I am so sorry for the long wait between postings! I have been, oddly enough, in transit for days and therefore not able to post as regularly as I'd intended. Thus, I offer you this weird little chapter as an apology. It's a deviation of sorts, and came from the reviews that said they liked the idea of Cas manipulating Dean for his own purposes. This chapter takes that to a new, utterly ridiculous level...

I promise I'll have a better, or rather more on-point chapter up soon as I can - when I return to the world of easily accessible internet. But for the time being, I felt bad leaving it undone so here's some over the top stuff to hold us over.

Thanks so much for the reviews - they are digital encouragement that is much appreciated!

OK, I guess I've stalled enough, here you go...

Wardrobe Malfunction.

It had been a long stake-out, from eleven the night before until now almost five a.m. and though the sun was just breaking through the clouds signifying the start of a new day and most of the world's wake-up call, Dean was ready to pass out. Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling his shoes off, eyes drifting closed without his permission. Sam barely worked up the energy to turn around when he heard a frustrated grunt coming from across the room, but when he did he laid his eyes on a sight he couldn't quite identify - Dean had his t-shirt pulled up, holding it under his chin, so that he could look down at his crotch unhindered, where he was currently wrestling with disturbing fervor with his zipper.

"Uhh... dude?"

Dean didn't bother to stop pulling on the zip of his fly to answer his brother's obvious confusion, "I'm stuck!"

"Dean, what-"

"My friggin' zipper is stuck!" and with a final pull he nearly knocked himself over as the metal pull-tab came loose from the zipper. Dean exhaled, flustered, and looked at the little metal tab in his hand as if it was the biggest, most mysterious nuisance he'd ever experienced.

He sighed heavily, throwing the tab onto the bedside table. "Forget it," he collapsed onto his bed fully dressed and was asleep in a matter of seconds, not moving a muscle, even in sleep, until he woke several hours later.

When Dean awoke on top of the scratchy bedspread he was warm and stiff and at ease. Sam was nowhere to be found, but Dean wasn't worried. He was feeling pretty good having finally slept longer than three hours straight. In fact, he realized yawning and rubbing his hand through his hair, that was more consecutive sleep than he'd gotten since he could remember.

He trudged to the bathroom on heavy legs, still feeling a little pull of sleep, but oddly refreshed. With his eyes blurry he headed to the toilet, threw up the seat, and went to undo his fly only to have his fingers fumble over the zipper as though the act weren't ingrained muscle memory at this point. He opened his eyes and looked down at his zipper to find the tab gone and groaned in irritation as he recalled the great zipper debacle of earlier.

He stood in front of the toilet and fought with the damnable zipper for twenty straight minutes, becoming more and more enraged when he couldn't seem to make the damn thing budge.

At some point he chuckled at the pants' imminent defeat, having decided to stop screwing around and just pull the damn pants off by force - he could fix the zipper later. Or more likely, just throw them out. But hard as Dean tried, he couldn't get them down without the zipper undone. He couldn't seem to slip the denim over his buttocks, which was odd because Dean didn't wear his jeans particularly tight. Dean figured tight jeans were for guys who liked to paint and ride bicycles and flat-iron their hair. No, he was a relaxed fit kind of guy. So the fact that he couldn't seem to fit pants that he considered loose enough to be manly over his hips was a little unsettling.

"I gotta start running..." he muttered to himself, concerned.

He stormed back out to the main room, determined not to be bested by a stupid pair of pants, and pulled his knife out from under his pillow. He had the blade pointed at the waistline of his jeans, mere centimeters away from the denim before he stopped, thought, and said out loud, "Dude...so not worth the risk."

He tossed the blade back down on his bed and worked at the zipper again.

Castiel stood across the room, shrouded in invisibility, unable to not smile as he watched Dean laugh mirthlessly down at his own crotch, challenging the denim under his breath. If it had been in his nature, he might have laughed out loud. Dean's growing frustration was both amusing and strange to Castiel, and though he enjoyed watching it, he simply couldn't stand to anymore. He'd have to pretend of course that he didn't know what was going on, to allow Dean to save face, and also, to play his own game.

A breeze blew in the stuffy motel room and Dean looked up to see a genuinely curious-looking Castiel cocking his head at him. Dean was stone still for a moment, the fact that he had been caught with a handful of his own crotch not even remotely escaping him, especially since Castiel's eyes seemed to slide from Dean's face to his groin and back to his face with that calm assessment that he wore so well.

Castiel made his face the perfect mask of unamused perplexedness. "Is this a common behavior for you?" he asked, a less than subtle tone of irritation in his voice. He was proud of himself for the deception; his voice successfully presented a terseness that would go along with his feigned frustration, despite that on the inside he was smiling - especially at Dean's mortified expression.

"Hey...Cas..." Dean laughed awkwardly, barely meeting the angel's eyes. Cas seemed irritated, and Dean couldn't say he blamed him. He must look like an idiot right now. He tried to play it tough with Cas most of the time. He knew Cas had him beat in strength, knowledge, faith, ability to be somewhere when needed... Dean liked to at least be a better human. Cas was bad at that. Dean was confident that his con-man level qualities of charm and deception would always have him one step ahead of Cas where the human world was concerned. He often used those qualities to convince himself that he wasn't just some measly cockroach of a mortal thing to Cas. That he knew things the angel didn't and maybe that meant Cas needed him somehow.

But then, things like this happened... and he felt like a child Cas had to babysit lest it climbed into the refrigerator and suffocated itself by accident.

I mean come on... who can't get out of their own pants?

Ridiculous.

Embarrassing.

At least explain yourself! Dean cleared his throat, "Zipper's broke," he offered lamely.

Cas rolled his eyes. He stepped toward Dean impatiently. On the inside Castiel was ready to combust with nerves and conflicting feelings; he couldn't believe he was going through with this insanity, he judged himself harshly for it. And he did feel bad for manipulating Dean in such an outrageous fashion. But at the same time he couldn't wait to see how it played out. He found himself... excited.

Dean stood up straight, suddenly feeling very exposed. And as Cas stormed toward him in a huff, he couldn't stop himself for backing away out of instinct.

"Allow me," Cas demanded, one hand heading toward Dean's lower half.

"Woah, woah!" Dean jerked away. "Allow you to what? I don't need you to take my pants off for me, damn it!" He nearly doubled over in his desperation to cover his junk with his hands.

Castiel's eyes were cold and sharp as they bored into Dean, assessing him clinically.

Dean asserted, his voice at near-panic decibel, "You do not just take a man's pants off without his permission!"

"Fine. Dean, may I have your permission to remove your pants?"

Dean choked. He can't be serious? He sounds serious... Maybe I should let him, and then who knows, things could get out of hand and that would be ok with - No! No Dean! Real life, not porn! He cleared his thoughts with a shake of his head, "No! No you may not!"

Cas sighed heavily, now becoming legitimately irritated. This plan was not going how he'd hoped - though honestly, he hadn't known what to hope for. He simply felt himself becoming very frustrated very fast. He couldn't quite understand what he wanted from Dean in this moment, and the confusion was exhausting him. "I don't see the purpose of removing one's pants in the middle of the day in the first place," he muttered lowly, turning away.

"Some people - human people - have to pee every once and awhile," Dean exclaimed defensively.

"Perhaps if you allowed me to reassemble the fastening properly," Cas offered.

"What, fix the zipper?"

"That's what I just said," he responded, squinting in confusion.

Dean blushed hot, "...Fine."

Wait, what?

"Very well." Castiel came towards him again and Dean, reflexively, backed up until his backside hit the table and he couldn't go any further. Castiel stood mere inches away, tilting his head and squinting very pointedly down at Dean's crotch.

Oh boy. Here we go...

"This is insane..." Dean muttered to himself. Castiel seemed to entirely ignore him. He simply tilted his head to the side in that way tat made Dean's heart feel like it was pumping magma instead of blood.

Keep it together man...

But then Castiel reached out, running a deliberate finger over the zipper of Dean's fly before Dean had time to pull away. So instead of No, don't! Dean's only reaction was a gasp and his mouth going entirely dry as Castiel's finger slid slowly all the way up to the button.

Holy crap!

Castiel ever so gently pressed his hand to Dean's groin, until the zipper of Dean's jeans was touching against the skin of his palm. It was a pressure-less touch, Dean could only feel the warmth of his hand there, but seeing it, knowing it was there...

Holy crap, he's touching me. Yes, yes, yes -

Wait - no, no, no - PERSONAL SPACE! Way too much, way too much - getting kind of - oh crap - Dean, make him stop looking before you embarrass yourself!

Dean smacked Cas' hand away and Cas looked at him with those big blue, I don't understand what's happening eyes and a little bit of the Please don't be mean to me Dean eyes and Dean's heart was pounding which was a miracle because he could swear all of his blood was headed in a different, more southward direction.

"Cas, that's... not really appropriate man..."

When the fuck did we get so proper?

Cas shook his head in obvious confusion, wiping the vulnerability from his face with a clear and effective dismissal. His slight blush remained despite himself, and Dean couldn't help notice it. "Nevertheless," Cas stated backing away from Dean, his eyebrows raised tightly in that way they did when he was miffed. "It's done."

Dean looked down at the zipper and grabbed the newly repaired metal pull-tab, successfully sliding the zipper up and down a little before laughing up at Cas, "Hey! Look at that! Thanks man." He looked at Cas' irritated expression and, in trying to lighten his mood, of course said the wrong thing, "Hey, just another thing to put on your resume - personal tailor."

Cas' eyes focused on Dean's sharply, and Dean froze where he stood.

"Of course Dean. The next time you step on a pebble or can't manage to dress yourself, give me a call and I'll be sure to drop everything and tend to you."

And in a beat, he was gone, and Dean felt awful. And embarrassed. And a little uncomfortable that he still couldn't stop feeling Cas' finger running phantom strokes over his fly...

He sighed heavily, finally heading back to the bathroom.

Hopeless.

Castiel was immediately perturbed and ashamed by his behavior. He was not so innocent as not to know where he'd touched Dean, the implications... He was disappointed in himself for this particular plan - a broken zipper, ridiculous. And he also was disappointed in himself for his shortness with Dean. His frustration built from his inability to identify where these seemingly unmanageable emotions came from, aside from knowing it had something to do with Dean Winchester.

Castiel had been feeling rather mischievous that morning, and being that he had grown irritated with Dean over the unprecedented emotional confusion that the man presented for him, he'd felt it was well within his rights to have a little fun. It wasn't until later, when he thought back on the absurdity of it all that Castiel started to feel guilty.

He wondered if he wasn't in his right mind. In his right mind he never would have expended angelic energy for something so preposterous and ultimately pointless. All he'd gained from this bizarre social experiment was another blasphemously tempting forced interaction between he and Dean in which the air was heavy and things went unsaid and unidentified physiological responses were triggered and unidentified feelings were felt. Again.

It was a mistake, doing these things to Dean and then showing up to undo them himself. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn't enough that he'd pulled Dean from Hell... Perhaps he felt the need to continue saving him over and over, even if in the most menial ways... Perhaps, he was terrified that Dean wouldn't need him anymore, and so he just kept creating situations which warranted him continuing to claim the man as his charge. Situations previously less ridiculous than today's.

Somehow he only left that encounter even more confused, even more on the verge of... something. Something he still couldn't understand, except to know he felt it creeping around the corner and he was at a loss to stop it.

Castiel felt something dark and sinful melt, white-hot, through his body, spreading out from his abdomen. It was like poison, like poison that he loved, even though he knew it was killing him.

It wasn't as though Castiel, in his thousands of years of existence, had never experienced lust. He had, in his small way, possessed that fraction of desire that was to be expected for the majority of his species. But that natural thing was a far cry from what he felt today. Today and every day he watched Dean go about his human life, oblivious to him.

And in Castiel's silent reflection on his actions, their motives, and what being near Dean had made him feel...Castiel began to question everything he thought he understood of desire in the human sense.

He wondered if by playing these games, he wasn't wrenching himself down from Heaven one lust-tainted decision at a time.

And that frightened him.

But what frightened him more, was that he wasn't afraid enough to stop.

More to come...

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