Well, there's a light in your eye that keeps shining
Like a star that can't wait for night
I hate to think I been blinded, baby
Why can't I see you tonight?

And the warmth of your smile starts a burning
And the thrills of your touch give me fright
And I'm shaking so much, really yearning
Why don't you show up and make it alright?
It's alright

- "Fool in the Rain," Led Zeppelin

There's a thigh slotted between his legs, hands pressed into the muscles of his back beneath his rucked up dress shirt, and every once in a while fingernails pressing into the skin, before Cas remembers himself and soothes a hand over the bruises gently, in direct counterpoint to the fact that he has thoroughly and aggressively staked a claim to Dean's lips.

There is something about making out in the back seat of the Impala that feels like being sixteen years old, or what Dean figures a normal sixteen year old would have been like. Dean would never try and claim his teenaged years were exactly normal. Being a teenager was bad enough without throwing in Omega hormones too, let alone the rest of the Winchester Family Baggage. So, making out with Castiel in the backseat of the Impala is more like what Dean's idealized concept of sixteen would be, though he maybe could have gone with a little more below-the-belt-action.

The friction's been mind-melting, but not enough to get off. Just to keep him right on the edge of coming in his pants like a teenager, and the best part is he knows Cas is right there with him on it. It's a deliberate tease, to both of them, and it's good because it puts the focus on the kissing, on the intimacy, on the fact that apparently they don't have to race to the finish because they're going to be doing this again.

It's that whole "relationship" thing that's implicit and hopeful and fucking terrifying.

Right now, the only reason that he's not outright fucking Castiel in the backseat of the Impala is that it's Castiel. Not just that he's an Alpha and Dean has issues, but that the guy's a frikkin' virgin and when Dean goes there with him (it's become a "when," not an "if" and that's enough personal realizations for today, thanks) he wants to do it right. Not in a car covered in bullshit slurs telling Cas what a freak Dean is. The guy's waited long enough to have sex that it should be a frikkin' experience for him.

And shit, that leads to another realization Dean didn't want. Dean's trying to give Castiel what he thinks Cas needs. He's had one actual, legitimate relationship before and he tried and failed to be what Lisa needed and that was pretty much the crappiest way to end things ever because he's never going to be what people need.

Cas's teeth catch Dean's lower lip, a pressure just short of pain, and his attention is dragged back to the man who's been slowly taking him apart. It's fairly obvious Cas has noticed his wavering attention, and he has one eyebrow cocked and a faint quirk to his lips, but concern in his eyes. "You're thinking too hard. It's a little insulting to the one real skill I have in this."

"Yeah, and how is it that the virgin priest kisses like a frikkin' porn star, anyway?" Dean's half teasing, half curious, and Castiel shrugs one shoulder slightly. He makes a damned pretty picture in the light through the blue tarp, the tinted illumination making his already vibrant eyes ethereal and washing out the gold undertones of his skin to rebuild him in porcelain. He's distracting, framed against the leather seat with his shirt off and slung impatiently toward the dash by Dean earlier when he decided he was damn sure going to leave a mark Cas would remember him by. Dean runs his thumb over that mark now, along the tempting bend between neck and shoulder, and smirks to himself when he can feel Cas shiver with the touch, so damned responsive. Bracing his foot against the floorboards where their legs are tangled together to push himself upright again, he locks an arm around Cas and drags him upright with him. "Nope. Up. You're talking this time. You've been neck deep in my personal bullshit since we met, and everything I know about you I could get off a resume."

"Not everything. I assure you the fact that I drink in churches is nowhere on my resume." Castiel huffs, but allows himself to be repositioned, happy to have Dean straddling him again but less happy that he's straddling his thighs, away from where Cas really wants him. They're not going to have sex in the car, though: Dean reminds himself of that fact at Cas's unconscious sulk, the way his hands curl into Dean's hips like he'd pull him in further if Dean would let him, and the fact that drawstring pajama pants were not designed for erection concealment. "It's not really an interesting story."

"Try me."

Yeah, Cas's eye-roll is as hilarious as the one he dragged out of him cooking breakfast the other day lead him to believe. It's this second one that decides it for him, the way his head rolls back to look at the blue tarp over the back window, the way an eyeroll involves both hands flipping palm-up as if he's praying to God to explain how he gets himself into these situations, and how it involves a completely silent, exasperated sigh. Definitely just as good as Sam's bitchface, in its way. Dean smirks, keeps himself from laughing, but doesn't relent on demanding the story and doesn't let himself get pulled back into Castiel's lap further.

"I suppose you have my brothers to thank for that. . ."

"Wow, that's a lot kinkier than I expected, Cas." The quip is quick to Dean's lips with a pronounced leer, and Cas lowers his chin again to glare at Dean for interrupting the second he gets started. "Oh don't look at me like that, Cas. Frikkin' triplets, you had to know where my mind was taking that."

"I wasn't talking about Emmanuel or Jimmy. And I have never 'made out' with any of my siblings, Dean." Cas huffs, slouching back into his seat, and look there. . . Dean's already getting more information out of this 'not interesting' story than he had expected.

"Wait, there's more of you?"

Castiel frowns, and his hands drop from Dean's sides, head falling back to rest against the top of the back seat as he stares up at the blue tarp, listening to rain fall on the car port roof above them. He's thinking too hard for this to be just a short interruption for a breather and some banter, and Dean almost feels bad now for bringing it up. "Yes. I have seven other half-brothers."

Ten kids. Dean whistles, low and surprised, and blinks at Cas. "Sisters?"

"My father wasn't looking for daughters." Castiel supplies, dull and withdrawn.

This is rapidly turning into The Family Talk, and Castiel looks quietly miserable about it. "You don't want to talk about it, we can drop this, Cas." Dean doesn't want to, though. Not really. He's curious, has been curious since he picked up the photo on the shelf, and maybe even before that, at the hospital when he saw Cas's face while the last rites were delivered.

"No. I should. It's only right that you know." Cas shakes his head slightly, and takes Dean by the hips again, carefully off-balancing him so that he joins Cas on the seat instead, an arm slipped around Dean's waist in what was becoming its customary position, the other reaching up to take ahold of the handle above the window, shifting himself to bring Dean against his side. He doesn't want Dean staring at him through this conversation. How ironic. "My father was wealthy. Like many of his particular social status, he liked to demonstrate that wealth in an obvious way. Cars and houses are less of a lasting legacy than sons to carry on your name, prove your virility, and each one indicates that you're secure in your wealth enough to expect you can support them comfortably. It's archaic, but prevalent."

"So you have an ass-ton of brothers because your old man wanted to prove he was rich and manly enough to make his own baseball team if he wanted to?" Dean surmises, both eyebrows raised, and Castiel shrugs.

"Essentially, yes."

Dean's not surprised to find out Cas comes from money. College, seminary school, medical school. . . education isn't exactly cheap, and Cas has done more than his fair share. And then there's the matter of his twins and the realization Dean came to, looking at that picture. He wants to ask, but he doesn't get the chance to. Cas sighs, resting his head back against the side window, and closes his eyes before continuing. "My two eldest brothers, he had with his first wife. Michael and Lucifer."

"Who the hell names their kid Lucifer?" Dean interjects incredulously, blinking.

"A man who named me Castiel? You said it yourself when I gave you my name, it's not precisely common." Cas deadpans immediately, and Dean has to admit he has a point. "We all had Christian connotations to our names. If you ask my brother Gabriel, less because of any religious belief and more because our father had a 'God Complex' and was wealthy, and wealthy people have a tendency to name their children whatever they wish. Gabriel frequently reminded me that it could have been worse, and then concocted worse names for us and attempted to make them stick." Dean snorts, but lets it go. Rich people come up with the weirdest shit. Dean's never figured it out; then again, Dean's about as far from rich as you get. It didn't mean he got to escape 'daddy issues,' though, obviously. "I suppose I'm lucky that my father lived long enough to stipulate the names for the three of us."

There's something bitter and sharp to Castiel's words, and as he forces himself to continue his tone becomes clipped, precise, and mechanical. Dean leans into him, a hand caressing up and down his bare ribs soothingly, and presses his lips over Castiel's sternum before stretching out along the seat, laying his head back against Cas's chest. "Three wives produced four sons, and by the time Raphael's mother left, he decided there was no need to remarry. 'Fertility clinics' were less long-term expense than a potential divorce, and offered a different possibility to him."

"Omegas." Dean says into the quiet that falls, and Cas rests his cheek against the top of Dean's head, coiling his other arm around him as well, now, providing comfort as well as taking it. Dean knew this much, he figured it out himself, but the idea makes him nauseated, leaves him cold and unsettled and uncomfortably aware of the fact that directly on the other side of the door from his feet, 'Omega Bitch' is carved into the metal. Head down, ass up, the only way you're worth the fuck. Even the scratched in symbol for Omega, the Alpha assholes throughout his life had managed to turn into something else, something vulgar in his mind. A pictogram for a bow-legged boy forced to bend, forced to present himself for a knot.

"Yes. I didn't. . . I didn't realize until I was older, but yes. He also enjoyed the crèche for the opportunity it presented of not having to raise his next children himself. The four eldest, they're the only ones he had a hand in raising. My brothers and I were to be his crowning proof of his Alpha status. Triplets-fertilized, bought and paid for. If he hadn't provided for us in his will, with trust funds set aside in his estate, I'm not certain Jimmy, Emmanuel and I would even have been taken out of the crèche. He died before we were. . . 'ready.' Jimmy is named after him, consequently. The last of his children."

"Jim Novak, huh?" Dean doesn't know the name, but Cas's dad sounds like an asshole. He can relate, and he can't hold that against Cas any more than Cas held it against Dean that John drunk driving had killed two people.

"James Allen. Novak means 'New Man.' It was an appellation given to newly converted Christians in many Slavic countries. I changed my name when I reached adulthood, just before I joined the seminary. When I did, so did Jimmy. I think mostly to escape the shadow of our father, but in part because he shared my faith if not my calling."

Castiel talks about Jimmy the way Dean knows he talks about Sam. Proud, loving, familiar. But there's something else there, too, something sad. Castiel takes a deep breath and forces a change in tone, shoving it away before Dean can pin it down. "So. I suppose to answer your earlier question. Lucifer, Gabriel and Balthazar enjoyed sex, alcohol, food and parties and all three were attempting to encourage me to lose my virginity, from a fairly young age. I had no particular interest, which they each took as a personal challenge in their own ways. . ."

"Dude, you're telling me you're rich, hot, and smart. Yeah, as a big brother myself, I can see where they'd expect you to get some." Dean is encouraging the change in tone, allowing Castiel to dictate where the discussion goes, to push aside whatever else it is about his family that has him so screwed up. They'll get back to it. Dean needs to put the idea of the breeding farm Castiel was born at far out of his mind, and he's forcing himself not to imagine his own childhood now.

"My family is wealthy. I have an apartment in Kansas, a bus pass, and a trust fund I cannot touch excepting in certain circumstances." Castiel corrects, completely ignoring the point.

"Okay, but Cas. Seriously. Who doesn't have 'an interest' in sex? Sex is awesome." When done right.

"So I've heard." Cas is droll, dry, and faintly amused. "I've developed a recent 'interest' in it myself, so I'll let you know my personal findings after thorough research." That's the most upfront statement Dean's ever heard from Cas about their sex life, and he twists in his arms to look up at him only to find Castiel still has the art of stoicism down pat, visually giving him nothing to go off of. Dean laughs, then, hearty and genuine, and Castiel seems to quietly revel in it and regroup because of it, arms tightening around Dean, dipping down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "Now, if I may finish my story. It was easier to avoid the possibility of them shoving at me half-dressed party-goers far more interested in my brothers than in me if I was already engaged elsewhere. I intended to become a priest and therefore celibate, I had no interest in sex, but my brothers are persistent. It was easier to avoid criticism if I was doing something else. 'Making out' is a loophole in celibacy. . ."

"So you just. . ." Dean's snickering, and Cas flicks a finger against his ear warningly. "You seriously just sat around at your brothers' parties necking with people whenever they came by to keep them off your back?"

". . . If you want to boil it down to so simple of terms. I prefer to think of it as a great deal of practice in one area. I specialized. It was more effective than when I attempted to read a book while they threw parties in our home."

"For a badass, you're such a friggin' nerd." Dean's laughing hard enough now that it's making his bruised ribs hurt, clutching Cas's arm in his own to hold them in place, and that's enough to make Cas chuckle silently, so he can feel it rumble against his back. "C'mon, Poindexter. Get your shirt on, get me inside, dry and fed, then maybe we can look into doing some 'research' of our own."

Dean finds himself without a backrest fairly quickly at that as Cas immediately stretches across the seats to snag his shirt, shrugging it back on. Dean laughs again at the suddenness of it. He doesn't get why a guy who 'didn't care about sex' suddenly has the hots for him, but when Cas lays another kiss on him before opening the back door and holding up the tarp for him as if holding the door for a date, there's no doubt in his mind that he does. "Someone's eager."

". . . I'm hungry too?" Castiel lies transparently, blue eyes wide as Dean grabs his suit jacket, phone and keys again.

"Uh-huh." Dean snorts, and tucks the edges of the tarp down around his baby fussily after he clambers out. "Sure you are. C'mon, let's get. . ."

"Dean." There's a warning to Castiel's voice, low and sudden, a hand on his arm that draws him back, and then Castiel is in front of him, keeping him tucked on the other side of the covered Impala. Parked at the foot of the stairs up to Castiel's apartment a patrol car idles, clearly waiting. "Please get your brother on the phone."

Shit.

Dean fumbles with the cell phone as Castiel takes a breath, gathering himself, shoulders straighter and head up in a way that demonstrates how hard Cas tries to look harmless the rest of the time. It should look ridiculous from a man in plaid pajamas (top and bottom full pajama set, no one should be able to make that look anything but lame and geeky) but Castiel is pulling it off. Turning, he presses his lips to Dean's forehead as the phone starts to ring, dipping his fingers into the breast pocket of his pajama top and pressing his apartment key into Dean's other hand, squeezing it tightly for a moment.

"Even if he arrests me, stay back out of sight and stay on the phone with your brother." There's a wry twist to Castiel's lips at that. "And please assure Sam that 'legal counsel' is one of the few things that allows me to tap into my trust fund. I'll be fine."

And without waiting for Dean to protest, Castiel paces out into the rain like he regularly took a walk in his pajamas in storms, bare feet splashing in the puddle, circling to the other side of the lot to approach the police car with his hands in view.

Stupid stubborn son of a bitch!

"If you're calling to make your excuses about dinner, Dean, you're too late. I'm eating the pie without you." Sam's voice is warm and friendly, and Dean cuts over him immediately.

"There's a cop at Cas's place. How quickly can you come be lawyerly, Cas is officially hiring you."

The police officer opens the driver's side door, and Castiel stops a polite distance away, hands loose, offering a polite nod and words Dean can't hear over the rain.

"To hell with hiring me, Dean. What's going on. . .?" Dean can hear the chair scrape, a sudden abatement of his family's conversation around Sam.

"Pretty sure he's here about Cas kicking the asses of the guys who came after me at the hospital. Not sure if I'm next or not."

"Papers or cuffs, Dean? Ellen, I'm going to need your car again. Jo, call this number for me and ask for Charlie. Jess, throw me my tie? I need to know if he's being served or arrested, Dean. Papers or cuffs, civil or criminal?" The plus side of all this shit going down on the day his father was buried: at least Sam's dressed the part, and apparently he's mobilizing the family to make themselves useful. Just as well, Ellen and Jo were going to throw themselves into the mess either way. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the carport. Cas is. . ." Dean swears, and rubs a hand down his face, stepping deeper into the covered space. "Cuffs."

"Stay where you are, I'll be there in five minutes. If he pulls away with Cas, you stay there, Dean, do you hear me?"

Castiel is being arrested for him. Castiel and Sam are both trying to protect him.

"I hear you. I'm just not listening, Sammy. Cas's apartment key'll be in the Impala, under the tarp. I'll leave the car door unlocked, or use your spare key. You oughta get him some blue jeans or something. No man should have to sit in jail in his pajamas. Hell, get me some too. Fuck it all if I wanna be there in a suit. See you in a bit down at the station, Sam."

Dean hangs up on his brother swearing at him, ducks under the tarp to toss Cas's apartment key where his brother can get it, puts his phone in his pocket, and then approaches the police officer as he finishes putting cuffs on Castiel, raising his hands and his voice, offering his best smart-assed grin.

"Heya, Officer. Room in your car for one more?"

He ignores the annoyed look he gets from Cas for not listening.

Hell, he never claimed he was an obedient boyfriend.