You are all my heroes. SO FOLKS. This is technically the end! There will be an epilogue that will probably fill in some Sam and Gabriel gaps-mostly because when this chapter was over I just kept writing stuff and...well, we're just gonna call that spill-over a bonus chapter. So that'll be posted sometime very soon to wrap this bitch up. Thank you guys so much for sticking around to read, and I so hope you've enjoyed it! After the next and final chapter I post, I WILL get back to each and every one of you lovely bastards personally. (Which, despite how that came out, is not a threat. Honest!)

It had been nearly a week since either brother had heard from Castiel. They had since moved on, chasing down a demon worshipping cult two states over, but kept their phones on at all times in anticipation of the Castiel's sandpaper voice demanded to know their location. But that call never came. Dean coped with this in stages, first telling himself he really didn't give a shit one way or the other. He simply pushed Cas out of his mind and stuck to tracking down and exterminating hell spawn. It only took about three days for this to graduate into alleged annoyance at how the man only showed up when he felt like it and took his sweet time, something he began to frequently remark to a Sam who would give him a tired, knowing look and say nothing. After that stage had passed Dean was left too preoccupied with the guilt eating away at the lining of his stomach to voice his veiled concerns. Sam couldn't be right. Castiel wouldn't leave them. If he did…Dean didn't know what he'd do.

He couldn't really deny that he took Cas for granted. The truth of the matter was that he reached for Cas on impulse the same as he did for his gun—and that made him feel like the king of all dicks right there. He didn't want to think that he used Cas like a tool. Like a weapon at their disposal. That wasn't how they saw him, not really, and that was sure as hell not what he wanted Cas to think. He was their friend; another thing his damnable little brother had been right about. He not only couldn't do this save the world nonsense without Cas, but he didn't want to, either. Alright, and maybe he shouldn't have yelled at him. At the time he was beyond pissed with Gabriel and that lousy witch, and the glaring memory of pinning Cas against a table while he was orally assaulting him and fucking loving it would not stop humiliating him every time he met the angel's infernal blue gaze.

Not that there was a right way to feel about kissing a man angel, but Dean was pretty sure the one he chose was the wrong one. It had felt eerily…natural. And there was absolutely nothing natural about making out with a divine being in a dirty motel room while your brother was being molested by and force-fed ice cream by an amoral supernatural trickster. No. It had to be the curse. That witch's perverted magic coursing through his veins, telling him that kissing Cas hadn't been weird at all. That it had been right, genuine, hot as hell and—yeah. The curse. That's all it was. But really, how could he face Cas again when he so clearly remembered every word he said to him and place he'd touched him in that moment? He'd rather have Sam catch him singing show tunes. …Not that he even did that. Ever.

Dean emitted something between a sigh and a groan, plopping down onto a motel room bed and rubbing his forehead. What the hell was he doing, anyway? This was exactly what they didn't have time for. Thanks to the worst cure ever, the curse was gone. Why was he still so distracted by Castiel that he couldn't think straight?

Well, there was only one thing to do about it. If he didn't hash this out, as ugly as it was, things would go downhill fast. He bowed his head, grinding his palms into his eyes and letting out a breath. "Cas. You there? It's me. If you can hear me, get your ass down here." He paused, biting his tongue. "I-I mean…you know, if you're not busy. Please."

"I'm afraid I have nothing to report."

Dean looked up, hands dropping. There he was, stoic and prim as ever, standing near the motel room door. "Cas," he breathed in relief. "I was startin' to think you skipped town."

Castiel looked around. "This is the first time I've set foot in this town."

"Right," Dean stood slowly. "What've you been doing all this time?"

"Searching," Castiel stated simply. "Rest assured that I will contact you when I find something."

"I know that, but…" Dean shook his head. "Look, that's not what I want to talk about. I wanted to…"

Castiel stared with unwavering patience on his stony face.

"Uh…" Dean looked away. "I'm…I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't mean what I said before. You're the one that got us outta that last jam, I shouldn't've…"

Castiel nodded. "An apology is unnecessary."

Dean was a little miffed at having his much-suffered sentimentality brushed off like that, but pressed on nevertheless. "We gotta talk about last week."

Castiel didn't seem to hear him. "Where is Sam?"

"Library. Like all good nerds," Dean muttered absently. "Now like I was saying—"

"You should dedicate yourself to finding the next horseman, Dean. Ruing past difficulties already overcome would be unhelpful."

It was almost as if Castiel were purposely avoiding the issue. Was he even capable of subtle deception? "I wouldn't exactly call it overcome."

Castiel tilted his head. "Is there some lingering after-effect you've neglected to mention?"

"I guess you could say that," Dean mumbled. "Are we just gonna pretend I don't remember everything that witch said? About me going fan girl over you because of…feelings…you have?"

Dean was sure that Castiel deliberately looked away that time. "I'm not pretending it didn't happen, but I see no reason to discuss it."

Dean closed his eyes, mouth opening and closing in an attempt to form proper words. "So—so what, you're…you're in love with me?"

Castiel gave a small, lethargic shrug as though it were entirely inconsequential. "Apparently, yes."

Now Dean really didn't know what to say. He left his hand hanging in the air in some aborted gesture, struggling to respond. "I…well…damn it, Cas, don't you think this is something you should tell a guy?"

"I was not fully aware of my feelings until the witch brought them to light. By then you already knew."

"And you're just okay with this?" Dean balked.

Castiel shook his head and looked even wearier than before. "It's irrelevant, as you don't return those feelings."

Dean swallowed to try and soothe his suddenly cracked throat, but received only a dry gulp of air and ended up coughing instead. Castiel, resident badass mother of renegade God warriors, was in love with him. He hadn't been able to accept this before, but with the words coming plain as day off the lips of the man himself, there was no more room for uncertainty. And instead of being horrified, he felt…damn it. He didn't know. Not horrified, and that was bizarre enough. "I…"

"If we're finished here, my attention is of better use elsewhere," Castiel said rigidly.

"Cas, wait," Dean sputtered as he held up a hand. He shared a long stare with the angel, who was calmly waiting for an explanation. "Just…just wait."

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel prompted at length.

Dean wiped a hand over his mouth nervously, mentally cursing every single thing about this screwed up scenario. He crossed the room in three quick strides, gripping Castiel by the collar of his shirt and yanking him in for another brutal kiss. His lips parted and he clenched his eyes shut. This didn't feel weird. Shit. Shit, why didn't this feel weird? He pulled back quickly and stared down at Castiel with heated intensity.

Castiel's eyes were wide—panicked almost—just like the first time. His cool façade slipped and his hands shot out to grab Dean's shoulders. "Th-the curse," he sputtered, blinking rapidly. "You haven't recovered. I don't understand, I—"

"Cas," Dean growled. "It's not the curse." He looked down, scanning the floor pattern as he tried to regain his bearings.

Castiel remained stiff under Dean's grasp with confusion. "Then what is it?"

"It's…" Dean swallowed, returning his gaze. "You."

"Me?" Castiel marveled through his still-evident shellshock.

"Yeah. You." Dean sighed loudly through his nose, still not releasing the angel's coat. "You and me, we've…had some good times, Cas. And that's pretty damn impressive considering everything I've had to put up with since I met you. Maybe that means something, I don't know."

Castiel clearly wasn't buying it. He turned his head, but kept his wide eyes still on Dean's face. "Perhaps I should check on Sam."

Dean's eyes lidded. "Would you stop? I'm not cursed. Not by Tabitha, at least. Maybe by the asshole you call a father who thinks this crap is funny, but…what I'm saying is: you…you know, you…mean something to me. And not just as a holy hand grenade or a drinking buddy or a…a friend. More."

Castiel's baffled expression didn't waver. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Dean scowled. "Seriously?"

"I don't know the appropriate response," Castiel offered back helplessly.

Dean sighed. "Okay, so choose an inappropriate one."

Castiel's eyes flickered around the room for a moment before he looked down in contemplation. Dean couldn't help but notice that his cheeks were turning red. He didn't know angels could blush—outside of a whorehouse at least. He braced himself against what he was about to hear. Surely there was a lecture waiting behind that look—that angels and humans didn't do these types of things, that there was no time for this with the big damn apocalypse hanging over their heads, or maybe he would just disappear and this time never return. Well big surprise, happy friggin' Valentine's Day, that's just what you get when you're name is Winchester. …Then Castiel's eyes met his, and the angel boldly leaned forward to press their lips back together.