That hammering on the door was the last thing Dean needed. It pretty much harmonized with the rhythm of the pounding in his head as he stumbled to the door. Til Death do us part. Dean had that nagging feeling of being annoyed, but the jumble that was his brain could barely function to unlock and open the door, let alone discern exactly what it was that had him so wound up tight, that he was pretty sure he could remember emptying the bottle of Jack at Kris and Carly's wedding the night before. He could remember drinking to dull the pain of the memories the wedding had brought back to him. Til Death do us part. Sure. Be it 60 years or 60 months.

Sam Winchester was stood at the door, his hand balled in to a tight fist still hovering in mid air, ready to thunder on the door again. Sam looked at Dean, first class bitchface in place already as he glowered down at his older brother.

Dean held up his hands in defeat, kicking the door open wide enough for Sam and his enormous suitcase to fit in. Sam shot Dean a look that said 'We are going to talk about this later, like it or not.' Then he hauled his suitcase in to the house and headed up the stairs, ignoring his brother's stupid comments about sneaking Jess along in the suitcase with him.

"Dean, come and help an old man, would ya?" Bobby waved an arm from where he stood next to Sam's Toyota Prius. Prius, Sam? Really? Dean scoffed then padded out to the car and heaved a deep breath as he grabbed the tattered suitcase from Bobby and put it over his shoulder. His eyes caught sight of movement and snapped to an upstairs window in Castiel's house. He froze on the spot.

"Dean?" Bobby eyed Dean suspiciously and glanced at the house across the road. "You seen a ghost, boy?"

"Probably just Beatrice." Dean slowly returned his focus back to Bobby, who was watching him with trepidation, looking ready to spring in to attack or vamoose with a moments' notice.

"The cat," Dean spluttered. "He-he has a cat. Her name is-"

"Beatrice, yeah," Bobby was still watching Dean carefully. "What's the matter with you anyways, Dean? You look like a sack of crap,"

"Thanks Bobby," Dean shot back, avoiding answering the question directly. He would have enough of a row off Sam later, without his second-in-command-to-his-Dad laying in to him as well. Dean flapped a hand at Bobby dismissively and vanished in to the house and upstairs, grunting about putting the suitcase in Bobby's bedroom for now, and he could sort it out later. Dean deposited the suitcase in the room that would be serving as Bobby's bedroom for the next few nights, and he paused briefly to fret about whether or not Bobby and Sam would notice that both rooms were exact replicas of one another, perhaps to an obsessive degree, but before he had a chance to descend in to a panic induced spree of rearranging the rooms, he went back downstairs to find Bobby rummaging around in the kitchen.

"Got anything decent to drink here, boy?" Bobby grumbled without looking up. "All I can find is this damn poof juice," He tossed an unopened carton of iced tea at Dean, then returned to rummaging.

Dean caught his younger brother glaring at him with his eyebrows missing somewhere up in his hairline, daring him to say yes, he did have some half decent Scotch hidden away that Bobby was more than welcome to. "Sorry, Bobby. I'm trying to stay clean," His eyes darted guiltily to Sam, hoping beyond hope that Sam wouldn't go hunting for evidence to pointing to the contrary before Dean had a chance to squirrel it away. He was going to have enough of an earful about being hungover today, but Dean wouldn't be able to deal with the abuse his brother would bestow upon him if he found his liquor collection.

Sam held his dubiously for another few moments, before eventually smiling and suggesting coffee.

Bobby agreed with an unimpressed grunt, then opted to sit on the decking out back and sulk.

Dean set about making coffee and pretending he couldn't feel the scrutinizing glower his brother was sending his way. "So," Dean grinned at Sam. "How's Jessica?"

Sam allowed a pause before he replied. "Jess is fine. She's staying with her parents in Jersey,"

Dean nodded. "Nice,"

Sam didn't reply for a while. "You gonna share?"

Dean tensed, but continued pouring the coffees. "I have nothing to share with you, Sam,"

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Bobby cut him off shouting about the draconian service he was receiving in this place.

Dean seized the opportunity and pushed past his bigger-but-younger little brother with the coffee. "It's coming now, Ma'am!"

Dean leaned against the bar, towel thrown over his shoulder, trying to look casual as he sneaked looks over at Anna. She was sat on her own as always, scribbling away furiously in what looked to be a diary. Dean had never kept a diary per se, but he was pretty sure it wasn't the type of thing one would normally be filling out in a bar full of ruffians. Ash sat down next to Anna and they struck up some sort of conversation, and Dean pondered on pretending to clean tables down near them so he could eavesdrop.

"Hey, Dean,"

Dean turned to Jo, shocked to see a large bruise on her delicate chin and a split lip.

"Jo?" His eyes were fixed on her injury, but any thoughts of concern, or any thoughts at all for that matter, melted away as she hooked her fingers on to his shirt and pulled herself up on to her tip toes and pecked a gentle kiss on his lips.

Jo flashed her dazzling smile and blushed slightly. "I missed you," She sounded as surprised as Dean felt.

"You too," He smiled, "What-" He started as he was cut off by a cold, angry voice.

"Another round for me and her, Dean." Ash slammed the glasses down on the bar and fixed Dean with a knowing glare. "And you'd better put hers on your tab." Dean felt his mouth dry up, and he nodded mutely as he served up the drinks. "You and me," Ash tapped the bar, "after your shift. We're gonna have words."

Dean nodded again, nausea wrapping its burning hands around his guts. What had he done? His memory from the previous weekend had been fuzzy at best; Dean knew Anna had given him a lift home, and he vaguely remembered rambling on about something. As hard as he scratched at the edge of the memory, he couldn't get to it. It plagued him for the rest of his shift, what he might have said, or worse still done to Anna to upset her. He was pretty sure he'd fallen out of the car, thanked her, then dragged himself on all fours in to his house. The end of the shift finally came, and as Dean busied himself cleaning around the bar, Ellen and Jo long since pushed off up to bed, Ash leaned on the bar above Dean and peered down at him. "Who's Lisa, Dean?"

Dean's entire body froze up, his throat felt as if it were closing, and he began gasping for breath as his heart hammered in his chest, threatening to break ribs. Dean was distantly aware of Ash rabbiting on about Anna feeling like Dean had used her in a brief moment of, I don't know, some kind of act of revenge? Had he found this Lisa in bed with someone else? Is that who Ben was?

"Lisa's dead," Dean choked out.

Ash stopped his verbal attack immediately, stunned in to silence.

"She was my late wife." Dean's voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "Ben was her son. My step son," He rasped. "They were both killed last summer in an accident,"

The silence fell upon them like a ton of bricks, and the air was heavy with the guilt of Ash's rant and the blunt honesty of Dean's statement.

"Shit," Ash finally found his voice. "Shit, Dean, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know, I..."

Dean shook his head. "It's all right," He forced a half smile. "You didn't know." Another heavy silence befell them, and Dean threw down the towel and left without another word.

Dean spent a few minutes trying to regain composure after dry retching, and he leaned against his car, panting. That was the first time he had said it out loud. The words kept reverberating in his head as he drove him. Lisa and Ben are dead. And there it was. Acceptance. Fuck it. Dean thought to himself as he turned in to his street, Fuck Sam, I need a drink.

Dean slammed the brakes on and contemplated. He didn't know whythefuck, but he turned left and parked up. He didn't get out of the car for a few minutes, he simple sat, staring out the wind shield, hands clamped around the steering wheel, knuckles white. Finally, he moved a trembling hand to the car door and let himself out. He became aware of a burning sensation across the knuckles of his right hand as he rapped on the heavy wooden door. Barely 30 seconds passed before the door was swung open.

"Dean?" Castiel's eyes were wide and, after a brief moment, he looked away from Dean, his face flushing bright red as he apologized for his attire. It was only then that Dean realized Castiel was wearing Looney Tunes pajama bottoms, and a worn dressing gown which was barely concealing his body – Cas quickly rectified that and closed his dressing gown – and the slippers he had worn to Dean's house a fortnight previously.

Dean looked at Cas, eye brimming with tears, and he whispered, "I'm a widow at 27, Cas,"

Without a word, Castiel opened the door and ushered Dean inside, flicking the end of his roll up out on to his drive.

Ten minutes later, Dean was sat on Castiel's couch-bed, which Castiel had again blushed and apologized profusely for, wrapped around an Irish coffee. Technically, it was a normal coffee with a decent dash of Irish Cream Liquor in it, but Dean appreciated it all the same.

Castiel was perched precariously on the arm of the couch, apparently expertly trained in exactly how to deal with a hysterical mid twenties man suffering a post traumatic breakdown. Castiel's eyes moved down to Dean's bloodied knuckles. "What happened to your hand, Dean?"

Dean sighed. "I had a fight with a tree on my way home,"

Castiel breezed out of the room for a few moments, then returned equipped with salt water and bandages and he tended to Dean's hand as Dean watched him quietly.

The living room only had two small wall mounted lights, and they emitted a soft glow that illuminated Castiel's face in an undeniably attractive way. "I didn't know you smoke?" Dean piped up casually, trying to distract himself from the urge to lean in to Cas and kiss him. Again. Holy fuck. Dean really hoped Cas didn't remember. He was guessing by the way Cas seemed totally at ease with him, and not at all bothered by the fact that Dean hadn't taken his eyes off him since he'd hunkered down to clean and bandage his hand, that he was in the all clear.

"I know you don't smoke, so I don't like to do so in your presence," Cas offered softly.

Dean blinked in response.

"Would you like to try some cherry brandy?" Castiel's eyes twinkled, and he appeared totally unaware that he was resting his hand on Dean's knees.

Dean wasn't unaware. He smiled stiffly. "Sounds great,"

Castiel was already leaving the room swiftly, dressing gown flowing out behind him like some kind of super hero's cape. Dean smiled to himself as Castiel shouted through that he didn't even know if it was drinkable; he had yet to try it.

"Home brew," Castiel explained as he sauntered back in to the room, bottle and glasses in hands, and as he leaned down to place everything on the table, and his dressing gown loosened on his front, and Dean could quiet easily see all the way to the top of his pajama bottoms, Dean couldn't deny the fact that he was tempted. At least just a little.

If that drink wasn't one of the best things Dean had ever tasted, then damn.

A good dozen glasses each and Cas and Dean had slumped back in to the sofa-come-bed, and found themselves shoulder to shoulder, laughing about story involving Sam and his first girlfriend and exactly what not to tell her.

"You had to be there," Dean finished off, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Is that who I saw arrive at yours the other day?" There was a curious edge to his tone.

"Yeah, my brother Sammy. And our Uncle Bobby," Dean leaned over Cas and refilled his glass. "God, this is so good."

"Please," Cas returned, and in one movement he was laying across the back of the bed, behind Dean, and he grabbed the remote control and changed the channel. "Just call me Cas,"

Dean's jaw dropped slightly at his host's manner, but couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. Cas seemed comfortable in Dean's company, and Dean felt totally at ease with Cas. He jokingly laid back against Castiel, sighing loudly. "Shouldn't we change the channel? There must be something decent on surely? Anything has to be better than Movies4Men, Cas," Dean swiped the remote from Castiel's hand and flicked through the channels. "I've just thought, I came straight from work. I probably smell," He flapped his arms, to check, but nothing too untoward assaulted his nostrils.

"You smell fine to me," Cas murmured so quietly, Dean wasn't sure if he was meant to hear, so he continued channel surfing, stopping eventually on something that vaguely resembled comedy. As Dean sipped his drink, he became aware of a warm sensation on his lower back. What the... Was Cas tickling his back? Regardless, it felt good, and Dean relaxed in to it, his eyes closing despite himself. He fought back the urge to moan in satisfaction as Castiel's hands moved up to the small of his back, then to his hip. Fuck, fuck no, not now. But to Dean's horror, he glanced own to see a very obvious outline forming in his jeans. Instinctively, he laid an arm across his lap to cover it, then took a breath and turned to Castiel to make his excuses and leave, but his words dissolved as his eyes met with Castiel's.

Cas was propped up on one elbow, his eyes on Dean's, and his free hand continued to trace patterns in to Dean's back, his hair was extra ruffled and his dressing gown had slipped open again and was exposing a bit of chest and tummy and fuck if that didn't appeal to Dean.

All of a sudden, Cas grabbed the back of Dean's jeans and his eyes dropped to Dean's lips. He pulled gently on Dean's jeans, lips parting slightly, and for what it was worth, and inexplicably to Dean himself, Castiel Novak, laying on that couch, his hands grasping Dean's waistband and looking for all the world like the sexiest damn thing Dean had ever seen. He had no idea why he was leaning closer to Cas. His attempt at giving Cas an awkward-but-friendly pat on the arm before getting up and running back to his house as fast as his legs would allow, had turned in to a firm grip on the other man's dressing gown. He was trying to leave. He really was. And it's the thought that counts, isn't it?

"I'm always here for you, Dean," Castiel murmured, his voice impossibly smooth yet rough.

And that was it. Dean's lips touched Castiel's lightly, and he pulled Cas round so they were both laying the same way. Dean grabbed handfuls of Cas' hair, and they kissed, tongues moving together, hands grabbing at tops, and Dean could feel himself hardening as Cas pulled their bodies together, and he felt Cas' erection against his thigh and the mere thought of what was happening nearly sent Dean over the edge. Both men parted for a moment, hands lingering in each other's hair, and they just stared, lips touching now and again, then Dean pushed his hand inside Castiel's dressing gown and allowed his fingers to caress the warm, smooth planes of Cas' body, and he shuddered as Cas whispered his name, and pulled his leg up in between Dean's, and they kissed again, deeper than before, and that's how the spent the night., just holding on, legs wound together, hands interlaced. Dean buried his face in to Castiel's neck, and he lost himself in Castiel's scent. This was the closest to Heaven that he would ever be again.

Not sure if I can squeeze any more updates in to the short amount of time I have left with the laptop ]= I will try my best! Also, does anyone know how to find out how many views a story has had, because I'm too dippy to figure it out! ^-^ Thank you all for the Favorites and Alerts and the bane of the world for your reviews =D They make my world go round 3 I'm glad people are enjoying my work as much as I am =D

~Lintu x x