AN: Hello again my lovelies. :) I have been plotting this chapter for a while now, and wanted to let y'all know that yes, it starts out sad. Yes, it may be sad… BUT-after this it will rapidly become happier and fluffy and more adorable than ever. Sadly the end draws nigh! Anywho, like I've mentioned in every other chapter, disclaimers are the SAME, and umm… Yeah. See you at the end of the chapter

Thunder growled moodily overhead, running along the clouds and down through the air to shake the earth beneath. The rain had eased up slightly, misting and dripping drearily as though the sky itself was mourning. Somewhere in the forest that bordered the cemetery, a bird chirped noisily as though completely unaware that it was out of place, happy singing clashing with the sad disposition of the weather.

The bystanders watched the ceremony with sad reverence. There were many more people than would have been expected to be at the funeral for someone with no family to speak of other than the family she had made along the streets. A rag-tag group they were, though dressed in their best. Nobody minded, though. What mattered was their presence. Women and men stood, wiping at the tears racing down their cheeks as they listened to the preacher speak his piece over the open casket.

At the head of the congregated attendees stood two men, watching the proceedings silently. Their dress was different than the others, both wearing clean, dark jeans and white button down shirts, outfits coordinating apart from the jackets they wore. One wore a clean cut trench coat that should've looked out of place (but somehow didn't quite), the other had donned a stiff leather jacket, sitting uncomfortably on his shoulders, new and not having been quite worn in yet. Both wore faces stricken with grief.

It came time for words to be spoken by an appointed person, all having been arranged beforehand. The crowd watched as the pastor closed his Bible and motioned to the men in front, watching as the one in the trench stepped forward. Nobody caught the quick, reassuring hand-squeeze that passed between the men before they separated.

The man ran a hand through his dark hair, flinging tiny droplets of rain from the thick locks. He stood, arms crossed in front of him, contemplating the ground. After a moment he looked up and spoke. "In all the years of my life, I have met only one other person who affected me as much as Dakota did." He paused again, blinking rapidly. "She was an enigma. She was bright and witty, and as you all know, she loved people." A few people murmured in agreement as he continued. "She had so much going for her, so much…" his voice cracked and he paused again, taking deep breaths to steady himself as the tears started to run down his cheeks, leaving wet trails in their wake. "In seven and a half years she impacted people more than most people do in twenty years, thirty, even forty. I know she did me," he said, shrugging. He was silent, as though he was done with his speech. "She didn't deserve this," he said. It was quiet enough that only the people closest heard him, loud enough that people could hear the sorrow in his voice. The preacher clasped him on the shoulder and guided him back to his seat, condoling him quietly. But it didn't matter-they were all pointless words, not changing anything or making him feel better. Cas returned to his seat and Dean handed him the shop towel he had put in his pocket at the last minute. The cook took it without word.

By the time the casket was closed and everyone had dropped their flowers on the lid, it was an oddly bright picture. Irises and tulips of soft pastel colors adorned it, having been by far her favorite flowers, providing a stark contrast to the bleakness of the situation. Just like the amount of people that had attended, it was another representation of the warmth of feeling people had harbored for Dakota.

Dean and Cas stayed until Dean had felt it appropriate to leave. People had all made their rounds, generally avoiding eye contact while shooting one another only brief looks, tight-lipped smiles of sorrow and unspoken words. A lot of hugging went on, mainly among the women. People never really know what to say at funerals, and even if there was something to say, it hardly ever seemed enough. The men shook each other's hands, keeping their emotions in check after the service for appearances sake.

Dean had left Cas in the car for a few minutes, trying to finish the last bit of coordinating with the pastor and the cemetery crew that would take care of the casket. He got things straightened out and hurried back to the impala, sliding in behind the wheel and shutting the door against the cold.

They made their way back to town and to Dean's apartment. Cas had been staying with Dean for the last few weeks anyway and already had clothes and things there, so there was no need to pick anything up from Cas' place. The ride was silent, the radio switched on but turned down low. Cas eventually found Dean's hand resting on the seat between them and interlocked their fingers. Dean absent-mindedly ran his thumb softly over the back of Cas' hand, each lost in their own thoughts.

Since it was the weekend, they had the freedom to do nothing. The majority of the time was spent inside, with Dean occasionally making runs for take-out. They hadn't talked about the funeral, and although neither had any real desire to, they both knew it would need to be talked about before long.

Sunday night television played in the background, some tattoo show Dean insisted on watching, even if it happened to be a rerun. A half-eaten pizza sat in a greasy card-board box on the counter and the mail from the day before sat unopened beside it. Dean walked through the apartment shutting off lights, making his way to where Cas lay snoring on the couch.

"Hey." He nudged Cas with his knee. Cas let out a disturbed grunt and twisted further into the pillow. Dean rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth upturned in what was almost a smile. He bent over Cas and tapped him on the face, getting no response except that Cas shut his eyes tighter.

"Hey you, gotta get up. Can't sleep on the couch all night, sweetheart, we both know how that'll make your neck feel in the morning, and quite frankly I don't want to deal with it," Dean teased. Castiel's eyes finally flittered open and Dean chuckled triumphantly.

"You know you don't mind it," Cas said. "Besides, what if I like getting neck rubs?"

Dean laughed at that. "Oh, so that's it. You just do it for the chiropractor action afterward," he said, giving Cas a hand as he raised himself stiffly from the couch. "See if I help you anymore," he said in mock hurt. Castiel switched off the tv and gave Dean a gentle shove from behind, a small grin decorating his face. On their way down the short hall to Dean-and Cas'-bedroom, they passed the refrigerator. Hanging in a place of honor beside the grocery list was a polaroid picture that Laura had handed Dean before the funeral.

It was a simple picture, but that didn't make it any less treasured. It showed Dean and Cas sitting in the room with Dakota during one of their visits to the shelter. Cas was sitting on the bed beside Dakota, legs crossed indian style. Dakota was propped against her pillows, snuggled into the leather jacket Dean had given her at their first meeting. They were both laughing, Dakota pointing at Dean, who was making a goofy face. It was one of those things that Dean would never, ever get tired of seeing hanging on his fridge when he passed.

Since they were already in pajama clothes, neither man changed when they reached the bedroom. Castiel lay on his side of the bed reading while Dean took his turn in the small bathroom and brushed his teeth, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Finished, Dean shut the light off and made his way to the bed. He stopped by the window, gazing out at the half moon winking at him over the tops of buildings. The one thing he fully appreciated about the little apartment was this one window. It was oddly shaped, wider and taller than the rest, sitting on the wall opposite his bed. Suddenly stricken by the urban magnificence of the town skyline and the dark sky flecked here and there with blinking stars, Dean grabbed the extra comforter from the floor beside his bed.

"What in the world are you doing?" Cas asked, watching as Dean lifted the window sill and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. "It's cold out there, ya know," he stated, not really an objection. Dean shrugged and propped himself in the corner of the window, huddled beneath the blanket with his legs swinging over the window sill. He turned and gave Cas a wide grin.

"Come sit with me!" He whispered. He wasn't sure why he whispered, he did it loudly anyway, but it just added to the oddness of the situation. Cas laughed, setting his glasses on the bed stand along with his book. Sliding out from beneath the covers, he made his way over to Dean.

"It's cold, Dean. Why're we sitting in the window?"

"Because I want to," Dean said, raising his right arm so Cas could snuggle beneath the blanket. Cas perched himself beside Dean in the window, pressed against Dean's side under the blanket. Their knees only just hung over the edge, rubbing together. It was comfortable in a way only two people who were close to each other could be. Leaning against the window sill, Cas' chest quickly became the resting spot for Dean's head.

They sat that way for a long time, only their exposed faces feeling the chill of the night. Dean thought back to that night he had thought about Cas, when he was conflicted between wanting Cas to already be cherished by someone lovely and wanting to be the person treasuring and appreciating the cook. He turned his head slightly, looking up at the Cas from where he rested on his shoulder.

The moon outlined Castiel's sharp figures, from his chin and lips, his nose and long eyelashes to the hair sticking up in every-which way on top of his head. Unaware of his observer, Cas licked the corner of his mouth and bit his lip, sending warmth straight to Dean's stomach. In that moment, he can't be more thankful that he's done this the right way. With Cas, it just isn't about the physical relationship, the sex. All that is secondhand to Dean, sex is easy, nowhere near as important as the emotional aspect of the relationship.

"Cas?"

"Hmm?" Cas looked down, meeting Dean's eyes.

"Umm… There's something I've been meaning to ask you." Dean looked at the moon, a bit of nervousness joining the other feelings flipping around his stomach. "I know we've got, well, this," he gestured to them, "and things, and I mean, it's kind of weird to voice, umm. I dunno, I guess what I'm saying is that we're unofficially official," he said. Man. That makes sense.

"Unofficially official. I like that," Cas laughed. Dean grinned.

"Well, I'd like to be officially official," Dean said.

"Hmm… I like that even more," Cas said, blushing and smiling shyly. Dean adored that smile- it was humble and shy but flattered, and if he was honest with himself, Dean found it completely adorable. Although you wouldn't find him using that word in an actual sentence, it was true.

"Me too," Dean said. Cas pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead and began to play with Dean's hair, running his fingers through the blond locks. A few minutes later, Cas looked down at him.

"It's all okay, ya know." It was more of a question than a statement, though Cas tried to make his voice sound otherwise. Dean raised himself slowly from his spot against Cas' chest and immediately felt cold. He turned in the window, a leg on either side of the sill so he could face his newly official boyfriend. Cas didn't have to say anything for Dean to know he was talking about Dakota's death.

"Yeah," Dean said, prompting Cas to continue. The cook turned to face him, mimicking Dean's position and further cocooning them in the oversized comforter.

"It was hard, being at the funeral…" Cas trailed off for a second before continuing. "I felt like the one responsible since she didn't have any family there. Kind of like…" he trailed off, looking back at the moon.

"Kind of like a dad?" Dean finished Castiel's sentence for him. Cas looked quickly back at Dean, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek. Dean quickly reached up, brushing it off gently.

"It really bothered me during it," Cas said, allowing Dean to wipe another tear off his nose before it dripped off, and then breathing in hard through his nose and smiling, a genuine smile not prompted by anything Dean had done. Dean was happy to see it for the first time after the funeral. "But now that I think about it, I am honored. Honored to have been the one responsible."

"You did a good job of it," Dean said. Cas laughed, no longer crying.

"I couldn't have gone if it weren't for you being there," Cas said, shrugging like it was no big deal. They exchanged smiles and sat that way for a while, leaning against the window sill facing each other. Dean returned to observing the city lights that had slowly been blinking out, a window here and a window there.

Cas watched as more stars came out, greeting the late night with bright eyes. Occasionally he would spot a shooting star and watch it's journey across the sky, remembering the nights when he was a kid and would sit on the back porch steps with his kid sister. They'd watch the stars and wait until their dad went out for work in the morning before going back in.

Cas turned his face to Dean, who was still sitting across from him, bundled within the warm confines of the comforter. His tan face looked un-ordinarily pale in the moonlight, deep freckles standing out against his skin. He had noticed the 'angel kisses' (as his grandmother used to call them) before, but never so attentively. Cas found himself making a game of counting Dean's freckles-all of them, from his cheek bones to the ones scattered around his lips and up to the ones dancing across Dean's nose. He wasn't sure what number he had reached, not really counting anymore, just documenting and taking in all aspects of each different shaped freckle on his lover's face. Suddenly Dean realized Cas was looking at him, and turned his head reflexively to return Cas' gaze.

"Oh-you moved," Cas said, before he could stop himself. Dean let out a huff of laughter, creating a cloud of breath in the chilly night air.

"Is that a problem?" He asked, eyebrows raised comically. Cas couldn't help but chuckle.

"Actually, yes," he said, leaning forward in the blankets and tugging them closer, simultaneously moving closer to Dean. "I was trying to do something."

"And what would that be?" Dean asked, scooting toward Cas to allow for more blanket to be shared.

"I was counting your angel kisses," Cas said, matter-of-factly. Dean laughed, grabbing hold of the window sill between them to keep himself balanced. "What? You've never heard of angel kisses?" Cas asked. Dean shook his head. Cas smiled.

"Well then, let me explain. These," he raised a finger to Dean's face, gently touching different freckles across Dean's face, "are angel kisses. That's what my grandma always told me," he said, shrugging silently. Their faces were mere inches apart now, and Cas had moved from poking teasingly at Dean's face to cupping it with his hand.

"Mmm.." Dean's voice was soft and thoughtful. "You wanna know what I think are angel kisses?" He asked. He didn't have time to complete his thought as Cas leaned into the kiss, feeling the smile on Dean's lips as he returned it. Dean broke away for a moment , the smile not disappearing from his face, and paused to press his flushed cheek against Cas' own cheek as he spoke in Cas' ear, a smirk playing across his face.

"Now yours-those are angel kisses."

AN: Told you it'd get happier.