HAAAY GUYZZZZ GUESS WHAT IT'S TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE A DOCTORS APPOINTMENT AT EIGhT #YOLO

I didn't proofread this even a bit and I work unbetaed so please cough and look the other way at any fallacies in this chapter

YOU WILL REALLY LIKE THE LAST PART TRUST ME


By the time they made it back to the shop and the Impala, they were both thoroughly soaked. Their shirts were plastered to their bodies, their ties plastered to their shirts. The bored-looking auto mechanic handed Dean back his keys, and they were on their way.

Dean paused, hesitant, as they neared his baby.

"We are wet," he explained, responding to Cas's patented head tilt of confusion.

"The precipitation-"

"Okay, okay, Bill Nye. I just don't want to get water all over my baby," he said.

Cas's jaw flexed.

"Cas, are you...jealous?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No," Cas said.

"You are so, totally jealous. Of a car," Dean said.

"I have no such emotion." Cas concentrated on squeezing residual rain water from his button down.

"Cas, you know that I call her baby as in... I don't know. Imagine some old-timey dude and his relationship with his, horse, or something, I don't know. From, like, the Old West days, like a cowboy. Or, like a knight of a round table. Lancelot."

"Lancelot was schizophrenic," Cas said randomly after a moment.

"O...kay?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "That, uh... sucks? For Lancelot?"

"Merlin, you know the witch?"

"Dude, he was real? Are all those guys real?"

"'All those guys' as in what?"

"As in Arthur. Guinevere. Mordred, Morgana, Merlin, Lancelot, et cetera."

"Most of them. They were actually quite dull. Most of the drama highlighted in the Arthurian mythologies is fictionalized to increase story appeal. Metatron would have approved," he said bitterly.

"Aw, don't tell me that stuff!" Dean said. "I totally loved Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table."

"Then you should know the truth," Cas said, smirking. "Arthur was dim-witted and inbred, but he was indeed quite brave. Lancelot, as I mentioned, suffered from severe delusions. His own personal accounts of his life, recounted orally, greatly influenced the legends, however peculiar his psychosis. Morgana was a homosexual, though she went to great lengths to hide it. She was in love with Guinevere, and it caused her much grief to see her and Arthur get married."

"Whoah, that sounds like a soap opera," Dean said. He had read a ton about the Arthur legends, secretly hoping to one day come across something related.

"Are we getting in the car?" Cas asked pointedly.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Dean unlocked the doors, sliding in and wincing at the squeaks the leather upholstery made with his wet clothing. Cas joined him, and ran his fingers along the newly replaced glass.

"Also, the last name was pronounced 'pin dragon'," he said. Dean scowled at him.

"Enough from you, before you go spouting off about the Little Mermaid or some shit."

"I don't understand what a petite sea dweller has to do with medieval England," Cas remarked as Dean began driving. The rain was letting up, and Dean turned slowly onto the main street. His hair dripped water down his face.

"No, the Little Mermaid, it's a classic fairy tale," Dean explained. "For someone who knows so much, you sure are oblivious," he chided gently.

Cas grunted at the challenging tone in Dean's voice. "I never required a need for familiarity with children's stories," he defended.

"Not judgin', just sayin'," Dean said.

"I shall read these 'fairy stories' you talk about. Perhaps they will lend me some knowledge about basic human morals and cultural appropriations."

"Sure, man. I bet they are all over the internet. I'll ask Charlie to set you up, if you want."

"I'll ask her," Cas responded. "I want to inquire on the progress of her novel."

"Charlie's writing a novel?"

"Yes, she plans to publish it online."

"Wow. Good for her," Dean said.

"Yes," Cas agreed. They drove in companionable silence, Cas checking out the sights along the main street as the rain let up. A man walked his dog, the little black toy poodle stopping to sniff at the table legs of a cheery little sidewalk cafe.

"Hey, look, man, an Italian bistro," Dean said, gesturing at the sidewalk cafe where the dog was investigating the scents.

"l'Uccello Nero," Cas said his pronunciation perfect.

"We should go there sometime. Grab dinner."

"A date?" Cas inquired. He was looking at Dean now, observing the way his fingers drummed impatiently at the steering wheel during the red light. The man with the black toy poodle crossed at the crosswalk, the little creature barking madly at the Impala.

"If you'd like," Dean said, a smile stretching languidly across his handsome features.

"I'd love that," Cas said sincerely. Dean glanced at him, grin widening, as the light changed to green. The man urged his dog along, but it was still yapping furiously in their direction. Cas glared at it.

"Me too," Dean said.

"Why are you smiling?" Cas wondered. He hadn't said anything funny, had he? Maybe another obscure reference to popular culture or something that he had unknowingly misquoted?

"Nothing. It's just...Well, it's pretty freakin' awesome to do the whole dating thing. Makes me feel like a normal guy, a little bit."

"You've been on dates before," Cas said, puzzled.

"Yeah, but no meaningful ones," Dean said, a little taken aback by the gravitas and forcefulness of his own words.

"Thank you for sharing the significant ones with me," Cas said softly. "I think Emmanuel went on dates a couple of times, although they were dull and colorless in comparison."

"Oh, yeah, that Daphne chick. Whatever happened to her?"

"I do not know," Cas admitted quietly. Another life he had messed up irreparably.

"So, how long did Emmanuel live with Daphne?" Dean asked, faking a casual tone. Truthfully, he was feeling jealous and possessive.

"Several months. It was a...strange experience. It felt stale. We married because the community surrounding the Allen couple thought it improper for two adults to live together as we did, so we wore rings and told anyone who asked that we were married."

"So you two, you know, never...did anything?"

"If by the word 'anything' you are alluding to sexual relations, you can be assured that nothing of the type ever occurred between the two of us. I slept in a different bed than her."

"Good," Dean said firmly. Wow, who would have thought Dean Winchester would turn out to be so possessive?

Cas looked at him, the corner of his mouth moving upwards.

"Dean Winchester, are you jealous of Daphne Allen?"

"Shut up, you," Dean said, sending him a mock glare. Cas laughed, and before long Dean was chuckling too.


"Hey, Kevin," Dean said in greeting to the young prophet, who was sprawled out on the couch paging through Netflix's selection of Star Trek: Voyager episodes. Dean was glad he was doing some normal teenager stuff. Nerdy, yes, but lounging on the couch until the afternoon on Sundays was a simple indulgence that no teen's life should be without.

"'Sup," Kevin said, eyes not leaving the screen.

"Is that Star Trek?" Cas asked excitedly, reading the episode descriptions eagerly.

"Yeah, 's Voyager," Kevin said.

"Can I watch?" Cas asked eagerly. Kevin looked up, a little startled at the fallen man's fervent request.

"Of course, dude, go ahead," he said after a moment, and Cas wandered over to an armchair, folding himself up neatly.

"I love Voyager," Dean said. "But I have to go do something. Where is everybody?"

"Sam went to Marin's place, Charlie introduced Crowley to Netflix, I think he's watching Game of Thrones-"

"He had better not be getting any funny ideas," Dean growled. Kevin chuckled.

"Nah, he just likes the dragons and the Stark family," he reassured him. "And Charlie's typing furiously in the library."

"Okay, cool," Dean said. "I will leave you two nerds to it, then. Enjoy," he finished, ruffling Cas's hair over the back of the chair. Cas blinked at him before returning his gaze to the screen.

"Do you want to start at the beginning?" Kevin was asking him as he left.

It was research time.


Sitting on his bed, the door locked, Dean opened up the laptop, taking deep breaths as the log in screen manifested. He clicked on the icon for user 'Sexy Son Of A Bitch', smiling absently at the name. Sam's user name on this computer was 'Mopey Dick'. He was proud of his work.

After typing in the password, he settled against the head of the bed, crossing his legs and adjusting the screen of the laptop.

He pulled up Firefox (Sam and Charlie each insisted on the particular web browser for some reason) and typed in the URL for Google.

The multi-colored letters stared out at him, daring him to type in its little box of magic web inquiry.

Dean swallowed.

'gay', he typed in, and was a little taken aback by the suggestions. Gay marriage. Gay jokes. Gay rights. Gay straight association. Gay celebrities. Gay bars. Yikes. These people sure had their priorities.

Then, the magic words, the ones that made Dean's heart speed up in a not altogether comfy way: Gay sex and Gay porn.

Hey, a dude has got to learn somehow, right? It wasn't like he could just call up Sam on speed dial and say, 'Sam, hey bro, I need directions on how to sleep with the love of my life because he does not have a vagina'.

Taking a deep breath, he clicked on 'Gay sex' and watched the website gather its query.

There were a few pages that were for health education, offering guidelines on how to broach the subject to teenagers. Nope.

A blog entry on 'Brokeback Mountain'. Nope.

A preachey religious site that claimed it a sin. Dean chuckled. Nope.

Finally, he gave up after seeing a link to a fan fiction website (never doing that again, no way in Hell) and switched to the YouTube tab on Google.

Whoah. Jackpot.

Apparently people posted gay porn to YouTube. And quite a large amount, no less. Dean soldiered on, no stranger to attractive guys on video fucking- but it was, up until that day, fucking a girl. He scrolled down the search results, turning red at some of the...graphic thumbnails, one of which included a muscly tattooed guy strapped to a bed with a leather harness, collar, and cords. Way too much information there. Why didn't any of these guys seem to be partaking in simple, good old gay sex? He didn't want corsets or lace panties or riding crops or handcuffs...

Finally, he came across a relatively non-threatening video whose thumbnails featured inoffensively attractive porn stars, one on his back, the other on top of him, kissing. Okay, he could do that.

He clicked on the video, then the Full Screen button, and placed the laptop in front of him, far enough away that he wouldn't be able to snap the computer shut with no effort.

Deep breaths, Dean. It's just sex.

The little grey dancing dots disappeared, and a title danced across the viewer.

"Drew and Mike, February 2008", it said. Then, it transitioned to a couple of guys, fully clothed, standing up, kissing softly at the edge of the huge mattress. One guy was taller than the other, his blond hair short and neat. He was dressed in a tailored suit, Dean noticed, as was the other guy, a well-built young man with honey-brown hair. The taller one was wearing grey, his shorter counterpart clad in a deep blue.

Tall Dude wrapped his arms gently around Blue Suit as the kiss deepened, earning a soft moan for his efforts. Dean hastily muted the volume. He didn't need to hear their activities, he only needed to see them. Besides, what would happen if one of the bunker's co-inhabitants happened to walk by and hear that? It would be downright mortifying.

Blue Suit shrugged off his navy blazer, letting it fall to the floor. Dean wondered briefly if Cas would look hot in a suit, would think Dean looked hot in a suit. He made a note to try it out.

Tall Dude brought his hands around to the front of Blue Suit's white dress shirt, moving up to work at his tie. Dean blinked, wondering if anyone actually enjoyed watching two guys defrock one another so painstakingly slow. It wasn't doing much for Dean, and his mind toyed with the image of a well-tailored suit, how it would look on Castiel. He would probably end up looking like he had walked out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. His hair would be artfully tousled, and he would look out at Dean, blue gaze lustful and haughty. He would use one hand to loosen his tie, maintaining eye contact the whole time, his pretty blue eyes beckoning from underneath his full, girlish eyebrows. The suit would have French cuffs, Dean decided. He would be wearing imported Italian leather Oxfords, simple, neat and classic.

Once again, he pondered over his attraction towards Cas. It shouldn't exist, but it did, and strong.

Onscreen, Tall Dude and Blue Suit were both now shirtless, Tall Dude's tie remaining loosely around his neck. He pulled away for a moment, gasping for air. Dean chewed a fingernail, kind of bored at the PG-13 level interactions. Blue Suit frowned and grasped Tall Dude's tie, forcing him back in to the kiss.

Okay, that got a response from the audience. Dean closed his eyes, imagining what noises Cas might make if Dean did that to him. His cock awakened, and he opened his eyes.

Blue Suit was in his boxers now, perched on the edge of the bed, hands grabbing frantically at Tall Dude's perfectly tailored grey trousers as he cowered over him. He forced his pants off, shoving Blue Suit back on to the bed. Blue Suit gazed at him, hazel eyes blown wide with lust, as he palmed himself through his boxers.

Dean swallowed, nervousness flooding through him, his boner receding. What if he messed up? What if he did something Cas didn't like? What if Cas's hormones didn't respond because he was stiffly heterosexual? What if he hurt him?

Tall Guy shimmied provocatively out of his boxers, leaning down to press his open mouth to Blue Suit's erection through the cloth. The shorter man threw his head back, lips parting in what was sure to have been a thoroughly embarrassing moan. Tall Guy smirked, re-positioning himself to embrace his eager lover, rolling them over once, twice, until they were at the middle of the bed and Blue Suit was underneath him once more, rocking his hips upwards. They kissed, hands roaming and tongues colliding.

What if he misread the situation wrong and came on too strong and Cas didn't react well? What if he got frightened and pushed Dean away? What if they both wanted to top or something and their movements got all awkward? What if Dean didn't do something correctly and Cas got hurt?

Blue Suit was completely naked when he focused his attention back on the screen. Two massive, shaved dicks slid and rutted against each other, red and swollen and heavy. Dean felt nauseous. He slammed the laptop shut when Tall Guy began to spread Blue Suit's legs.

He was freaking out.

It felt so ridiculously wrong, watching these two strangers pleasure each other. He felt disgusting, like some sort of creepy voyeur. He wasn't aroused in the least, and his breaths were coming short and shallow. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. No matter how much he loved Cas, he was too scared.

I can't, I can't I can't, he thought, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his body. He rested his forehead on his knees, mind racing.

I can't do this. I'm not used to this, to getting turned on by a guy. I am straight. I was straight. Cas has a dick. I have a dick. We both have dicks. I'm scared. I can't let Cas's first time be terrible, but I have absolutely no clue how to make him feel good. I'm used to boobs and long hair, not muscle and dick and all that shit. But, god, I want him so fucking bad.

Dean twisted his hands through his hair.

He turns you on, but you are too fucking scared to act on it. Fucking wimp. You should just drag his ass to another whorehouse, hire him a guy instead of a girl. Maybe that's what went wrong all those years ago; you just go and blatantly ignore any chances that he is gay. And now you have got to show him the ropes, when you can't even think of his body and yours without panicking.

Dean slowed his breathing, thinking about happy things: ice cream, snow men, birds, lemonade, a soft, gentle breeze, Cas, in a tailored suit-

Then, it hit him. He would never get to act out his little fantasy of Brooks Brothers model-looking Cas if he didn't man up and get over himself. He would never get to find out what made Cas moan, what made him beg, what things make him growl out Dean's name. He would be stuck in this true love Disney princess movie relationship without ever introducing Cas to the pleasures of the flesh.

Castiel responded so enthusiastically over a simple ice cream cone, and Dean's mouth watered at the reactions he'd have to, say, Dean stroking him gently as he kissed him, whispering quiet, secret praises in the fallen angel's ear.

Okay, this was helping. He set the laptop on the night stand and crawled under the covers, his mind weaving together image after glorious image of Cas and him together in bed. He imagined Cas following him under the covers, naked for some reason, maybe he had just showered. Yes, that was good. He'd be all relaxed and clean and warm, not to mention deliciously wet. Dean would pull him closer, arms wrapped around Castiel's waist, and they would kiss, slow and deep and passionate.

His hand reached down to free himself from his dry flannel pajama pants and plaid boxers, unrealistically horny. He began to gently stroke himself, imagining how fucking good it would be to have Cas there with him.

Cas would moan softly, and Dean would use that opportunity to slip his tongue between his lips. He would sigh contendedly into the kiss, arms pressing their chests together. Dean would roll them over so that he was positioned over Cas, and he'd begin to grind against the hunter's thigh, panting for breath and wordlessly begging for more. Dean would bite his neck like he knew the blue-eyed man loved, and Cas would pull at his boxers, whining at how unfair it was that Dean was still covered. He would lick and suck on his chest as the boxers were discarded, and their lips would collide hungrily as they finally could feel each other, totally bare, canting their hips up and down for friction.

Real Life Dean moaned quietly, stroking himself with his mind full of Cas's scent, the feel of his skin, the freckle by his left nipple, the way his insides melted when he noticed the blue gaze planted longingly on him, the way they kissed, out of breath and dizzy for more.

"Dean, please," Cas would beg softly. He'd be so gorgeous, laying below Dean, panting and sweaty and eager. His blue eyes would be flooded with lust, his mouth open slightly as he continued to seek the pleasure of skin on skin. He'd instinctively move one hand from Dean's hip to brush up against their urgent, needy erections.

"Cas, god," Dean moaned quietly, rolling his hips into his hands.

Cas would stroke them together, tentatively at first, still overwhelmed by the new sensations, and then he would speed up, responding to Dean's moans with his own. Dean would shift his weight, straddle Cas. Cas would wrap his legs tightly around his back, forcing him closer. He'd whine against Dean's chest.

"Dean," he'd say, lips red and swollen from relentless contact. His hair would be absolutely wrecked, ruffled by Dean's roaming hands. "I need-" Cas would break off with a strangled cry as Dean rotated his hips so that Cas's dick dragged across his stomach.

"What do you need, Cas, tell me," he would breathe softly into Cas's ear. "I've got you, baby, just tell me," he would encourage. Cas would throw his head back, exposing his neck again for Dean to mark, sucking and biting, so beautiful, so submissive and trusting.

"Please," Cas would repeat, his eyes fluttering closed as Dean was sucking at the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder.

"Take care of you, Cas," he would whisper, moving back up so that their lips were together again.

"Dean," Cas would whimper, voice deep and rumbling, like he'd swallowed someone's gravel driveway.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart," he'd encourage. Cas would be so pretty like that, flushed and lustful and at a loss for words.

"Want you to- need you to-" he'd mutter, losing his train of thought as Dean latched on to his chest, sucking at the perfect skin.

"Anything, Cas," he'd say, waiting to hear the affirmation from those perfect lips.

"Fuck me, Dean," he would plead, and the profanity would sound so deliciously dirty coming from the former angel. Dean would smile into their kiss, and then he would gently open Cas's legs.

"So pretty, Cas," he'd praise softly. "So good for me." Cas would whimper, totally lost as he lost control of himself in the tide of pleasure and longing.

Dean would break the kiss to grab the bottle of lube under his pillow, dick throbbing insistently as Cas keened at the loss of contact.

"Mmmm, Dean, please," he would beg, voice desperate.

"Perfect, Cas. You're fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful, all wrecked and needy, waiting for me to take care of you." Cas would wrap his arms around Dean's back, tired of waiting. "All mine," he'd say, treating Cas like he was the most precious thing in the world. Because he was.

"Yours," Cas would exhale quietly. "Yours, Dean."

Dean would spread some lube on his fingers, drinking in the sight of Cas, his Cas, strung out and debauched beneath him. He'd slowly stroke the skin around Cas's entrance, making sure his beloved was okay with what he was about to do.

Then, meeting no resistance, but spurred on by Cas's breathy moans, he would gently slide a finger in. Cas would arch his back, gasping at the sensation. Dean would murmur loving words to him, promises to take care of him and statements about how perfect he was. Cas would move his hips, urging Dean farther inside, tentative thrusts punctuated by low groaning.

"More, Dean," he would beg, shuddering at the strange but good sensation.

"So gorgeous, Cas," Dean would babble as he removed his finger, lapping up Cas's protests at the loss of contact. Then, he'd gently urge two fingers in, closing his eyes at the moan that would be drawn from him.

"You like that?" Dean would ask softly. Cas would move his hips in response.

"Mmmhh," he'd moan.

"So perfect," Dean would repeat as he began to move his fingers, massaging the tight muscle and opening him, preparing him for Dean's cock. He would stroke him, and then he'd lightly press the pad of a finger against a certain area that would have Cas cry out and tremble in pleasure.

"Right there, Dean," he'd moan.

"Almost ready, Cas," he'd soothe. He would add another finger, light yet thorough, and Cas would relax into his touch, sighing and melting every time Dean neared that spot.

"Please, Dean," he'd get out finally. "I need you," he'd pant. "More, please."

And Dean would remove his fingers (as he did with his own hole, dimly registering the fact that he had begun to finger himself as well as stroke) and align the tip of his cock with Cas's tight hole. He would spread the remaining lube over himself with a few quick strokes.

"Ready?" Dean would ask softly, and then he would be met with an eager sigh.

Then, finally, after so many years of repressed affection and quiet love, he'd be enveloped in his beloved's tight, wet heat. He'd press in slowly, letting Cas adjust and relax around him.

"So good," he'd soothe, hands supporting Cas's trembling thighs.

He would ease his way in, stroking his thumbs across Cas's skin soothingly. At last, he'd be in all the way, and Cas would breathe hard, adjusting to the feeling of being so full.

"You okay, baby?" Dean would ask, unwilling to hurt his soul mate. Cas would bite one pink, chapped lip and nod, gazing up at Dean with an expression full of love, adoration, and trust.

"Move, please," he'd grunt, and then his eyes would flutter close as Dean snapped his hips back and forth, small movements at first, letting Cas get used to it. He'd speed up after a little bit, entire body fueling his thrusts. Cas would begin to hum at the sensation.

"You feel amazing, Cas," Dean would say, his body aching for more, more, more.

"Dean," Cas would moan, voice low and rough. "Dean, Dean," he'd repeat. Dean would move his arms around Cas's back, and he would in turn latch his legs around Dean's waist. They would work up a fast, efficient rythm, Dean fucking him softly until Cas began thrusting his hips eagerly, crying out brokenly as Dean adjusted their angle, finding his sweet spot and hitting in straight on with every thrust.

"Castiel," Dean would grunt, loving the application of such a pure name to the wrecked mess below him.

"Something's- Dean- something's happening," Cas would gasp, in shock, as Dean's thrusts began to grow desperate and fast.

"Let go, baby, I got you," he'd say. "Come for me, angel."

And Cas would arch his back, screaming Dean's name, his face echoing the immense pleasure of his first orgasm, and his body would ripple. He'd clench around Dean, and the sensation would make the hunter come so hard he saw stars. They'd ride out their orgasms together, Dean thrusting lazily as he spilled inside of Cas. Finally, the pleasure would ebb away from a tidal wave to an insistent hum. He would pull out of Cas, panting, and roll over, flopping down on his back to lay beside Cas as they slowly resurfaced, chests heaving, covered in Cas's come.

"I love you, Cas, so fucking much," he'd say eventually, and Cas would cuddle up to him, breaths evening out.

"Love Dean," he'd murmur, still too lost to say much more. They'd fall asleep together, not caring about the mess. They could always shower together when they woke up the next morning.


After cleaning his hand and his body off with some tissues, Dean tossed the now-dirty underwear and pajama pants into the corner where he and Cas deposited dirty laundry. He stretched, totally relaxed, and pulled on a new pair, a pair that Cas was fond of borrowing. He put on Cas's pajama pants as well and grabbed his robe, tying it around his waist before walking back down the hall.

The TV was still on. Apparently, they were watching the episodes all out of order, because Seven of Nine didn't show up until the fifth season or so, and there she was, playing that holographic, 3D tennis game with Captain Janeway. Kevin had nodded off, and was snoring quietly. Dean walked up to the back of Cas's armchair, where he sat, enraptured.

Cas jumped a bit when Dean leaned down and wrapped his arms around Cas.

"Hi," he said, averting his gaze to look fondly up at Dean.

"Hey," Dean said, knowing his smile was probably confusing Cas. He tilted his head downwards, giving Cas a Spider-Man kiss before pulling back with a contented sigh.

He could so totally do this.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing the top of Cas's head softly.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas said, a little confused at the randomness of the statement.

"Want some lunch?"

"Do we still have hamburger meat?" Cas asked eagerly, making puppy dog eyes without even realizing it. Dean smiled fondly.

"Yeah. Want to come help?"

"Only if you tell me why you're smiling."

"No. It's a secret," Dean confided quietly, taking Cas's hand.

"You confuse me sometimes," Cas said, resigned.

"Mmmm," Dean mumbled as they made their way to the kitchen. The TV kept playing, waiting for Kevin to wake up, and then they would all eat a late lunch together.

Castiel was doing so much better lately, and if the looks he was giving Dean when he thought nobody noticed were anything to go by, Dean might have to apply his practice sooner than he had thought.


Okay so I might have written Dean completely ridiculously outrageously unforgivably ludicrously irrevocably unbearably exorbitantly stupendously out of character but I have this sweet little fuzzy headcanon where he's basically been starved for touch for most of his life and finding someone he loves would make him experience all sorts of new things and after losing so many people he would be constantly looking for ways to show them that they were loved and stuff and Cas and Dean are both so lonely and tired and now they have each other and they can nest and find solace for a while they're going to take that opportunity god damn it

So yeah if you hate it then you can suck my hypothetical dick also probably stop reading either works but i mean everyone loves blow jobs help a brotha out

(I'm female, for the record)