Author's Note: So, ummmm, that time I said this would be the last chapter? Lies. There will be an epilogue-y type wrappy uppy thing after this bruiser, then that's all folks. I swear it's true this time *sweats nervously*


Dean's awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of Castiel groaning. He's alert in an instant, jarred by the distress behind the sound and by how violently his friend is shaking. Cas is so hot in his arms Dean's own body is covered in sweat just from proximity to him.

"Cas," Dean croaks, voice sleep-hoarse, as he props himself up on an elbow. "Are you okay?"

Another noise of dismay breaks from Castiel's throat and he starts squirming on the sheets.

"Cas, wake up, buddy," Dean murmurs, touching the backs of his fingers to Cas's cheek. His skin feels as though a sun is burning inside him.

"Dean, please," Cas moans, curling in on himself. "I'm sorry, so sorry."

"You got nothing to be sorry for, man."

"I didn't want to hurt you. She made me. Over and over, she made me."

Dean's head jerks back. Evidently Cas is still unconscious, and having some pretty unpleasant fever dreams. He wonders if the "she" he mentioned is Naomi.

When Dean smoothes his fingers down Cas's cheek again, they come away wet with what Dean initially thinks is sweat, but when he looks closer, forcing his eyes to focus in the low light, he discovers it to be tears. Worry clamps in his chest like a vice.

"Come on, baby, wake up," Dean coos, and then flinches in embarrassment because he just called his best friend "baby" and he has no idea where that came from. For the sake of Castiel, though, who probably didn't hear him anyway, he shoves his discomfort aside.

With a careful pull Dean turns Cas onto his back. He's stiff with tension from the shivers quaking through his body, and his eyes are squeezed shut.

"Cas," Dean tries again. He cards his fingers through dark hair as he leans over him.

Suddenly Castiel's eyes fly open, locking on Dean's with such an intensity behind them that he glimpses the angel for the first time since he fell. In a burst of movement, Cas's arms hook around Dean's back and yank him down on top of him.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Just a dream," Dean whispers as Cas clings to him, fingers clawing at his shirt. He's panting and Dean can hear him wheeze, struggling around the gunk in his lungs. Dean wedges his arms under Cas's shoulders, holding him. "Calm down or you're gonna' give yourself a fit."

Slowly, as though he can't help but follow Dean's command, Cas relaxes beneath him. Only then does Dean realize what an incriminating position he's gotten himself into. With one leg between Cas's thighs, his entire front is blanketed down onto his friend, who is currently breathing hotly into the side of his neck. His pelvis is lined up with Cas's hip, his mouth brushing against Cas's collar bone…and on top of that he just called the guy "baby" by accident. Wherever Dean's line lies with Cas, it's definitely been crossed.

Yet, just as he's about to pull away, Cas says something that stops him right in his tracks.

"Something's wrong."

He sounds so panicked, so certain, that it sends off about fifty alarm bells in Dean's head. Dean pushes up on his forearms so he can look down Cas's face. Tear tracks stripe his cheeks, which are deathly pale, and his eyes shine unnaturally with the sway of fever. He's looking into Dean's eyes with a silent plea for help woven into the blue of his irises.

"What's wrong?"

"It's all…everything aches. I'm too hot and too cold. I don't know, I…I just feel wrong."

"The fever is spiking."

"Yes, I think so."

"We need to get you in a bath," Dean states low, clarity of purpose washing over him. He has a mission and suddenly nothing else matters other than bringing down the fever.

"Okay," Cas replies, nodding.

Dean grabs the thermometer off the nightstand, pressing the button and sliding it between Cas's lips.

"Hold that under your tongue while I carry you."

Folding away the covers, Dean tumbles off his friend and gets to his feet. He takes hold of Cas's biceps and drags him into a sitting position before pulling him to the edge of the mattress.

"Put your arms around my neck," he orders, slipping his hands under Castiel's ass as the man complies. With a grunt, he picks Cas up into his arms, feeling his own knees shake at the burden of dead weight. Cas's legs hang limply at Dean's sides and his arms drape over Dean's shoulders.

It's a grueling walk to the bathroom since Dean's already sore from the day before and Cas feels infinitely heavier when he's not helping Dean hold onto him. Fortunately, the bathroom closest to Dean's room has the only bath in the building; an old, clawfoot tub that they've never used. Dean prays that it's in working order as he shuffles down the hall.

He kicks open the bathroom door and trundles to the tub, depositing Cas on the floor against the wall.

"Hang in there for me, alright?" Dean pleads as he rotates the faucet handles. Thankfully, no questionable liquid pours from the tap so it appears to be functional. Dean plugs the drain and adjusts the temperature. He knows from experience with Sam that room temperature water is better than cold water, unless he wants Cas to go into shock or exacerbate his shivering.

The thermometer beeps as the tub is filling and Dean extracts it from Castiel's mouth since he doesn't seem inclined to use his arms any time soon.

"Fuck, 103.6. Shit." Cas looks at him with anxious, dilated eyes. "I mean, uh, you'll be fine. We'll get it down."

"Please don't take me to the hospital," Cas begs. His voice is cracking and small. Dean sighs.

"I'll try my best not to."

"He'll get me there."

"Who will get you?" Dean asks, perplexed, as he swishes the bathwater with his hand to blend it.

"Lucifer. He's there. I left him there."

Dean freezes and slowly turns his head to really look at Cas's face. He's alabaster pale, the dark circles under his eyes like smudges, his mouth downturned in a pout.

"Cas, Lucifer's gone," Dean assures him, flicking the moisture from his fingers and scooting across the tiles. He kneels between Cas's legs and clutches his shoulder.

"He told me you'd left me. Over and over, he—why did you leave me? I'm sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong, so wrong, and then you left. I ruined it. I ruined everything and now you don't want me anymore-"

"Shhh, Cas, what? No-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't give me back to him. He told me, he said you didn't need me. He said you were never coming back—"

Cas's breath is catching on every pull, his rumbling lungs threatening to send him into a fit at any moment.

Acting on instinct, desperate to calm his friend, Dean leans forward and kisses him beside the corner of his mouth. It's a short, passionless touch, nothing more than a desperate method of startling Cas out of his panic attack. Cas's skin is shockingly warm against Dean's cool lips, and when he pulls back Cas is staring at him, mouth open, his blue eyes wide and bewildered.

"You kissed me," he whispers, proving that Dean's distraction tactic was evidently successful.

"I did, didn't I."

Before Dean can process the implications of what he's done or Cas's reaction to it, Cas takes Dean's face in his hands and falls forward, locking their lips together.

For a moment, Dean's stunned, his eyes flying open and his hands suspended in air.

As soon as he comes back to himself, Dean pushes Castiel away with a gentle hand on his chest. Cas falls back against the wall, looking confused and hurt and not entirely sure where he is.

"Dean, I—I'm sorry—"

"It's fine. You're not, uh, yourself, so just…

"Dean—"

"Just forget it happened, alright?" he snaps a little more harshly than he intended. Cas recoils, drawing in on himself.

"Oh, your bath should be ready," Dean stammers, scampering away from Cas and returning to the tub faucet, grateful for an escape. He knows his face is flushed and his hands tremble when they fiddle with the valves to turn off the flow. While he's not entirely sure what he's doing when it comes to caring for Cas, he's fairly certain sending mixed romantic signals isn't the best course of action. He's unsure, flustered, and even guilty because he worries he just took advantage of a sick guy who has no control over his actions.

Bringing down Cas's fever quickly proves to be a sufficiently distracting task over freaking out, because Dean immediately reverts back into "mission mode." He can tell that Cas is having trouble supporting himself against the wall, tipping over every few seconds before he remembers to right himself.

Dean resolves that the only thing that matters is subduing the fever. Analyzing the kiss he just shared with his best friend until he makes himself crazy can wait.

"Come here," Dean says, crouching next to Cas and gripping the hem of his t-shirt. "We'll take off your shirt and your pants but leave your boxers on." He makes his tone as clinical as possible so Cas doesn't incorrectly interpret his intentions, though he's apparently not very successful because Cas blushes for the second time in memory. The pretty pink flush on his white cheeks is very hard to ignore, but Dean manages.

Cas doesn't stop staring at him, even when Dean tugs the shirt over his head, tousling his hair, or drags his pajama bottoms down his legs. For a fleeting moment Dean is distracted by the fact that Cas is still wearing his underwear, but he swiftly succeeds in focusing again.

"I'm gonna' pick you up, alright?"

Cas blinks at him but doesn't nod or speak. He appears to be having difficulty focusing.

On a deep breath, Dean hooks one arm under Cas's knees, the other around his back, and hauls him up into his arms. He takes the few steps to the tub, stumbling only a little, and slowly lowers Cas down. His abs quiver from bearing the weight, but he does his best to gradually introduce Cas to the bath. Castiel inhales sharply at the first cool touch of water, but doesn't struggle, sitting in the tub with his knees pulled up when Dean releases him. His eyes remain married to Dean's face.

"Better?" Dean asks. Cas nods, blinking and finally looking away to eye the water, as though he only just realized it was there. Dean retrieves two towels from beside the sink, one for him to kneel on and the other for Cas, and returns to the tub. After setting up his make-shift cushion, he dips the smaller towel in the water and squeezes out the excess. He seals it over Castiel's forehead, imagining he could almost see steam rise from his skin.

"This should cool you down a bit," Dean mutters to himself as he strokes the towel through Cas's hair and down the back of his neck. Cas leans forward obediently to accept the washing. Dean dips the towel back into the water and swipes it across his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Dean just barely hears Cas whisper into his knees.

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I thought…I thought you—"

"Doesn't matter," Dean interjects, praying to avoid a conversation about the kiss-that-must-not-be-named.

"I don't know why I did it. I should have known you'd—"

"Cas, please, just relax, man. What happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom."

Cas shifts back and tilts his head. Dean has trouble meeting his eyes.

"Is that what you want?" he asks.

Dean's dumbstruck for a stretch of time, his thoughts lodged somewhere between processing the way Cas is looking at him and the impossibility of answering appropriately.

"I want you to feel better," he hears himself say.

"Why?"

It's such a paradoxically bizarre yet simple question that for a while Dean isn't sure how to reply. While he contemplates he continues to wash Castiel's shoulders, using his task as a reason to avoid eye contact.

"I care about you," is what he eventually comes up with. It's minimal but it gets his point across without too much exposure.

"Why?"

"Jesus, Cas, I dunno. You want a list of reasons?"

"Yes."

Dean's about to snap at him that he's not into stroking anyone's ego, but he's held back by the sheer vulnerability of Castiel's position. He looks like a soft breeze would knock him over, exhausted and almost naked with his best friend washing his back because he can barely lift his head. There was a time when Cas could slaughter a roomful of demons with a swish of his wrist, and now he's vanquished by a fever.

"You're funny," Dean blurts out, causing Cas's eyebrow to arch in curiosity. "I mean, you make me laugh, even if it's by accident. And you've been there for me when it really mattered. Uh…most of the time. Sam likes you, which is big for me. And you…uh…you know who I am."

Cas nods at the last, fond yet perfectly serious.

"Maybe even more than I know who I am," Dean adds. Cas nods again.

"I miss seeing your soul," Cas rasps on a rattling breath. It's a strange thing to hear from anyone, but Dean's used to Cas being odd so he's curious before he can help it.

"What did it look like?"

A wistful expression conquers Cas's face, his eyes going distant, as though he's mesmerized by the memory.

"Magnificent," he murmurs.

Dean swallows so hard it hurts. His face heats and he has to look away again. His lips tingle with the ghost of their kiss.

"Maybe you're biased," he hazards, ruffling Cas's hair with the towel in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Maybe," Cas concedes. Dean can hear him smile around the word.

Dean clears his throat before he says "we should take your temp again." He snatches up the thermometer from where it dropped to the tiles when he picked Cas up, cleans it off on the towel, and inserts it back into Cas's mouth.

He continues to wash Cas's back while they wait for it to beep, doing his best to ignore the way Cas is scrutinizing him.

"Maybe you just say that about the souls of all the poor, attractive bastards you pluck outta' hell," Dean quips, teasing.

Cas fervently shakes his head and hums a negative around the thermometer in his mouth.

"Just me then? I'm flattered, Cas."

The thermometer beeps and Dean grabs it.

"102.9. That's better, but still not great. I'd like to keep an eye on it, make sure it doesn't get any worse, okay? I think the best thing for you is sleep. If I take you back to bed do you think you can pass out again?"

"Yes. I'm very tired."

"Good. Then let's get you out of the tub. Can you stand?"

"If you help me…"

"O'course."

After unplugging the drain, Dean gathers a large, fluffy towel from the wrack beside the sink and drapes it over his shoulder. Forsaking any embarrassment of how Cas's wet boxers hide exactly nothing, Dean hooks his hands under Cas's armpits and drags him to his feet. He wraps the towel around Cas's torso, holding onto him while he finds his balance. Cas's teeth chatter as Dean rubs his hands up and down his sides to dry him off.

"This isn't gonna' be the most graceful thing in the world but bear with me."

As carefully as possible, Dean wraps one arm around Cas's waist, the other behind his knees, and lifts him into a bridal carry. He stumbles back, almost falling on his ass, but steadies himself.

The return journey to his room is worse than before since Dean's muscles have officially hit their limit for the night. When Dean finally sits Cas down on the foot of his bed he's breathing heavy and swearing off burgers for the rest of eternity.

"Left your clothes in the bathroom and I really don't feel like getting them," he pants, yanking open his dresser drawer to pull out his last pair of pajamas, some plaid boxers, and an Iron Man t-shirt. When he turns around, Cas has stripped himself entirely naked.

"We are really going to have to teach you some modesty," Dean grumbles, too tired and worry-worn to bother getting abashed. He pulls the t-shirt over Cas's head, helping him push his arms through the sleeves since his limbs aren't working properly.

With a deep breath, he squats down on the floor, trying to ignore how he's currently eye-level with Castiel's dick, so he can get the man's feet through the boxers. Jaw clenched, he drags them up Castiel's legs, desperately trying to avert his eyes. It's a slow, tortuous slide, with Dean's fingers feeling every inch of skin in staggering detail.

"Arms around my neck so I can lift you," he grits as he reaches Cas's upper thighs. When Cas does as he's told Dean raises him just enough to slot the underwear over his hips. He has to repeat the process with the pajama pants, but it's nowhere near as harrowing with Castiel's groin properly covered.

"Feeling better than before?" Dean asks as he finally tucks Cas under the covers of his bed.

"Yes, Dean."

"Good."

He re-doses him with his various medications and makes him drink half a glass of water.

"Dean?" Cas asks after he's done.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I hate this.

Dean chuckles.

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"Not just being sick."

"Oh?"

"I hate that I need you like this. I hate being a burden. It's the last thing I want."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"I told you it's ok to need someone sometimes. You're not a burden, man. We're family…this is what family does. Besides, it's…it's not like I don't' need you too."

The corners of Cas's crease in some semblance of a smile.

"Don't leave?" he asks, quiet, after a moment.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

It takes a long time for Dean to fall back asleep because he busies himself with rubbing Castiel's back and gauging his temperature every few minutes. Worry has eroded a pit in his stomach. It aches every time he hears Cas mumble or cough faintly in his sleep.

By the time dreams claim him, he's tense and nervous, clinging to Cas's back and burying his face in dark, damp hair.


The first thing Dean is aware of as he gradually climbs into waking is a pleasant feeling in his abdomen. A minute smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he sighs contentedly. He's warm, comfortable. A slow, building pleasure starts dragging up his spine, spreading in his pelvis.

"S'nice," he slurs, eyes shut, savoring the dream, however veiled it is to his cognition. He hasn't had a good sex dream in a while.

"Mmm," someone hums against his chest.

There's a long, silent moment of sleepy incomprehension before Dean's eyelids snap open. He's wide awake in an instant, and blushing fiercely just as fast, because, to his great surprise, his best friend is rutting against his hip.

He's about to speak out and stop this insanity before it goes any further, but the words get stuck somewhere behind his tongue and he's paralyzed. Cas is glued to his side where Dean lies on his back, his arm wrapped tightly around Dean's waist. Dean can feel the bulge of Cas's swollen prick where it rubs up and down the crease of his thigh.

He breaks out in a sweat, his heart beating fast, completely at a loss for what to do. He knows that waking Cas, since he's clearly unconscious, fevered, and totally unaware of what he's doing, will be mortifying for both of them, but he can't exactly let this carry to completion. The idea alone sends fresh rush of heat to his cheeks.

It's only then that Dean realizes his own body has betrayed him, for he's thick and heavy between his legs. Every few thrusts Cas's cloth-covered hardness brushes against his own where its trapped in his pajama pants.

Arousal, terror, and guilt war inside him, yet he doesn't make any move to wake his friend. Dean knows Cas would never consent to rubbing one out on Dean, of all people, if he weren't unconscious and lost in a fever dream. In fact he's pretty sure the guy has never had any kind of sex before.

Then, the word "Dean" rasps from Cas's throat on a moan, totally shattering any delusions about who Cas is imagining, as his friend clings impossibly closer. He snuffles at Dean's collar, scenting him and slipping his thigh between Dean's legs. The change in angle pushes their cocks into blissful alignment between their thin layers of clothing, and Dean has to bite back a grunt. Cas isn't so restrained, groaning into the side of Dean's neck. The sound is what finally spurs Dean into action.

"Cas!" he yelps, shoving himself out of the ex-angel's hold as fast as he can without injuring him.

"Dean?" Cas asks, voice cracking. He blinks slowly into waking, and Dean feels like he can actually watch Cas's thoughts come back online one by one.

At the moment he realizes that what he'd been dreaming wasn't actually a dream, that he really was just thrusting against his best friend's hip, Cas's eyes lock with Dean's in abject horror.

"Was I…I just…I was—"

"Yeah," Dean croaks unhelpfully, grabbing the comforter and whipping it over his waist to hide the obvious tent in his pajamas.

"N -no…please tell me that didn't just—" Cas begs, words cutting off on a gulp. He weaves his fingers into his already messy hair and tugs, rolling over onto his front and burying his face into his pillow.

"Cas, it's oh—"

"No it's not okay!" Cas bellows, words muffled by fabric of his pillow. "Please leave. Please, please just leave."

Dean feels horrible seeing his friend like this and knowing that in some associative way he was the cause, especially considering Cas is so ill.

"Cas," Dean says tentatively, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The second his fingers make contact Cas flinches away violently, hurtling himself into the most brutal coughing fit Dean's seen him have. It's guttural and unrelenting, and Cas curls into himself on his side, clutching his chest like every cough is ripped out of him. Tears fall freely down Cas's cheeks and he trembles so hard the bed shakes. He looks like he's in agony and Dean wants so desperately to rub his back, scratch his head, anything to make it easier, but he knows his touch isn't welcome.

"Please. Please go," Cas whispers wretchedly as the last of the coughs die down.

Dean wants to give Cas what he's asking for more than anything, but duty holds him back.

"I'm sorry, I need to take your temperature," he apologizes, letting all his remorse bleed into the words.

Cas doesn't move as Dean throws the covers aside, his erection now thoroughly killed, and rounds the bed. He exhales, gathering his resolve, as he snatches the thermometer from Cas's nightstand and kneels beside the bed. He doesn't want to loom over Cas for how vulnerable his friend must be feeling, so he makes sure he's at eye level.

Blue, bloodshot eyes won't meet his as Dean eases the thermometer between Cas's lips. Slowly, so as not to spook him, Dean brushes his fingers across Cas's wet cheek and threads them into the hair above his ear.

"Cas," he says. "Look at me, buddy." He knows he's asking a lot, knows that Cas must be so mortified he probably never wants to see Dean again, but in that moment he needs to make this right. He needs to show him that nothing is broken. So many things have tried to tear them apart in the past, to shatter their trust and faith in each other. Dean refuses to let this be what ends them.

Gradually, Cas's tear-brimmed eyes meet his. They're so indescribably sad, laced with humiliation, longing, and fever. Dean never wants Cas to look at him this way again.

"Cas, I don't mind," he begins, unsure of where he's going with this. "What, um…what you were doing." And he finds that as he says the words they sit true on his tongue. "But—"

"Yes?" Cas voice breaks around the thermometer. He looks defeated, readying himself for an inevitable rejection. Dean hates it so much that it makes him bold.

"Next time it might be better if we're both actually awake for you humping my leg. I wouldn't want to miss anything." In true Dean Winchester fashion he shoots Castiel a dazzling smirk, or at least the best he can muster after such a whirlwind of a morning.

Cas stills, staring, and for a moment Dean's worried he's made an egregious misstep, but then a hoarse laugh breaks from Cas's throat and the thermometer falls from his lips.

"Uh-uh!" Dean chides, grabbing it back up and returning it to Cas's mouth. "Fever takes priority. You can marvel at my seductive wit in a minute."

Cas rolls his eyes but obediently holds the thermometer under his tongue.

They sink into each other's gaze as they wait, with their lips curved into modest smiles.

When the device beeps Dean can't unsheathe it from Castiel's mouth fast enough.

"101.5!" he announces, excited. It's still a fever but they're out of the red-zone, and it's enough to ease a deep-seated fear inside him.

Before he realizes what he's doing, he cups Cas's cheek in his hand, leans forward, and kisses him full on the lips. Cas goes stiff under his palm and he clasps Dean's wrist, pulling away.

"Dean, I don't…I don't understand."

"I don't really understand either."

"Last night, in the bathroom, you said it didn't mean anything, to forget it happened. And then just now when I w-was, um," Cas stutters, blushing. Dean wonders if this is going to be a habit with him. If so, he's not complaining. "When you woke up you pushed me away. You were very upset."

"Yeah, well." Dean rubs the back of neck with the hand not held tight in Cas's grasp. "You took me by surprise."

"I swear to you I wasn't aware of what I was doing."

"I know."

"I would never consciously violate you like that."

"Violate? Jesus, Cas, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't like I had uh, no part in it."

"What do you mean?"

Dean fiddles with the sheet.

"I mean I wasn't exactly repulsed by the whole thing before I realized what was happening."

"And after you realized?" Cas asks, cautious.

Dean takes a moment to check in with himself, process his thoughts. In the past he was always uncomfortable with real intimacy of any kind, especially with a man. With Cas in particular, it was never something he didn't want necessarily, just something he never entertained the idea of actually having. It was impossible, out of reach. In fact, Dean never thought he'd live long enough for it to matter anyway. But there he is, mouth inches from Castiel's, who is not only in his bed but wearing his clothes, and he's staring the possibility in the face.

Being reckless always worked for Dean before, and he can't think of a reason in hell, heaven, or purgatory why he should change now.

"I want to kiss you, Cas," he states, bold and unembarrassed.

"I would like that," Cas responds on a broken laugh. He smiles in a way Dean's never seen on him before, his eyes bright.

Surging towards each other, their lips meet. Cas grips the front of Dean's t-shirt, pulling him onto the bed as he turns onto his back. Dean goes willingly and situates himself between Cas's spread legs, bearing down on top of him. He kisses his ex-angel deeply, gripping his neck and guiding Cas since he's the more experienced of the pair. He cants his head to the side so his tongue can delve into the hot cavern of Cas's mouth, nips on the plush swell of Castiel's bottom lip, drags his thumb over the flutter of Cas's pulse point. It's sloppy and instinctual, yet for some reason they slot perfectly together as though they'd done this before in a thousand lifetimes.

He can feel himself growing in his pants as he rolls his hips against his friend's. There's no hesitation, no panic torturing him over the fact that he's kissing a man. It doesn't feel like kissing a man…it feels like kissing Cas, with all his otherworldly awkwardness, inexperience and passion, and it makes all the difference.

Cas makes a sound that's awfully similar to a whimper against his lips, and Dean pulls back to make certain he's not pushing him too far, protectiveness overriding lust.

"Don't you dare stop," Cas commands, voice so low it sends a jolt of tingling heat right to Dean's dick. Cas is squinting at him in warning.

"You're sure you're up for this?

"Obviously."

"But I…I just want to make sure you want this. I mean, really want this not just think you want this because you're juiced up on a fever."

"Dean, that is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, and that's saying something."

"Gee, thanks—"

"You have no comprehension of how certain I am or how long I've been certain. If anything I should be asking you that question. Are you only doing this because you feel pity for me and it's clouding your judgment? If you recall, you're the one who rejected my advances."

"What? Don't be a dumbass. I've had a mancrush on you for, like, eight million years. I just didn't want to take advantage of you and, uh, maybe I wasn't quite comfortable with it yet."

Cas raises his eyebrows.

"If it helps I sort of maybe jerked off thinking about you in the shower yesterday."

Cas stares up at him with a frown, his eyes narrowed. Dean gulps nervously.

"I'm going to need a demonstration of that," Cas states at last.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Now shut up and kiss me."

Cas says "shut up" as though it's some strange human phrase he's test-driving for the first time. Still, Dean's not one to deny Cas anything, so he gives the angel what he wants.

The more they kiss the better it gets, as they discover each other's preferences and find the eb and flow of rhythm. In fact, it's the best make-out Dean's had in a long time, possibly ever, so of course Sam chooses that moment to check on them.

"Oh my fucking God!" Sam squeals, turning on his heel and crashing face-first into the door frame. He flails, cries out, and keels over.

"Son of a bitch, Sammy!" Dean yells, throwing himself off Cas and tumbling, yet again, to the floor. Yeah, his ass is definitely bruised now. "Knocking! How did you never learn to fucking knock, you fucking ninja?"

"Owww," Sam groans from the floor. His hands are covering his nose, which is bleeding.

"You have the most deplorable timing, Sam," Cas gripes from the mattress.

"Sorry! You left the door open…again!" He voice is nasally from pinching his nose.

Dean crawls to Sam on his hands and knees, glaring at him.

"Let me see it," he sighs, gesturing to Sam's nose.

"It's fine!" Sam snaps, staggering to his feet. "You two just…uh…continue doing what you were doing," he stammers, flustered, as he backs up towards the door. "And I want you to know that I fully support all of…all this." He rounds on his heel and slams right back into the door frame. "Damnit!"

Dean and Castiel can't help but break into a fit of giggles. Sam flips them off with a bloody finger as he staggers back into the hall.


Author's Note: I love you like I love making Sam walk into doors.