As you probably guessed from the last chapter, this story is taking on a format very different from what I initially intended! I'm just letting the story lead me, to be honest.

A blinding pain seared through Sam's chest, despite raising his arms to protect himself. He almost didn't want to look down, knowing full well what he would see and feeling nauseous already. Vaguely, he became aware of Dean screaming somewhere to his right.

Ah, good. He's alright then.

He really was making an awful lot of noise.

Wow, it's warm in here…

Something tugged at his chest, like a rope was attached to his rib cage and was pulling him forwards violently. He didn't really mind where the pull was taking him, he just wished it would be more gentle

A white light glared blindingly before his eyes, and Sam felt the tugging sensation stop. He found himself wishing he had fallen to his knees a fraction of a second later so he could have seen what it was. But there he was on the floor, already. Lying down on his side now, he noted, something sticky flowing steadily over his hands. The warmth was fading now, seeping away through the shabby floorboards of the bar and into the early morning. It was giving way to a creeping, encroaching chill.

The source of the tugging became evident when Sam's hand – one he didn't remember moving to his chest – encountered the hilt of Uriel's blade, still half-lodged between two of his ribs. The ornate handle was smeared with bloody fingerprints, the blade warmed by the surrounding flesh.

Across the floor, on his side with deadened eyes boring into Sam's, Uriel lay splayed with charred wings staining the ground.

The vague background noise that Sam couldn't really focus on was starting to bother him. It was like the real world, dubbed-over with static and white noise. It sounded like arguing. Another bright flash of light forced him to close his eyes, and suddenly re-opening them felt like such a chore.

A swift slap to the face stung his skin, then fingers violently pried his eyes open. Dean stared down at him, panic evident across his features. Behind Dean, Sam saw the body of Anna, lying on her back with the tip of her wing's ashes overlapping Uriel's.

"Cas!" Dean yelled, not taking his eyes off of Sam. "You'll be fine, man, he missed your heart." Sam nodded complacently, allowing Dean to roll him onto his back. "Cas, it's uh…it's still pretty deep in there."

"I couldn't have allowed Uriel to retrieve it, Dean. He would have attacked m…"

"Yeah Cas, I know, but…"

The dialogue around Sam felt shrouded in cotton wool, like he was wrapped in a fluffy blanket and watching a sitcom. Nothing felt real; everything seemed to blur together into a scene he watched from another world.

"On three." Dean's voice crept inside his ear, and Sam didn't like the edge to it. Why is he counting?

When Dean reached '3' in his counting, Sam felt the pain intensify to the point where he thought he would lose consciousness. He had been knocked about a lot in his life, but this…this was like someone had shoved a hand straight into his chest and was wiggling it around in there, trying to grab something.

One last spurt of warmth flooded him from the chest outwards, giving everything it could before the cold set in again. He was vaguely aware of Dean's arm withdrawing something shiny and blood-smeared, followed by a clatter on the floor as he carelessly dropped it behind him.

Before Sam could even jokingly scold him for the pain he'd caused, Castiel was in his face, rushing in on him like the loyal soldier he was. A hand pressed roughly – too roughly, Sam thought – against his chest, and he felt everything become even hazier than before. Every one of his senses went fuzzy at the edges, blurring together and spreading a strange sensation from the core of him to the tips of his extremities. It was warm and cooling at the same time, a tingling that made him instantly relax.

When angels…mate…

The mental fuzziness was ripped away in a sudden burst of light and clarity, and everything was sharp and focussed like a high definition camera. In the few moments Sam had spent slumped on the ground, he reflected, he really had lost track of how sharp the mind was supposed to be.

"Sam?" Dean chanced, and Sam sucked in a grateful and deep breath, crackling air into his lungs as though for the first time. The fact that the simple act of inhaling no longer hurt was reward enough.

"Did I die?" He asked, the first thought coming to mind as he sat fully upright and rubbed a confused hand through his hair.

"No." The angel standing over the brothers answered for him.

Sam thought he saw an honest-to-God smile linger at the edge of the angel's lips, but it didn't fully form. Looking back to his brother, he became slightly uncomfortable at the look Dean was sending up to Cas. He stared at the angel with pure wonderment, joy and devotion…it was nice, he guessed, in a way…but kind of unnerving. Sam suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private moment, simply by sitting on the floor at Castiel's feet beside his own brother.

Also, it was sort of weird for Dean to be looking at Cas like that when they were both drenched in a hell of a lot of Sam's blood.

"Guys?" He interjected, breaking the gaze between them.

"Right, sorry Sam." Dean averted his eyes, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I guess you'll be wanting an explanation?"

"More of an explanation than 'Angel social studies 101', yeah."

.


.

2.08AM

Almost one hour had passed since the events unfolded in the bar. The Winchesters, with help from Castiel, had been transported safely back to their motel room across town where they now sat, awkwardly avoiding eye contact and dancing around the subject they had intended to discuss.

"Cas, it's uh…kinda weird to talk about this when you're standing right there." Sam hoped he didn't hurt the angel's newly-developing feelings.

"I understand." He replied. "Dean still has trouble discussing emotional issues in depth."

"…Thanks, Cas. Really." Dean gave him an exasperated glare, a blush colouring his neck. The angel gave him a longer-than-necessary look, which must have meant something Sam couldn't see, as Dean's expression softened and he smiled warmly in response. Cas departed, leaving the brothers alone.

A silence still hung in the air, and Sam sighed heavily.

"I still don't know why you felt like you couldn't tell me." He offered quietly, as though talking to a fragile mouse. "You didn't exactly explain, earlier."

"It's not that I don't trust you, Sam." Dean began, carefully considering his words. "It's just…you have to admit, it is weird."

"What is?"

Dean stared at his brother.

"This! Me and Cas, being…together. I guess I thought you'd be freaked out or disgusted or…something." He paused, sighing and dipping his head. He leant his elbows on his knees. "I just didn't want things to change because of this."

To Dean's amazement, and a touch of annoyance, Sam huffed a small laugh.

"No offence Dean, but it's not exactly a surprise that you two have ended up together."

"…I'm sorry, what?" Dean's eyebrows knitted together despite his best effort to control them. "It's still weird for me – how's it fair that you get to play the 'it's not weird' card?"

"I'm your brother, asshole. I don't care who you're with, so long as they make you happy. And y'know…they're not likely to want to hex, possess or kill us."

Dean felt himself smile in response. He thought about his hopeful thought in the bar, and it seemed he had received a confirmation – Sam really was okay with this, he could feel it. His brother looked at him the same way he used to, before all this started. He truly was looking out for Dean's happiness; it was clear in his eyes.

He should never have expected anything less from Sammy.

.


.

Dean heard the sound somewhere to his right, and he didn't look up. He held the magazine he was pretending to read – Good Housekeeping, of all the fucking things that could have been in Bobby's spare bedroom - and kept his head dipped low in what he hoped came across as nonchalance.

The sound of feathers rustling ceased, and the most stifling silence Dean could ever remember feeling gradually drifted over him. He could almost feel Castiel's shamed eyes analysing his every breath.

At least he hoped the angel felt ashamed. Honestly, after the events two nights ago, anyone else would have the decency to feel disgraced with themselves.

"Dean?" The angel finally spoke, and he sounded like he was poorly masking worry. Hearing the undertone in his voice made Dean's stomach clench. He put down the magazine with a defeated sigh and turned to face the angel. Castiel stood in the corner of the room, holding one of his arms across his chest and clutching the opposing elbow in a stance that screamed forced-emotional-distance. He held eye contact with Dean, but his head was dipped low like a subservient animal. Everything about his body language radiated vulnerability and shame. Dean found that he hated that – the most powerful being he knew curling in on himself like a shut-off and fragile thing. It made him almost angry with himself.

"Hey, what's up with you? You look like someone just stomped on your puppy."

Dean hoped his casual tone was effectively masking his own feelings of awkwardness. He wanted more than anything to feel fine around Cas – to experience none of the raging discomfort he was currently feeling after the angel's drunken display two nights ago. The simple thought that it had probably taken Cas this long to even muster the courage to come and apologise made it marginally easier to handle, rising sympathy mingling with the discomfort.

"I should apologise to you."

"Ok, cutting straight to the point..."

"What I did was…highly inappropriate. I consumed a lot of alcohol and I…I lost my bearings on acceptable behaviour. I should not have touched you. Or kissed you. Or suggested that you touch me…"

"Cas?" Dean's voice cracked, coming out in a higher pitch and much louder than he intended. He cleared his throat. "It's ok, really. All is forgiven."

Dean gave a small smile, and went back to looking at the magazine. He hoped the angel would vanish, but he could still see the coat from the corner of his eye, hovering in the corner. He could feel Castiel's gaze still glued to him. Accepting defeat for a second time, Dean sat the magazine back down and turned so he sat on the edge of the bed, fully facing Castiel.

"Cas…It's ok. You can stop looking at me like you're gonna cry, now. I'm not mad."

The angel's burning gaze didn't shift. His eyes glistened and for a moment, Dean was afraid his words would become reality and that Castiel might actually cry.

"You don't understand."

The phrase fell timidly from the angel's lips, quiet and unexpected. Suddenly Dean saw something entirely different in Castiel's expression, despite it not changing in the slightest. His mind opened a new door to what he was looking at, and Dean glimpsed the true reason behind the broken stare and eyes tightened with sadness – Castiel was not overcome with shame over his actions; it was the fact that Dean felt the actions needed an apology.

"I'm sorry." He uttered again, his eyes betraying his true feelings. He may regret drunkenly throwing himself at Dean in the most inappropriate of ways, but the fact of having to apologise for the feelings behind the behaviour was what was crushing him.

The implication of the word 'feelings' hit Dean in the gut like a wrecking ball. This could not possibly be happening. Castiel could not – not in a million alternate universes – have feelings for him.

Castiel's eyes retreated to the floor, and Dean realised he had been staring at him since his realisation. The angel's arm tightened across his body, gripping his left elbow more forcefully like a child with a security blanket. A small frown crept onto his forehead and his feet shifted beneath him. A sharp inhale and shaky exhale moved his chest.

Dean felt a pang in his gut all over again, watching the angel practically close himself off before his eyes. Watching this warrior of Heaven being so clearly overwhelmed by feelings he didn't understand – feelings which led him to know hurt, guilt, pain and rejection – it caused a mirroring effect in Dean. He felt his own face contort as he watched Castiel's subtle changes in body language, the clenching in his stomach growing all the more sickening and spreading to his chest. Each one of these emotions was new to the angel, and consequently was probably frightening and surreal and confusing.

Dean suddenly identified the churning feeling in his stomach and the tightness in his chest. He'd be damned if he let the angel go through this alone.

He stood up with barely any conscious thought and closed the distance between them. Bobby's floorboards creaked under his footsteps as he approached Cas, halting a couple of feet in front of him.

"Castiel." The angel seemed taken aback by Dean's use of his full name, as his head raised warily to meet the hunter's eyes. "You don't need to apologise. Ever. Understand?"

Castiel seemed to consider this, to drink in Dean's words and try to fit them into everything he thought he knew.

"No." He simply replied, frowning slightly at the hunter and waiting on further explanation. Dean found himself smiling slightly, as he took in the sight of the bemused, angelic face before him. All his quirks, all the social deficiency, his inability to understand what most humans found innately easy…it was kind of adorable.

Dean gripped Castiel's face between his hands and roughly pulled him closer, crashing their lips together messily and eliciting a shocked 'mmpfh!'. Cas' body remained rigid and almost frightened, like a deer caught in the headlights. Dean pulled his face away from the unresponsive mouth.

"Now do you understand?" He breathed, searching the wide blue eyes for some sliver of realisation, ignoring the stab of apprehension in his gut. He at least wanted to see a hint that Cas was calming down; he was afraid if his eyes widened any further they might dislodge from his head.

"I...but Dean, I was…drunk." The word sounded foreign on Castiel's tongue, and he sounded unsure about using it. "People do things they shouldn't do when they're drunk. And you…wanted me to stop, but I didn't…I didn't stop when you asked me to."

"I just told you, Cas…" Dean sighed, brushing strands of unruly black hair from the angel's face and instantly feeling like it wasn't within his rights to do so. Cas' eyes minutely widened again at the physical contact. "…it's ok. You're forgiven." Dean smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and despite the flipping in his stomach he let his hand rest on the side of Castiel's face, holding some hair behind his ear. The angel still looked bewildered. "And where did you get this idea that being drunk means you shouldn't do stuff?"

Castiel paused, looking into Dean's eyes with slightly less doubt now.

"…the internet."

Dean stifled a laugh as he imagined Castiel trying to use Sam's laptop to Google the effects of alcohol. God knows what websites he ended up on.

"Well, uh…" Dean continued, feeling the humorous image giving way to the awkwardness again. He hesitantly moved his left hand up to Castiel's face to cup it on both sides. "-you're allowed to do what you did the other night...y'know, if you want to."

This was insane. He was actively encouraging Cas to admit he had…feelings…for him. And to act on them, no less.

"If you're giving me permission, Dean…I'd very much like to touch you."

Again, Dean felt the nervous apprehension give way to a smirk, amused by the angel's mannerisms. He lowered his hands slowly from Castiel's face. He suddenly realised that he would never get tired of the way Castiel acted as compared to ordinary humans. He found the differences and the social awkwardness interesting to watch, and…sort of nice, in a 'he's special' kind of way…

When Castiel's hands landed hesitantly on Dean's chest, nervous and feather-light, he was snapped out of his embarrassingly girlish reverie. His eyes found the angel's; they were cautious and desperately searching, praying that he wasn't doing anything wrong and looking terrified that at any moment Dean might slap his hands away and admonish him.

Dean placed his own hands gently over Castiel's, reassuring him that the touch was allowed and welcomed.

Still holding eye contact until the last possible second, and continuing to move painfully slowly to make his intentions clear, Castiel leaned forward. His face was closing in on Dean's neck, a wholly sober and more apprehensive reinterpretation of the events that had unfolded in Bobby's kitchen. Dean was just grateful he wouldn't have to watch for signs of Cas tilting and swaying under the influence this time.

Lips made contact with his neck, so soft and warm and gentle, and it felt exactly as it had two nights previously. This time around, however, Dean allowed himself to admit that he enjoyed the feeling. He cautiously opened his mind up to the reality that yes, his heart had hammered harder behind his ribs, as it did now. His stomach had flipped nervously inside him, and his pulse had jumped erratically. His body was reacting in exactly the same way, and he accepted it.

Dean observed with interest that he wasn't at all disgusted or terrified of the fact he was engaging in definitely-more-than-friendly contact with another male body. This was new and bizarre and possibly going to create some very incomprehensible shifts in their group dynamic, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind all that much – not with soft, warm lips caressing his pulse point. The thing that surprised him most about this situation was how entirely okay he seemed to be with it all – he was forcing down the fear and the hesitancy was vanishing with it, giving way to acceptance and a rewarding feeling in his brain and the warmth of the solid body pressed between him and the wall, and…

Dean realised he didn't remember when the hell it had happened, but he had well and truly trapped Cas against the wall with his own weight and was craning his neck upwards, submitting more of himself to Castiel's suckling mouth. The angel seemed more than happy to respond, moving his lips over Dean's throat with open-mouthed and wet enthusiasm. His tongue, now confident as though drunk all over again, danced over stubble and accompanied his lips in sucking deliciously at the hunter's skin.

Hot breath ghosted across Dean's skin as lips detached themselves, and he felt a hand grasp his face. With fingers cupping behind his ear, Dean felt his head be yanked downwards to meet the mouth that had worshipped his neck like some sort of holy artefact. A thrill shot through him at Castiel's new-found confidence…and just maybe there was a touch of pride there, too.

More than willing, Dean moved his lips eagerly against Castiel's, not caring that the kiss was sloppy and desperate and that the angel was inexperienced at this – he just felt like he needed so much more, and that he would go to any length to get it.

Mirroring Cas' grip on his face, Dean reached up and cupped the angel's head in his hands for a second time, fingers desperately clinging to his scalp and thumbs stroking the sides of his face. Without warning, Cas detached his lips and moved, swiftly clamping onto Dean's earlobe before he could process the movement.

Dean inhaled sharply and exhaled in a shuddery groan as he felt Castiel suck on the skin there, then kiss below his ear, nuzzle into his neck again and breathe in his scent…

"Cas…" Dean found he had trouble speaking and breathing at the same time. "Do you…do you know what you want, here? I need you to tell me."

Castiel gazed at Dean, confused but no longer bewildered. He looked utterly wrecked already; drunk on lust and probably detached from anything Dean might say to him.

"Cas?" He prompted. "I need you to tell me what you want." Dean encouraged him with his eyes, stroking a thumb across his cheek and searching for recognition in the eyes before him. It was easy to see Castiel was practically overcome by arousal, but for all Dean knew, he was unaware of what this entailed. He barely knew how to speak to other humans, let alone have extensive knowledge of what they did behind closed doors. Dean was not about to take advantage of a naïve being, ethereal or not.

"You mean…intercourse?"

Dean did not like the tone of Castiel's voice, or the way his head subconsciously dipped slightly. His voice and mannerisms hid doubt and apprehension, creeping back from before they began this, whatever this was.

"Hey, hey," Dean reassured, using his hand to raise the head of the angel to meet his gaze. "What happened to confident Cas, hmm?" He hoped this sounded calming, but judging by the look on Castiel's face, it was taken as chastisement. He instantly wanted nothing more than to ease the angel's ill feelings, and found himself willing to do anything to comfort him. The thought scared him.

"It's ok. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Ten minutes ago, Dean reflected, he was just as terrified and nervous as Castiel, pushing himself to make the first move through his haze of doubt…how the hell had he become the voice of reason and experience?

"It's not that I don't want to." Castiel's eyes dipped away to the floor again.

"If it's an experience thing, don't feel bad – I've never done this either. Well, with another guy…" Dean felt himself grow uncomfortable. "We can just…figure stuff out as we go along."

"It's not that either, Dean." The angel was beginning to sound exasperated and frustrated. Dean frowned. "Angels…we don't take coupling lightly. Not like humans do."

"So we're a slutty race, is that it?" Dean faked mock offence with a smile, trying to put Cas at ease. The angel ignored his joke.

"Dean…once angels have forged that bond…we are mated for life."

Dean supposed he should feel guilty for the stab of fear and alarm that shot through him.