Sam didn't seem to improve much. If anything, from what the others could tell, he slipped further and further away from them…

It's not like he wasn't trying: Sam tried to accept that his body had failed him on some fundamental level – and any sensitive, compassionate viewpoints he had seemed to fly out the window.

It was terrifying to think he was one little machine away from helplessness. What if he was on a hunt and something else sonic-boomed the thing into pieces? What if a werewolf tore it from his face?

Despite how much he claimed to want a "normal" life, he wasn't so sure he could have one now. Saving people, hunting things. The family business. It was all he knew anymore, and he had no idea what he would do without it…

Dean sat down next to Sam at the library table and slid a plate over to him: a grilled cheese sandwich. Dean made Sam a grilled cheese whenever he was sick. It usually came with tomato and rice soup, but Sam didn't feel like eating. Hell, he didn't feel like existing, if he was honest. Sam looked down at it, at the golden Texas toast and melted cheese and shrugged. He pushed the plate back over to Dean and mumbled, "'m not hungry…"

The elder Winchester stood up, and slammed his hand against the table. "Dammit Sammy, you gotta eat! It's been four days now, man – just eat the damn sandwich!"

He looked down at his younger brother: the man hunched over a book, a curtain of hair covering his face on both sides. An untouched cup of coffee sat in front of him next to a stack of old books. Pieces of paper stuck out from some of the books, labeled in all caps "METATRON."

So soft Dean just heard it, Sam murmured, "You don't have to yell anymore. I can hear you now."

"Dean…" Cas warned. Just because the man could shout without hurting himself now didn't mean he should. The man looked between the two brothers, torn. He knew Sam was suffering, but Dean's approach to his brother's breakdown was, at best, unhelpful.

"Sam: Stop. This. Yeah, you got roughed up by that angel – so did we. I sound like I went through reverse puberty and Cas can't catch anything with both hands below fifty degrees now. It sucks, but we're still alive. When I was lying on that church floor, you know what I thought?"

"…What?"

"I thought about something Cas had read to me the week before: 'Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light'."

"Huh?"

"It's by some guy named Dylan Thomas, and it's about fighting death. I thought about how I had 'raged' for your guys' safety, and I just… I don't know. It felt right."

Sam and Cas both started from the admission, and their eyes went soft. Cas' lips curled into a sad smile. Sam pulled the plate back and took a bite out of the sandwich.

Cas lay back against his own bed later that night, staring up at his outstretched arm. He moved the fingers, feeling the tension run along his muscles until it reached a familiar burning at his bicep. He let his arm flop against the bed, his fingers tingling. Pain radiated down the back of his hand and he sat up, lost in thought. He felt a terrible swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, and a lump grew in his throat, fearing the worst.

How would he tell Dean that their job wasn't done?

Dean was in the den, watching TV with Kevin. The young prophet didn't seem to mind the "Dr. Sexy" marathon, or the stewing, drunken man beside him. Not a word passed between the two, but each could feel the tension dissipating in the air. As Kevin munched popcorn and Dean sipped his beer, an understanding passed between them: this – this mild, familiar sort of life – was possible now. And they each breathed a sigh of relief they hadn't known they'd been holding.

The next afternoon Dean sat in the impala cursing. What was Sam's problem anyway? Unlike Dean, it wasn't like he sounded too young to buy smokes. Time had made him sound commanding, ruthless and now he was – well, he was a joke. He'd spent his whole goddamn life convincing people he wasn't just a pretty face, trying to prove he should be taken seriously. And now, now –

"God dammit!"

His fists balled up against his thighs and his eyes became glassy. He'd spent the last half hour trying to sing along to "Enter Sandman" but each time he ended up hitting the steering wheel in frustration. His voice sounded too high even to his own ears, and it twisted like a knife in his chest to know his real voice was even higher.

If Dean had been able to step back from the situation, he would've realized this was how he sounded when he was twenty-six. But… he couldn't. Every part of him had to resist the urge to drive baby to a bar and find some floozy to cozy up with. Dean grit his teeth and pounded on the steering wheel once more. He was a man, dammit, and he was going to prove it…

The door to Castiel's bedroom burst open with a loud bang and Cas looked up to see Dean looming in the doorway, his chest heaving. The blonde shrugged out of his flannel, a resolute gleam in his eyes; Cas couldn't look away. "Dean?" Cas asked as the man strode into the room.

Dean didn't say anything, just pulled his T-shirt off by the scruff. He reached the foot of Cas' bed and crawled over to him, his eyes traveling up and down Cas' body.

No, he thought, as he stared at the man in front of him, I don't want a woman. A woman he'd have to schmooze, seduce. Cas wouldn't feel so soft and delicate under him, but he would just bend over and take it. Cas always took it so beautifully. He liked to be fucked and he'd let Dean without Dean having to make bullshit promises or aroused entreaties to him. He'd let Dean be in control. And that … that was better.

He let his eyes linger on Cas' lips, thinking about them wrapped around his cock, and a pulse of want traveled through him. Dean closed in, his hand rubbing at the swell in Cas' jeans and rushed up to kiss his neck. Cas let out a soft moan, breathing a sigh of relief when Dean captured his mouth in a needy kiss. One hand raked through Cas' hair, giving it a small tug as the other undid the fly of his jeans. Dean forced his tongue into Cas' mouth, his hand shoving into Cas' underwear. As he shuddered, Cas' eyes fluttered open. The door to his room was still wide open.

"Dean!" Cas pulled back.

"What?" Jeez, what was it now?

"The door's open. Sam could see us."

"Let him. Maybe he'll learn something."

"Dean…" He knew the blonde let his hormones sway him and despite what he said, privacy seemed to be paramount. Something was off, but he didn't know what.

"Okay, okay. Fine." Dean got up and closed the door tight, before locking it. He unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to a heap around his feet. He crawled back onto the bed and moved his hands down Cas' skin, nails raking little pink lines down his sides. His fingers gripped his pants before pulling them off with a harsh yank. Cas kissed along Dean's neck in return, gripping Dean's hips hard before sucking a bruise into the crook of his neck. A soft, high moan left Dean's lips before he could stop it, and the sound drove Cas crazy. Cas gripped the other man's arms and flipped them, pulling off Dean's boxers. Dean's heart raced, a small tremor running through him when Cas' fingertip stroked at his puckered hole. The feeling instinctively made him ache with want. Then his eyes darkened and shame colored his cheeks. He flipped them back over and groped blindly for the nightstand drawer. He pulled out the lube and divested Cas of his underwear before the other had time to react.

Cas felt his knees pushed up, a slick finger circling his hole. "Dean…" Cas began.

Dean breached the tight furl of muscle and replied, "Shhh, Cas. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby…"

Cas wanted to be the one in Dean's tight, slick hole but as Dean stroked against his prostate, he supposed this would work too. He worked a finger and then another into Cas, drawing a surprised groan from the man. Dean brushed his lips across Cas' earlobe and intoned, "Gonna pin you to the bed, angel, and fill you up with my cock…"

Cas' feelings were mixed at the endearment, but he found himself moaning against the pillow, the slip of the two fingers inside of him causing shivers to race up and down his spine. He gripped the pillow around his head tight, breathing in Dean's scent as the man opened him up with brutal efficiency. When a third finger breached Cas' hole, he clenched up tight. A breath was punched from his lungs, the stretch suddenly painful. Cas reached down, halting Dean's hand. "Slow down, Dean."

"Can't… Need to be in you," Dean breathed out against his neck. Cas let his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes meeting Dean's.

"It hurts," Cas replied.

Dean froze and then gingerly removed his fingers. He nodded and relubed again before easing two back in, teasing his rim with the other. "Better?" Dean asked his gaze tense.

Cas nodded and settled his body against the bed, letting his muscles go lax as Dean continued his ministrations. It still felt uncomfortable when Dean finally worked the third finger back in, but Cas could handle it. Dean brushed Cas' prostate for a few minutes and withdrew. As he lubed up his achingly- hard cock, he let out a small shudder.

He took a deep breath to ready himself, but nothing could have prepared Cas for the way Dean thrust in all at once. Dean did afford him a few seconds to adjust, but if he noticed Cas' discomfort, he didn't show it.

He wrapped Cas' legs around him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear: "You feel so fucking good, Cas… Such a pretty, greedy hole…" Dean groaned against Cas' shoulder when he felt Cas' cock twitch between their stomachs. He encircled Cas' wrists and pinned them to the bed. "You want it so bad, don'tcha Cas?"

Cas could only nod in return, this blinding lust hitting them so suddenly. Dean tightened his grip around Cas' wrists, burying his face in Cas' neck. "Come on Cas, take that cock. You like it, don't you?"

Dean was slamming his hips against Cas' ass by this point, hitting him hard and deep. He left little bites on Cas' skin, angling his hips to stroke against Cas' prostate. Cas felt a shudder go through him at the contact, trying to get his arms free to grip Dean's hipbones, to slow him down. It felt good, but at this rate it was going to be over too fast. Dean released his grip but when Cas' fingers dug into his skin, Dean looked up from the crook of Cas' neck, their eyes meeting briefly. Cas eyes widened at the anxious look pinching Dean's face. Dean looked away, his lips skimming over the shell of Cas' other ear. "Gonna fill you up, make you cum on my cock… Gonna ruin you for other men, baby…"

Before Cas had the opportunity to wonder what that might mean, Cas heard Dean utter a moan. It was the softest, sweetest moan in a cacophony of pants and groans, but Cas heard it. And with the attention Dean was paying to that spot inside of him, that was impressive in and of itself. Dean gripped Cas' cheeks hard, the action forcing him to open up wider. Cas felt himself begin to clench around Dean, felt himself spilling between their stomachs as the slickened head of his dick pushed fervently against Dean's skin. He was reduced to mewling noises as his vision whited out.

Dean pumped his hips one last time and came inside Cas, shuddering and cursing into the crook of Cas' neck. He panted against the moist skin there, spent. When he finally pulled out, Cas' stunned gaze met his.

"Dean…" he began, not knowing what to make of what had just happened.

"It was good, right?" Dean asked, trying to joke his way out of a serious talk. Not now, he thought. He needed to make a BLT and show off his sex hair to his brother. Prove he still had it. He might not be able to dangle some chick's panties in front of his face, but he could make it clear that he was still big man on campus. That he should be taken seriously, admired…

"Your coital skills are not lacking," Cas hedged. Maybe the man just needed encouragement. "The sounds you make lately, especially… 'do it for me,'" he replied lasciviously.

The compliment didn't seem to have the desired effect: Dean blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I can always give you more dirty talk," Dean responded, attempting to change the subject.

"No, I mean the moans… They make me want to fuck you so bad," Cas answered.

"Yeah, well… I don't think that's in the cards right now."

Cas understood this idiom and didn't care for it. "Why not?"

"Cas, just… drop it. I'm really tired, we can talk about this later."

"But –"

"I said drop it, Cas! Jesus Christ."

Dean turned his back to the man and switched off the lamp, shrouding them in darkness. Cas just sat there, mystified.