Dean Doesn't Like Lemonade

by whatabadchoice

I'm just going to cross post this from AO3. It's being written on there right now. Dean goes to a farmer's market and meets Castiel, a lemonade stand owner. The story that unfolds follows Dean as he works through a family tragedy, rebuilding his relationship with his brother, and balancing a potential new relationship with the strange lemonade stand guy! My summaries suck.

4. Chapter 4

As it turned out, they were not "almost there" as Dean had suggested. In fact, they struck a large patch of traffic in the middle of nowhere that had them crawling at a snail's pace. The tension in the car was palpable and newly tinged with the anxiety with which Dean kept eyeing the gas tank.

"Relax," Castiel said gently. "We'll make it."

Dean huffed a breath, rolling his eyes.

"Besides," Castiel added. "We're barely moving anyway. This would be an ideal place to break down."

"There are no ideal places for a car to break down, Cas," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"No?" Castiel said mildly, reaching down to the knapsack he had brought with him at his feet. "I would have thought the large fields and abandoned farm houses might be a good place to pass the time for a tow truck to arrive."

Castiel emerged with a notebook in hand and opened it up to a new page.

"Right," Dean said sarcastically. "'Cos farms and fields are a fuckin' riot..."

"Well we would certainly very isolated," Castiel responded, pulling a pen out of somewhere, eyes on his page. "We wouldn't have to worry about being loud."

"Are you gonna murder me or somethin', Cas?" Dean replied, still frowning at the traffic without paying any attention to Castiel.

"Hmm, no... I was thinking more along the lines of la petite mort," Castiel said through a sigh. Dean finally turned to look at him, expression puzzled.

"What?" he asked, face scrunched up in annoyance. "Dude, was that french?"

Dean glanced down at Castiel's lips, and turned back to the road. He braked a little abruptly when he noticed he had been drifting dangerously close to the car in front of them. Castiel looked up briefly from him notebook, smirking at Dean.

"Yes, that was french," Castiel affirmed. "I am fluent in French, German, Spanish, and Latin... Though the latter has rarely been useful."

Dean's mouth parted as his frown disappeared to be replaced by a surprised expression.

"Oh," he breathed, hands tightening on the wheel.

"La petite mort," Castiel continued, "is 'the little death'."

Castiel stopped writing for a moment to look at Dean with his eyebrow raised. Dean glanced at him quickly to convey his confusion still.

"At times, when one experiences a particularly powerful emotion, like pleasure, one may lose or have weakened consciousness, much like a small death," Castiel explained, tilting his head forward expectantly.

"So you don't want to kill me..." Dean said slowly. "You just want to knock me out?"

Castiel paused for a moment, still staring at Dean, but now with a slight glare in his gaze. He brought a palm up to his forehead and shook his head, chuckling softly.

"No... Dean. La petite mort means an orgasm," Castiel said finally, still shaking his head. "I meant to imply that breaking down in the middle of nowhere with many abandoned and isolated locations could be ideal for me to give you oral sex privately, and perhaps, if my skills are up to your satisfaction, induce pleasure that is strong enough to weaken your consciousness."

Dean stopped the vehicle entirely just to stare at Castiel.

"Dude," he said after a moment. "Just say you wanna fuckin' blow me."

Dean laughed as he inched forward a little, eyes back on the road.

"Yes, well," Castiel huffed. "I was attempting to seduce you with a romantic language."

"Hmm," Dean said, considering. "Well maybe if you try it again?"

Castiel looked up from his notebook questioningly.

"Tu veux dire... comme ça?" Castiel asked. Dean grinned at the road and feigned a shiver.

"Ouuhhh," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Casti-elle! Eres sexy!"

Castiel rolled his eyes.

"That's Spanish, Dean," Castiel pointed out. "Very poor Spanish, at that. I do not enjoy being mocked."

"I'm not mocking!" Dean exclaimed, but Castiel sniffed and returned to his notebook.

Dean stayed silent for a moment, rolling his eyes and ignoring Castiel's sulking.

"... Fine," Dean said, sighing. "It was kinda sexy."

Castiel didn't look up from his pen and paper though. Dean finally looked over to see what he was doing.

"Come on, Pouty McPouterson," Dean said, swiping a hand blindly at Castiel's lap. "I liked your french. I liked it mucho. Now show me what you've got going on here!"

Castiel snatched his notebook away just in time, turning his back a little so that Dean couldn't see it.

"Come on, Cas!" Dean pleaded again. Castiel remained focused on his little black notebook. Dean sighed.

"What's it gonna take for you to stop pouting and show me what you're hiding there?" Dean said finally, resisting another eye roll. Castiel turned back to face frontwards before Dean finished his question. He tapped his chin with his pen and covered the notebook from Dean's wandering eyes with his other hand.

"Hmm," he said, considering. Dean fought down a scoffing noise. "I know!"

Castiel turned to Dean with a large grin, flipping his notebook over and settling into his seat with relish.

"Apologize to me in french," Castiel said seriously.

Dean burst into laughter.

"Cas," he said, still laughing. "I can't speak french!"

"I know," Castiel said, rolling his eyes. "I'll teach you."

Dean was silent for a minute.

"Aw, come on, Cas, can't it be something else?" he finally said. Castiel shook his head.

"Nope," Castiel said happily, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up. "I think the punishment perfectly suits the crime. Ready for your lesson?"

Dean tilted his head back, sighing loudly, and turned his gaze to Castiel, bottom lip jutting out and eyes widened.

"Ca-as," he whined, but Castiel remained stoic. Dean held his puppy dog gaze for a moment before letting his face fall into a defeated grimace.

"Fine," he said. Castiel brightened visibly. The car inched forward again when the traffic cleared a little.

"Ok. Repeat after me: je," Castiel said.

"Juh," Dean answered dutifully through gritted teeth.

"Suis," Castiel said.

"Swee," Dean replied, rolling his eyes.

"Désolé," Castiel said.

"Day-so-lay," Dean replied, glancing over at Castiel's satisfied smirk.

"Ok, all together now. Je. Suis. Désolé. Castiel," Cas said, cupping a hand around his ear at the end. Dean rolled his eyes again.

"Juh swee day-so-lay, bébé," Dean answered with a smirk of his own. Castiel jerked around to look at Dean with a huge smile on his face.

"What?" Dean said, but his grin betrayed his self-satisfaction at startling Castiel. "Sam has an app, Duo-language or some shit. I got bored once."

Dean's cheeks were a little pink, but Castiel just beamed back at him.

"Very good, Dean," Castiel said, licking his lips. Dean's cheeks flamed red. He cleared his throat.

"Alright," he said gruffly. "You said you'd show me. Come on, Cas, a deal's a deal."

It was Castiel's turn to feel his cheeks burn a little as he reluctantly complied.

"It's just a hobby of mine," Castiel begins, flipping the notebook over. "Please do not read too much into it. You were the only subject matter present."

It is a blessing in disguise that the traffic is so slow because Dean does not look away from the notebook for a long time, considering he is manning the wheel of a large vehicle. Castiel squirms after a too long moment of silence, edging the notebook away and into his lap. Part of him wanted Dean to ask, had taken out the sketch book as a sort of rebellious act, hoping Dean would notice and offer constructive criticism. But a much larger part of him was nervous. The drawings were, after all, quite personal. The current doodle depicted Dean and himself, as part of a comic about being stuck in traffic. Dean had been staring too long now, and the worried part of Castiel grew with every second that went by.

"Like I said," Castiel muttered finally, making to close the notebook, "nothing special. Just an easy way to pass the time."

A car horn honked loudly behind them as Dean had left a few feet in front of him while he had been looking at Castiel's drawings.

"No," Dean said, shoving a hand against Castiel's own that were attempting to close the notebook. "That's cool, man. Was that... Is that me?" Dean asked, turning back to the road and advancing a little.

"Uh, yes," Castiel said quietly.

"How come I have wings?" Dean asked, glancing back at Castiel with a curious smile. Encouraged by the genuine question, Castiel smiled back.

"Because," he said, ducking his head and willing his cheeks to stop burning. "In... In this series you are sort of an... angel?"

Dean guffawed, looking back at Castiel incredulously.

"An angel?" Dean asked. "What, do I go around telling you to do the right thing or some shit? Damn, Cas. Woulda thought you knew me better'n that by now!"

Castiel shook his head, smile widening a little.

"No, no," Castiel protested, shaking his head. He looked down at the page where one box depicted him and Dean kissing and blushed a little harder. "You're kind of..."

Dean glanced over, raising his eyebrows in askance.

"Uh, you're kind of rude, actually," Castiel admitted finally. "You're an angel who is, as you'd probably put it, a big bag of dicks."

"What!" Dean exclaimed loudly. "I'm a dick? To whom?"

"Well," Castiel replied. "Sort of everyone. Even me."

"So... I am sort of like the angel on your shoulder, then," Dean replied, nodding his head in approval. "Except I'm kind of a dick about it."

"Yes," Castiel said fondly. "Something like that."

"Well," Dean replied, "I wanna hear more! This clearly isn't your first comic about it. What's it about?"

Castiel bit his lip, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's a bit long," he said, evading the question.

"Alright, let's make a deal then," Dean said, watching as the traffic started to move a little quicker. "You read. I drive. We stop trying to eye fuck each other."

Castiel balked, reddening further, but shook his head.

"Well, they're illustrations though, at times..." Castiel protested weakly.

"Then I'll look really quick while the car in front of me moves an inch forward," Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Cas. They look awesome."

He made a point of looking down onto the page where Cas had the book open. Castiel was horrified to see his hand was splayed so that all that was visible was the kiss.

"Very awesome..." Dean added at the sight, waggling his eyebrows as Castiel felt his skin heat again.

Castiel sighed.

"Well, I mean," Dean said, biting his lip as he smiled. "If you don't want to share with the class, it's cool, alright? I don't wanna make you do anything you don't wanna do..." Castiel smiled at that, but Dean wasn't finished. "But.. I gotta say, man. You're pretty talented. That's a damn good representation of what's runnin' 'round my head all day, at least. Well, the PG version."

Castiel chuckled at that, moving his hands away from the pages and smiling wryly.

"Alright," he said finally. "Deal."

Dean looked back at him for a moment, eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun.

"Awesome," he said, sitting up straighter. "Go ahead."

Castiel flipped through to the first page of the notebook. He had written it the day after Dean had slept at his house. He remembered not being able to do hardly anything else but think about the green eyed freckled closet-cuddler. So he had sat down and hoped to sketch out the anticipation and nerves that he had about Dean calling. Unfortunately, his brain had created an entire plot, and by the time he was done, a rough draft of a few comic book pages had come to life.

"'Ow! Fuck'" Castiel read, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Should I use voices in order for you to distinguish who is speaking? Or should I simply add a 'says Dean' afterwards?" Castiel asked. Dean shrugged.

"Whatever you want man," Dean said, still grinning like a kid in a candy store. "But you probably shouldn't try to talk like me, that'll just get weird."

"Alright, Dean," Castiel said, and started again. "'Ow! Fuck!' says Dean. The scene depicts a pair of wings on top of a pile of dirt and a man in a trench coat standing beside it."

"Lemme see!" Dean said, eyeing the road where the cars had finally begun to move until Cas held up the image to Dean's eye level. Glancing over quickly, Dean nodded to indicate Castiel could lower it. "Nice, he literally 'fell' from Heaven. I get it."

"That was the idea, yes," Castiel answered, smiling a little.

"Cool, go on," Dean said impatiently.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to continue this at the hotel?" Castiel inquired, checking his phone quickly to determine that they were merely twenty minutes away from their destination.

"Nah, man, I don't wanna wait," Dean said, shaking his head. "Besides," he added, risking another glance, this one quite heated, at Castiel. "I have other plans for when we get to the hotel."

Dean winked at Castiel, who turned an even brighter shade of pink, and buried his face into his notebook.

"Very well," Castiel said, turning the page and continuing his reading.

"So, um, I got one room," Dean said, walking towards Castiel who waited in the passenger seat. "For both of us. That's cool, right?"

Castiel smiled.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel replied, shaking his head a little. "You do realize we've been sharing a bed basically since the day we met…"

"Shut up and get your bag," Dean muttered, shouldering his own duffel bag and turning back towards the hotel.

"Chivalry is dead," Castiel called after him, but Dean simply raised a finger up in the air without looking back. Castiel chuckled and made his way around to the open trunk. He got his own small suitcase out and hurried after Dean.

When they arrived on the fourth floor to their room, Dean opened the door gingerly, stepping aside to let Castiel in. Following him, he whistled lowly at the accommodations.

"You sure we shouldn't just stay somewhere cheaper?" Dean said uncertainly, eyeing the luxurious towels as if they had personally offended him.

"No," Castiel said mildly, running his hands along the white duvet of the large bed. The site he had perused in the car between reading breaks on the way there had boasted a suite with a small kitchen and a free breakfast in the morning. He hummed approvingly at the soft linens and turned towards Dean. He had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.

Dean stood awkwardly shifting from foot to foot at the other end of the room, avoiding eye contact and bright red.

"Hey, Cas, I know, uh, it's been a long day, but..." He looked at the bed and seemed to turn slightly green.

"Would you prefer we go out to dinner before settling into the room?" Castiel asked delicately. Dean looked at him in relief.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling loudly and visibly relaxing. Castiel, perplexed but amused, simply nodded.

"Alright, Dean," Castiel said carefully. "I'll just shower quickly and we can go to the nearest restaurant."

Dean bit his lip, mouth forming a grim line before he nodded tersely.

"Sure, ok," Dean said. "Actually, I don't feel that gross, I think I'm gonna wait in the car."

Castiel frowned.

"Dean, we've just spent an inordinate amount of time in that very hot, very sweaty car together. Are you sure you don't want to join me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Dean seemed to debate for a moment, and it looked like he might say yes. But then a shadow crossed his features and he shook his head.

"Nah, seriously, I don't mind," Dean said, already opening his duffel bag and laying out a fresh shirt. "I'll just change into somethin' less gross and we can go out, alright?"

"Okay..." Castiel responded, surprised. Though, knowing Dean, he likely took issue with the cleanliness of the hotel. One of their long phone calls late at night had revolved mostly around Dean's dislike for used bathrooms. He appreciated a good shower, enjoyed the water pressure and the act of getting clean. But to hear him speak of the idea that other people had been where he had been... Well, Castiel would not be surprised to find Dean to be uncomfortable with the "germs" he might encounter in a semi-public bathroom.

"Alright, go away, peeping Tom!" Dean said, pushing Castiel towards the door while he divested himself of his damp shirt. Castiel got into the bathroom with a false huff.

Dean sat in the parking lot. It was absolutely boiling outside. He left the entire car door open, seeing as the passenger seat's window stuck at the three quarter mark and Dean was desperate for even the slightest breeze. He waited for Castiel to emerge from the building's front door.

He really should have taken him up on the shower. He should have said yes, or at least took a turn washing the four hours off his skin. But he hadn't. He couldn't. Even once Castiel had picked a hotel on his phone that he deemed "good enough" and "decent priced" and Dean had offered to check in, he had felt strange chill at entering the building. He couldn't place the feeling exactly, but once they had entered the room itself, Dean couldn't hardly wait to get out of it. Castiel had run his hands against the duvet slowly, looked up at Dean with those same eyes from the car and Dean had tried. He had truly tried to get back to where his dick was nearly hard in his pants behind the wheel from the way Castiel was looking at him alone. He'd even replayed those stupid french words Castiel had said, his voice gravelly and low as fuck, like a phone call directly to his cock like, "Hey? Yes. Hello, I'm here for this."

But none of it had worked. Despite the fact that he had been half hard for pretty much the entire day, despite the fact that Castiel had offered himself naked, wet and willing, Dean could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. As soon as Castiel had suggested being naked for any amount of time in that room, Dean had wanted to bolt.

And then there was the issue of being naked and wet and with Castiel. Somehow, Dean had half-formed a plan in his mind that they had followed almost to the tee so far. A road trip to a bacon festival, with a night in a hotel picked by his... boyfriend... Dean could not think of a more romantic buildup to what he expected Castiel was thinking about too: sex.

And yes, Dean wanted that. Ever since their heavy make out session in bed, Dean had realized that, oh. Sex with men was a thing. Sex with men didn't only happen at truck stops or in back seats. It didn't have a price tag on it. It wasn't always between strangers. And most importantly, Dean could want it. In fact, it was scary how much Dean wanted it with Cas. That's why he had brought the panties. Something he felt so silly about now that he had bolted straight out of that room at the first opportunity. Dean had been the one to wear them. Dean had technically come on to Cas... And then...

Dean had had sex with men before. He had had a lot of sex with men, actually. Men were his best customers, his highest paying. He remembered thinking, back in those days with Alastair, about 'hazard pay' in normal jobs and how Sammy had told him once that crab fishing or some shit was one of the highest paying jobs in the world just because there was a damn high chance you didn't make it out of that alive. And some night, when Alastair would tell Dean what had to be done, he thought about hazard pay. Men were his best customers; especially the big, bearded men who blamed Dean for being so pretty, for getting them hard with his cocksucking lips, for being such a goddamn faggot that they had to teach him a lesson, show him what a real man was. And Alastair would negotiate. He was on Dean's side, he insisted. If there were gonna be bruises, there was gonna be a fee. Make up ain't free.

Dean tried to push thoughts of the worst nights out of his mind. This wasn't that. This was different. And whatever weird feeling he had gotten in that room had nothing to do with Cas. Cas was good. Cas was good even though his family wasn't. Dean was just the opposite, he didn't even deserve someone like Cas, but Cas wanted him. Cas said he needed him like water. So Dean could be good. If there was one good thing he could accomplish in his sorry excuse for a life, it would be this. He would be good for Cas.

His thoughts were interrupted by the swing of the double doors of the chain hotel. Castiel emerged, fresh faced and smiling, from the building, hair wet from his shower and one of Dean's shirts on his back.

"Hey, good lookin'," Dean called out, swallowing the bad taste at the back of his throat. "That's one sexy shirt you got on there, cutie!"

Castiel grinned and hugged the shirt to him, walking right up into Dean's space. Pulling a handful of Dean's ACDC shirt up to his nose, he inhaled deeply.

"It smells like you," he said breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck. He inhaled again in Dean's neck. "Mmh," he added rubbing his still cold nose up against Dean's sweaty skin. "You smell like you, too."

Dean scoffed.

"I smell like ass, you mean," he corrected.

"Actually," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I'm quite glad you didn't shower."

Dean laughs outright at that.

"I am disgusting," Dean protested.

"Far from it," Castiel said, his face still buried in his neck. Dean balked when he felt the cold tip of Castiel's tongue.

"Hey!" he said, eyeing the empty parking lot, irrationally worried.

"You taste amazing," Castiel said, ignoring Dean's feeble protests and biting his collarbone.

"Ok," Dean acquiesced. "Ok, ok. Cas. Dinner? Remember?"

Cas sighed and detached himself from Dean's neck with a whine.

"Come on, nympho," Dean said, dragging Castiel into the driver's seat. "You're drivin'."

"Fine, but you owe me," Castiel said, and licked a stripe up Dean's neck, smiling like the cat who got the cream. Dean stood frozen in surprise for a moment.

"Damn deviant," Dean muttered. He was smiling though as he made his way to the passenger seat.

The nearest restaurant ended up being a very small, very questionable establishment that claims to sell fresh seafood in a landlocked state. Castiel did not protest when Dean suggested they make a left into the parking lot, however, and simply put his blinker on without comment. It wasn't until he was sitting at a bar stool, listening to, absurdly, a country version of Octopus' Garden, as he surveyed a laminated menu boasting five different kinds of lobster that Castiel began to regret his silence.

"I was not aware that there were different types of lobster..." he pointed out warily. Dean looked delighted at the menu though.

"Dude, I've heard of these places. Jack Silver's? Apparently there's bottomless shrimp cocktails with every meal!" Dean said, rubbing his hands together as he perused the Surf and Turf section.

Castiel watched a waitress bring was appeared to be a large platter of octopus to a burly man at a booth in confusion. He shook his head at the juxtaposition and turned back to the menu.

"Y'all about ready to order?" the waitress drawled as she approached their table a few seconds later.

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling brightly. "You ready, Cas?"

Castiel shrugged noncommittally, still looking around in confusion.

"I'll have the steak with the deep fried fish steak on the side. And instead of the steamed vegetables, can I get those bacon wrapped fries you got there, honey?" Dean said, flashing the woman a winning smile. Castiel was simultaneously amused and disgusted.

"This is who I've chosen to be with," he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Dean asked.

"I think I've chosen my meal," he said louder, clearing his throat. "I would like the garden salad, but I don't need the fries on the side, thank you."

The waitress looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, and a beer, I supposed," Castiel added, but she still stared at him.

"The garden salad's an entree, you gonna be needin' a meal, 'sug?" the woman asked finally, and Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh! I apologize," Castiel said, folding his menu. "No, the salad should be quite enough, thank you. And if I'm hungry, I'll just steal some of my boyfriend's platter, won't I?" Castiel added, trying to smile as Dean had at the waitress. She raised an eyebrow, chewing her gum loudly.

"Alright, hon', I'll be back in a sec'," she said indifferently, and sauntered away towards the main bar.

"So," Dean said, tapping his fingers against the table. "Cool place, so far," he said, looking around the bar.

Castiel glanced at the inexplicable mix of nautical and old western style decorations. He could not keep the perplexed expression off his face, apparently, because soon Dean was bursting into laughter at the table.

"You should see your expression, dude," Dean said, still chuckling. "You coulda said you didn't wanna come here, man!"

"No," Castiel protested, shaking his head, "it's not that, it's just..."

"What? Wait, shit, are you allergic to shellfish or something?" Dean said, a half horrified, half amused look on his face. Castiel shook his head.

"No, of course not, I would have mentioned that," Castiel said. He smiled wryly. "I just..." He paused, eyes catching on a clock on which a cowboy hat toting seahorse served as an arm. He huffed a bark of laughter.

"Dean," he said, eyes coming back to his date. "This place is absolutely ridiculous."

Dean laughed loudly, right hand coming to rest on his belly as he leaned back into the hearty chuckle.

"That it is," Dean agreed, beaming up at the poorly decorated walls around him.

"Doesn't this just scream Americana, though?" Dean asked, shaking his head as he too seemed to notice the clock. "The whole place is just completely random. And cowboys and ocean themed? It's like they picked the two things that were least likely to go together in the world. But it somehow works. I love it. It's just fuckin' awesome!"

Castiel couldn't help but smile at the way Dean described the bizarre eatery.

"Have you been here before?" he asked curiously, frowning a little. "You sound like you know this place. Unless Jack Silvers are a chain I was unaware existed..."

"No, no," Dean said. "I mean, no I haven't been here specifically, but yeah I've been to Des Moines before."

Dean's cheeks turned inexplicably red as the waitress arrived with their food.

"Thank you," he said, tipping his head to the blonde haired woman. She smiled, bored, and left without another word. Castiel smiled a little incredulously, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation.

"Alright, so," Dean said, after they had both dug into their meals. His mouth was half full of deep fried fish steak, whatever that was. "I think we should get to the bacon festival early tomorrow morning, stay there most of the day, then drive back tomorrow night if we want. What do you think?"

Castiel chewed his bite of salad before answering.

"Or," Dean added quickly, a drop of tartar sauce on his lip. "We could do the bacon festival, see where we're at, and maybe stay another night so we can get a good head start tomorrow. Huh? Huh...?"

Castiel shrugged.

"We can do whatever you like Dean," he said sincerely. "I'm just glad to be spending time with you."

He smiled at Dean, who looked around the bar shyly, ducking his head.

"Aw, c'mon Cas," he said, fiddling with his fork. He looked up to find Castiel looking back at him with a genuine expression.

"Me too," he muttered, shoving a hand onto the table where Castiel's was poised to take a sip of his beer. He grabbed Castiel's hand and squeezed it once, eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled at him.

"But, anyway," he said, letting go of Cas' hand to tap the table lightly. "What's the plan tomorrow?"

They discussed the best strategy for attacking the bacon tasting booths the next day and what they could do on the ride back for the rest of dinner.

Walking through the lobby without touching Cas was going to be a problem. The man had insisted on several glasses of cheap wine at the seafood place Dean had suggested and so was slightly tipsy as they made their way back. Dean, who had driven home, waved helplessly at the front desk clerk, who hid a badly suppressed smile at the sight of Cas dragging Dean bodily to their room.

"Dean," Cas was saying in that rough voice. "Hurry!"

Dean just laughed as the paper bag with the wine Cas had insisted they bring home from the restaurant clinked against Cas' side when he pouted adorably in front of the elevator.

"I can't wait to get you into bed," Cas said loudly. "To see how the pink on your cheeks contrasts with the pink of your sexy little-" Dean hurriedly clapped a hand over Cas' mouth. He glanced around the empty lobby, shushing Cas and clambering into the elevator with him.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said, his heart beat ratcheting in the wrong way. "Keep it in your pants, big guy."

Cas rolled his eyes. "I will if you stop being so damn pretty," he growled, pushing Dean up against the elevator wall as it rose through the floors.

"Ha," Dean laughed weakly as the door dinged their floor. "I'll do my best..."

Dean all but fled from the elevator, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't tell if it was the combination of the tight, enclosed space, the smell of hotel cleaner, or the words themselves that did it, but he was drawing in deep breaths in order to stay focused on which door was theirs.

"Don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself as Cas followed closely behind him. When he ran his hands around Dean's waist, wine bottle still in hand, Dean tried his best to react the way he usually would.

God, Dean had been waiting for hours, hoping to find some time alone, wishing Cas would press him down into the nearest hard surface and deal with the seemingly never ending frustration that built up whenever Dean was in his very presence. It had been torture, watching the man lick grease off his chin after a fast food stop, feeling him rub circles into his thighs through the denim in the car, thinking about what those long fingers would feel on his skin. And now... Now Dean was going to choke like a chump.

Nut up, Winchester, he thought desperately as the key reader flashed green and they all but tumbled into the room. Castiel barely registered setting the bottle down on a decorative table, pushing Dean forward and kissing his neck while he took off his own shirt.

And it worked, for a while. Castiel shed his pants and Dean was momentarily distracted by the sharp jut of Castiel's hipbones and the thick muscles of his thighs. He looked good enough to eat, and Dean couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight. When Castiel noticed, he smiled a predatory grin and came closer.

Dean swallowed a little nervously, but quickly divested himself of his shirt, throwing it to the ground without breaking eye contact. Castiel brought two palms up to Dean's chest. Dean bit his lip, unable to keep from looking down at a nearly naked Cas.

Castiel kissed him, short, quick, while he unbuckled Dean's belt. Soon enough, the whoosh of leather slipping through denim loops sounded and Castiel dropped to a crouch in front of Dean, who stayed standing, wide eyed and watching. Castiel gently lifted Dean's feet, one at a time, out of the pants now pooled at his ankles, gaze trained downwards. Blue eyes luminous in the darkness of the room, Castiel shifted his stare to Dean's face as he kissed his shin. His mouth left wet trails that cooled in the air conditioned hotel air. Dean shivered, heart racing in the stillness. They were still standing halfway to the bed, Castiel's serious expression cutting through the frantic start to their actions. Castiel never stopped staring, mouth twisting back into the pleased smile he wore earlier as his mouth passed Dean's knee. His lips barely brushed Dean's skin as his tongue traced his inner thighs to finally stop at the edge of Dean's lacy, pink, panties.

Dean shifted his weight under Castiel's gaze.

"You can," he found himself whispering. "You can just take 'em off..."

Castiel frowned up at him, running two fingers delicately over the soft material. Dean bucked into the light pressure, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. Fuck, me, his brain supplied helpfully. He couldn't tell if it was a statement or a question so he kept his mouth firmly shut.

"Would it," Castiel started, but his voice rasped. He cleared his throat before starting again. "Would it be alright if I left them on? Just for a while longer..." Castiel looked up at Dean tentatively. It was a far cry from the commanding hurricane that had pushed Dean up against the wall in the elevator. Dean felt almost dizzy from the shift in demeanor.

Unable to speak, both incredibly turned on and slightly hysteric from Castiel's gentle touches against the scraps of lace and satin, Dean simple nodded, licking his lips again. Castiel finally broke eye contact to close his eyes, head bowed for a moment. When he looked back up at Dean, it was with pure adoration in his eyes.

"You are so beautiful," Castiel said quietly. He shook his head disbelievingly. "I do not know what I have done in my life to deserve such a gorgeous, giving man..." He ran reverent fingers over Dean's thighs, rubbing up and down and staring at the friction as if he touched spun gold.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean said. But instead of the annoyed, commanding tone he attempted, the few words came out as a whine. He blushed, skin going hot and cold. Though he had definitely done a lot of kinky shit with girls and even some guys who paid enough in the past, Dean had never stood so long under such intense scrutiny; especially not in this kind of attire. Panties weren't really the kind of kink you brought up at a one night stand, and Johns were usually looking for a quick fuck. No one had ever looked at Dean the way Cas did now, and it made him want to burrow into the covers and never come out.

He had wanted to share this with Cas, to show him that Dean could be trustworthy, that Cas meant a lot to him... But standing here was both thrilling and terrifying. Coupled with the unnerving feeling he had encountered in the lobby, Dean felt disorientated, raw. "Just," he said, voice wavering. "Do something, would you?" This time, his frustration definitely bled through.

Castiel frowned again, standing up suddenly. "On the bed," he said, manhandling Dean so that he faced away from him and guiding him towards the large mattress. "On your hands and knees, please."

Dean complied immediately. Following orders. That was something he could do. That was easy. He could be good for Cas.

"When I tell you to do something, I expect an answer, Dean," Castiel said, tone warning. Dean nodded, staring at the stark white bedding already. He couldn't see, but he felt the dip of the mattress that meant Castiel had followed him to the bed.

Dean felt the sharp sting of a slap through the satin of his panties.

"What was that?" Castiel asked, hand already soothing the affected skin through the material.

"Y-yes," Dean answered shakily, holding onto the duvet for leverage.

Castiel kissed his back, draping his body over Dean's. "Good boy," he said against Dean's ear. Dean swallowed a moan. He felt Castiel's lips on the shell of his ear, heard him whispering a littany of praise. "So beautiful," Castiel whispered against the skin of Dean's neck. He felt his skin burn from embarrassment, but also pleasure at being praised. Then, suddenly Castiel pulled back and sat up straight so that the heat of his body left Dean cold. Dean bit back a whimper at the loss, nerves fraying at the silence, the stillness. Should he say something? Was he allowed to? He bit his lip, hard, in order to stave off breaking the rules he didn't fully comprehend yet.

Castiel ran a hand down Dean's back, resting it just above the waistline of his underwear, his thumb toying with the lace band. Dean pushed his ass up into the touch, ignoring the vulnerable feeling expanding in his chest; attempting to distract Castiel into doing something. Fuck/, it had been a long week and Dean wanted to forget, just forget it all; the weird apprehension, the funeral, the disappointing talk with Sammy... If Castiel would just fuck him he could shut off his brain for a second and pretend he was worthy of this perfect man's attention, his affection.

Castiel tsked, running his hand back up Dean's spine to the nape of his neck. "Not yet," Castiel said, chuckling and grasping Dean's neck a little tighter.

Dean resisted for a second, heart pounding and throat constricting in panic when he realized Castiel was stronger. He ducked his head instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut and planting his face into the mattress. As soon as he took a gulping breath in the sheets, he realized what the nervous energy was when he checked in, he understood the crawling feeling under his skin.

He had been here before.

Logically, statistically, it was improbable that Dean had been in this exact hotel room, with these exact sheets, in the exact same position. In fact, he remembered that it had been room 702, not 403 and he remembered having his feet planted on the floor at the time.

But logic wasn't playing a huge part in his thought process.

It wasn't this exact hotel room, with these exact sheets, or even the exact same position. But it was the exact same fake lemon detergent, the exact same moderate thread count, bland white duvet, the exact same feeling of Dean's throat constricting, of his air supply diminishing, of his body sweating. He wanted to badly to be able to be good for Cas. God, why couldn't he just be good at something for once in his goddamn life?

His breath came in shorter and clenched his fists as he tried to keep it together. He distantly felt his body shaking, though he had not given it permission to do so, and soon thereafter, the weight of Cas' body on his back was lifted. Dean wasn't sure if he was relieved to be able to get back up on his elbows or further distressed by the loss of Cas' warmth. Unable to stop himself, Dean let out a dry sob, heaving in a huge breath.

"Dean," he heard Cas saying, and he could tell by the look on his face when he turned around that this wasn't Castiel's first utterance of his name. "Dean!" Castiel stood at the end of the bed, clearly conflicted between wanting to approach Dean to comfort him and giving him space so he could breathe normally. Join the club, Dean thought bitterly.

"Cas," he managed to say through a deep breath.

"Yes, Dean, what is it? What can I do?" Cas asked, but Dean didn't have an answer for him because his mind was spinning and he felt like the bed was tilting. He tried to gulp down some more oxygen, but his lungs were already full. He sat up, facing the headboard, and tried to get his breathing under control.

Stop. Panicking, he thought, clenching his fists at his sides. His knuckles brushed against the silk of his panties and another wave of humiliation washed over him. What had he been thinking? He was disgusting, perverted. He had wanted Cas to see him, to want him. He had wanted this; another cockslut just begging for a ride on some guy's dick. Michael had seen it. Alastair had known it. They had both seen Dean for what he truly was. Trash. And Cas was deluded to think anything otherwise.

Beautiful. Gorgeous. Those words didn't belong to the heaving, sobbing mess on this pristine white bed.

Dean shivered, pitching forward as he saw black at the edges of his vision.

But then two arms wrapped around his chest, palms flat against his pectorals and a chest steady at his back. Dean leaned back into the solid figure, eyes still shut and breath coming in short gasps. The solid figure, who dean came to realize was probably Castiel, just breathed behind him. Slowly. Steadily. So that his chest rose and fell in a rhythm against Dean's back.

As Dean slowly came back to himself, he heard the words Castiel was murmuring in his ear.

"Ok," he said. "Slowly now. Breathe, Dean. That's it, sweetheart. You're doing well, just breathe..."

The pounding in his ears reduced slightly as he concentrated on the low rumble of Cas' voice, breathing automatically matching up to his, head clearing progressively. Dean was eventually able to take deep breaths on his own, so he gently wiggled out of Castiel's grip. Turning around, he sat facing Castiel, eyes downcast in shame. Castiel brought a hand up to his cheek, wiping away a stray tear. Dean's face burned.

"God," Dean said hoarsely, sniffling. "I'm pathetic."

Castiel didn't answer, but instead took Dean's hand in his own and kissed it. Dean snatched it back, the panic swelling in his chest again.

"Hey," Castiel said, a finger tapping Dean's chin. Dean looked up warily. "Stop that."

Dean sighed.

"I'm," he started, running a free hand through his hand and closing his eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry, Cas."

"There is no need to apologize, Dean. I am the one who did not... I should have been more clear. We should have discussed this earlier. I didn't think..." Castiel shook his head, gazing up at Dean with large, limpid eyes. "I'm sorry. I was so overcome with..."

"No, seriously. I'm an idiot. I should have said something before... This room, it just..." Dean bit his lip, looking conflicted. Castiel squeezed his hand, gazing at him encouragingly. Dean shook his head.

What was the right way to say: hey, listen, I used to turn tricks in a hotel just like this and even though I teased you all day and wore pretty little panties, I apparently can't handle my shit enough to follow through, 'cos I'm an asshole. Dean sighed, tugging at his hair a little in frustration.

"What..." Castiel began, closing his mouth halfway through his next word. "Do you- would you like to talk about what happened?"

Dean knew Castiel probably understood more than he was willing to tell, but the thought of confirming Castiel's suspicions, of telling him about how he was used, how he became an object, something bought... Dean felt nausea roil in his gut. It was one thing to run out of options, to sell your body for food, for shelter. Dean had chosen to leave a home, his brother, for some fucked up psycho who promised to make him forget his life. And Dean had believed him. How could he have been so stupid? Once he was gone though, once he got wind of Sammy doing fine in college, well, it was easy to convince himself that this was all he was good for. It was easy to believe Alastair when he reminded Dean that he had chosen this life, that he was worthless, that his family was better off without him; the dropout cockslut who couldn't get a girl so he went chasing after men like some kind of deviant.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair to put all that on Castiel. He had lost his father, he had grown up in that lifeless family, and still he had so much light. He had asked his sister to check on his bees when she got back to Lawrence for Chrissakes. The guy was a fucking saint. And Dean? Dean was poison.

He shook his head, unable to form words. Castiel nodded, and got up. Dean's head snapped up, unable to keep the fear out of his gaze. Fuck. Did this mean Castiel was done with him? Was that it? Castiel had waited a month or so and Dean wasn't putting out, maybe couldn't put out, so that was it. Done. Fin.

The yellow lemonade stand, the golden boat of a car, visions of Castiel bent under his kitchen table in nearly nothing but his apron all flashed before Dean's eyes as he tried to think about staying in Lawrence without Castiel. He would have to change markets, perhaps avoid the part of town in which Castiel lived; that wouldn't be too difficult. The gaping hole in his chest might pose a problem, but nothing sex, booze and food couldn't stave off until... Until when? Dean pushed the horrifying prospect of continuing to exist without the weird, dorky little dude he had met barely a month ago in his life.

Castiel grabbed the suitcase he had barely unpacked, moving to the shower to pick up the toiletries he must have set up when he showered and stuffing them unceremoniously in its front pocket. Dean hung his head, sighing. He couldn't even properly enjoy the free hotel room seeing as the smell of the sheets still made him nauseous. He glanced at the complimentary popcorn on the kitchen table morosely. Well, maybe he could swipe that before he left for the nearest bus station. There was no way in hell that Dean was taking a plane home now.

Castiel brought his rolling bag to the door, dropped the handle and came back into the room. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at the inevitably awkward goodbye.

After a few moments, he noticed Castiel was still moving around the room. Had he forgotten something else? When Dean dared to open his eyes, Castiel was rifling through his duffel.

"Whoa, hey!" Dean said, jumping up to stop him. "Listen, ok, just cos you're leaving doesn't give you the right to fucking take my shit!"

Castiel looked up from his crouched position over the bag questioningly. He shook his head frowning, and pulled out a pair of pajama pants, a pair of boxers, and a grey Henley. Setting them aside, he began to put the clothes strewn on the floor back into the duffel, laying it on the bed half open and looking at Dean expectantly. When Dean didn't respond, Castiel put his hands on Dean's shoulders. Dean stiffened at the touch, but didn't fight it. Letting Castiel guide him gently to the bed, he ended up lying back on the clean covers. Without a word, Castiel delicately slipped the panties off his body, folding them delicately and tactfully ignoring the small stain on the front, and placing them in the duffel bag. Dean stared, confused, as Castiel took the boxers he had picked out and began to slip Dean's feet through the leg holes.

"Wh- Cas!" Dean protested, attempting to stop him. Castiel just slowly slid the underwear past his knees. "I can dress myself!"

"I know that," Castiel responded, tapping Dean's thigh so that he could lift the boxers up under him. Dean lifted his body, face still scrunched up in confusion.

Once Dean was dressed, Castiel placed a soft kiss on his forehead and turned away to gather their things. He picked up the phone on the nightstand, speaking quietly into the receiver, then turned on the TV to some infomercial, muting the sound. There was a soft knock at the door about a minute later, and Castiel got up to answer it. Dean looked on, still confused. Had Castiel called a cab?

"Dude," Dean started, but Castiel turned around and shook his head.

"Stay here," Castiel said, grabbing their bags and answering the door. Dean laid his head back on the rumpled duvet, staring up at the beige ceiling, bewildered but too exhausted to question the sequence of events. So Castiel wanted to leave on a good note, wanted Dean to feel precious even as he gave up on him? Well, he needn't bother. Dean was fine, he knew what he was. He didn't need the bells and whistles; rejection was rejection.

Castiel came back after a few minutes without their bags and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tell me when you're ready to leave," he said after a moment, and Dean lifted his head at that.

"What?" Dean asked, and Castiel touched his foot, thumb resting on his ankle bone.

"There's no rush. I had the houseman put our bags in our car. I told them we would not be staying the night. I'm not sure if you want to stay here or drive through the night to get home, but I will gladly follow you whatever you decide," Castiel explained, sitting patiently at the end of the bed.

Dean shook his head, still not sure he was comprehending.

"You're not leaving?" Dean asked, confused.

"Do you want me to?" Castiel asked, tone surprised, hurt leaking into his voice. As if he hadn't even considered the option of leaving without Dean, but was ready to do whatever he asked.

"I..." Dean answered, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. The skin of his face had tightened with dried tears and he sighed at the feeling of rubbing it away.

Castiel got up, expression uncertain.

"No!" Dean cried. He blushed, covering his face again. "Sorry, just... Don't leave."

Castiel was on him in a second, hands coming up to rub his shoulders, strong arms framing Dean's body.

"I won't," Castiel said against Dean's neck. "I promise I won't."

Dean sighed, relieved. He took a deep breath into Castiel's collarbone. The hint of lemon clung to their skin.

"Let's go," Dean said, making to get up. Castiel followed suit immediately. "Let's just... Find another hotel that doesn't smell like damn fake lemons."

Castiel's eyes went wide at that and he stopped in his tracks.

"Dean," he said seriously, stopping Dean before he could pass him to the hall.

"What?" Dean asked, concerned.

"You said..." Cas brought a hand up to his mouth, expression horrified. "Dean, were you pretending to like my lemonade?"

Dean gaped at him. Of all the times and places for this...

"What? Cas..." Dean said, genuinely confused. Castiel still looked horrified.

"You said lemon scented, I..." he replied, eyes already turning apologetic. Dean stared, still confused for a moment.

"Oh," he said, understanding. "No, Cas, baby..." Dean started, then realized that he was truly lying then. But his hatred of lemonade had nothing to do with the fake, generic cleaning products used in hotel chains across the Midwest. Cas was already slumping in relief, however, as he took Dean's hand.

"I thought perhaps you had been swallowing down something that reminded you of..." Cas stopped himself, looking sheepish.

Dean shook his head, vehemently. He bit his lip, debating whether or not to confess the truth; that he simply hated his boyfriend's main source of income... But he couldn't live with the guilt of Castiel thinking he had in any way caused Dean that kind of discomfort.

"I'd take a drink of your lemonade over this fake ass smelling cleaning shit any day, Cas," he said, and that, at least, was the truth.

"I wish we were back in Lawrence," Castiel said quietly, squeezing Dean's hand and kissing his shoulder through his thing shirt. "I would make you lemonade and get you to finally meet the bees."

"Yeah, baby," Dean said, leading them out of the godforsaken room. "Me too."

They ended up moving to a new hotel; an independent, homey looking sort of building with the words Dragonfly Inn written on the quaint little sign outside. Castiel asked the sleepy attendant to show them a room. He had Dean sniff the sheets, even made him stand in the room alone, much to Dean's annoyance, before accepting the key from a baffled receptionist.

"Cas, it was just," Dean started, but wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Cas ignored him. He'd barely said anything since they left the wretched chain hotel, but Dean didn't mind the silence. What was there to say? He wanted to apologize. God, what kind of fucked up must Dean have been to not recognize the room straight away? How did he let it get so far before saying anything? And how pathetic was he that he couldn't have sex with his fucking boyfriend?

Cas squeezed his hand and led him to the bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead before telling the receptionist that they were not to be disturbed under any circumstances. "If the hotel is burning down, clean up our ashes in the morning," he growled. "Is this clear?"

"Got it," the receptionist reluctantly acquiesced, and left the doorway hurriedly. Dean heard Castiel close and deadbolt the door

In a second, Castiel was lying on the bed next to Dean, his fingers twitching in his lap as he looked at him with wide eyes.

"Aw, c'mon, Cas," Dean complained. "You gotta stop looking at me like that..."

Castiel turned to the ceiling so that Dean could only see his profile. His very worried, very unhappy profile.

"Dean," he said softly. Dean watched as he swallowed. "How are... What- what can I do?"

Dean brought a hand up to his face, shame and self-hatred battling for dominance in his chest. Cas deserved so much better than being with someone who couldn't even articulate his feelings properly. Not to mention the fact that Dean was basically impotent at this point.

"I fucking hate him," Dean blurted, hands clenching into fists. He felt his eyes prick at the admission, and bit his lip as if he could take it back. Castiel turned to look at him, eyes wide but patient. "But, fuck, Cas. I hate myself more."

Dean had been staring up at the wallpapered ceiling, eyes following the hideous floral design that was papered on every visible surface. At least he couldn't worry about this inn resembling any place Alastair had taken him; the receptionist had tiredly prattled on about their handmade quilts upon check in. For some reason, though the change of sleeping arrangements had been nothing more than a large blur to Dean, the useless fact that each quilt had taken the owner over 129 hours to complete had stuck in his brain. He attempted to unclench his fists from the detailed fabric at the though, irrationally worried he might mess that up too.

Cas didn't answer, but he shifted closer to Dean and ran his knuckles over the soft material of his T-shirt.

"There's nothing you can do."

The words escaped Dean's mouth before he could stop them again, and he willed his brain to shut up. Castiel frowned, his expression heartbroken and forlorn in an instant, his hand frozen at Dean's side. Castiel looked back up to the ceiling, face slowly turning blank.

"Fuck, no. I didn't mean it like that! Just..." Dean sighed as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Cas, what the fuck are you doing, man?"

Castiel's nose scrunched up in shock, or perhaps confusion, and he turned to look at Dean sharply. Before he could protest, however, Dean spoke.

"I mean," Dean said. "I mean... Cas, why are you even here, man?"

Castiel's mouth actually parted, and Dean struggled to come up with a better explanation.

"Your brother Michael... He sort of had a point. I mean, you've spent like eighty percent of our relationship patching me up; what's in it for you? You stood up to your family, you gave up this huge family fortune, and now you're living in some bumfuck town dating this highschool dropout who can't even put out. Hell, I haven't even called you my boyfriend yet. I can't even admit that to my damn self, and I spent half a year taking dick for money..." Dean paused to take a breath, closing his eyes as the truth spilled unbidden from his lips. "God, and the worst part is sometimes I liked it. You know? Takin' orders, makin' bank for what? Lettin' guys call me pretty? I could do that. Sometimes..." Dean's voice broke, but he forced his eyes open to look Castiel in the eye. "I got off, sometimes. I did."

Castiel remained silent, but his eyes were gentle.

"See? What the fuck, Cas! Don't look at me like that. I can't take it!" Dean said loudly, shoving Castiel a little. The anger at Alastair, at himself for the choices he made, at Castiel, for caring... His emotions twisted in his stomach as his heart rate picked up again. "Why are you still here?"

Castiel still remained silent, running his hands up to stroke Dean's cheeks, expression still soft, patient. Dean let out a frustrated sob.

"Just leave, Cas," Dean said, eyes moving up from Castiel's chin to meet his piercing stare. "God, why won't you just leave me?"

Castiel just shook his head, frowning, and pulled Dean's face closer.

"You are so intelligent," he whispered, kissing Dean's forehead. Dean opened his mouth to protest but Castiel covered it with a hand while carding the other through Dean's hair, continuing. "You are so bright," he said, kissing Dean's cheekbone. "Your laugh... I could listen to that laugh for the rest of my life," Castiel added, staring at Dean, whose face burned at the words. Castiel nodded, even though Dean didn't say anything.

Dean made a noise of protest from behind Castiel's hand. Cas sighed and moved his hand.

"Be silent," he warned, removing his hand and replacing it with his mouth for a moment. Once he broke the chaste kiss, he kept speaking despite Dean taking in a breath in preparation to say something. "The way you care for your brother," Dean scoffed at that, but Castiel gave him a stern look. "The way you cared for me, when I needed you; no questions asked." Dean blushed uncomfortably under Castiel's gaze, shifting his weight when Castiel kissed an eyebrow. "You are surprising, funny, refreshing... The time I spend away from you is validated only by the recounting of it I get to tell you."

Castiel pulled back a little so that Dean could smell the pine air freshener of the room mixed in with the scent of Cas' shampoo. He stared at Dean seriously.

"When I tell you you're beautiful, that you're worth it, I mean it," Castiel said, rubbing a thumb over Dean's bottom lip. "I care about you."

Dean bit his lip, his throat burning as he felt a few tears roll down across his nose. Castiel wiped them away without breaking eye contact.

"Now," Castiel said, as if he hadn't just broken Dean. "Rest," he ordered, manhandling Dean so that his head was in the crook of Castiel's arm. Cas kissed Dean's hair. "Tomorrow will be a different day."

And Dean smiled despite the ache in his chest. Because Castiel hadn't said it would be better, or new, or in any way an improvement on today. But he said it would be a different. And that was enough.

The next morning, Dean woke up to the sound of Castiel showering. Groaning as he stretched, the shaky feeling of vulnerability left over from last night made him shiver with mixed shame and anxiety. Dean was right, though, after all; he knew he was. Castiel Novak, though he might change his name and run away from home, was important. He had a family that owned like a billion companies. He had the chance to make a real difference in the world. He was gorgeous, and smart, and fucking perfect. So no matter what Cas said or did, Dean knew he would never be good enough for Castiel Novak.

His thoughts were interrupted by the man himself emerging from the shower in nothing but a very small, very pink towel. He smiled shyly at Dean as he caught him staring, his grin turning lascivious when Dean didn't look away.

Yep. Perfect.

"Shower's free," Castiel mumbled, sitting down on the bed as Dean peeled the shirt he had fallen asleep in off his back.

"Cool," Dean said, still uneasy. Castiel huffed and leaned forward, practically pouncing on Dean.

"Let's just... forget about last night, ok?" Castiel said, nosing at his jaw.

Dean considered his words for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah," he said, a smile forming on his lips. He could do that. Dean Winchester was a master at forgetting things on purpose. "Alright, I can do that."

"Alright," Castiel said, and pulled back to beam at Dean. Dean ignored the pink tinging his cheeks and placed a kiss on Castiel's cheek.

"I'm sorry, though," Dean murmured against Castiel's ear. "About last night," Dean added, as if it needed to be said. Castiel shook his head.

"I'm not. It wasn't your fault, and I will remind you every day of how amazing you are, Dean Winchester. If that's what it takes," Castiel said, voice low and fierce. Dean blushed harder, squirming.

"I'm gonna go take that shower now," he said, pulling away to hide his discomfort. "You better not have hogged all the hot water!" he called.

"Early bird and all that!" Castiel quipped back before Dean closed the door.

After they had taken part in the continental breakfast served on a ridiculous amount of doilies in the lobby, Dean eyed Cas with a grin as they entered their room to pack.

"So..." he said, lips stretched into a large smile.

"So..." Castiel answered, checking the room to see if they had left anything behind. Check out time was approaching quickly.

"Anything planned for today?" Dean asked coyly, eyebrows raised.

Castiel regarded him with an unimpressed look.

"I thought we were going to the precious bacon festival..." Castiel answered, to which Dean's smile grew impossibly larger. "Unless, of course, you changed your mind?"

"What? No!" Dean replied quickly, frowning. Castiel smirked. "You little shit, will you hurry up? I heard the best bacons go first and I wanna try all of them!"

Castiel chuckled as he picked up a stray sock from underneath the bed.

"It never hurts to be prepared!" Castiel said, throwing it onto Dean's packed duffel bag.

"Right, and if we want to stay the night, we can, I know..." Dean replied tiredly. Stomping his feet a little, he pouted. "Can we go, now, Cas?" When Cas still regarded the room patiently with an attentive eye, Dean scowled. "Please?" he asked, drawing out the word into several syllables. Castiel smiled wolfishly.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, dear," Castiel said, and shouldered Dean's bag while rolling his own out too.

"Hey, I can one of those!" Dean said, following him out. Castiel just batted his hands away.

"Ladies first," Castiel simply replied, indicating for Dean to enter the elevator doors once they arrived. Dean scowled some more.

"Fuck, you're pretty when you pout," Castiel muttered, shaking his head as he entered after Dean. Dean's frown turned to a smirk, and he wrapped an arm around Castiel's waist possessively.

"Damn, you're pretty when you swear," Dean said, kissing Castiel's neck. He pulled away quickly though, when the doors opened to the lobby. "But you know what would make you even prettier?" Dean asked, as he opened the door to the parking lot for Cas.

Castiel shook his head, smiling.

"Bacon!" Dean cried triumphantly, and popped the trunk for his boyfriend.

Castiel rolled his eyes but placed the luggage inside and opened the door to the passenger seat.

"Onwards!" Dean cried, and started the engine with pure glee written all over his face. "To the bacon!"

Castiel just shook his head indulgently as they peeled out of the parking lot.

It was late afternoon by the time Dean had dragged a smirking Castiel to every bacon booth at least twice. The entire set up took place in a large airplane hangar, with various stands, each advertising some concoction more ridiculous than the last. Though he should have been lethargic from the obscene amount of grease he consumed that day, Dean was just as excited near the closing of the festival as he was at the beginning. Castiel couldn't bring himself to be anything but indulgent. It helped that Dean blushed an appealing shade of red every time Castiel insisted on hand feeding him whatever type, shape or flavour of bacon offered to them. The highlight of the day had by far been when Castiel had plucked a bacon rose from a stand and offered it to Dean in front of three giggling young girls. Dean had stared at him, gobsmacked and flushed, and glanced at the girls wide eyed. Instead of downplaying it, however, he grabbed Castiel and kissed him, the greasy treat on a stick held carefully in his free hand. Castiel hadn't been able to wipe the grin that followed off his face for the rest of the day.

Dean was relishing the taste of the hickory maple variant, mumbling something about classics, when an announcement sounded signaling the close of the festival for the day. Dean looked longingly at the booths, licking his lips, but his hand dropped down to hold Castiel's as he suggested they leave before the crowds.

"So," Castiel said, standing beside the passenger door questioningly. Dean had finally stopped talking about how he wished he could bring some home, mourning the lack of a cooler in the car and debating the merit in buying one for such an occasion.

"So," Dean responded, biting his lip.

They were at a decision point. They could stay another night, but Castiel knew Dean's anxiety from the night before, as well as the pending fight he had had with his brother Sam were weighing on him. He refused to pressure the man, especially after the revelations of the previous night. If Dean wanted to stay, he would say so.

"I, uh," Dean started, hesitating. "I think we should head back to Lawrence."

Castiel's heart sank a little, his face clearly betraying him as Dean bit his lip again in consternation.

"Don't look at me like that!" Dean protested. He sighed. "It's dumb... I just..."

"What is it?" Castiel prodded. Dean shrugged.

"It's stupid," Dean repeated, rolling his eyes. "I miss Sammy..."

When Castiel didn't respond straight away, Dean huffed an embarrassed laugh.

"Not that he'd ever let me live it down if he knew I said that... But, uh, remember that deadbeat dad I was talkin' about the other day?" Dean asked, voice shaking a little.

"Yes," Castiel agreed gently, wishing there wasn't a car between them. Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet, fingers tapping absently at the window frame.

"Well," Dean started. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. "It's, uh..."

"You don't have to share," Castiel said quickly, worried about breaking their tenuous peace. Dean looked at him, frowning.

"Well, I wanted to," Dean said, unsure.

"In that case, please do," Castiel replied, just as quickly. Dean tilted his head and squinted at Castiel.

"Well," Dean said slowly, licking his lips reflexively. "My dad's... He..."

Dean frowned again, looking up at Castiel with an unreadable expression as he closed his mouth.

"You know what?" Dean said, clapping his hands on the roof of the car one last time. "Not worth ruining bacon day."

He pulled on the handle of the door and got into the driver's seat, leaving Castiel to hurry to do the same on his side.

"I think we should drive home today," Dean said, staring straight ahead at the windshield. Castiel leaned forward a little in order to catch Dean's eye.

"Okay," Castiel said slowly, uncertain. Dean turned to look at him with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Worried about being in close proximity with me for that long again so soon?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows. Castiel chuckled weakly.

"You're the one who should be worried," he replied loftily, and that at least got a real laugh out of Dean. Castiel felt the tension in his shoulder ebb slightly at the sound.

Dean started the car, and they began their drive in semi-comfortable silence.

Around the second hour, Castiel began to squirm in his seat. Dean had turned on the radio several times, only to turn it back off when it inevitably played an upbeat pop song. When he did it for what must have been the sixth time, Castiel sighed.

"What?" Dean asked brusquely.

Castiel grimaced. "Nothing," he said lightly. "It's just.."

"What?" Dean repeated aggressively.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," Castiel replied shortly. It was Dean's turn to sigh.

"If you got somethin' to say, just say it, Cas," Dean said through gritted teeth. Castiel rubbed a hand across his face in frustration.

When had they begun arguing? What was once easy silence between them had turned sour, and Castiel's heart ached for the delighted look on Dean's face earlier in the day. Even the open vulnerability of the night before, painful as it had been to get to that point, would have been preferable to the hunched shoulders of a tense and unhappy Dean.

"Can we stop?" Castiel blurted, instead of answering Dean's taunt. Dean looked surprise for a moment, before nodding curtly.

"Alright," he said, sitting up a little in his seat. "I'll find the next rest stop."

The next rest stop turned out to be nothing more than a gas station and some questionable restrooms, but Dean headed inside and emerged with two little boxed apple pies a few moments later. Castiel stayed inside, despite their stop being at his request.

He was still trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say when Dean shoved the pie into his lap as he entered the car.

"Truce?" Dean said gruffly, still not looking at Cas.

Castiel regarded his lap, where the pathetic pie sat, warming his skin through the denim.

"No," Castiel said, putting the pie by his side. Dean looked over, shocked.

"Come here," Castiel said, pulling Dean closer and nuzzling his neck. He placed a gentle kiss against Dean's parted lips. "Truce."

Dean smiled, looking down.

"I'm sorry..." Dean started, but Castiel stopped him.

"It's been a very, very long trip," Castiel said. He looked at Dean fondly as the man toyed with the apple pie in his lap. "And honestly, I just thought we should stop for a moment. Take a breath. I don't want this time together to end on a sour note."

"Yeah," Dean said. "It's not your fault. Not really. Sammy and I fought about my dad... I'm pretty sure you heard us arguing. So I've just been... I don't know. Part of me just wants to get home and fix it with him, y'know? But another part of me just wanted to..." Castiel saw Dean's ears turn pink. "Stay in bed with you for like, ever."

Dean gave another nervous chuckle at the admission, hand coming up to stroke his hair.

"Yes, well, we have beds in Lawrence," Castiel reminded him, nudging his thigh with his knuckles. Dean looked up from his lap and smiled back at Castiel.

"I'm scared too," Castiel said softly. "But wouldn't it be nice if we were scared together, instead of just terrified all on our own?"

Dean smiled a little wider, shifting the Lincoln into gear.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Dean was still restless after their pit stop, but he ignored the nervous energy underneath his skin. He had almost told him. He had almost explained what needed to be done when he got back, almost asked Cas if he could be there for it. But he had choked. He remembered how quickly Cas had said he didn't have to share. The hazy memory of the night before had come rushing back to him in that moment. Cas said he didn't care, that he wanted to be there for Dean... But wanting to be there for someone was different from actually listening to all their shit for hours on end without a break. Dean had shut up quick, then. There was still time to tell Cas about John. Maybe not today.

Cas had made them stop and Dean had known. He just couldn't get past it though. The pie helped, and so did Cas' sincere confession that he was scared, even though that didn't make a lick of sense to Dean. But still the feeling of inadequacy, of holding Cas back, settled in his stomach like a dead weight.

Still, it eased a little every time Cas smiled at him. It eased even more when Cas quietly took out his sketchbook, working away in happy silence for a while. Once finished with his work, Cas stared down at his lap, blushing, until Dean insisted upon seeing his latest doodle.

It was Dean's turn to blush when Angel Dean was depicted sleeping nearly naked in bed, except for a pair of panties with a small bow right above his ass. Dean's eyes widened at Cas' cheschire grin. There was no mistaking the resemblance, down to Dean's hated love handles and the freckles on the curve of his backside. Dean glared at Cas, who just smiled quietly to himself and kept drawing. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to pull the car over just so he could kiss that stupid smirk off Cas' face.

God, it had been a good few weeks, being with Cas. It wasn't long enough.

As they got closer and closer to Lawrence, however, Dean felt his patience slip. Every shared glance, every shy touch just felt like another blow to this armor he had constructed around the truth. Dean tried to reason around it, but his mind came to the same conclusion each time: Castiel was rich, he was smart, he was too good for someone like Dean. Most importantly, Castiel had the chance to run a huge company. He had a chance to help people in a concrete way. Right now, with Dean, the most Castiel could do was offer a smile and some change for a sweet and sour beverage on hot day. With his family's company... Castiel would have so much more power.

"What would you do as CEO, Cas?" Dean found himself blurting, as they turned off the highway onto the smaller service road.

Castiel closed his sketchbook and tilted his head, considering. Dean waited patiently, knowing Cas' answer would have to be well thought out.

"I expect I would be taking care of the affairs, dealing with employees, managing our financial assets," Castiel said thoughtfully. Dean nodded.

"Would you, uh, change anything?" Dean asked carefully. Castiel raised his eyebrows.

"Yes," Castiel said almost immediately. "A lot," he added.

Dean chuckled weakly. "Yeah? Like what?"

"Ah, there is so much I would like to do..." Castiel smiled wistfully. "Just imagine that instead of merging and selling large companies like oil producers and car manufacturers, if the Novak family business was known for supporting small businesses in getting loans. Imagine if we partnered with companies that existed already and used our capital to increase and improve upon struggling foundations that provide services to the less fortunate..." He looked down at his lap, embarrassed. "It would take a lot of work though. I'm not sure I even have the expertise to be in a position of such power anyway."

"If anyone could do it, Cas, you could," Dean said confidently. Castiel beamed up at him.

"Your support means much to me, Dean," Castiel replied. "Thank you."

"I'm serious!" Dean protested, unable to stop himself. "It shouldn't even be a question at this point. It's a no-brainer, Cas."

Castiel laughed then.

"You flatter me, Dean. I admire your complete and utter confidence in me, but there are many reasons why I am uncertain about this decision," Castiel said, doodling aimlessly on his page as he spoke.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, mentally kicking himself while simultaneously taking perverse pleasure in proving himself right all along. "Like what?"

The car was rounding the exit to John's house. They had decided to both stay there overnight since Dean would have to be dropped off anyway. Neither of them mentioned why they needed to spend the night together, rather than apart in their own separate living arrangement, but the consensus was clear, if completely unspoken.

"Many reasons, Dean," Castiel said, and he wasn't laughing anymore.

Dean recognized the evasion, but refused to drop the issue. "Name one reason not to take the job, Cas," he said finally, glaring at the familiar road to John's house.

Castiel frowned at his notebook, looking up to stare pointedly at Dean's profile.

"One reason?" Castiel asked, crossing his arms. "I never took you to be a seeker of empty compliments, Dean."

Dean huffed, shaking his head. "I'm serious!" he said, ignoring Castiel's confusing turn of phrase. "What's one good reason for you to stay here in Lawrence?"

They had rolled to a stop in front of John's house, and Castiel was unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I thought it would be obvious that at least one good reason to stay in Lawrence is, well, you," Castiel said, pausing in his movements to stare at Dean.

But Dean didn't stop moving. Despite the warmth that suffused his chest at the spoken admission, he yanked on the door handle, exiting the vehicle so that Cas couldn't see his face.

"See?" Dean said, the word coming out jagged, rough. "And you say I'm not holding you back..."

Castiel got out of the car too, frowning as he made sense of Dean's bitter muttering.

"You think my wanting to stay here and be with you is somehow a bad thing?" Castiel asked, pulling his suitcase out of the back seat and tilting his head at Dean.

Dean lifted both hands up and raised his eyebrows.

"Well?" Dean asked. "You sayin' it's not?"

Castiel opened his mouth to argue, but Dean wasn't done.

"I'm the only reason you can come up with for not running a goddamn multi million dollar company and you're tellin' me that don't sound a little messed up to you, Cas?" Dean said, voice rising in volume. "We're not even dating."

Dean regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done and he watched Castiel's expression change from confused sadness to cold, detached anger.

"Well, we've known each other less than a few months, anyway," Dean backtracked. Castiel let go of his suit case, turning to face Dean as the weight of the luggage tipped it over.

"You know, you're right, Dean," Cas said, his tone matter of fact. "We haven't know each other a long time. We haven't made the decision to date exclusively. We haven't talked about our relationship." Dean swallowed as Castiel drew himself up to his full height. Despite the fact that Dean knew he was at least an inch taller than the man, he suddenly felt very, very small. "We've taken it as slow as possible at your somewhat unspoken request." Dean opened his mouth to protest, to accuse Cas of being insensitive to his needs. He had agreed to this. Dean had warned him. But Castiel silenced him with a look and continued. "And that hasn't bothered me. In fact, I have told you, repeatedly, that I, more than most, understand living a double life. I understand coming to terms with your sexuality. I understand being uncertain." Castiel's gaze softened at his gentler words, but his stance remained strong.

"But do not, for one second, presume that you are the only reason for my decisions," Castiel said, fury turning his voice into a growl. Dean swore he felt himself sink an inch into the pavement. "I am a person. And perhaps it may have escaped your notice, but I have come to value you as a person, Dean; a person with thoughts, motivations, beliefs. A person who is beautiful and interesting and bright; but also a person who is flawed. Honestly, I would appreciate equal treatment. At the very fucking least."

Dean lowered his gaze, chastised.

"But besides the fact that you seem to think I exist only to react and cater to you, I would also like to point out that I care about you. Therefore, I care about your opinions. I like your input. And I foolishly thought we might be able to work together in order to decide what was best for both of us," Cas added bitterly. "I know that this is new but..." Castiel looked up at Dean then, eyes blazing with renewed heat. "I've never felt like this before. Not with anyone."

Dean swallowed, eyes falling back to the asphalt. The recent rain made the streets sparkle in the moonlight. Dean chanced a look up at Castiel and felt a pang of guilt and pure terror at the determined stare than met his.

"I," Dean started, feeling the rise of a sob in his throat. "I can't, Cas." His voice broke and he couldn't look at Cas for a second longer.

"What can I say that will make you believe me, Dean?" Castiel said finally, hands on his hips and eyes glaring.

All the fight suddenly washed out of Dean in a breath. What could he say, really?

"Nothing," Dean said quietly, expression resigned. He shuffled his feet in the streetlamp light, swallowing the guilt and pain he felt at his own words.

"What?" Castiel asked sharply, still breathless from his long winded speech.

"Nothing," Dean said again, looking up at Castiel with a bitter smile. "I don't believe you. I can't."

"Dean, wait," Castiel said, panic replacing what was once anger. He stumbled forwards a little, tripping on his upturned suitcase.

"No, you're right," Dean said, nodding his head in silent confirmation, as if answering his own question. "I don't believe you. I don't believe that you're not letting this cloud your judgment. I don't believe that I'm worth throwing away basically limitless power to do good. And I'm not. You'll see that."

Castiel just looked at him helplessly, suitcase askew at his feet and mouth parted.

"I can't believe you until you admit that I'm right. You know it," Dean said, his voice hollow. "You know I don't deserve you. You know I'm right about your family. You should go back to them, Cas. You deserve more than this life."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, some of the anger coming back to light his gaze. He advanced towards Dean.

"I'm not going to let you..." Castiel said, voice dropping to a growl. "I won't... you can't do this, Dean! A relationship is two people. This decision is for the two of us! You can't just- just..."

Castiel's shoulders slumped when he saw Dean's expression hadn't changed. Dean took a breath, as if bracing himself.

"This isn't a relationship, Cas," Dean said, and Castiel backed away on instinct, face pained. Dean's eyes hardened as he advanced, drawing himself up to his full height and ignoring the tears pooling in Castiel's eyes. "You knew that already."

Castiel opened and closed his mouth several times, taking in huge breaths of air that he exhaled uselessly without speaking each time. Dean finally turned away.

"I'll have Sam drop off your things or something," Dean said to the driver's seat of his car, shouldering his own duffel bag. Hesitating for a moment, he turned around sharply, coming up close to Castiel, hugging him. Castiel stood still as a stone, unresponsive.

"It's better this way, baby," Dean said, his voice breaking a little on the last syllable. "It's better for us both, I promise."

Castiel stood for a while longer as Dean got into his car despite the fact that they were at John's place. He numbly rolled his suitcase back to the still open trunk of his Lincoln. He bitterly stuffed it in the car, chuckling sadly at his optimism upon their arrival.

Choking back a sob, he slammed the trunk shut and moved to the driver's door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and sat down, dialing Gabriel's number already.

"Sup, little bro!" came Gabriel's jovial greeting. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a strangled cough.

"Where are you?" Gabriel asked sharply, but Castiel couldn't answer that either. His chest was opening up. He stared down at it in confusion because despite the acute pain that tore through his lungs, his clothes remained in tact without a wound in sight. He clutched at his rib cage, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to somehow quell the horrifying feeling of being stabbed in the heart. After a beat of silence, besides Castiel's laboured breathing, Gabriel finally spoke.

"I'm going to kill him," he muttered, and Castiel distant heard glass breaking in the background. "Are you okay to drive?" Gabriel added. Castiel nodded, before realizing that Gabriel couldn't see that.

"Yes," he whispered. "I think so."

"Come over," Gabriel said, without even a hint of insincerity or sarcasm in his voice. Then he hung up.

Castiel took his phone off his ear for a moment, staring at the blank screen. Then, slowly, he unlocked it and searched for a basic stopwatch. Setting the alarm for 3 minutes from then, he rested his head in his arms over the steering wheel.

"Ok," he said to himself, and sobbed at the word. Nothing would be okay again. "Ok," he repeated still, grabbing handfuls of his hair and pulling hard enough to feel the pain. "I can do this," he repeated, over and over. "I can do this," and he lost count of how many times it was said to the empty car.

Three minutes passed quickly, and soon his alarm was going off. Sitting up, Castiel wiped the tears from his face, sniffing, and placed both hands on the wheel.

"Ok," he repeated, firmer this time. "Stop crying. You had your three minutes, now stop crying."

He nodded once, and started the vehicle.

Dean got into the car. Normally, after a long road trip, he'd be sitting in bed enjoying the comfort of Netflix and covers. But he couldn't bear to get into his bed alone, so he got back into a car. At least, he had his baby. As he clambered into the driver's seat, blatantly ignoring the figure standing on the sidewalk, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of loss. God, Dean even missed Cas' car. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and shifted into reverse.

He drove for a while, unsure of what could help. He considered leaving Lawrence altogether. He almost felt resentment, towards Sam and his fucking vegetable of a father, towards himself for leaving it until now to take care of. He could have been gone by now. He could have been on the road, making a new life instead of stuck back here where it all went South in the first place. His fists clenched on the steering wheel as he tried to be angry at something, anything, rather than acknowledge the emptiness he felt beneath his ribs.

The void clawed at him anyway though.

"Listen, Dean, I didn't mean to spring this on you but, uh, I've been approved for pre-registration orientation... Call me back when you get this message, ok?"

Dean replayed the message in John's driveway. He distantly wondered when the right time to call it his own driveway would be. He had driven for most of the night, his mind restless and heart aching. More than once, he had been tempted to turn the car over to a bar, pull in, and just forget the night. But he didn't. He couldn't quite pinpoint the reason, but he suspected it had something to do with the way Cas' blue eyes appeared in his head every time he thought about checking out of his life. He may not have been worthy of Cas' regard, but he damn sure wasn't going to get there by drinking away his issues like his fuck up dad. Not that he would ever be good enough for Cas. Not that there was any possibility of fixing it.

He sighed as he rubbed his face and listened to Sam's message a third time.

Pre-registration classes. Was that even a thing?

He glanced at his phone again. The battery was low, with only about three percent left and it was nearing four in the morning. Dean nodded once to himself, then pushed open the door. He needed his four hours, then he could tackle this pre-registration thing the next day. Sammy wouldn't want him to call this late anyway. Dean ignored the panic rising in his throat and focused on the task of unpacking his duffel from the car and making sure his baby was pristine. After a fond tap on her hood, he made his way inside the house and straight into John's room.

Turning on the light, he saw the rumpled bedding and nearly reconsidered his no alcohol rule. Fuck, he thought, walking slowly towards the unmade bed. He ran a hand over the familiar linens, heart clenching in his chest. He bit his lip to stave off the burning behind his eyes as he debated staying in another room. The thought of his own childhood bedroom haunted him, after the way Castiel had looked at him when they had finished cleaning it; proud, happy, infatuated. And the thought of staying in Sammy's room, though less painful, filled him with dread about the vague voicemail he had left on his phone.

Dean divested himself of his clothing and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He was sitting on the wrong side, technically. Though Castiel had only been in John's house a short while, they had naturally fallen into an instinctual and unspoken arrangement in which Castiel automatically slept on the right side, whereas Dean slept on the left. Feeling his eyes prick, Dean slipped under the covers on the right side anyway, inhaling deeply as he sunk into the old mattress.

God, the smell of him. Dean made a mental note to strip the bed in the morning; but for now, he simply let himself bask in the scent of Cas, Cas, Cas.

He lied in bed for a while. He couldn't tell how long, but he thought he saw the light of the rising sun before his eyes finally drifted close. He slept fitfully, in short bouts and interrupted chunks. Though he woke up without a clear picture of his dreams, each one left him uneasy, as if something horrible had happened but he simply could not remember it.

After his eleventh attempt at sleep, Dean finally decided to just get an early start to his day. The first thing he did was start laundry for the clothes he used during the trip. He emptied his duffel bag into the washing machine, then stripped the bed, pillow cases and all, to throw in too. He grabbed the bottle of Febreeze before leaving the downstairs laundry room and sprayed the bottled scent of "freshwater flora" around the house for good measure. Next, he did the dishes, by hand, despite the presence of a perfectly functional dishwasher in the kitchen. Dean even dusted the very old, very ruffled kitchen curtains, sneezing at the cloud of dust that rose from his efforts.

Finally, after he could avoid it no longer, Dean checked his phone while it charged in the bedroom. He decided to make the easiest phone call first.

"Bobby?" Dean said into the receiver when a gruff voice answered the phone.

"Who the hell else could it be, son? You're callin' Singer's Garage here," Bobby responded crossly. Dean couldn't help but smile at the surly man's words. At least he was consistent!

"Yeah, listen," Dean said, licking his lips. "I'm sorry about the disappearing act for so long..."

"Family," Bobby said, cutting Dean off. "You ain't gotta explain that to me, Dean. How's Cas?"

Dean's breath hitched at the sound of his name and he held back a sharp inhalation.

"He's... It went ok," Dean said, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. "But I just wanted to know what's been going on at the garage since I've been gone... Still got a place for me there, Uncle Bobby?"

Dean hoped his evocation of Robert Singer's familial moniker would incur enough good will to let Dean off the hook for disappearing a bit longer than expected.

"Actually, son, there's somethin' we gotta talk about..." Bobby answered, and Dean's stomach dropped. Oh God, he thought, panicked. I'm gonna lose my job, too.

"That guy that brought in that old classic?" Bobby said. Dean made a noise of recognition. Of course he remembered it. It had only been a few days, but it felt like weeks ago. "Well the guy's been tellin' his friends about you, Dean. How you were chattin' him up about cars, how you knew what was wrong with it in the first ten seconds of lookin' at it..."

Dean raised his eyebrows, but kept silent.

"He's been tellin' his friends, you see? And it turns out, he's got a lotta friends..." Bobby continued. "Anyway, I told him you'd be out for a few days cos of an emergency, but that you'd be interested in takin' a look at some of his friends' old Camaros... Was I lyin' to him, or you ready to work?"

Dean was dumbstruck for a moment, unable to answer. Restoring classics? A reprieve from the never ending tire rotation and oil change days at the garage? Being asked for personally? He should have been thrilled, but instead he was just mildly interested. He tried to muster up enough enthusiasm to fool Bobby.

"Wow, yeah, Bobby. Thanks," he answered finally, and Bobby made a suspicious sound. "When should I be in to start, then?"

"Tomorrow'd be good," Bobby said, and Dean hummed his approval. "Alright, son, tomorrow it is."

They ended the call, and Dean fiddled with his phone. And now for the harder one.

The phone rang a few times before Sam picked up, breathless.

"Hello?" he nearly yelled into the phone. Dean hissed and held the phone away from his ear.

"Heya Sammy!" he replied, uneasy. He heard Sam curse.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice lowering. Dean swallowed nervously.

"So I'm back," Dean said.

"I see," Sam said.

There was an awkward silence in which both boys refused to speak.

"I guess you found out about Dad," Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I guess you got my message about school."

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Listen, I-" Dean began, just as Sam spoke too.

"Look, Dean," he said.

They both fell back into silence.

"Look, Dean," Sam said again. "I don't know if this is the right time to tell you this, but I said yes."

"Of course you did, Sammy! I wouldn't want you to stick around Lawrence if you could be studying down at Stanford already!" Dean said. His voice wavered slightly, so he made up for it with a hearty laugh.

"What?" Sam said, confused. "No, Dean, I mean to the hospital."

Dean's stomach dropped.

"You said yes to what exactly, Samuel?" Dean asked slowly through gritted teeth.

"They kept calling and you weren't answering your phone..." Sam answered guiltily. "They needed a date, Dean!"

"When," Dean said. It wasn't quite a question.

"Maybe you should have answered your fucking phone!" Sam answered defensively.

Dean sighed into the phone. "When, Sammy?" he asked finally.

"Next Friday," Sam answered. "The day before I leave for Stanford."

Dean cursed mentally. Less than a week.

"Alright," he said gruffly, preparing to cut the conversation short. Sam had other ideas apparently, because he spoke again.

"Dean, we gotta talk about this," Sam said, voice pleading. Dean clenched his teeth. "Come on," Sam added, his voice quiet. "It's dad, Dean. I know you're not okay. Plus I don't know where you disappeared to the past four days, but I could really use an older brother right about now."

Dean felt his anger subside at his brother's words. His mind automatically went to the four months he had been MIA for his brother.

"Fine," Dean said tiredly. Sam scoffed. "Seriously. Fine. We'll talk. I gotta go into the garage tomorrow and take a look at that damn car of yours. Don't think I forgot about those ball joints. I'll drive it over afterwards and we can talk. Alright?"

"Alright," Sam said slowly. "But Dean?"

"What?" Dean said.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, tone much softer. "This sucks."

"You have no idea," Dean said. Sam sighed on the other end of the line.

"Goodnight, jerk," Sam said after a beat, tone questioning. Dean couldn't help but smile at the familiar words from his childhood.

"Night, bitch," Dean replied automatically.

Dean hung up without another word, scrubbing his face with his hand. He glanced at the time. Barely ten a.m. and Dean had somehow found a way to free up his entire day by planning to see Sam and Bobby the next one. He scowled as he pushed down the achy feeling in his chest and focus on something, anything other than wondering what Cas was doing at this very minute.

Getting up from the kitchen table where he had decided to sit while he spoke to his family, Dean marched purposefully towards the bedroom. Yanking open his first drawer, he searched for a decent pair of boxers to wear under the sweatpants he saw lying on the floor. Pulling on a ripped Styx t-shirt, he dug through the empty duffel bag at the foot of the bed for the earphones he barely used.

Before long, Dean was standing outside his father's house, old sneakers on his feet, debating whether the embarrassment of stretching in public was worth the benefits of injury and soreness avoidance. Noticing the neighbour standing outside on his lawn, Dean decided against the awkward preparation and walked out to the road. Nodding uncomfortably at the neighbour, who simply gave Dean a bored and indifferent look, Dean started walking at a quick pace, finally skipping on a step to begin his jog.

About three minutes in, he wasn't thinking about missing Castiel. At least, that wasn't his main thought, as most of his faculties were busy screaming at him to stop, please, God, stop. His muscles screamed from under use, but Dean ignored them for the time being. In fact, he welcomed the laboured breath, the burning joints. The ache in his chest was finally attributable to a physical problem and for that Dean could be nothing but grateful. He almost understood Sam's incessant enthusiasm for the activity.

Still. Not as good as pie by a long shot.

But soon the rhythm of his breathing evened out, and the burning in his thighs subsided, and Dean felt... less bad. It wasn't quite good, but it was something to focus on other than the emptiness.

He ran until he couldn't anymore. He looked around, his breath coming erratically and his stomach heaving, to look at where he had ended up. He glanced at his cellphone and saw that a half hour had already gone by. So, he gave himself one last sprint, before walking his way back to John's house. As his body recovered, Dean felt the exhaustion of the last night's lack of sleep overcome him, and he had to pause to put his hands on his knees as the house came into sight.

When he bowed his head to rest, ass up in the air and too tired to even care, the sound of his breath was loud against the pounding of his heart and Dean found himself overwhelmed with a sense of loss.

"Fuck," he said to himself, no louder than an angry mutter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He gulped in a steadying breath, head still between his knees, as he tried to stay focused on the self-inflicted pain rather than memories of Cas standing helpless on his driveway. But the thoughts came anyway, and he finally felt a sob slip past his lips. Frustrated at himself for losing control, Dean all but growled at the pavement, the sound turning into a whimper as he felt warm tears slide down his face.

"Shit," he said, louder then.

Dean got up, slowly and painfully, feeling the tears mix in with the sweat that plastered his hair to his face. Shaking himself, he started walking again, focusing on his baby through the tears pooled in his eyes. He nodded to himself, as if it would change what was happening.

Once he arrived at the house, Dean barely bothered to close the door behind him as he headed straight for his bed. Disrobing, Dean fell into the clean sheets, inhaling deeply, wishing he could smell something other than detergent on the spotless linens.

Dean rolled himself out from beneath the dodge, wiping his hands on the already grease stained rag and tucking it into his back pocket as he made to get up.

"She's all done!" he called out, and he heard the distant sound of Bobby grumbling from his office.

It was a slow day at the garage, but Dean knew Bobby didn't like any kind of hollering in his workplace. He didn't like mess either, and that was something Dean could get behind. The noise, however, between the clanking of various tools and machines, seemed like an easy way to piss off the old man. Dean could use a laugh these days. As expected, Bobby came stalking out of his tiny office into the main part of the garage where two other cars were parked. He waved off the other mechanic on duty today, an overeager guy named Andy, who opened his mouth to speak. Dean chuckled to himself as Bobby rounded on him.

"What you want, boy? A cookie?" Bobby said gruffly, arms crossed as he crouched down to inspect the car. It had been a simple alternator problem and Mrs. Green hadn't needed it done until Monday, but Bobby had asked Dean that it be done before Dean start on any of his "fancy old projects". Dean figured it was the least he could do for getting a few days off and Bobby's support in his budding new endeavour.

"How's it look?" Dean asked, stilling smiling. Though he itched to put his hands on the hot red Camaro he knew sat in the second garage, working on simple problems still made him feel better. Getting into the guts of cars, figuring out how it worked, making sure everything fit together perfectly; Dean loved the way he felt useful. Mrs. Green would never have known how to fix that battery light blinking on her dashboard, so Dean could convince himself he was good for soemthing, even if it was only rendering a simple service.

"Fine," Bobby said. "It's an alternator, not rocket science."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, smile widening at the praise. Well, it was praise when it came from Bobby.

"Listen, Dean," Bobby started, and Dean's stomach sank. So the punishment wasn't over. "Before you go on and take a look at that Camaro, I wanted to talk to you for a second..."

Bobby stood in front of Dean, arms still crossed and shifting from foot to foot, looking highly uncomfortable.

"Well?" Dean asked, impatient. "Spit it out, Bobby."

"Alright, son, hold your horses. I just wanted to talk about your future, here, Dean..." Bobby trailed off uncertainly. Dean bit his lip.

"Listen, Bobby, I know I've been kinda MIA and I'm real sorry about that, but I swear I can drop this whole Camaro shit and focus on break pads and oil changes for the rest of my life. I just really can't afford to lose my job right now, Bobby..." Dean rambled, ignoring his loudly beating heart.

Bobby wasn't having any of it though, because he cut Dean off in the middle of his speech.

"Drop it?!" Bobby exclaimed. "What are you going off about, boy? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! I told that guy another mechanic could take a look, but he insisted that it be you, son. Do you get that? This could be something big, here, and you're tellin' me you'd rather be replacin' hubcaps. Smarten up, idjit!"

Dean stood shocked for a moment, before the angry words registered in his mind.

"Wait, what?" Dean said eloquently. "You're not mad at me?"

"Why should I be mad at you when I've got big wigs asking me how many "thou" a Citreon DS will run 'em?" Bobby said, indignant. "I don't know how, but you've charmed the right guy with that body work, Dean."

"So what are you saying..." Dean said, frowning.

"I'm saying that maybe, y'know, you should look into this as a full time gig. Maybe take someone under your wing, get this off and runnin' and start investin' in a future here..." Bobby said. "I ain't gettin' any younger, Dean. And this garage could use a bit of a different feel to it."

"Bobby, I don't know the first thing about business owning or any of that, I wouldn't even know where to start," Dean replied.

"Well that's why you got me, kid," Bobby said gruffly, clapping Dean on the back. "Now get to work on that pretty little car back there or all of this'll just be some pipe dream and we won't have nothin' to be talkin' about anyway."

Dean ducked his head, feeling a sliver of hope cut through the blank feeling he had at the prospect of his future in Lawrence. The smile died on his lips when he remembered Cas. Would Cas be a part of that future in Lawrence? Dean couldn't imagine Cas being satisfied with selling lemonade for the rest of his life. He was so smart, so bright... Dean couldn't imagine him as a CEO either, though. Suits and briefcases and stern expressions seemed to be something that belonged to the entire Novak clan except Cas. In fact, the only way Dean could manage to imagine Cas in the coming years was wrapped around him, surrounded by blankets.

He shook the image from his brain, wakling over to check out the Camaro. His day was only half over, and he practically salivated at the sight of this beautiful, classic car just for him. It didn't matter anyway. Maybe Cas would stay in Lawrence, maybe he wouldn't. Despite the ache in his and the way his mouth got dry when he thought about it, Dean could feel better knowing he would have no influence on that decision.

Still, as he set out his tool and prepared to take a look under the hood, Dean had to actively ignore the twinge in his gut at the thought of Cas alone, so soon after his father's death. His mind was filled with the image of Cas standing beside his suitcase, mouth still open in surprise, as Dean made the choice to walk away.

He swallowed and got to work.

Even though the day at the garage had been somewhat encouraging, Dean still found it difficult to find the motivation to go meet his brother afterwards. Fifteen minutes after he hollered a bellowing goodbye to Bobby (who yelled an obscenity in farewell back), however, Dean was pulling up to Sam's apartment in his newly fixed car. He keyed in the code for the building and got in the elevator to the fourth floor. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Dean!" Sam said, opening the door wide and smiling a little awkwardly. Dean walked past him into the tiny living room. Sam's apartment wasn't a dump, but the size was questionable and the way the kitchen bled into the dining room which bled into the living room sort of set Dean's teeth on edge, especially after having the luxury of sleeping in a house for a month or so. Especially when that house was occupied, usually, by a warm and pliant cuddle buddy.

Dean dismissed his thoughts and put on his best smile too.

"Heya Sammy," he said, the familiar words rolling off his tongue with ease. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Sam gestured to the overstuffed and very orange couch. The whole affair had the lingering feeling of entertaining company and Dean winced at how much the feeling reminded him of the Novaks. Perhaps this would be that bad. Sam pulled up a white plastic chair from the kitchen table and sat, knees apart. The furniture somehow always looked too small for his gangly brother and the kid must have been eating his greens because Dean noticed Sammy looking much more buff than before. Dean tried to think of the last time they had hung out. He reddened when he realized it had been about two weeks now. He winced at the thought that he had been ignoring his brotherly duties in favor of focusing his attentions on Cas. Well, Dean thought bitterly. Not a problem anymore!

Sam cleared his throat, his jaw flexing as he settled with his hands on his knees, expression concerned.

"I feel like I should be paying you or something... You gonna ask me how I feel or somethin', Sammy? I'm gettin' a bit of a Freud vibe here," Dean said, chuckling weakly. Sam rolled his eyes, but straightened his posture a little.

"Whatever, Dean, what do you wanna talk about first? The fact that you disappeared for three days? My pre-registration orientation? Or maybe you wanna tell me about this Cas crisis?" Sam said, tone already testy. "Or wait! I know! Maybe you wanna tell me about how you've been hiding the details of Dad's condition for about 3 months now!"

Dean made a noise of surprise and frustration at the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like a whine.

"Listen, Sammy, it's complicated... I was gonna tell you," Dean said, pouting a little. "Eventually..."

Sam rolled his eyes, huffing.

"Oh calm down, Samantha!" Dean scoffed. "You weren't jumping at the chance to tell me about registering for this orientation shit either!"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, and oh hell, they were already yelling. "I told you as soon as I could get a fucking hold of you! The last time we 'hung out'," Sam said, putting in air quotes with his hands. "You were fighting with Cas, and you ran off to meet him so you could fix it. What the hell's been going with you Dean? I thought, when you came back, you'd kinda get your shit together. I thought... I don't know man, I thought this was gonna be the summer of me and you..." Sam had lowered his voice and regarded Dean with large eyes.

"I know you met someone, ok? And I'm happy for you. Seriously. Cas has been running that lemonade stand for like, a year, and the dude is awesome. He speaks three languages!" Sam continued.

"Actually, five," Dean interjected morosely. Sam just gave him a look.

"But... I don't know, Dean. I just hate it when you disappear like that," Sam said, shoulders dropping as he ducked his head and stared at his outstretched limbs.

"I know, fuck, I'm sorry," Dean said. He sighed. "A lot of shit has happened in the past few days, it's been kind of a shit show..."

"Well then tell me about it, Dean!" Sam pleaded. Dean rubbed a hand across his face, scratching at his chin.

"Alright, well, settle in," Dean said tiredly. "It's a fucking long story."

So Dean talked. He told Sam about the bar and Castiel being too drunk to even function; about the funeral and the terrible family Castiel grew up with, and Naomi's condescending looks and stilted tolerance of Dean's existence. Dean explained about Cas' dad and the position at the company. Then he explained about the last night they were together.

"Oh," Sam said, expression pitying and clearly at a loss for words.

"Yeah. Oh," Dean said. "But anyway, that's that. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Dad... I thought.. I thought you'd wanna go to college with a clean slate. I thought maybe I could do it after you left so you didn't have to worry about it..."

"Dean," Sam started, tone exasperated.

"I know, I know. I didn't think it through. I just..." Dean looked up at his brother, whose expression was half impatient, half empathetic. "I thought it was gonna be a Dean and Sammy against the world kinda summer too," Dean mumbled, and Sam's face changed to an expression of surprise.

"Well, it's not too late for that," Sam said, smiling wryly.

"Yeah, you're fuckin' leavin' next week!" Dean replied, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"I could blow it off..." Sam said hesitantly. Dean considered taking him up on the offer. He'd still have a month before he was alone; really and truly alone, instead of only a week like what was planned... But the look on Sam's face wasn't just excitement at the prospect of spending a month with his older brother. Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew Sam wanted badly to go to his new school, and he had promised himself he wouldn't hold his little brother back in any way. That had been the whole point of leaving in the first place, hadn't it?

"Nah, Sammy, you gotta go. It's Stanford, man!" Dean said, trying hard to let even a trace of regret leak through in his words. "Besides, you're gonna need the head start."

"Well... We'll still have this week," Sam said, expression timid but hopeful. Dean laughed, and found he genuinely was happy for his brother, despite the sadness of him leaving.

"Well," Dean said, clapping his hands and getting up. "We better get crackin' then. What should we do first? Cruise for hotties? Haunt the local joints? Star Wars episodes IV through VII?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're right, little bro. You need some tail before going out into the big world!" Dean said, grabbing the keys he had thrown onto the table on his way in. "Come on! We're going out!"

"Dean, it's five in the afternoon!" Sam protested.

"Who said we're going to a bar? Don't you know the best girls are at the popcorn stand on Main?" Dean was calling back at him, a foot already out the door.

Sam just shook his head, smiling as he followed Dean out.

A weight lifted off of Dean once Sam and him had that talk. Things weren't perfect, far from it, but it did settle Dean's nerves that him and his brother were talking again. A nagging voice at the back of his mind followed him for almost the entire week though; one that couldn't help but wonder, where was Cas? What was he thinking about? But Dean, ever the master of repression, pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, choosing to focus on his brotherly reconciliation and the little time he had left with Sam.

He couldn't help but squirm at the thought of another person he would be saying goodbye soon. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread and worry when he imagined the events of The Day. He had capitalized the words in his head. It was silly, Dean knew. His father had been dead to him a long time now. Still, the idea of choosing this for his father, of actively deciding his fate, was... well, terrifying. Not to mention the underlying notion that Cas would never know what happened with his father; and his father would never get to meet Cas. Although what that mattered now that he wasn't going to be in Dean's life, he could not fathom.

At least everything at the garage had been going well. In just a few days, Dean had picked up another four cars to restore, and Bobby had been busy drawing up contracts for each of the jobs. Dean couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he was doing something he loved and getting paid for it. And not only was he enjoying his work and getting paid to do it, but Dean was getting well paid to do it. In fact, the contracts were a little appalling. So much so that Dean categorically refused to believe it. Instead, he just focused on each job as if it were his own Baby beneath his hands. It wasn't difficult, anyway. Even the Citreon, dopey and cutesy as it looked, was built beautifully. Dean's hands had itched at the sight of it pulling up after the Camaro had ben finished. Bobby was even talking about an expansion, dropping hints about Dean going off on his own. But Dean knew good things like this couldn't last, so he didn't plan on anything that big. His plan was to save up as much of this good luck as he could so Sam could have the best when he went to Stanford. No student housing mattress for the youngest Winchester; it was gonna be memory foam all the way.

By Wednesday, Dean still hadn't figured out how he was going to deal with his father though. Sam had offered to do it alone, but Dean couldn't put that on his little brother. He was supposed to take care of him. That had always been what his dad had wanted. So whenever Dean had a spare moment, between hanging out at Sam's place after work and getting up early for his daily jogs, he sat worrying about The Day. And God, it was approaching fast.

Dean had just finished texting Sam that he'd gotten home fine after he had insisted on sleeping at John's since Sam had talked about a joint jog in the morning when the phone buzzed to life in hands. Dean pressed answer without looking and smirked into the receiver.

"Miss me already, Samantha? What're you gonna do once I'm far, far away? Huh?" Dean said in lieu of a greeting.

"This is not Samantha," came a voice that was not Sammy's.

Dean stood frozen for a moment, the sound of the voice simultaneously achingly familiar and already heartbreakingly foreign. Dean picked up on the rasp underlying the growl of his voice and wondered distantly if he'd been sleeping ok.

"Cas," Dean finally breathed, the words full of surprise and embarrassingly hoarse.

"Hello, Dean," Cas replied, and Dean felt ridiculous when the sound of those two words made his eyes burn.

"Uh, what's... How have you been?" Dean asked, awkward.

Castiel didn't answer straight away. The silence stretched on long enough for Dean to wonder if he should just hang up and pretend this was another bad dream.

"Okay," Cas finally answered, as if the response had taken him a long time to formulate.

Okay.

"Great," Dean said enthusiastically, even though his voice was slightly too loud and he knew the sound came out much squeakier than he would have preferred. "I've been great, too."

Again, Castiel didn't answer straight away. Dean mentally cursed at how despite having been the person called, Dean still felt bad about the silences. He was about to make another comment, desperately wondering if the weather could be a safe topic, when Cas spoke again.

"I've come to a decision, and I would like to meet with you in order to discuss it," Cas said, his tone unreadable. Dean frowned.

"A decision?" he asked, wracking his brain for what Cas could have been talking about. "About what?"

"I have come to a decision concerning my future at my family's company and the lemonade stand I currently own," Castiel clarified, just as coolly. Dean's confusion cleared slightly, but still... Hadn't they already settled this? Cas would be better off as CEO. Everyone would be better off with Cas as a CEO, in fact. Why was he calling in order to tell Dean exactly what he already knew?

"You're leaving," Dean said. It wasn't a question.

"It's complicated, Dean," Cas said with a sigh, but Dean made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat.

"It's not complicated, Cas. You're leaving, just say it. I don't know why you called, but if you're gonna do this, God knows why, at least do it right!" Dean said angrily. He heard Cas take a deep inhalation.

"I would prefer to discuss it in person, Dean. When would be best for you?" Castiel said, ignoring Dean's taunts. Quieter, Cas added, "Please, Dean."

But Dean clenched his fist at his side, scowl firmly in place.

"Save it, Cas," Dean said, shaking his head although no one was there to witness it. "It wasn't anything anyway. We weren't... We're not anything."

"We weren't?" Cas asked, and for the first time, Dean heard hurt in his voice. The next question came out much quieter. "I was hoping... I thought, maybe... Maybe you could come with me."

Dean's skin ran hot and cold all at once. Visions of Cas, in a suit, coming home to a freshly baked pie and Dean barefoot in the kitchen flashed through Dean's mind. A much smaller lemonade stand might sit out front, a couple years down the line, for an ambitious Winchester-Novak or Winchester-Milton or whatever last name they could agree on. And, surprisingly, it was good. Dean could see it, which made it hurt even more when he had to shake his head, though no one was there to witness his silent refusal.

"No," Dean said, biting his fist as he paused. "Just friends, right?" He didn't wait for an answer to that, just kept talking through his tirade. "So we touched each other's dicks, it's not like we're married, ok? It would never work anyway, Cas. You're free now. You can do what you want. It's better this way. You can save the world. You don't need me to do that."

"Dean," Castiel protested, but Dean didn't need any more of those damn images of mailboxes and beehives in his brain right now.

"Seriously, Cas. It's okay," Dean said, voice softer. "You're gonna be a great CEO. Kick it in the ass!"

When Dean's voice broke on the last word, he didn't have the heart to continue the conversation. He hung up and sunk into a dining room chair, his fist muffling the sound of his sob as he fought tears, alone in his dad's kitchen.

Dean did his best to concentrate at the garage, but the sleepless night and hours of debate over whether or not to call Castiel had him yawning and spacing out while he worked. Even the Citreon couldn't take his mind off the day before and the upcoming dreaded day. Dean was so distracted that even Bobby noticed, hovering suspiciously in the back end of the garage where Dean worked on the older models and glowering down at Dean. Dean worked hard under his scrutiny, but his heart wasn't quite in it.

"What's going on with you?" Bobby said, after his third round into Dean's work space.

Dean sighed.

"I got a lot on my mind right now, Bobby..." Dean said, rubbing his face over before realizing it was covered in grease. He shook out a dirty rag and rubbed that tiredly across his cheek, blushing a little.

"I can see that..." Bobby said, raising his eyebrows. He coughed and shifted on his feet. Dean looked up at him worriedly. "Your brother called."

"Ah," Dean said. Bobby cleared his throat.

"John was a good friend of mine," Bobby started, but stopped himself.

"I know," Dean said, biting his lip.

Both men regarded each other for a moment.

"If I go home now, I'm scared I'll..." Dean looked up at Bobby from where he was still crouched under the car. "I'll probably end up at the liquor store," Dean finished in a rush. Bobby nodded curtly.

"Your work day ain't finished so I don't know why you think you're goin' home, son," Bobby said gruffly. Dean rose from his perch. "Don't waste your time tryin' to fix this old girl with all that on your mind. You're gonna ruin her, and then ruin me by association!"

Dean smiled weakly at Bobby's words.

"Come on," Bobby said, rolling his eyes and turning around. "I've got way too many oil changes to do and I'm s'posed to be a manager here, not some grease monkey like the rest of 'ya crazy kids..."

Dean followed Bobby to the nearest car. He pretended not to notice as Bobby sent Andy home, then returned to tell Dean they were short handed so he wouldn't be doing any of his "fancy shit" today. Dean smiled gratefully and got to work on the Toyota's oil.

Even with the lessened pressure of oil changes and tire alignments, Dean felt antsy. The day dragged on at a turtle's pace, and he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the hood of the car he was working on near five o'clock. Finally, Bobby made his final inspection and approved Dean's work.

"Dean," Bobby said, before Dean could walk away. "Are you gonna be alright, goin' home?"

Thinkin' about raiding that liquor store, again? was the unspoken question here. But surprisingly, Dean wasn't. In fact, he'd been so annoyed at the last car's finnicky transmission that all he'd thought about was sleep.

"Yeah," Dean said, maintaining eye contact to make sure Bobby knew he was okay. "Sam's around. I might call him."

Bobby nodded once, released his shoulder and putting his hands in his pockets.

"You know my number if you need anything," Bobby said, and Dean figured that was the most heartfelt dismissal he'd get from the man, so he left.

Once Dean was on the highway in the impala, he was tempted to keep driving. The itch to leave his problems behind was always right behind his fingers, so instead of acting on it, Dean pulled off at the nearest exit. He was close to John's house; in fact, he had taken the exit to the grocery store he had been frequenting since his return from Illinois. He parked in the lot and got out of the car. The weather was uncharacteristically grey, and it made Dean think of endings. It was August already, which meant summer would be ending soon. September meant fall, it meant beginnings for Sam and his schoolmates, it meant a new beginning for Cas... but it would mean the beginning of a new life for Dean. A life alone.

Dean shook off the morose thoughts and headed in the store. Unsure of what his goal was, he picked up ingredients at random. After ten minutes of wandering the store, Dean looked down at his basket. He had grabbed flour and cinnamon, as well as a pint of vanilla ice cream. Shaking his head, he decided to brave the vegetable section of the large, cold store. It seemed his subconscious wanted pie, and he couldn't think of a better way to spend the next couple of hours than baking a warm apple pie.

Ignoring the display for locally sourced honey and organic fruit, Dean strode to the shiny apples stacked neatly in a pile near the pears and oranges. He felt a pang of guilt at supporting the large chain store when he knew Sammy still made his way to the farmer's market every week. Though it must have only been a few weeks since his last visit to Cas' workplace, it felt like ages since he had met the strange man at the lemonade stand. But Dean couldn't bring himself to visit the stand or the market. He wouldn't know what to do when he inevitably saw the big yellow cart and the display of fresh tomatoes. He conjured up an image of Anna staring at him sadly from behind the counter of the cart, his heart swelling. Or, maybe worse, his mind wandered to sitting on the picnic tables and watching an empty lemonade stand, strangers walking by and asking each other who owned the stand and why it was inactive...

Dean had picked up enough apples, so he headed to the check out, pushing the thoughts of Cas and his recent revelation to him out of his mind. He bought his supplies and nearly jogged to his car, the fluorescent lights of the supermarket suddenly giving him a headache, their mocking light over perfect fruit making Dean nauseous.

The drive home was spent with his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, his teeth worrying at a sore spot in his cheek where he had bitten through the skin. Upon finally arriving at John's, Dean simply put the ice cream in the freezer and made a beeline for the bed.

Dean awoke four hours later. It was nine in the evening and he felt wide awake. He had dreamed about Cas again; he could still feel the hug of a dark haired child as Castiel looked down on them with a crisp black suit. The idea both appealed to him and somehow repulsed him. Dean felt like he couldn't remember the sight of Cas, pink shirt and ripped jeans, and all that was left to replay in his mind was Castiel Novak, CEO.

Dean sighed as he got up from bed, shrugging out of his jeans and slipping on a pair of sweat pants and a soft grey Henley. He padded to the kitchen and surveyed the dry groceries he had left on the table. Struck with inspiration at the sight, Dean ran back to John's room for his laptop, bringing it to the kitchen and setting up his music library. If tonight was going to be another sleepless one, he planned to at least enjoy the insomnia as much as he could.

Thirty minutes later, Dean was kneading dough while the Allman Brothers Band played in the background. He absently mouthed the lyrics, swaying his hips as he flattened the dough into his mother's old pie dish. Though it had been years since her death, the thought of Mary watching him now made him smile. Despite everything, Dean couldn't help but tear up at the thought of losing another parent. Losing Mary had been tough, it had ruined John and scarred Dean... But losing John, too. Somehow Dean felt angry. He'd lost John a long time ago, anyway.

He sang the song a bit louder, peeling the apples and slicing them to add to the cinnamon and sugar mixture in a bowl he had set aside. He opened the fridge to find the lemon juice he had bought last week. He'd felt too awful to buy the lemons from the supermarket and even though the taste of fresh lemon juice was always better, he hoped his choice wouldn't ruin the pie completely. He added a little sugar, just in case.

Soon enough, the pie was baking in the oven and Dean was brushing flour off his sweatpants. He ran a hand through his hair, cleaning up the dishes and ingredients quietly as the song changed from the high paced tune to a Lynyrd Skynyrd ballad. Once the kitchen was back to its spotless state, Dean sat at the table, drumming his fingers on the table uselessly. Glancing at the clock, he was shocked to find it was so late. Judging from the time left on the oven clock, the pie would be done near midnight.

Suddenly, irrationally, Dean felt as if time were running out. Right before midnight. Midnight would mean it was Friday and Friday was the last day. He wondered if he should be doing something; going to the hospital maybe? Begging for more time? It was irrational. It was pointless. The appointment wasn't at midnight. They still had time. Dean was supposed to go over by midday and meet Sam there. They had decided to stay apart tonight, having spent the week hanging out with each other and suddenly Dean felt as if that was a mistake. He needed to do something.

He fiddled with his laptop, watching the time run out on the oven timer.

Finally, finally, the timer dinged. Dean was on his feet in a second. He took out the pie, blowing on it, and set it on his mother's cooling rack, his hands shaking a little. Running a hand back through his hair, he turned off the oven and stood helplessly staring at the steaming dessert.

He wasn't even hungry.

He checked the clock again. Ten to midnight. Midnight.

He grabbed his keys on the kitchen table, opening the freezer and taking the pint of ice cream still in the grocery bag. Hands nearly full, Dean juggled the treat and an oven mitt, taking the pie with him too.

"What am I doing?" Dean said to himself as he pulled up.

Driving there had taken way more time than it normally had. He hadn't forgotten the way, but the three times he had decided to turn around and go home definitely added to the length of the trip. He was here now though.

"Fuck it," Dean said, getting up and out of car and striding to the door of the small house. He knocked, softly at first. Then, when that garnered no response, he rapped harder. He heard something crash inside, and then the door was opening on a very sleepy, very grumpy face.

"Wha- Dean?" came the voice Dean had been imagining for a week now.

Dean nearly burst out laughing. The sight of the strange lemonade stand owner once again in his underwear, rubbing sleep from his eyes, was so god damn familiar that Dean didn't know whether to smile or cry.

"Do you not own clothes-" Dean started, but Cas was already pulling him in by his neck collar.

"Hi," Dean said, once inside.

Cas stared at him.

"Hello, Dean," he replied.

Once again, Dean was hit with a wave of nostalgia and heartbreak he wasn't quite expecting. In fact, he just stared at Cas for a moment, taking him in. His blue eyes were wide now that he had rubbed the sleep out of them, and his hair was still the mess it had always been, if a bit worse than usual. But Dean knew it was only because Castiel had just woken up. For one, he was still in his boxers, and for two, Dean recognized the muss in his hair and the way he hugged his chest, as if subconsciously wishing he still lay in bed surrounded by blankets.

Dean was snapped out of his wandering thoughts when Castiel tilted his head (fucking adorable) and frowned. Cas opened his mouth to speak and Dean braced himself for the inevitable questions.

Why are you here? What do you want? Did you change your mind?

And Dean still hadn't figured out what his answers were to any of those questions. So he inhaled deeply and widened his stance a little, a determined look in his eye as he watched Cas' face flit from emotion to different emotion. Finally, it looked as if Cas had settled on a response because his face went completely blank. He looked at Dean, then took one of his hands in his own, and started marching towards the stairs.

"Uh, Cas?" Dean asked, at a loss.

Castiel shook his head, looking back at Dean as he climbed the stairs. "Be silent, please," Castiel responded simply. Dean's mouth clicked shut at the clear order, his palette suddenly bone dry.

"But, Cas, I have ice cream..." Dean protested again. Castiel finally looked at what Dean was awkwardly holding. Seemingly surprised to find Dean encumbered by grocery items, he immediately took them from his hands.

"Thank you," Castiel said, expression still unreadable. "Stay," he ordered, and Dean couldn't find it in him to be angry about being treated basically like a household pet. In fact, the idea of being Castiel's pet sounded... pretty nice.

Cas returned before Dean could think about that idea any longer, and he took Dean's hand again, leading him up the stairs.

He followed Castiel's lead without another word.

When they approached the bedroom, however, Dean made a noise of protest. Castiel stopped immediately and turned back towards Dean, standing in the unlit doorway to his bedroom. Dean could see a pile of boxes beside the closet and felt a pang of guilt, sadness, or maybe renewed lust at the romantic notion of the temporary; he couldn't really tell.

"I assumed you had come here to talk. To tell me to stay or to convince me to go, I'm not sure; but I guessed you might have come here just to talk and not listen," Castiel said finally, his words quiet and low, his eyes still wide, but tinged with a determined edge.

Dean made to answer, but apparently Castiel was not finished.

"So, I don't want to listen to what you have to say either," Castiel said, the defiance in his eyes making the unearthly blue shine in the dim lighting. "In fact, I don't want to speak at all."

Castiel moved his hands down to Dean's sweatpants waistband. Dean felt... well, nervous. Not exactly against the idea of shutting up and finally getting to touch, safe in Cas' house, Cas' bed, Cas' arms. But...

"But what about the pie?" Dean blurted half jokingly as Castiel rucked up his shirt to let his fingers play along Dean's stomach. Dean had worked hard on the dessert, after all. It shouldn't go to waste...

Cas smiled in a way that made Dean's eyes widen.

"We'll have the pie, too," Cas said walking backwards towards the bed, hands around Dean's wrists.

"So what you're saying is that we're gonna have the pie and eat it,-"

Dean's poor joke was swallowed by Cas' hungry mouth.

"Shut," Cas said, between hard kisses to Dean's mouth. "Up."

Dean let himself be led to the bed, feeling at once sated and starving by and for Cas' touch.

"Cas," he said, breathless, his hands roaming along Cas' tanned skin, his thumbs fitting so perfectly into Cas' hip bones that Dean wondered distractedly if that was their originally created intention. He pulled at Cas' hips at the thought when Cas clambered onto the bed and over his body.

"Take your fucking pants off, Dean," Cas said.

Dean laughed at Cas' annoyed frown, coupled with his ridiculous bed head and the red imprint of the arm Cas had apparently fallen asleep on before answering the door. How could one man be so simultaneously cute and sexy, Dean didn't know, or particularly care as he divested himself obediently of his sweat pants. He silently congratulated himself on foregoing underwear and -God, could you imagine?- jeans with buttons and zippers. As it was, he Dean found himself gloriously naked once Cas had rucked up his shirt past his nipples and finally gotten so frustrated that he had yanked it over Dean's head in one hard tug.

Dean was still staring at his hands that had found themselves back on this gorgeous creature's hips when he noticed Cas still. Looking up as he already felt the heat of a faint blush rising to his cheeks, he saw Cas looking down at Dean with an expression of... awe? reverence? Dean couldn't quite tell, but it made his skin hot and cold, and each point of contact between their nearly bare bodies erupted in flame. Cas drew his hand up from where it had frozen over Dean's hardened nipple and ran his thumb over Dean's bottom lip, his eyes so bright they nearly glowed in the dark room.

Dean was frozen too, lips parted and eyes wide, as he stared at Castiel wonderingly. It hurt. It physically ached to see his expression so sincere, the tears pooling in his stare as Castiel watched with intensity as his thumb traced the lines of Dean's face. Cas' thumb dipped into Dean's mouth and Dean let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He worried the small sound of his soft breath might disrupt Castiel's concentration, but it just brought the man's sharp gaze up to meet Dean's.

The look of complete devotion, of affection and awe and... Dean felt like his chest might burst from the intensity of it, so he closed his eyes, and looked up through his lashes. He closed his mouth around the rough pad of Cas' thumb, letting his teeth graze it, and watched as Cas shuddered.

Almost immediately, Cas removed his thumb from Dean's mouth. Dean made a small sound of protest, but Cas was already reaching down awkwardly with one arm as he attempted to take off his boxer briefs while still mouthing at Dean's neck. Dean lifted his hips and hissed as his cock brushed against the bare skin of Cas' abdomen. Cas paused in his movements, his eyes fluttering closed as his hand hesitated in its descent down his thigh. But with a swallow and a shudder, Castiel got back into action, his underwear finally pulled down and off his ankles and his bare hips crashing against Dean's.

"Oh, God!" Dean cried out, bringing himself up against Castiel's warm skin again.

"Don't," Dean said, but he had to pause to take in another breath. "Don't stop... You feel- fuck, baby, yes..."

Dean couldn't stop the words falling out of his mouth as Castiel thrust against him.

"W-wait," Castiel said, and Dean would have felt smug at the way Cas' voice broke if he himself hadn't have been so busy with the thoughts yes, please, and God running a loop in his brain.

"What?" Dean snapped, his hips not quite stilling as he groaned in frustration. Cas moved so that the air hit their sweaty skin as they separated. They lay on their sides, Dean's eyes still squeezed shut in pleasure as every roll of his hips brought the tip of his cock in contact with Castiel's smooth thigh. Castiel made no move to reciprocate, though. Dean whined.

"Just..." Castiel brought a hand up to Dean's chin and grasped it firmly, bringin it down so that Dean no longer had his head thrown back. He opened in eyes, half surprised, half annoyed.

"Just what, Cas? Come on, sweetheart, I've been thinking about this for..." Dean groaned again, losing his train of thought when Castiel's mouth formed a feral grin at his words.

"Please," Dean said grabbing Castiel's free hand where it was gripping his own thigh and bringing it to Dean's heaving chest. "Cas..." Dean tried, brushing Castiel's hand over his nipple, thrusting a little at the touch. He bit his lip, looking up at a mesmerized Cas, trying his best to maintain eye contact. Cas licked his lips. Dean heard a small sound that highly resembled a whimper at the back of Castiel's throat.

Fuck, Dean thought, not for the first time since he had met the lemonade stand owner. This man's mouth.

Gathering his courage, pushing thoughts of goodbyes and issues and whatever the fuck they had standing against them, Dean smiled as sweetly as he could manage before schooling his expression into complete and utter innocence.

"Please..." Dean said again, this time softer, and closer, so that his panting breath bounced off Castiel's lips. Dean was close enough that he could see Castiel's pupils dilate, his tongue poking out as if to taste the air Dean exhaled. "Sir."

Castiel's mouth parted in surprise. For a moment, it seemed as if Dean had broken the man. Cas lay stock still, not even blinking, his eyelids drooping over lust stricken eyes, as he stared at Dean for what must have been a full minute. Dean chewed on his lip anxiously, waiting patiently for Castiel to apparently reboot.

Then Dean was rolled over on to his back, with Castiel hovering over him, thrusting madly at his thigh as Dean felt bites and licks trail a way down to his hip. Dean was breathing fast, his heart beating widly in his chest as he tried to adjust to yet another change in pace.

"Oh my God, Cas," Dean breathed as Castiel licked at his inner thigh, ignoring his crotch to move back up to his hipbones. "You're like a freaking sex tornado or somethin'..."

Cas raised an eyebrow at that, his mouth forming a small smile as he slowed in his kisses and brought himself up to face Dean. Pushing his index against Dean's lips, he looked pointedly into Dean's eyes.

Be silent, Cas' look said. Dean nodded, though he tried to communicate through his expression his doubts about his ability to keep quiet in such a sitatuation. Cas smiled as if he understood.

"I want to..." Cas said, looking down at Dean's naked body in a way that somehow made Dean blush.

There was something almost analytical in the way Cas' eyes roamed his chest, flicking to where a scar gleamed in the moonlight from when he had gotten into a particularly dangerous fight on the road with Alastair; down to his hipbones, between which Dean knew a little fat had accumulated so that a pudge stuck out even when he laid on his back like now; then back up to Dean's arms, where the freckled skin Dean knew was probably pink from embarrassment and arousal.

"I want to watch," Cas said finally, climbing off Dean so that he sat back on the bed, his knees folded neatly to the side of him. Dean bit his lip, the burning in his cheeks so strong he wondered if spontaneous combustion was in his near future.

"Watch... what?" Dean asked faintly, even though he already knew the answer. He brought his arms up to cover his chest as he spoke, but Castiel gently pulled them off.

"You," he said softly, sincerely. Dean felt his heart pick up again, breathing laboured as he tried to stay still at such an adoring look. Castiel noticed, putting his hand on Dean's heart as if to calm the pounding there.

"Tell me what you want," Castiel said, his hand on Dean's chest soothing the rising feeling of guilt and worry there. "Tell me what you've been thinking about."

Dean closed his eyes, a fresh wave of embarrassment and arousal washing over him.

"I, uh," Dean started, voice shaking as Castiel's one hand was joined by a second. "I thought about you... About what it would be like," Dean's voice broke at the last word. "About this."

Castiel hummed, placing a kiss between Dean's ribs. He traveled lower so that his breath fell upon that mound of fat Dean hated so much. Dean's breath hitched, and he hoped Castiel wouldn't make him say any more than that because between the affectionate gazes and his stupid insecurities, it felt as if he might explode if he had to say out loud what he imagine Cas doing to him, things he would never, could never truly ask for...

As if sensing his discomfort, Castiel's gaze turned soft.

"Do you want to know what I thought about this week?" Castiel asked, and Dean felt the tension in his body relax somewhat. Dean shook his head, biting his lip.

"I thought about the first time I tasted your mouth," Castiel said, fingers traveling up Dean's sides. "Do you remember?"

Dean squirmed, hips rutting a little against Castiel's hard body.

"Tell me, Dean," Castiel said, voice commanding. "Do you remember?"

"Y-yeah," Dean breathed. "Dishes."

Castiel smirked and rewarded Dean with a sharp bite to his collarbone.

"Good, Dean," Cas said, and Dean felt his cheeks flush again. "I thought about how the minute I kissed you, I knew I would never, ever be able to get enough of you."

Dean's breathing hitched and he shut his eyes, overwhelmed.

"You're breathtaking," Castiel whispered against Dean's lips. He moved to Dean's neck, licking the light sheen of sweat forming on his nape.

"For so long I was taught about worship as a form of thanksgiving," Castiel continued, pausing to kiss and lick Dean's heated skin. "I was taught to honor God through song and prayer, so that I may restore my transgressions, the sin of my flesh..." Castiel paused for a moment, gripping Dean's thighs and pulling them apart to form space for himself there. Dean let himself be manhandled, eyes still closed. "And if touching you is transgression, I will gladly repay my penance... But Dean, this isn't be sin, I know that. I never knew true worship until I tasted your skin."

"Cas," Dean choked as he felt Cas moved down between his parted thighs.

"You're beautiful," Cas said, and Dean felt tears prick at his eyes. There was that word again, the one that made Dean's chest hurt, his eyes burn, his fingers itch with the need to distract, deflect, deny. It was so different from the double edged sword of "pretty" or "tight little ass" that weren't meant to compliment, but to cut. Castiel's words were gifts, untainted by self-service or hatred. The words uttered quietly in Castiel's dark room were meant only for Dean, to be heard and cherished.

"You're beautiful," Cas repeated, this time against his inner thigh, breath ghosting over Dean's straining cock; just loud enough that Dean could make it out over the pounding in his chest. Cas unceremoniously lifted Dean bodily then, pulling a pillow down under his ass as he smoothly pulled Dean's cheeks apart, exposing him completely. Dean shook, body tensing at the cold air in such a sensitive place, squeezing his eyes shut against the fear, the embarrassment at how hard he was. He wanted it, he wanted Cas, so badly. He was a freak, he was nothing, he was wrong...

"Let go, sweetheart."

Dean sagged at the words, warmth blooming in his chest and face. Though his desire still coursed through him, the conflict, the panic eased and suddenly it was just Cas. There was no past, no future, just Cas and his mouth and his tongue in a place that it really, really ought not to have been... or maybe it was meant to be there because Dean was shaking all over, unable to think as words poured from his mouth. God, Cas was right. Maybe this was worship; this was something, it was something, fuck.

"Cas, Cas," Dean wasn't being silent at all. He hoped God was hard of hearing because this worship was loud, even long distance. "Shit, baby, you shouldn't... I mean, you don't have to- oh, God, Cas, please!"

He was thankful that Cas' head was buried between his thighs because he was sure his expression was less than attractive as he tried to keep the flood of emotion in check. Sure enough, however, Castiel looked up, Dean's knees still resting on his shoulders, his eyes glazed and hooded.

"Fuck me," Dean blurted, before he could stop himself.

Cas smiled, feral.

"Okay," he replied. He wiped his mouth and reached over to the night stand.

"Cas," Dean whispered in the dark.

It must have been early morning by that time, but he had woken from a dream with the pressing need to see Cas' gaze, to feel him close again. It was laughable, considering Cas' limbs were wrapped tightly around Dean's body, their skin even somewhat damp from sweat at their combined body heat. Regardless, Dean felt the need to see that blue gaze staring back at him, worried that without it, he couldn't be sure Castiel was real. He batted at Cas' nose so that it wrinkled in annoyance in the man's sleep.

"Cas!" Dean said, louder. He let his hands travel under the light covers and over Cas' naked form. God, it had been good. He was almost distracted by the way Castiel's soft hair felt against his fingertips. Almost.

"Mmrgh," Cas complained eloquently, his body reacting to Dean automatically. He burrowed further into Dean's warmth, eyes still screwed shut.

"Cas, wake up!" Dean said, nosing at Cas' hair. Cas groaned, lifting his head finally to look blearily up at Dean.

"What?" he said, his voice raspy.

"I'm scared," Dean found himself saying. He hadn't meant to, but the dream and the intimacy had left him bare and Dean couldn't stop thinking about his dad. Castiel's expression changed from annoyed to concerned at the words.

"Of what, Dean?" Castiel said, and Dean felt the panic rise in his chest again.

"Of... so much, Cas," Dean said, clutching at Cas' body. "This didn't fix it. I wanted to fix it, but it didn't work."

Castiel gathered him close, shushing him.

"Hey," Castiel said. "What's going on? What needed fixing?"

"Us, Cas," Dean said and he felt his cheeks heat when tears burned at his eyes. "Fuck, I'm crying again, I'm sorry... I just," Dean took a heaving breath, trying not to let out a sob. Castiel just ran his fingers through Dean's hair without comment, humming softly. Dean coughed around a whimper, his chest aching from the effort of keeping himself together, keeping it all together this week. At the garage, with Sam, and worst of all when Dean sat alone in his father's house, thinking about Cas' hands just like this, his scent all around Dean.

"Cas, I gotta tell you something," Dean said, pulling back so that he could look Castiel in the eye. He could do this. He had to. "I didn't come here for this..." He gestured between them, his eyes unconsciously darting to the three small red marks on Castiel's clavicle.

"I know, Dean," Castiel said, biting his lip. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you into something you weren't ready for... I don't know what came over me, I just... I wanted you, I wanted you so badly, Dean. It was frightening."

Dean shook his head, despite the small heat that burst into his gut at the words, to silence Castiel.

"No, no, Cas," Dean said, bringing his hand up to hold Castiel's face. "It was... This was... amazing. Perfect. I need a fucking thesaurus it was so goddamn great."

Castiel's concern lifted a little, but he still frowned, worried.

"It's... Remember my deadbeat dad?" Dean said, his tone a little too light for the wetness on his cheeks. Castiel nodded wordlessly. "Well, he's about to be a little less beat and a little more..." Dean's voice broke and he stuffed a fist in his mouth to stop the broken sound that came out.

"Oh, sweetheart," Castiel said, his own voice breaking as he squeezed his arms around Dean's shoulders. "Sweetheart, Dean, honey..."

He kept muttering words against Dean's temple, his neck, his skin, until Dean was no longer sobbing, but instead hiccupped embarrassingly as he pulled away.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean said, wiping his eyes. "I had a dream you weren't you, and I was still me, but I was alone and you never met my dad and he's an asshole, you know? You probably don't even want to meet you. He'd never wanna meet you if he was awake, but, God, Cas. I want you to. I don't know, maybe I don't..."

"Hey, hey," Castiel said, rubbing Dean's bare shoulder. Dean shivered a little, even though the room was comfortably warm. "Slow down, Dean. I want to know. Tell me what's going on."

Dean heaved another huge breath. His chest felt tight, but Castiel's encouraging stare calmed him.

"My dad. He's been in a coma for while... He was an asshole, you know? I don't know why I couldn't do it, but..." Dean sighed.

"Do what?" Castiel asked softly.

"The hospital... They've been asking me to, you know," Dean made a line with his fingers across his throat, unable to say the words out loud. "Tomorrow."

Castiel inhaled sharply.

"I wish... I don't know. I wish you coulda met him, even if he'd probably just call you a fairy and tell you to get the fuck outta his house," Dean mumbled, eyes lowered. Castiel took his hands in his own.

"I'm not busy tomorrow," Castiel said tentatively.

Dean looked up quickly, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

Cas nodded. Dean grinned, and Cas couldn't help but smile softly back at him.

"I'm hungry!" Castiel said suddenly, shooting up from the bed and halfway out the door before Dean could say another word. He sauntered out of the room and down the stairs completely stark naked, which had Dean blushing all by itself. He listened to Cas rummaging through the fridge downstairs, the microwave beeping for a few moments before his bare feet were padding softly on the hardwood as he made his way back up the stairs.

"Cas!" Dean said, when the man plopped himself down onto the sheets beside Dean. The grocery bag he held was ice cold and dangerously close to Dean's naked skin. "Watch it! That's freezing!"

"I know," Cas said smugly, unwrapping the items to reveal Dean's pie and ice cream. "It's supposed to be."

Dean pawed at the plastic bag, frowning when he found it to be empty.

"You forgot spoons, dumbass," Dean grumbled, making to get up. Cas was too quick for him, though, and soon Dean was being pushed back down by a smiling Cas.

"I didn't forget them," Cas said, shaking his head. Without breaking eye contact, Cas dipped his fingers into the warmed up pie to get some filling on the tips of his digits. Dean's mouth parted in preparation, and...

"Owch!" Cas exclaimed, shaking his hand out. "Fuck! That was hot!"

"No, it really wasn't," Dean said, snickering. "Oh my god, Cas!" Dean was laughing as he opened up the pint of vanilla ice cream. "Here," Dean said, laughing still as he grabbed the fingers Cas was still shaking and blowing on and unceremoniously shoved them into the cold dessert.

"Better?" Dean asked, the last of his chuckles dissipating while Cas pouted.

"No," Cas replied, grumbling under his breath.

"Want me to kiss it better?" Dean asked, grinning suggestively. Castiel raised an eyebrow, lifting his mildly injured fingers, which were now covered in half melted icecream, from the container and bring them to Dean's lips.

Dean's mouth opened easily for Castiel's fingers, and Dean made sure to lap at the sugary treat from between them. Castiel looked like he might want to eat Dean up instead of that pie.

"Here," Dean said again, holding up the pie and blowing on the exposed filling where Castiel had made an indentation. "Should be cool enough now. Dean held Castiel's gaze as he dipped his fingers into the dish, much slower and somewhat gingerly. Castiel brought the piece of crust and apple filling up to Dean's mouth, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Dean's lips closing over his fingers. Dean closed his eyes, moaning a little at the taste of pie, and vanilla, and Cas.

"Mmh," Dean said around Cas' fingers. "Can't wait to taste you too."

Castiel thumbed at Dean's lips then, holding his bottom lip captive as he reached down with his left hand to get more pie. Instead of putting it in Dean's mouth again, however, Castiel put it in his own. He groaned around the sweet pastry as he savoured it, swallowing slowly and opening his eyes to stare at Dean- trapped by Castiel's hold on his mouth.

"Did you make this?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded silently. "It is so delicious, Dean. You're a talented baker."

If Dean had any blood flow left, it would have lit his face up in a flush of pleasure at the praise. As it was, he went on gazing at Castiel's face as he brought another piece to his own lips. Dean felt as if he was parched, having to watch Castiel eat and not touch.

"Taste," Castiel said, still holding his bottom lip firm as he moved in for an open mouthed kiss.

It should have been gross to taste the remnants of pie in Castiel's mouth. It should have weirded Dean out to lick them off Castiel's tongue, the flavours of spit and heat and cinammon all bursting together in Dean's mouth. But it wasn't; God, it wasn't. Dean moaned around Castiel's mouth. Without breaking their kiss, Castiel reached down and took another generous helping of pie. Dean closed his eyes and lost himself to the sensation and taste of Castiel's fingers intertwining with his tongue as warm apple pie was pushed into Dean's open mouth.

"Oh my god, Cas," Dean said, breathless, when Cas stopped sucking on his lips to trail vanilla icecream down his neck and onto his chest. Cas paid him no mind, however, his eyes raking over Dean's heaving chest, fingers trailing in the sticky mess. "What you do to me..."

Dean arched up so that he could push Castiel backwards, hoping to repay the favor or even the playing field, but Castiel pushed him down into the mattress effortlessly. He licked a stripe of melted icecream up from Dean's ribcage to his clavicle, the creamy white liquid pooling at the corner of his mouth. Dean whimpered at the sight, his wrists pinned down by Cas' strong hold above his head.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean said, hips thrusting into air as Castiel continued to spread sugared substances over his naked flesh. "Fuck, I woke you up to... Oh! Fuck! To blow you or - yes, fuck, baby you can, yeah, Cas, mark me- return the... nngh, favour!"

Dean was determined to get his thought out despite the way Castiel's mouth had latched onto his nipple, hard. Castiel had been so patient with Dean, so loving. Dean had wanted to do the work, and yet here he was, being pleasured beyond reason once again.

Castiel stopped sucking a mark on Dean's chest long enough to look up at Dean and tilt his head in confusion.

"I don't understand..." Castiel said, frowning up at Dean as if they were discussing possible paint colours for the living room. As if Castiel's mouth and chin weren't glistening with sugar and cinnamon and melted vanilla icecream. Fuck. Castiel expression suddenly cleared. "Oh!" he chuckled. "You think that watching you come apart under my hands is some sort of chore that needs to be repaid."

Castiel outright laughed at that, looking heavenwards as if sharing a joke with God himself, and continued licking at the mess on Dean's torso. He paused again, mouth twisting in regret as it disconnected with Dean's skin and he looked up at Dean. Eyes blazing, he let go of Dean's wrists and guided one of his hands lower. Leading Dean's hand to his crotch, a jolt ran through Dean at the feel of Castiel, hard, wet, and aching.

"Do you feel that?" Cas asked, thrusting a little into Dean's hand and eyes fluttering as he let out a small moan. "Feel what you do to me, Dean," he said, voice low and and commanding, eyes burning into Dean's once again.

Dean did not whimper... very loudly, anyway.

"I'm," Dean started, but found he had to inhale rather sharply as Castiel took him in his mouth briefly. "I'm a mess..."

Castiel smiled from behind Dean's hard cock, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

"Yes," Castiel said, running his fingers through the liquid pooled at Dean's bellybutton. "I've made a very big mess out of you."

"And the sheets," Dean supplied helpfully.

"Indeed," Castiel agreed, leaning forward to lick at the soft skin of Dean's stomach.

"It's gross," Dean complained half heartedly, as Castiel continued to lap his skin.

"Revolting," Castiel said between hums of delight. "We should get you clean."

Dean smiled, pushing himself up onto his elbows just as Castiel's tongue brushed the tip of his cock teasingly.

"Hmm, maybe," Dean said, making Castiel look up suspiciously. "But you're already all clean..."

Castiel was caught off guard, and Dean used the opportunity to flip their position so that he was on top.

"Your turn, baby," Dean said playfully.

When Dean awoke, it was in Cas' guest bedroom. He was pleasantly sore and still enveloped by a very warm, very pliant Cas. Groaning happily, Dean let himself smile as he thought about the pie, the ice cream, the shower, the very dirty sheets... Castiel hadn't even batted an eye at the complete disaster that was his bedroom.

"That's what guest rooms are for," Cas had said, shrugging as he stripped the bed of its dessert covered sheets dutifully before dropping his towel into the laundry basket and marching an incredulous Dean to the other room.

Slowly, slowly, the afterglow of good sex and 6 feet of perfect lemonade stand owner began to fade as he remembered what events had led him to last night.

"Ugh," he groaned, much less happily, as he attempted to shut out the world with blankets.

"Dean?" Castiel said, his voice muffled by a pillow.

Dean wiggled out of Castiel's grasp, grumbling and reluctantly making his way to the bathroom.

"Dean!" Castiel said, sitting straight up in bed.

"I'll be right back, baby," Dean said. He winked on his way out.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" Dean asked for the third time.

"Yes," Castiel said calmly. He was behind the wheel of the impala because Dean had felt too jittery to drive.

"Because you can just drop me off, you don't need to..." Dean started for the millionth time.

"Dean," Castiel said, and Dean snapped his mouth closed.

"Thank you," he muttered, and Castiel dropped a hand to squeeze Dean's between them. His other hand turned the wheel so that they pulled into a parking spot in the hospital's lot.

Sam was waiting outside, dressed in slacks and a button up. Dean looked down at Cas' ACDC shirt and his ripped jeans, suddenly embarrassed. It was absurd. Who was there to watch? It wasn't ceremonious. It was a goddamn death party. Was the dress code supposed to be suit and tie?

"Why'd you go all Connecticut casual on us, Sammy?" Dean said by way of greeting. Sam shrugged and the tips of his ears turned red.

"I don't know, man... I was so nervous..." Sam replied, and Dean swallowed.

I know, he thought morosely to himself. God, don't I know.

Out loud, he simply grunted and rolled his eyes, walking past Sam into the hospital. He turned back when he noticed no one was following him and he saw Castiel give Sam a hug, his fingers grasping the ridiculous white dress shirt Sammy wore tightly. Dean's chest ached at the gesture, and his mind spun out fantasies of Cas and Sammy nudging each other at the end of a pew lined aisle.

He shook his head, clearing it.

One crisis at a time, he thought forcefully, calling out for them to get on with their chick flick.

The hospital staff was very polite. The nurses had still been changing the colostomy bags and checking John's vitals even though Dean could't help but think it was useless. The man was a potato. How much care did he really need in this state? More importantly, how much care did John even deserve? Dean still hadn't answered those questions once the doctor had explained the process and told them to "take as much time as they wanted" because "the schedule was just a suggestion". Dean had grumbled something about "not so call us back as soon as possible, Mr. Winchester now, are we doc?" But Sammy had elbowed him in the ribs, hard, so he hadn't repeated it for the doctor when he'd asked.

After Dr. Avery had left them, Sam had immediately walked into the room without hesitation. Dean, however, stayed glued to the floor of the hallway, Castiel standing conflicted by his side.

"I'd ask what's wrong, but..." Castiel smiled wryly at Dean, who huffed a strangled chuckle, his hands shaking where he grasped them in front of him. Castiel's mouth pulled down at the corners and he moved forward so that they were face to face, and Dean's darting eyes had to focus on Castiel's blue ones.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said tentatively. Castiel just stared, which Dean took to be a yes. "Do you... This is fucking weird, I know, but would you... Do you wanna meet my dad?"

The words left him in a rush, the sound more breath than voice, and Castiel's expression turned from concern to something much, much softer. Gaze wide and shiny, Cas nodded. They let go of each other's hands so that Dean could lead him inside the room, and Dean saw Cas reach up to wipe his eyes.

"Should I be nervous?" Castiel asked, clearly attempting to lighten the mood with bad humour as his voice cracked a little on the last word.

"Yeah," Dean said, faring just as badly as he sniffled loudly. "Don't be offended if he doesn't chat much; kind of a dick, really..."

When they walked in, Sam looked up from where he had been bent over John's pale face, his expression questioning until he noticed Cas holding Dean's hand.

"Sammy, could you..." Dean started, but Sam shook his head, already moving towards the door.

"I'll give you guys a minute," Sam said, heading out. "I'll be back with some coffee."

Dean's shoulders eased a little as he led Castiel to the side of the hospital bed. John's chest rose and fell with the sound of air being pumped through the many tubes and machines whirring beside him. Dean bit his lip, resolve wavering, and looked at the man lying in front of him. He tried to remember the John who cooked breakfast for his wife in the mornings, the one who told Dean all about Baby and how much she meant to him, the John who cared about his family... But the only memories Dean could conjure up were those of getting yelled at for letting Sam go on a field trip, of wishing he could sign up for the high school baseball team, but knowing they couldn't afford the sign up fees and the liquor bill that month... Dean sighed as he brought a hand up to his eyes in grief, in anger, in sorrow over the lost years he'd spent trying so hard just to make it work, please God let this work so Sammy could be safe, so they could get some groceries, so they could make it out of this shithole town.

He looked up, steeling himself.

"Cas," he said, gesturing to the man under the white sheets. "Meet my dad, John. John," he said, feeling slightly ridiculous. "This is... This is Cas."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Cas said softly.

Dean nearly broke then, but Cas squeezed his hand.

"I think he likes me," Cas said, biting his lip. Dean let go of a sound that was half sob, half laughter.

"Nah," Dean said, shaking his head as he wiped his cheeks again. "He can tell you topped last night."

"No way," Castiel said, leaning in closer to John. "Your son thinks you don't know about the wonders of prostate stimulation, poor kid!"

Dean barked out a loud laugh, unable to hold back his disgust and amusement at the idea of homophobic John taking it up the ass. A passing nurse frowned disapprovingly at him from hallway, but he didn't care.

"This is stupid," Dean said, moving so that he could wrap his arms around Cas' waist from behind. "I don't know why I wanted to do this..." He mumbled into Cas' hair, inhaling the scent and dropping a kiss to his neck. Castiel leaned back, covering Dean's hands with his own.

"It's not stupid, Dean," Castiel replied, shaking his head slightly. "I wish I could have met him when he was awake."

"No you don't," Dean laughed bitterly. "He would have hated you."

"Maybe," Cas said. "But I would have liked to have tried to convince him otherwise."

Dean hummed at that, closing his eyes and burying his face in Cas' hair, happy that he could be there at all, that even though it was silly, John had sort of met Cas. And Cas had sort of met John. Dean was so busy thinking about how this meeting would have gone if both parties were actually conscious that he didn't notice Sam's return until a warm cup of coffee was being pressed into his hand. He opened his eyes and smiled gratefully at his little brother, who, to his credit, didn't even blink at Dean and Cas' position.

"They said they'd be in here soon," Sam said quietly. Dean nodded, but his hold on Castiel's waist tightened. "I could tell them we need a little more time if you want..."

"Nah," Dean said, taking a deep breath. "It's time."

The ordeal was quick. The nurse waited while the instruments beeped on for a few minutes. They had been warned this might happen. It was normal. And eventually the monitor flat lined, the wires were unplugged, and they were told they could stay or leave, but that he was gone.

All three of them had eaten dinner in the hospital together, the drab cafeteria food matching their sullen demeanor. Sam had excused himself to go finish packing and Castiel had offered to drive Dean back to his house.

It was awkward, watching Cas leave. He climbed into his car, his shirt in his hand, and reversed out of the driveway, smiling a little sadly until he finally drove away. Dean clenched the clothes Castiel had given back to him, resisting the urge to sniff them, pathetically wondering if he had washed them with his detergent so they could still smell a little like Cas. Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, Dean walked back into John's house. Or, his house. The house.

Dean took a shower and got ready for bed, brushing his teeth at a snail's pace and finally stripping down to slip into his bed. The comforter felt cold despite the late summer's heat, and he shivered in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe he should have been more upset over his father's death. He tried to find it in himself to cry or worry about the fact that he was now a home owner, that he was sleeping in his dead dad's bed, that he had unplugged his dad that very same day... but instead, Dean just felt alone. Totally, incredibly, crushingly alone. He fell asleep to thought of a warm body pressed closed to him and messy bedhead hair tickling his face in the morning.

Dean woke up at the ungodly hour of six in the morning because of his early night the day before and he was determined to be productive. Grabbing some toast and peanut butter, Dean strapped on his running shoes, ready for a long run to get his day started.

Though he had to stop a few times, Dean made it 6 miles before deciding to call it quits. Normally, he would jog in a loop, bringing him close or back to the house, but today had been a spontaneous, push yourself until you aren't numb anymore kind of run, so Dean found himself quite a ways from his house, with only a vague sense of where he was. Fishing for his cellphone, he stared at the little blue dot that was his position on the map application he had downloaded on his phone but hardly ever used. Eyes scanning the neighbourhood, he realized he wasn't too far from...

He checked the time: half past eight. He checked the skies: clear, blue, without a cloud in sight. He chewed on his lip. Maybe...

No. He had told himself he wouldn't do this. They hadn't discussed it. Everything was the same, they hadn't talked about anything changing. The situation remained and Cas had to go back. He had to.

Though Dean knew these thoughts to be true, he still found himself settling into a jog in the general direction of Cas' house and soon enough he was running at a brisk pace, heart racing with possibilities.

They had spent the whole day together. Cas had met John, he'd cried with Dean, they'd... made love. Dean grimaced at his own sappy phrasing, but kept running anyway. They had. They'd been together and for Dean it had felt... God, it had felt perfect. Why hadn't he told Cas how perfect it had felt? Dean picked up his pace despite the protest of his muscles and thought about the way Cas' eyes had widened when he'd breached him, the way his breath had hitched when Dean had gotten down on his knees the morning after in the kitchen. Cas must have felt it too. This had changed everything. Yesterday was special. It was perfect. They could make it work, as long as Dean just explained, just told Cas how he really felt, he was sure of it.

He slowed his steps as Cas' house finally, finally came into view, and tried to catch his breath a little as he approached. He needed a strategy. He needed a plan. He needed to be able to form a word between winded breaths when he finally saw the damn man.

But just as Dean's breathing approached a normal rate, he felt a shock like a punch to the chest as he noticed the house.

Or, perhaps more specifically, he noticed the sign in front of the house:

"FOR SALE."

Dean bent over to put his hands on his knees, his vision going black for a second as he tried to process what he was seeing. When had Cas told him he was leaving? What day was it? Dean wracked his brain for the details, but couldn't remember for the life of him. He looked up desperately from where he was standing a few meters away from the sign and saw that the driveway to the house was empty, and the curtains were drawn in all the windows. Cas kept them open, Dean knew, because he liked the natural light and claimed sunshine was good for "souls". Dean had scoffed at his logic, but now he saw that the house looked much better with the curtains open. He understood it now. This house looked as empty as the shell of his father that laid on that hospital bed after the machines stopped their incessant beeping.

Nothing had changed.

Cas was gone.

Dean showered upon his return, still numb from his discovery on his run. Sam called him, and Dean made arrangements to drive him to the airport, grabbing his keys and taking him out to a late lunch before the departure. After what felt like only a few rushed minutes, Sam was standing at security, squirming as Dean checked his carry on and smoothed Sam's t-shirt absently.

"Come on, Dean, I gotta go!" Sam said, shrugging off Dean's attempt to muss Sam's hair.

"I know, I know," Dean said, settling for a tap on Sammy's head. Sam scowled at him.

"Don't die, alright little brother?" Dean said gruffly, his voice shaking a little. He clenched his jaw and lifted his chin, nodding once at Sam who rolled his eyes. Sam pulled Dean in for a hug, burying his nose in Dean's neck like when they were kids. Dean felt tears prick at his eyes, but he cleared his throat, willing them away.

"I could still stay, Dean," Sam said, pulling back, expression slightly panicked as he glanced over at the large line of people going through security.

"And waste a plane ticket? No way!" Dean said, feigning annoyance. Quieter, he added, "You're gonna do great, Sammy."

Sam looked like he might cry too, so Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"You better kick ass down there!" Dean said, grinning despite the gaping hole in his chest. "And get some, too, of course."

Sam ignored his last comment and just pulled Dean in for another hug.

"Alright, get outta here, Sammy, or you'll miss your flight," Dean said, pushing him away. "Love you," he mumbled, barely loud enough to be heard.

"Love you too, jerk!" Sammy called back, loud enough for everyone to hear and grinning widely.

Bastard, Dean thought.

"Bitch!" Dean yelled back at Sam, just as he was entering the security check in. He looked back and waved frantically, smile wide. Dean waved back until he couldn't see him anymore.

The next few days were difficult. Though Dean had known Sammy was leaving, he hadn't fully grasped the idea that he wouldn't be around. The goodbye at the airport was hard, but Dean had said goodbye before, it was nothing new. What was worse was the constant reminder that Dean couldn't just go over to Sammy's place. There was no Sammy's place. And then whenever he found that weird, he would think about calling Cas to tell him about it. But there was no calling Cas, either. And Dean was just reminded that he was very, very alone.

But it wasn't all bad.

In fact, the next couple of weeks became about the garage. Sam called every few days; Dean couldn't tell who was checking up on whom because they both insisted on asking a million questions to make sure they were both doing okay. Dean always ended those calls with a smile, his jaw a little sore from all the laughing and grinning he had done during their conversations. Sam was adjusting well, hanging out with a dude called Kevin a lot, even going over to this kid's mom's place for dinner sometime. Sam had already invited Dean over about a hundred times, insisting that he hadn't lived until he had tried an In-and-Out burger, trying to convince Dean that the plane ride was worth it, acquiescing when Dean would counter that a good long road trip might do Baby some good... But Dean was happy.

Freed of most of his responsibilities, Dean spent a lot of time working on what was soon becoming his own business. Though he still worked out of Bobby's garage, as August bled into September, Dean realized that he hadn't changed a car's oil, besides his own Baby's, in over a month. He had been working on a beautiful old mustang for a certain Mr. Gilmore when he had had the epiphany and he had stopped working just to properly think about the matter. He immediately wracked his brains to try and figure out when was the last time he had even worked on a project for Bobby, but couldn't for the life of him remember.

Taking a moment to stop working, Dean walked into Bobby's office, concerned.

"Hey, Bobby, can I talk to you a minute?" Dean asked without preamble. Bobby looked up from a screen with several spreadsheet open, taking his glasses off and scowling up at Dean.

"What's wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean bit his lip, already feeling guilty but knowing it was best to own up to it straight away. He hadn't really worked for the man in a whole month.

"Listen, I was thinking about it... And I realized I ain't really been workin' for you much this past month..." Dean said, hanging his head. "I was so caught up with everything with Dad and Sam and..." Dean swallowed, deciding to halt his train of thought. "Anyway, I'm sorry. I've just been havin' so much fun with the old girls, I forgot about you. I really appreciate you giving me this opportunity and I don't wanna be ungrateful... I gotta finish this last mustang, but I can go back to oil changes for a while. I'm sure your boys are tired of the unfair treatment..."

At his own words, Dean was suddenly struck with the idea of a rotation. He wondered in horror if Bobby would start letting the boys take a stab at the classic so that it was fairer. He tried to justify it to himself, rationalizing that these were trained mechanics, that they could probably handle a body job or ordering parts online... It wasn't rocket science after all. But Dean just knew they wouldn't make sure the spark plugs were screwed in extra tight on the older models because the Fords made before 1980 tended to get loose, or they probably wouldn't balance the tires on a classic Chevy a half an inch off because a bunch of them had a factory default that was off by a little in 1943... Then again, Dean could probably fix whatever was done off his rotation; it would just mean a little extra work, a little useless energy spent...

"What are you yappin' on about?" Bobby cut into his thoughts. Dean sighed and looked him squarely in the eye.

"I'm sorry I've been monopolizing all my time with the classics. I know that ain't the job you hired me for, so I'll work harder to do that stuff on my own time from now on," Dean said resolutely, making to turn away and exit the office.

"What?" Bobby exclaimed. Dean paused. "Dean. I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

Dean took a deep breath, ready to apologize again, when Bobby got up and around the desk to clap Dean on the back.

"Business has been booming since you took over that annex and started working on the classic cars. People see those old beaut's and they think we're pretty classic too. Suddenly that rusty old sign is 'vintage' or somethin' and half the yuppies up from KC are makin' a bee line for Singer Auto... Bunch a' idjits, if you ask me. We've always been top notch, don't need any kinda trend for good mechanics..." Bobby grumbled, and Dean cleared his throat to get him back on topic. "Anyway, I been thinkin' 'bout your little projects for a while now, and I had my lawyer buddy draw up some contracts..."

Bobby leaned back and grabbed some papers from the desk littered in paperwork behind him.

"You don't gotta decide right now, but I figure you can take a look at them, tell me what you think..." Bobby said, voice gruff. Dean stared down at the small print. "Basically I thought you and I could go into business together. You could own the annex, start something for yourself, and I'd be a kinda... uh, silent partner of sorts."

Dean stood, dumbfounded.

"Like I said, you don't gotta decide now. Take a coupla' days, let me know," Bobby said, and turned back to his desk. When Dean still hadn't moved, Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well? Go on, then. Git!"

Dean finally snapped out of his shocked state and left the office, mind distracted as he decided to head home for the day.

Once home, Dean decided to clean the house to clear his mind a little. Did he really want this? Was this what he wanted from his life? A picture of that country house, of a tailored suit and laughing kid flashed through his mind for a moment, but he dismissed it sadly. The whole idea had a faded, sunny brightness to it, like an old photograph or a dream in his mind. Dean pushed it aside as he swept up the living room, moving to the kitchen when he finished there and finding that his stove top and counters were already spotless. Desperate, Dean opened the freezer, hoping that since he hadn't touched it in a month, preferring to eat fresh from the farmer market (seeing as he was apparently a masochist), there would be something worth throwing out there. He shuffled a frozen pizza to the back, wondering if he would ever get around to eating that, when a red bow caught his eye.

At the back of his freezer, settled neatly between a questionable slab of greying meat and canned juice, was a large mason jar topped with an equally large red bow. The mason jar looked to be filled with a yellow tinged frozen liquid, and Dean was pulling it out before he could stop himself. There was a note dangling from the cold metal top, and Dean nearly tore it in his haste to read the damn thing.

"Dean," it read, and he could immediately tell it was Sam's loopy handwriting. A small part of him was disappointed, but he read on regardless.

"Cas gave me this before he left. He explained a little, and I'm sorry you guys broke up. He told me to keep this lemonade frozen because even off season it is a delicious treat, and it made me think of you. I know you hate lemonade, and I know this summer was hard. But I kind of hoped you would find this when I'm gone and be reminded that life has seasons too. And summer might be over, but fall's just starting now.

Don't hold yourself back because you're scared of moving forward, okay? You think the only way I can succeed is if you fail, like there's some sort of balance in the world that prevents both of us from being happy... But you're wrong. So don't wait around on the sidelines of my race, just cheering me on... Shit. I used a jogging metaphor. Whatever, Dean. You know what I meant. Just... When life gives you lemons, right?

Anyway, you're still a jerk,

Sammy"

Dean clutched at the frozen note. Sam had taken the time to find some kind of waxed paper because it hadn't crumpled or been affected by the slight freezer burn at all. Plus, Cas had clearly allowed for the expansion of the lemonade when it was frozen, which made Dean smile in a way that almost didn't hurt.

Sammy was right.

Dean put the mason jar down on the table and got up. He grabbed his leather jacket and took out the papers from Bobby, unfolding them carefully and setting them on the table once he returned to the kitchen. Staring at them, he thought about what Sam had written, and how perfect that kid's timing was even when he wasn't doing it on purpose. He shook his head, smiling.

Life has seasons too.

And maybe Alastair was the winter of Dean's life- cold and grey and hopeless. Dean could remember the emptiness, the feeling of death inside. But if Alastair was winter, meeting Cas was the full heat of summer. The time they had together was sunshine and flowers and god damn lemonade.

But summer was over now, and Dean had to decide.

Fall often meant death and decay; fallen leaves and brisk weather... But fall also meant school starting, Cas working as a CEO, new beginnings. When Dean had thought of them before, he'd felt lost, he'd felt alone. But now, Dean could see it for himself, too.

"Well," he said to himself, clicking the back of a pen he pulled from his flannel shirt. "Let's make some lemonade..."