New chapter - I hope with all the hope in a teenaged unicorn's diary that you like it.

You know it was actually ready for you awhile ago, but I couldn't get it up. ...I should rephrase that... I couldn't post it successfully. Not sure what happened, but something went wonky. So here it is for you now.

As always, reviews are appreciated and cherished.

Trouble of the World.

Sam and Dean didn't do long spells in the same place. It was bad for business. They didn't need people getting used to them being around, or wondering who the new guys were. And the longer you stayed somewhere, the more attention you'd get. So for what they did for a living, it was better to be in and out in a flash.

The boys were painfully aware of that fact as they shelled-out the cash for yet another day at the crap-hole motel they'd been at for near two weeks now. They'd been sleeping in the same room, driving the same roads, eating at the same diner - they were practically regulars.

And Dean didn't like the look the short-order cook gave him whenever he and Sam walked in. He gave him the nod. You know, the man nod. The silent, Hey, what's good, man? And it freaked Dean out because it meant he recognized them now. Everyone did.

Especially now that the town was getting back to normal.

The excuse they'd used to stick around another day was to check on the success of their ritual, but Dean knew that Sam had to, if nothing else, at least apologize Diner Girl.

It gave the older brother a kind of heartache to see the guy so enamored with a girl they would ultimately leave behind. He was tempted to give them more time. He wanted to, he really did. Besides, after being put through the emotional ringer in the past week, Dean was ready to take a few days off. He himself needed to think as well.

So it was, that despite their better judgement, the Winchesters decided to hang around a little bit longer.

Dean stirred his coffee, looking out the window at the small but bizarre town they'd been calling home for over two weeks now. Things were mostly back to normal, the people getting their sense back, relearning what it meant to have their wits about them. All permanent damage done was regrettable, but they would live. The poison of the curse was working slowly out of their systems.

"The only one left is Randy, but he's been effected the longest so, maybe it's gonna take him a little longer to work his way out of it..." Dean looked up to see that his words fell on deaf ears. His brother was nodding as if he was listening, but his puppy-dog eyes were trained on the waitress who was on the other side of the restaurant and keeping her distance. Sam couldn't look away from her.

"And yesterday he wore a live chicken on his hat and went around asking people how they wanted their green eggs and ham..." Dean tested.

Sam failed. He didn't even look over.

Dean got up from the booth, clapping his hand on his brother's shoulder, this being the only thing since they'd gotten there that fully grasped his brother's attention, and said, "Good luck Sammy."

Dean's tone was, oddly sincere. It caused Sam's eyebrows to knit together. "Wait, where're you going?"

"Just do us all a favor and go make it right, Sam. If you can. You know where I'll be." Dean gave a casual salute and headed out of the diner.

Sam took a deep breath, I will. He left some money on the table, enough to cover the bill and a sizeable tip, and rushed out of the diner.

Twenty minutes later Sam was back, hovering outside the diner's entrance like some sort of creep, bouquet of flowers in hand. He hoped he picked the nicest ones. He'd gone expensive, as far as this town was concerned. But he didn't know ass from elbow when it came to flowers. He just hoped they were enough to get the ball rolling.

He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and walked in. He headed straight for the counter, standing directly across from Diner Girl, getting there a little too quickly for him to really feel ready. And when she upturned her eyes and caught him in them, his every well-planned sentiment completely vanished. And what came out instead of his epic, Nicholas Sparks lover's apology moment was a nervous and stuttered, "H-hi."

She didn't say anything, but there was no malice in her expression.

Sam completely crumbled under her gaze anyway.

"Um... these are for you," he offered less than smoothly.

Finally she spoke, and her voice was calm and even, despite Sam's finely-tuned senses picking up a definite edge to her tone. "So, are these sorry I came on too strong flowers, or sorry my brother and his superhuman boyfriend kidnapped you flowers?"

"Uh, both, I hope."

She examined him a moment before looking down at her shoes thoughtfully. Sam held his breath waiting for the inevitable Are you kidding? Get the Hell out of my sight! If I ever see you again I'll call the cops!

But instead she said simply, "I'll put them in water."

She extended her hand and Sam just looked at her stupidly for a moment, as if he couldn't quite register what she'd said. Finally he snapped out of it and jerked forward, clumsily handing her the flowers. She let the smallest of smiles escape and when Sam saw it he returned a smile of his own that was brilliant enough to have her blushing. It was so clear he was relieved, that she couldn't help but be flattered.

Sam was surprised that she allowed him to put forward such an effort into earning her forgiveness. He stayed at that diner, sitting at the bar, for hours. And after awhile, it seemed she was starting to forgive him. They chatted about this and that, mostly talking about the progress of the town's recovery without actually talking about what had gone on in the motel room or the fact that apparently the whole mess was her fault in the first place. And eventually, it started to feel comfortable again. Easy. She would smile at him, and he'd smile back, and she'd tuck a loose stand of hair behind her ear and Sam would wish he'd reached out and done it for her.

They were both amazed how easily everything else was pushed to the side.

"So," Sam started, picking absently at the napkin on the counter, "what is your name? I've been talking to you for weeks and I don't even know it."

"Whose fault is that?" she smirked.

"I guess mine," he smiled back.

She held out her hand for him to shake properly, "I'm Sam."

"You're kidding," he asked, squinting at her.

"Uh, no. Why would I be kidding?..."

He laughed a little to himself before taking the girl's hand, "Nice to meet you Sam. I'm also Sam."

The girl's eyebrows raised.

"It's too bad," he said, shaking her hand.

"What is?"

"I'm really starting to like you. But... I just don't think I could date a girl with the same name as me," he shook his head, not sure if the level of teasing versus sincerity was tipping past fifty-fifty.

The girl didn't miss a beat. She crossed her arms and said, "Well, guess you'll just have to come up with a good nickname for me; an appealing term of endearment."

Sam laughed, looking at the girl in absolute wonder.

He squinted at her, pretending to be thinking hard. "Like... Peaches," he suggested, unable to hide the mischievous glint in his eye.

"Peaches?" She walked away shaking her head, not able not to smile as Sam laughed at her reaction. "God, I hope you've got better than that."

"Hey listen," Sam called, and she turned back, her smile persistent. "If you want to sit down and... talk through what happened... I've been where you are. Kind of. I know it can be... Well I know you must have a lot of questions. So, if you wanted some... clarification, I can help you with that. ...I think."

She looked down at her shoes, her brow furrowing for a moment before she looked back up at him, saying sincerely, "Yeah. I could probably use that."

She turned away to head off back to work, and Sam noticed his heart fluttering, an anticipation that he hadn't felt in a long time swelling in his chest.

Being an Angel of the Lord, citizen of Heaven before Earth, Castiel was entirely oblivious of the idea of pace.

He had a vast but ultimately abstract knowledge of the restrictions of human culture and its protocols. For him there was no application of ideas like, you can't do that til the second date. Or, you should wait before you do A, B and C. Or even, too fast. And his understanding of the struggle of human sexuality was even more limited. From the outside it seemed a base, uncomplicated thing. But the more he thought about it, the more complex it seemed to become. There were physical attractions and subtleties and confusions, and emotional complications and social nuances and none of them made any sense to him. He could hardly untangle them at all.

All Castiel knew now, for sure, was what he wanted. And he could no longer see any reason he shouldn't have it.

He and Dean had kissed. They had kissed not like friends, not like family, but like lovers. They had admitted to each other it was pleasurable. So Castiel found himself asking, why stop? He had no way of comprehending the internal combustion that his second, public kiss had triggered in Dean's mind. All Castiel could read from the situation was that he and Dean were very much not on the same page, and that had to change. Immediately.

Dean was in the motel room cleaning up after the disarray of their little kidnapping and power-binding, party figuring he'd let the mess go long enough. He was blinking down at a few rust-brown drops of Diner Girl's blood on the carpet when he felt Castiel arrive. His heart thumped in his chest, his every muscle went rigid and quaky. He turned and Cas was standing there, looking the same as always.

"Hello Dean."

"Hey Cas," Dean offered, trying a little too hard to be cordial. "Towns going back to normal, so... Looks like the binding spell worked."

"Of course it did," he offered flatly.

Dean rolled his eyes, moving to walk past Castiel toward the sink, where the bloody brass bowl would undoubtedly need scrubbing. But before he could get there, Castiel stepped in front of him, an odd look in his eyes.

Dean knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready to deal with it. He tried to push past Castiel, but the angel stubbornly got in front of him again. "Cas," Dean started to warn. But he was cut off.

"You... told me I was to blame for making your heart beat erratically, as though it was flattery. Was it not? Have I... misinterpreted? Does it... hurt you?"

Just like Cas. Straight to the point.

Dean's heart was beating hard in his chest, a traitorous reminder of his lust and confusion. "No, no. It doesn't hurt. I just - I'm not gonna do this with you alright. That's not how this works."

Cas eyes narrowed in interest, "This?"

"Yeah, you know." He motioned between them as though his statement warranted no explanation. But Cas simply stared at him blankly, waiting. "This. You and me. It's not gonna happen. It can't."

Cas' brow creased, "What exactly can't happen?" he asked sincerely, nothing sarcastic about it. And damn if that didn't near break Dean's heart. Did Cas really have no idea what was happening here?

"You can't just kiss me Cas," Dean said a little too harshly, not sure where the animosity was coming from.

Cas smiled shyly, ducking his head, "I did before-"

"Don't be cute, Cas. You're not a friggin' school girl and it doesn't work for you."

Even as the words were leaving Dean's mouth he was regretting them, but they'd gained so much velocity he couldn't shut himself up. And as his voice came out in a sudden harshly-toned yell he could see the hurt blossoming over Cas' face, as though he didn't quite understand Dean's anger except to know it was somehow his fault.

"Look, I don't wanna be mean, I'm just... What happened the other night, it was just because we had to. It wasn't real, you get that right?"

Lie! Why the fuck are we backtracking!

Dean shook his head to shut up his mind.

Cas tilted his head to the side, confused.

Dean simultaneously loved and hated the way it looked - Cas was just so...oblivious. Dean's chest constricted - poor Cas wouldn't even see it coming.

I have to.

Why?

I have to.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Dean swallowed down the internal battle, his jaw clenched and his voice was hard, "We kissed because we had to. It didn't mean anything."

LIE LIE LIE.

Suddenly, it seemed to click for the angel, as if in a snap Castiel understood what was happening. Castiel's shields went up so fast Dean could have blinked and missed it. It would have been easier on his conscience if he had. Castiel's face went blank and impassive. He stepped away from Dean, his posture stiffening visibly. So much so that Dean was able to really take into account how much the angel had let himself relax. And it made him think, that he'd never seen him quite so comfortable in his skin (borrowed though it may be) before this past week.

But now he was stiff again, rigid and closed off.

It's better this way... Dean told himself.

Liar. Fucking liar. Look what you're doing to him you asshole.

"You mean to say it meant nothing, to you," Cas clarified, his voice flat.

Dean swallowed hard, but he couldn't do it - he couldn't just say yes, he couldn't spare Cas this one merciful bullet to the brain to end his suffering. To put a definite end to it. He just couldn't bear to.

"I see," Castiel stated after being met with silence.

Dean's heart jumped and flipped, panicking, rioting in his chest as he could feel Cas drawing away. It was a physical plea, an actual bodily warning, that he was making a mistake.

He didn't heed it.

Dean said nothing. There was a moment of heavy silence before Castiel stated, "Understood," and disappeared.

Dean couldn't understand it, but he wanted to cry. It built and built, and he fought it wave after wave until he snapped. He grabbed the nearest object and threw it against the wall.

It wasn't until he saw the shattered shards of the ceramic coffee mug on the carpet that he felt a hollowing in his heart, that he was disturbed to realize, settled into his chest as if it was going to be permanent.

Ok, this is an experiment - it is about to get interactive up in here.

Who has a good idea for a nick-name for Diner Girl? I have one in mind, but if you think of one you feel fits her, let me know! Perhaps I'll pick one to work in to the story.

Then we'll be co-writers. Whaaaaaat? That's teamwork people.