Dean wakes to the rhythm of pistons pounding away in his head. His mouth is dry, and his eyes are crusty. There's a little trail of drool that's dried onto his chin. It's almost noon and he knows he should get up and take another shower. He can still smell spew on himself. He lies there instead, the events of the previous evening tumbling through his throbbing head. He'd really made a mess of things this time, literally and figuratively. He didn't want to face Cas, but he would. Sam was right after all, Cas was a grown man, or rather an older-than-dirt celestial being. If anyone could handle themselves, it was him. He'd pray to Cas, he'd let him have his say, but not now. Right now he needed some aspirin and about 3 gallons of water.

He slowly peeled himself from the sweaty sheets and made his way to the bathroom. He found the pain killers and popped a couple in his mouth before leaning down to drink straight from the sink for a few minutes. Once his thirst subsided, he dropped his clothes on the tile floor and hopped in the shower.

As the hot water cascaded down his back, his mind wandered. Maybe this could work. He certainly wouldn't mind acting out a few more of his daydreams with the angel. He remembers how Cas's eyes lit up when he'd described the kitchen scenario, and how eager his angel had been to try it.

He's already half hard, and his brain is flooding with images of Castiel underneath him, writhing against him. He hears his name rumbled out in a gravely moan, and the sound loops over and over again in his mind. Fuck does he want to hear that again. He wants to find out what other delicious noises he can pull from those angelic lips.

He wraps a hand around himself, and strokes slowly. In his mind he conjures up a new fantasy: His Baby is parked in the middle of a vast field, under a star sodden sky. Cas is leaning against the trunk, and Dean is pounding into him. He watches himself thrusting, their bodies sliding together.

This is definitely a fantasy he'd never thought he'd have, but he's thoroughly enjoying it. His pace picks up speed and he's right there on the verge. He imagines Cas calling out his name, and as he comes he can't keep himself from moaning the angel's name. Luckily, this time, there's no rustle of feathers behind him.

"I'm gonna talk to him Sam, I mean it. I'm just not ready yet."

"When?"

"Later. I'm still a little strung out. Let me finish cleaning up the mess from my freak out. I'll do it tonight."

The guys spend the afternoon clearing the debris. They don't really say much to each other, but this isn't the tense silence they've been sharing so much lately. Dean is lost in thought- regret over the rampage that Sam shouldn't be helping him clean up, and apprehension for the conversation he's dreading with Cas. Sam on the other hand realizes that he's gotten a lot out his brother and doesn't want to push his luck.

It's already pretty late when they finally get the bunker back in order, but it's not like angels sleep, so Dean has no excuse to get himself out of this. He leaves Sam in the library and heads for his room. Dean gets into his Pjs- a pair of sweats and an old tee shirt. After a glance in the mirror, he peels the shirt back off and adjusts the sweat pants a little lower around his hips.

"Hey Cas, can you get your butt down here? We need to talk."

Nothing happens.

"Listen Feathers, I'm sorry for before. Just fly your ass in here so we can kiss and make up."

Still nothing. He's not really surprised, Cas was pretty pissed off when he zapped out that night.

"Castiel, angel of the 'fucking lord', please come and see me. I'm sorry that I'm an idiot. I promise not to be a jack ass this time."

He waits a minute this time, but the angel still doesn't appear.

"Cas please. I'm begging you here. Give me another chance."

No angel. Maybe he pissed him off even more than he realized. Maybe Cas was done with him. Now that Dean finally pulled his head out of his ass, it was too late. That's how his life usually went.

"I need you, Feathers. Don't leave me hanging here. Please Cas."

He tries and tries, but Cas doesn't come. He keeps praying, every one a bit more desperate than the last. Nothing works. Cas isn't listening. He's not coming back.

An hour has passed and Dean finally gave up. He's sitting cross legged on his bed with his head buried in his hands. There's a soft knock on the door and Sam pokes his head in without waiting for an invitation. Dean lifts his head, his eyes are rimmed red and brimming with unshed tears.

"Not now Sammy. Just go to bed."