The catching up with hunters turned into a full-on party somewhere around midnight, when Bobby decided that finding his prodigal foster son was an event big enough to open his secret stash. Two minutes later Dean decided that enough was enough.

Five minutes later he was contemplating the cracks and worn patches on Impala's steering wheel, wondering if he was sober enough to simply spend the night driving around. He flexed his fingers, then looked straight ahead; his body felt a bit lethargic and unreliable, though his mind was as clear as ever. It hit him like some kind of fate's morbid joke. Veins, muscles, labyrinth... everything reacted exactly like it was supposed to react, except for the brain. Even Bobby's best single malt could not silence this constant throng of thoughts and memories that had lost all coherence after all these months and were nothing but an enervative buzz.

Gentle knocking on the window made him snap out of it. He rolled the glass down; Cas leaned on the door, poking a bottle of George T inside. Dean took it after an instant of hesitation.

"I thought you might want to..." Castiel's voice trailed off.

"Yeah, thanks..."

The fallen angel nodded. A soft, humid blow lazily swept down through the yard, bringing a whiff of damp soil, fallen leaves and smoke.

"Are you gonna sit out the night here? It's gonna get cold soon... "

Dean pursed his lips; cold or no cold, he had no intention to go back inside and try to sleep among drunk hunters he had met no more than 20 hours earlier. He had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but having caught a glimpse of Cas's tranquil face he figured it was not a reprimand. Just a valid question.

"I guess..." he answered.

"OK."

Dean felt an inexplicable soft titillation right behind his sternum and it took him a while to recognize that it was a flush of affection and gratitude for Cas's understanding.

Cas yawned, stretching his back and arms; he was still wearing these noticeably too large cargo pants that kept slipping off his hips, dragged down by the weight of whatever junk was hoarded in these whopping pockets. When the worn-out T-shirt rolled up, revealing Cas's lean abdomen the hunter's attention was caught by a discoloration on his skin in a shape of a small triangle. It was smooth and pearly, and pointed down the line of Cas's prominent hipbone; Dean's first bizarre impression was that it looked pretty fly.

His friend had already gone back to the house when Dean was hit by the awareness of what it had been. The sickening buzz in his head came to a standstill, unearthing a batch of memories he had been trying to bundle under layers of spite and hate for months. Slashes and stab wounds; broken bones; internal hemorrhage. Liver and kidneys slowly giving up. Practically null chance of survival. Back in the hospital Dean had seen Cas's soulful look and heard his feeble voice when he had been trying to apologize and explain. Dean had left it hanging in the air. He had figured he would come to naught for a dying fallen angel. Now there was this sprouting thought that perhaps it was him who owed an apology, but he nipped it in the bud.

No. It had been Cas who left without saying a word.

Dean took a swig from the bottle, crossed his arms and sank deeper into the seat, ducking his head into his upturned collar. It was going to be a really bad night.

He was just starting to doze off when the knocking startled him awake. Next to the Impala stood Cas, holding and armful of covers that he handed Dean as soon as the hunter opened the door. There were two pillows and two thick, chunky blankets. Sneaky bastard, Dean thought; a spark of amusement softened his anger. He considered the unspoken offer. There was a long talk ahead of them anyway, so they might as well do it sharing a car and a half-empty bottle of whisky. The hunter threw one set of bedding to the back of the car and tucked himself in on the front seat. Cas followed without uttering a single word.

For a couple of minutes Dean was hoping that his friend would say something, but apparently in for a dime - in for a dollar did not apply to fallen angels. He sighed.

"You're grounded, huh?" Dean asked as soon as the biter lump that had formed in his throat softened enough to let him speak.

"Uhm...yes," the answer came with a little delay.

"No wings? No mojo? Nada?"

"Nothing."

"No arriving with a storm and leveling gas stations with a whisper?" the hunter kept pressing; he had no idea where he was driving at. It was simply the relief of releasing his spite by scoffing that kept him going.

Cas snorted; for a moment Dean was not sure what it meant, but he sounded amused when he answered:

"I never missed that ability. Too much power may render the earthly laws of physics... incommodious."

Dean blew a raspberry instead of giving his friend an eyeroll he wouldn't see. Half indignant at the fact that his mockery did not hit Cas and half guilty at this sophomoric gig he asked softer:

"So... you ditched all of that pomp and luxe for me?"

This time there was no delay. The fallen angel's voice was sonorous and sure:

"Yes."

Winchester snorted, carding his fingers through his hair.

"Dude, you're betting on a wrong horse"

"Perhaps, but it's my choice."

The gravity of the words that had been said slowly broke through to Dean's consciousness, filling him with burning shame.

"And...uhm... how are you? In general?" he asked hesitantly.

"Good. Surprisingly good. You know... I wasn't alone. Amelia nurtured me through the worst weeks. She is an amazing woman."

The hunter felt stunned. For a few seconds he had to focus on controlling his breath. He had an impression that these words of reproach fell heavily onto his chest, crushing his lungs. Amelia... the only woman in the world who had every reason to hate Castiel for what he had done to her family took care of him when there was no one else. Dean had no answer for that. Luckily, Cas did not wait for any.

"There are advantages of humanity. New senses, for instant," he stated, a bit out of it.

Dean invited him to go on with a mutter, passing him the bottle over the front seat's backrest. He heard the fallen angel take a big swig; Winchester felt a pang of disappointment when it wasn't followed by a gasp or snort. Just a clear, easy gulp like it was water, not a 70% bourbon.

"Taste. Or smell," there was no hint of rasp in Cas's voice "Aesthetic sensations related to them. And..." the fallen angel grunted quietly "empathy," he finished, handing the bottle back to Dean.

"That being?" Dean rose his eyebrows. The word meant little to him, but Cas's inhibition indicated that it was something important.

"As an angel I had no way of telling how someone feels. I could read minds, detect ideas, beliefs, anything that was rational, but not mental states. Now... I just know. And I realize how much I was missing out."

These words took a while to process.

"So basically when you were being a dick, you did not know you were being a dick?"

"That's one way to put it."

Winchester was agitated by a peculiar hunch that it was all just a prelude to something, but to what - he did not know.

"All right...So, that's it?"

An inarticulate mutter was the whole answer. For a while Winchester waited for Cas to say anything more, but all he heard was Cas's uneasy breath.

Dean decided he'd had enough of liquor; in the deadly silence every scratch and clatter sounded incongruous when he fumbled for the bottle cap to put the whiskey down. Not a single word was spoken for seconds that felt like hours.

"C'mon, Cas. You've always been such a chatterbox," he finally had enough.

There was no answer.

Seconds stretched into minutes of tense, chilly silence. Finally, Dean decided to stir up a hornet's nest.

"So you came here just to tell me that you're OK and that's it?"

Cas's voice was oddly dead and feeble when he replied:

"I hoped that perhaps I would hear something from you."

Dean coughed.

"No. I can't believe it. You piled in here with your swag just to give me a session of guilt-tripping? Woah, Cas, that's low, even for you. So classy," he felt a jolt of snigger, or hiccups, or perhaps both "Classy Cassy..." it was definitely snigger; a part of Dean's mind realized he might have been less sober than he thought.

The fallen angel seized up in his stubborn muteness.

Winchester dragged his hands down his face with a muffled growl.

"Yeah, keep sulking, Mr Passive Aggression. I'm comfy here. Can go on like this all night long."

An eternity of charged silence later Dean finally snapped, throwing his hands in the air and garnishing his speech with all the frowns and eyerolls he could afford, even though his friend was still laying in the back of the car, obliterated by the front seat's backrest.

"All right. You win. I'm sorry for leaving you in that hospital. And I'm sorry for saying I don't care what happened. I wanna know. Shoot."

"I've already told you," Cas answered composedly "There was a battle. Lucifer's first concern was to... wipe out my brethren. Angels had to flee and close the gates of heaven. They needed me to secure their retreat."

This whole military babble infuriated the hunter even more.

"Yeah, you said that much. I mean... Cas, the fuck is wrong?" Dean got up and knelt on the front seat to look at his friend "I might not look like that, but I'm inches from breaking off the gear shift and stabbing you in the neck, so either you give me your side of the story or get the fuck out of here and out of my life. I... I just don't get it."

The fallen angel started up as well; his voice was still low, but there was a threatening, cold edge in it:

"What is there to understand? What would you have me do?"

"Dunno. Not ditch a friend for a bunch of dickheads who were trying to make a shishkebab of you whenever they weren't busy trying to fry you extra crispy or blow you up, that's for sure."

"Dean..." Cas sighed; he came down a bit, slumping and resting his elbows on the backrest "you met Uriel, Zachariah, Anna... they knew the truth. They have seen you, yet they did not believe. How could you expect those who have not seen to believe?" Cas's sage gaze rested on Dean, heavy with a sorrowful accusation, "It was not their fault. Most of them had no choice. We disagreed, but does it mean they deserved to be slaughtered?" Cas's sad blue eyes unfocused; he spoke slowly, looking ahead into an indefinite distance, perhaps reminiscing the horrors of his last battle "You can't imagine... I heard them scream, they were dying... falling, burning... It was a carnage. How could I leave them? There was nothing I could have done to help you, but they... they needed me. They were calling me by my name."

Winchester felt an urge to shake off the burden of guilt and shame that was pressing him down. No, it was too much. He didn't need to feel like hell. Not now. Not after all he'd been through.

"And why would they call you by name?" he snarled "You? A sorry little drained runaway?"

"When they needed me... Whatever I had done was forgiven. I was restored to my former power and glory," Cas was still leaning on the backrest, but as he spoke, his arms and shoulders gradually tensed up, straightened up; his jaw was set and his blue eyes bore through Dean's skull, making him feel helpless and small, "Dean, don't forget I was the one chosen to lead the garrison that lay siege to Hell. I am the one who broke through to the Pit. I am the one who smote countless demons and split their ranks. I am the one who raised you from perdition."

Vertigo. That was what Dean felt looking at this formidable creature. It was this tenacious spirit that made Castiel a warrior of God, not his powers; and it was still there, this superhuman power simmering underneath this scarred, tired skin. Awe wiped all strength from Dean's thighs and arms. He sought strength to buckle the strange sensation off and as usually he found it in anger, though he did not sound convincing at all when he taunted:

"So you were like a war hero of heaven? All X-men combined again? Slutty camp followers all hot for you, begging you to let them kiss your feet?"

"Yes."

"That's why you left? To feel the power up again?"

These words shattered Castiel's marble composedness. Not much changed, but Dean knew; he had spent months tuning in with Cas's scarce expressivity. The fallen angel frowned, his lower eyelids budged.

"Of course not... You know that," he whispered.

Perhaps there was more pity and concern than pain in the way he studied Dean's face, leaning in closer with that birdlike tilt of head that remained his trademark even now that he was a human. Pain, anger, resentment, disdain - Winchester was ready to deal with all of it. Compassion was something he couldn't take.

Suddenly there was too much of Castiel in the car. Too much of his patience, sageness, of his goddamned divinity. Dean scrambled out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh, brisk, damp air.

He had just enough time to gather himself and let the chilly, restive wind cool his flushed cheeks when Cas snaked out of the car and stood next to the hunter.

"Dean," he began pressingly "they are my family!"

This word was a spark that set the barrel of Dean's spite ablaze. He flung himself around to push Cas onto the car, digging his fingers deep into Cas's flesh.

"Yeah, family," he growled, "Cause apparently I'm not!"

There must have been an ocean of grudge in the fallen angel as well; he spazed out in a split second.

"Make up your mind then. Who am I to you? I don't think leaving someone to die is a way to treat family!"

Winchester took a step back; he didn't care that fury made him bruise Cas's chest when he pushed him away with the heels of his hands.

"It was you who left me," he yelled, pointing a finger at his friend "You left me when I needed you the most!"

"How would I know that?" the fallen angel parried Dean's hand "Have you ever shown me that you care? That you need me? That you... that you feel anything?"

Winchester had no answer for that; he flung himself forward, aiming at Cas's jaw with a clenched fist; the fallen angel ducked the blow and tripped Dean up. They rolled on wet gravel, growling and spitting insults into each other's faces until Dean felt pain in his strained muscles. Even now, even after what he'd been through Castiel was far from weak.

The wind burgeoned, scuffing up coils of damp litter and ruffling Cas's dark, unkempt hair. It took a while of brute, grueling wrestle for Dean to finally straddle Cas's lap and lock his hands. The fallen angel's body writhed and tautened in Dean's grip; his forearms quivering with strain in Dean's hold; his hips and thighs rocking against Dean's. Finally, Cas gave up and slackened, though his glare piercing Dean's eyes was not any less withering than a second before.

"What do you want from me?" he spat out.

Winchester was dazed by the heat of their restive breaths, trapped in the narrow space between them, imbuing each of them with the other's anger. He knew that if he could, he would crush the bones in Cas's wrists. He snarled scornfully:

"You give up, huh?"

"No," Cas was slowly regaining his self-possession, though a twitch of his lips indicated that he was in pain; not that Dean would care. "I'm asking you to tell me. Tell me what you want from me."

A dire need surfaced from the welter of thoughts in Dean's mind. There was no way for him to push Cas further away, to hurt his friend more than he already had, unless...

He pressed his lips against Cas's, pinning him down with the whole weight of his body.

"Do you want to know what I want?"he whispered fervently into the side of Cas's neck and jaw as he was drawing a trail of bites and hickeys and whipping wild moans from Cas's throat "This," he didn't even notice when Cas propped himself up to let Dean ease his jacket off his shoulders and tug his T-shirt up. He pounced at this wiry, lacerated body pushed by a sudden urge to know everything; to see every scar and sign of the inhumane strain Cas went through; to see how much of pain was still not enough to break the fallen angel and defeat his faith in Dean.

"This," he rasped "I want everything. Can you give it to me, you little whiny bitch? Can you give me everything?"

He'd expected almost anything: fighting, yelling, slating... anything but Cas lacing his fingers into hair at the back of Dean's head and pulling him into a kiss. It was mad and violent and saturated with all the suffering and anxiety of past monts, but it was definite. A steadfast declaration that Dean could drink from Cas's lips until he was high on it, until he dragged Cas back into the car and had his whole body only form himself, until he was branded with Cas's kisses, until he could cry all his anguish into Cas's skin and drown his scream in Cas's lips.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When it was over, he changed to the front seat without a word. He was sitting there, staring blankly ahead when Cas joined him, tugging his jacket down like arranging it was the most important task in the world. Winchester glanced at Cas's bare chest. The awareness of how cold it was was slowly reaching his consciousness. He had to begin with simple things.

"You cold?" he mumbled. Cas shook his head.

"Hungry?" Dean inquired.

"Uhm..."

"Food truck or Biggerson's?"

Cas's tongue darted out to skim his lower lip.

"Food truck," he declared huskily.

"Good."

Dean was just inserting the key into the ignition switch when Cas grasped his wrist.

"Dean," he warned "You're drunk. And your leg..."

The hunter rolled his eyes and sent the fallen angel a teasing smirk.

"Cas. I've just managed to fuck you. I think I can manage driving."

Cas just nodded. As soon as Dean turned the switch, the radio started blazing a cheery classic. The hunter noticed nothing odd until Cas laughed out, throwing his head back, baring his teeth in a grin so wide it made the corners of his eyes crumple. Winchester listened better and blew a small snicker as well.

And now our bodies are, oh, so close and tight

It never felt so good, it never felt so right

And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife

C'mon, hold on tight

Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night

I can see paradise by the dashboard light

"You know what? It's idiotic," he stated.

"Yeaas," Cas yawned and smiled easily at Dean, "Perhaps it is. Now will you please drive? I really wouldn't mind a burger."