave expression. "The problem is Dean cannot seem to think straight when he and I are within the same vicinity, but then the moment I leave, his health is compromised. I do not see a clear solution here, as there is no way I can remain at Dean's side and away from Dean at the same time."

"I know," Bobby says, rubbing his forehead. He glances at Dean, who is still stubbornly clinging to Cas like an octopus. "Is it just me or is he acting twice as bad as before?"

"It's not just you," Sam says. "He's acting way more clingy and affectionate than he was earlier, and the side-effects of Cas leaving were also way more extreme. Before, he just got a headache and felt a little nauseous. Just now, though, he was sweating bullets and groaning like there was a knife in his gut."

"Looked like he was about to keel over, too," Bobby adds with a frown.

"Mm, but I'm okay now," Dean insists, moving his face from the crook of Cas's neck. He turns his head and stares moony-eyed at the angel. "It's simple. As long as I have you by my side, I'm fine, right, baby?"

"Yes, Dean, you're right," Cas placates, all but patting his head in comfort. He looks back at Sam with a frown. "How long have his previous episodes lasted?"

"I dunno, the first one lasted only a few minutes with me, but the ones with you lasted at least twenty. The one on the way over here was almost half an hour."

Cas considers this. "Do you think they'll get progressively longer and longer until it's just his constant state of being, or do you think they'll continue to remain sporadic and unpredictable?

Cas keeps moving his hands around while he talks, which is really frustrating because it means Dean can't comfortably rest his head on Cas's shoulder. To make matters worse, he won't stop talking about Dean's 'affliction'—something Dean can't quite understand the downsides to—and all the boring plans that go along with it. As much as he loves his friendly tree of a brother and grumpy-yet-lovable surrogate father, Dean really wishes he and Cas were alone. If it was just the two of them, there is a literal laundry list of things they could do with each other, to each other…

"Did you hear what I said, Dean?" Bobby asks gruffly, tearing him out of his reverie.

Dean blinks several times. "What?"

"I asked if you would be willing to answer a few questions for me."

"Sure."

With Cas's arm still slung over his shoulder, he angles his body so that he's facing Sam and Bobby. As much as he preferred their previous position, Cas is still radiating warmth and comfort like a furnace, so he can't complain. "Go on."

"What's your name?"

Sam scoffs. "Bobby, c'mon. He's not that far gone."

"I'm starting with a baseline question, Sam, don't jump down my throat just yet."

"Dean Winchester," Dean replies, fiddling with the black buttons on Cas's trench coat pocket.

"Why are you three here?"

"Venus put a curse on me and we wanted your advice on how to fix it." There are two black buttons on Cas's left pocket, one slightly larger than the other. It's possible that it was a stylistic liberty taken by the designer, but it's far more likely that it's just Cas's attempt at repairing his own clothes.

"How do you feel about the curse?"

"It gives me a rush whenever I see Cas," Dean answers honestly. "And I love it. It's like being drunk but without the hangover or regret."

"He seems pretty coherent," Sam mumbles to himself, jotting down notes like some kind of head shrink. "Full sentences, functioning logic, ability to draw comparisons…"

"Sam, you're so smart," Dean sighs, leaning back against Cas's arm. "And, Bobby, you're so patient and helpful. And, Cas, you're perfect. God, I just love you guys."

Bobby clears his throat. "Mind answering one more question?"

"I don't mind," Dean says amenably.

Bobby glances at Sam then back at Dean. "Tell me: do you want the bug removed?"

Dean gets the impression that this is an important question, because all eyes in the room immediately turn to him, waiting for his answer.

He weighs his options. If the bug is removed, he'll no longer feel as if he's on cloud nine whenever Cas is in the room, and his world won't be colored in harmony and sweetness. Some distant part of his mind reminds him that this bug is the product of an evil goddess's ire, and keeping it on his body for longer than necessary will undoubtedly lead to some kind of health or mental issue—however, these thoughts are buried so far beneath the thick fog of the curse that Dean can barely register them. The only thing resting on the forefront of his mind is how delightful it feels to have Cas so close to him 24/7, and how absolutely dreadful it would be to lose that. So what if the thing that prompted this series of events started out as a curse? So what if the beetle on his back came from a pissed off Roman goddess? So what if there are a million different reasons why he should be desperately trying to get this thing off of his body as soon as possible? The only thing that matters is maintaining this feeling of complete and utter contentment.

Being a hunter and living a barren life filled with endless tragedy and loss have prevented Dean from ever experiencing true happiness. Now, he can't feel anything but happiness. Admittedly, there is a price for that mental peace, but Dean is fairly sure he's willing to pay it. Doesn't he deserve to be content at this point? Hasn't he gone through enough hardships for a lifetime? What's wrong with just snuggling close to his guardian angel and ignoring his problems? Why can't he just recline back into Bobby's couch and forget the world for a little while? Is it such a crime for Dean Winchester to take a break from his constant mental angst? Is it immoral for him to want a little peace of mind?

"Dean," Cas says, pulling him from his inner monologue. His rich, deep voice settles over Dean like a heavy blanket and Dean instinctively curls towards the sound.

"I don't want to remove it," he says with a pout, leaning his head fully on Cas's shoulder. "It makes me feel happy and I like feeling happy."

"Dean…"

"Cas, I just—" Dean freezes, choked on the word. All at once, a cold, jarring flood of awareness crashes over him, thrusting him harshly back into reality. In succession, his pupils shrink to a normal size, his heart stops pattering excitedly in his chest, the warm haze of ignorant bliss burns from his mind like fog in the sunlight, and his vision sharpens with newfound alertness.

He is suddenly all too aware of his proximity to Cas.

"Sorry," he blurts out, scrambling to the other side of the sofa like there are hellhounds at his heels. He tries to ignore the residual warmth emanating from his side and folds his arms protectively over his chest. "I'm, uh, back I guess."

"How do you feel, man?" Sam asks cautiously. Bobby stares at him with an equally wary look on his face.

General discombobulation aside, Dean can't understand why the sensations of the curse still seem to be in his system. Despite the fact that his 'episode' is over, he still finds himself wracked with the strange, irrepressible urge to move closer to Cas. His hands itch to grab the material of the angel's coat and pull him closer, and his entire body feels cold now that there is so much distance between them. Why the hell does he still feel like this? Shouldn't these impulses have dissipated already? Why are they lingering?

"I'm—good. Well, okay would probably be a more accurate description," he admits, running a hand over his face. "I feel kind of drained, though, like I just did a million things in the span of an hour. And my head still hurts a little."

"Would you like me to heal that, Dean?" Cas offers kindly. There's nothing about the angel's demeanor that suggests he has any idea how shaken Dean is by what just happened (namely, the fact that clinging to Cas feels like the most natural thing in the world, even without the spell clouding his judgement), but Dean recoils from his touch anyway.

"I'm fine," he says hastily, scooting even further back on the sofa. "It'll go away in a minute."

Cas blinks several times and drops his hand, looking both puzzled and hurt. "Okay."

There's a beat of awkward silence before Sam loudly clears his throat. "Right, well, I officially apologize for what I said earlier about the curse, Dean."

"What did you say?" Cas asks.

Dean stares pointedly at Sam, hoping his brother has enough tact to avoid mentioning his bullshit theory in front of Castiel. The last thing he needs is for Cas to start innocently asking Sam why he thinks Dean's in love with him.

"Uh," Sam catches Dean's eye and gets the message, "I just said maybe it's been a good thing for Dean. It's helped him open up more with me and…Bobby."

Bobby gives Sam a weird look. "The hell are you on about, boy? Dean's been cursed by a vengeful goddess and you're trying to talk about how it's helping him express himself? Bull shit."

"Ha!" Dean cries, pointing at Sam. "What did I tell you?!"

"Yeah, okay, I get it!" Sam says, putting his hands up in surrender. "I didn't realize how dire the side effects would be, I take back what I said."

"Good. Now you can stop spouting crap about how this freaking spell is 'helping me'," Dean says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fair enough," Sam concedes.

Dean turns to Bobby. "So what's the solution here, Bobby? How do we fix this?"

Bobby tugs down the bill of his hat in frustration and sighs. "I wish I had something to tell you, Dean, but the fact of the matter is, there is no solution. As least no recorded solution. Every poor bastard who's had this bug either died or lived the rest of his life under its spell. No one's successfully gotten rid of the curse."

"Well, that's just great," Dean snaps, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair. "So basically you're telling me I can either kick the bucket or live happily ever after with my head in the freaking clouds. Awesome."

"Listen, Dean, Sam, I hate to tell you this, but the only solution I can think of is, well, talking to her."

Both Dean and Sam whip their heads up to stare at Bobby. "What?"

"I know, I know, it sounds nuts, but think about it. You two have no way to kill her and the spell books that have information on her weaknesses are filled with holes. Dean, the time between your little episodes is getting shorter and shorter so we can't waste time sitting around trying to think up a battle plan. As much as I hate to say it, talking to Venus is the only option we have right now, boys."

"Cas?" Dean says, in a last ditch attempt to find a better answer. "Can you think of any alternatives?"

"No," Cas says with a defeated sigh. "I'm afraid Bobby is right. We have no weapons to use against her, our knowledge is flawed, and her magic predates even my existence. Our only option at this point is speaking with her."

"Great," Dean groans, dropping his head back into his hands. "I'm sure she'll be overjoyed to see us again."

"So where do we go now?" Dean asks, jamming the key in the Impala's ignition. "We have no idea where she's going next and we sure as hell can't just drive around the country all night, hoping she pops up."

"I know," Sam says, drumming his fingertips on his knee. "Why don't we stop somewhere for a bite and try to get our bearings? We can do research and figure out our game plan over some grub."

That plan sounds as good as any, so Dean decides to go along with it. "Cas, you good with that?" he asks, glancing at the angel in the rearview mirror. In the backseat, Cas's hands are carefully folded in his lap and his forehead is pressed against the window, his half-lidded blue eyes gazing unseeingly at the dirt and brush outside. He looks thoughtful and a little sad, and it takes all of Dean's willpower to avoid asking Cas if he feels okay. That might come across as fussy and clingy, and that's the last impression he wants to make right now.

"Yes, I am good with that," he replies neutrally.

"Okay." Dean nods, turning the key.

…

Dean manages to maintain his mental sobriety for the entire ride away from Bobby's, but the moment they pass over the threshold of Mama Jules's Diner, a huge wave of love and affection crashes over him like a flood and nearly knocks him off his feet.

"Cas, come here, angel," he babbles, reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of Cas's trench coat.

Cas looks momentarily surprised, then inordinately pleased. But before Dean has the chance to analyze either expression, the angel's features have already settled back into their usual mild state.

"Okay, Dean," Cas says obligingly, allowing himself to be pulled tight against Dean's side.

Several layers beneath the curse where his coherent thoughts reside, Dean realizes that he's relieved that the spell kicked in again. Now, he can hang all over Cas and spout lovey-dovey nonsense at him with no shame or reservations. He can hold Cas's hand and tell him he's pretty and there's nothing anyone can say because Dean is not doing it of his own accord—or at least that's what he tells himself.

"Jeez, it started up again?" Sam says, as they make their way to their table.

Cas pulls out a chair for Dean, an imperceptible gleam of happiness dancing behind his irises. "Yes, it appears so."

Sam sighs long-sufferingly and unfolds his menu. "Then this is gonna be a long meal."

…

Their waitress is tall, curvy, and blonde, and the looks she keeps giving Dean are positively pornographic. If this were any other day, Dean would be thanking the gods for the predatory glances she keeps sending his way, but as it stands, he hardly notices because he's far too busy staring at Cas.

"Need a refill on that coffee, honey?" she asks in a faintly southern accent. Her blue eyes are sparkling like jewels and her mouth is curled in a flirtatious smirk. "Or maybe another slice of pie? Our cinnamon apple is great when you're craving something sweet."

"No thanks, I'm good," Dean replies distractedly, continuing to play with Cas's hands. The angel's fingers are long, elegant, and so lovely that they deserve their own museum exhibit.

"You sure about that, darlin'?" she drawls, her eyelashes fluttering. "What about some cherry pie, then? A big strong man like you deserves a treat once in a while."

"No thanks," Dean says blandly, not even bothering to look her way.

Fascinated, he lines up his and Cas's palms and intertwines their fingers, delighted by the feeling of skin against skin. He leans in. "Cas, did you know your hands are the same size as mine?"

"Yes, I knew that," Cas replies, gazing thoughtfully at their joined hands. "I know everything about you, Dean."

Annoyed at being ignored, the waitress glares at the pair of them and places a hand on her hip, fuming in silent anger.

"Um, I'll have some of that cherry pie," Sam offers, trying to break the awkward silence. "And a refill would be great." He forces a friendly smile and holds out his mug.

Sullenly, she scribbles down his order. "I'll be back with the coffee in a bit," she snaps, giving their table one final glare before turning on her heel and leaving.

Sam watches her go, then looks back at Dean and Castiel with an exasperated expression. "Okay, Dean, do you think you could turn it down, like, seven notches?"

"Hm?" Dean asks, running his thumb over the back of Cas's knuckles. Cas watches Dean's ministrations with a content expression and makes no move to stop him.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off his impending migraine. "Dean, are you even listening to me right now?"

"No," Dean replies honestly. He picks up Cas's arm and loops it over his shoulder, then scoots over and cuddles into his side. Castiel allows this without complaint, so Dean takes that as an invitation to move even closer. "You're warm," he mumbles into Cas's neck.

"Yes," Cas agrees. "98.6 degrees Fahrenheit to be exact."

Sam makes a noise of frustration. "Dean, you're useless right now." He turns to Castiel. "Which means it's just me and you, now, Cas."

"Yes."

"You ready to start strategizing?"

"I am," Cas nods. Absentmindedly, he tightens his grip on Dean's shoulder. "I suppose we should start with figuring out where Venus's next target will be. As Bobby told us, our only option is to simply speak with her and try to glean whatever information we can. From the limited knowledge I have of the goddess, she is quite fond of games."

"Games?" Sam repeats with a frown. "What, like monopoly or something?"

"I wish," Cas grimaces. "I meant things more along the lines of mental manipulation. She rarely enjoys simply killing her victims. As you can see—" Cas glances at Dean "—she prefers to put them under mental and emotional duress before she destroys them. I believe she finds it far more amusing when her revenge is drawn out."

"Right. And do you see any way we could possibly use that to our advantage?"

"Perhaps," Cas muses. "Right now, here is what we know: she was not pleased with the two of you for attempting to destroy her, but she was also not enraged enough to actually kill Dean. That means one of two things. One, she thought it would be amusing to give Dean a slow, painful demise or, two, she planted the bug on Dean with the knowledge that he would eventually be forced to return to her and ask for a cure. If the former is true, she will most likely be impossible to locate. If the latter is true, however, she wants to be found." Cas levels Sam with a serious look. "And if she wants to be found, that means she's willing to negotiate."

Sam leans in on his elbows. "Negotiate?"

"Yes," Cas nods. "Venus clearly had a reason for keeping Dean alive. I can't imagine why she chose to do so, but I'm sure whatever it is will be enough to prompt her to consider making a deal with you two. We want to free Dean from this curse, and she wants something that she can apparently only get from Dean. Contrary to what you may think, Sam, we are not going into this blind. We have a very important bargaining chip on our hands that doubly serves an immunity."

"Me?" Dean asks lazily, running his fingers idly over Cas's upward facing palm.

"Yes," Cas agrees, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "You."

A/N: Thanks for reading, guys! Feedback would be immensely appreciated (knowing what you guys are expecting or what you think helps with the writing process so much) so please don't hesitate to leave a comment! xoxo