The weak autumn light was fading to a stormy evening as Dean sat flicking through an Old Norse text on elves. His eyes were running across each sentence but they weren't taking anything in, not really. If he were to be honest with himself, he would have put the book down without pretending to care about elves at all; but he was too afraid to think about the images that were tugging at the back of his mind. Every time he hit a full-stop, a new image would flash across his mind's eye accompanied by varying emotions. The images were different, some of them memories and some imagination, but they all featured a common denominator: Castiel. The angel flitted around Dean's mind, probed at his consciousness until he forgot he was even pretending to read at all. The memory of when he had woken half-naked in the hotel with Cas at his side sent a churning shiver down into his gut; knowing that Castiel had rescued him, undressed him, touched his bare skin… What had the angel thought about? Was he possessed by the same repetitive urges day in and day out? Was he struggling to concentrate on anything other than putting his hands right –

'Hello, Dean.'

Dean almost dropped his book in shock as Castiel himself appeared in the doorway, his shoulders dotted by dark raindrops and his hair stuck down to his forehead.

'Cas,' Dean growled angrily. 'What've I told you about doin' that?'

'Sorry.'

Dean wasn't particularly mad at Castiel, he was more embarrassed at himself – it was as though Cas had walked in on him doing something inappropriate. He hoped the angel did not notice the colour in his cheeks.

'How did – where did you go?' he asked hurriedly, looking up at the angel's mild face.

'Detroit,' Castiel replied. 'There's something on your mind.'

'What?'

'You weren't reading that book, you were just looking at the page.'

'Uh, okay.'

'What's the matter?'

Castiel sat down on the couch opposite Dean and waited expectantly with his palms rested flat upon his knees. Dean raised his eyebrows.

'Nothin',' he retorted. 'It's not like I'd tell you anyway.'

'Why?' Castiel frowned. 'I would like to believe you could tell me anything.'

'Yeah, not after last night.'

Dean laughed humourlessly and got to his feet, tossing the book down upon the table. Castiel remained seated but followed Dean's movements around the sofa with confused and anxious eyes.

'I brought you here from potential peril,' the angel articulated. 'Healed you and ensured your safety –'

'Only to walk out on me!' Dean cut in. 'What was with that, man? You go to all that trouble to make sure I'm alright before goin' ahead and givin' me a talkin' to. What was it, you wanted a clean slate?'

'I am sorry, Dean –'

'You seem to say that a lot.'

Dean breathed angrily through his nostrils as he glared at his angel companion. Castiel sighed and brought his palms together.

'I am sorry I allowed my fear to … run away with me,' he finished. 'I was angry that you had been so careless. I was worried for you, that is all. I am sorry that I hurt you.'

A lingering silence followed these words until Castiel had to glance up at Dean's face to gauge a reaction. Something behind Dean's eyes appeared to have softened, though that was the only hint of any relent; the rest of his body was tense and rigid, in defence-mode.

'And, what about the other thing?' Dean asked gruffly.

Castiel frowned.

'What other thing?'

'Y'know, the other thing that happened before you left.'

'When I brought you here?'

'When – when you kissed me, God dammit!'

Castiel frowned even deeper, his confusion exacerbated by the intense look of discomfort upon Dean's face. The man suddenly looked more like a child, like an embarrassed adolescent confronting a threatening issue.

'Is that not how humans display affection?' Castiel asked slowly.

'Y-yeah, but it's more like the "I-wanna-get-jiggy-with-you" kinda affection.'

'I don't understand that reference.'

'It's not a reference, it's – never mind.' Dean ran his fingers through his hair. 'I don't get you, man.'

'Do you want to?' said Castiel, and the sincerity in his invitation caused a shiver of longing to prick up Dean's spine.

Instead of answering with words, Dean sat down next to the angel and stared at the carpet, his elbows on his knees.

'Some sense'd be nice,' he grumbled. 'No more of this confusing mumbo-jumbo.'

Suddenly, Castiel disappeared however before Dean could even get to his feet, the angel had reappeared with a bottle of amber liquid in his hand and a smile on his face.

'This will help to make up your mind,' he said, and Dean could not help but privately agree.