"You're scaring me, Cas."

Dean stared up at the angel, eyes wild. Cas was looking at him over as if deciding where to start eating first. Dean wondered if he'd ever seen him look this dangerous. The idea of Cas wanting him made him feel drunk, and with those angel superpowers the only thing standing between Dean and the most extreme sexual experience of the millennium was Cas' self-control. Cas wasn't used to processing feelings, let alone sexual arousal. Dean remembered what being a horny teenager had felt like, and he wasn't sure if Cas' willpower was up to the challenge. And then he wasn't sure if he loved that thought or hated it.

"Don't sweat it." The words, probably intended to be comforting, alarmed Dean even more. "I'm not going to hurt you," Cas added, releasing his hold and pulling back, leaving Dean with a mix of relief and regret. "Ever injure yourself fixing a car, Dean?"

Dean shifted to lean against the pillows, still wary. "More times 'n I can count."

"But you don't remember every time."

"No." Dean thought about how many times he'd replaced something on the Impala or one of the junkers in Bobby's yard. "I've done a lot of work on cars."

"Exactly. Your brain has difficulty distinguishing between them. So no matter how many injuries you've had, you're not afraid to fix a car."

"What are you getting at?" Cas was right. He wasn't afraid to fix a car, despite a few serious burns and how close he'd once come to losing his left thumb. Of course the Impala hadn't ever... done any of the things Alistair did.

"Maybe you don't need fewer memories. Maybe you need more."

"Come again?"

"You've been avoiding anything that reminds you of Hell. And when you do get reminded, you go into a fight or flight response." Cas' mouth curled up on one side. "Locking yourself into the bathroom, for example."

"Shut up. I was sick."

"My point is that additional memories, provided they're similar but not frightening, may reduce the anxiety."

Dean licked his lips. It sounded like Cas was saying that the cure for his Hell hangover was so much good sex that he overwhelmed the panic attacks. It sounded like he was saying that someday his memories of Hell would just be another cool scar. He wished he could believe that. But Dean Winchester didn't have that kind of luck.

"How's that supposed to work exactly?"

Cas outlined his plan in graphic detail, and the way the color crept up his pale skin made a warm feeling blossom in Dean's chest. By the time Cas was done explaining Dean didn't even notice that his hands had stopped shaking.

Sam had just stepped into the hall, fresh off a haunted playground job in Harrisburg, when his cell phone rang. He noted with alarm that the caller ID said Abby Normal. Dean, calling to yell at him, probably. He'd expected this sooner.

"Dean?" He held the phone away from his ear and braced for the shouting.

"Hey."

His brother sounded tired. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Tentatively he brought the phone closer.

"How are you feeling, Sammy?"

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Like I'm on a rollercoaster with a keg of nitro." Dean paused, and the line was silent for a few seconds. Then, "What can you tell me about neuron pathways?"

"Like in the brain?"

"You know any others?"

Sam ignored the dig. He'd expected worse. "Okay. Uh, I don't know much. A neuron is a nerve cell in your brain, and they're connected to other neurons by synapses, which are—"

"Hold up there, Dr. McCoy," Dean cut in. "Dumb it down for me."

"Okay." Sam wiped a hand across his face. Biology was not his strong suit. "A neural pathway is like a road between two points in your brain. And messages move from one point to the other."

"Messages. Like memories?" Dean's voice was tense.

Sam couldn't help but remember the deluge of Dean's memories, although the details were less distinct now, mostly a jumble of limbs and blood. "Memories, thoughts, feelings. Anything."

"And these pathways, they're flexible?"

"Kinda." Sam looked out the window at the Impala. "Say your brain is Sioux Falls, and you usually take the I-29 to get to Bobby's. You drive that route all the time so that pathway gets engrained. Then one day you start taking a shortcut. Eventually that shortcut just becomes the way you get to Bobby's. The other pathway still exists, but you don't use it anymore."

"Shortcuts. Got it." Dean exhaled loudly. "And the amig— amigda—"

"Amygdala?"

"Yeah. What you said. Tell me about that."

Sam pulled out his laptop and started searching. "Uh, well, it's part of the brain. There's two of them. The one in the right hemisphere has to do with fight or flight responses and the left one—wait. Why are you asking?" He pictured Dean, trapped in the woods in the grip of withdrawal, trying to perform brain surgery on himself with tools found in a cabin.

Dean chuckled faintly. "You really don't wanna know, Sam. Trust me on this."

"Where's Castiel? Is he with you? Put him on." Sam could hear the panic in his voice.

"Cas is fine. We're both fine." There was a pause and then the angel's deep voice was on the line.

"Hello, Sam."

"Dean's not doing anything stupid, is he?"

"No."

The pounding of Sam's heart slowed. "That's good." He laughed, nervously. "Had me scared for a minute. Thought Dean was considering uh," he struggled to recall the word, "trepanning."

"Don't be afraid, Sam. None of the penetration I'm proposing involves the brain." Castiel ended the call, and Sam sat staring at the phone.

Cas removed his suit jacket, laid it on a chair, and then stepped into Dean's personal space as if he belonged there. They had been talking all morning. Cas had tried to get Dean to eat breakfast, which he refused, since his guts felt like water. But he'd finally downed some crackers and chicken broth to stop that glare of concerned disapproval. Now they stood staring at one another in the main room of the cabin.

"Where did you want to start?"

Dean felt a muscle twitch in his thigh. This was it. "Good question. Uh." He ran a hand over his jaw. "How 'bout kissing?"

"Did you find the kissing traumatic?"

Dean tried not to read judgment into the question. Given everything they'd done to him in Hell he supposed Cas might think kissing seemed relatively mild. But the twisted intimacy of it had really bothered him. And if Cas' plan didn't work, then no harm no foul. They could come back from some awkward kissing. There was no coming back from some of the other stuff.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "I did."

"Then it seems a reasonable starting point."

Dean remembered the porno kiss Cas had laid on him at the motel. "Mind if I take point?"

"As you wish." Cas leaned forward and tiled his chin up. "You may begin at any time." It shouldn't have been sexy. It really shouldn't.

"Right." Dean licked his lips, hesitating. "Just so I'm clear, this is purely medicinal?"

"The theory is sound. As for practical impact," Cas shrugged, "you tell me."

Tentatively Dean leaned in and pressed his mouth to Cas' and his pupils blew large before he closed his eyes. Dean didn't kid himself that he deserved this, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy it. Cas' mouth was soft, wet, and yielding. It made his mind imagine things.

Dean pulled back. "Hold up a sec." When Cas looked concerned he added, "Just give me a minute." He turned and adjusted himself in his pants. Given Cas' theory, he could see things escalating into X-rated territory pretty quickly, and he wasn't even gonna think about doing something like that unless he was sure. Like 'Led Zeppelin is the greatest rock band of all time' kind of sure.

"Can we, uh, take your idea on a test run? Before things go all Deliverance in here?"

Cas cocked his head. "What did you have in mind?"

Dean held up a finger and darted into the main room, returning with a battered tape player. He stalked to the chair where he'd thrown his jacket and pulled a tape from the pocket. Tapping the cassette on his palm he returned to the player, slotted the tape into the well, then held a hand protectively over the buttons.

He turned to Cas, his face hard. "Just so we're clear, if I say stop, we stop. Understood?"

Cas nodded, looking solemn. "What do you want me to do?"

Dean dragged in a ragged breath and held out a hand. "Dance with me, Cas. As long as I can stand it." He led Cas toward him and then pressed the button. Brassy music started to play. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and lay his head on his shoulder.

Sinatra began to sing, "Heaven, I'm in Heaven…" Dean exhaled. This was it. His personal record was 37 seconds. That was as long as he'd ever been able to listen before the shame and fear overwhelmed him. If Cas was right, maybe things would be different this time.

Dean ran a hand across Cas' back, enjoying the crisp feel of the dress shirt against his fingers, and Cas' muscles underneath, solid and reassuring. It was difficult to remember that his actual form was some kind of big Gumby of holy light.

"I didn't think there would be dancing," Cas admitted. "If I had known, I would have practiced."

"That's okay," Dean assured him. "Just let me lead." There wouldn't be any fancy footwork, but he knew how to sway to music.

"You'll have to." Cas leaned his head on Dean's shoulder. "I've only watched people do this before. It's very…intimate."

"Yeah." Dean thought of how intimate things had gotten with Alistair and remembered to take a breath. "It is that." Cas smelled clean, with a hint of cologne. Dean supposed he used his angel mojo to maintain whatever molecules Jimmy had on his skin and clothes when Cas first…Dean hesitated. There was no good way to describe possession, even by an angel. At least Jimmy had gotten a say in the matter. Although having his blessing on this hookup felt weirder than weird. It reminded Dean of when he'd had to ask his dad to borrow the Impala. And now he and Cas were parking in lover's lane and Dean was pressed against him like a tipsy date. He didn't know if Cas was the boy or the girl or the car in that metaphor, and he wasn't sure it mattered. He brought his attention back to the music. They were past the 37 second mark. A personal best. Maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

Cas squeezed him, interrupting his thoughts. "Is this okay?"

"S'fine."

"You can talk about it," Cas said. "If that helps."

If Sam had said something that touchy-feely Dean would have compared him to one of the ladies from The View, but coming from Cas in that midnight voice of his the offer sounded appealing. Cas didn't see the weakness in talking. After weighing the pros and cons, Dean didn't either. "He uh, he used to sing this to me." He cleared his throat. "Alistair, I mean."

Cas nodded. "Would you like me to do that?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Angels often sing," Cas said. "My garrison sang songs of praise together."

Dean smiled against the angel's shoulder. "Are we talking Venna Boys Choir or more a Tom Waits kinda thing?"

"More akin to the Red Army Chorus." Cas smiled wistfully. "If they were also fearsome warriors of God," he added.

"So you've got a good singing voice?"

Cas shrugged. "I haven't had a lot of call for it lately."

Dean was picturing dragging Cas to a karaoke night, maybe doing a little drunken Bohemian Rhapsody when he noticed Sinatra was now singing about baubles and bangles jing-jing-a-linging. They were into the next song.

"Alright then." Dean dropped his arms and moved to the tape player, rewinding to the start of the dreaded song. "Let's hear those golden pipes, Cas."

"Heaven, I'm in Heaven…" When Alistair had sung to him it had been a mocking threat. Cas, on the other hand, had actually been in Heaven, albeit the weird angel section of it where everything was wavelengths and energy. Hearing the words from his mouth felt different.

Cas sounded nothing like a choirboy. He sounded like someone singing a lullaby with a voice they hadn't used in weeks. Cas whisper-sang into his ear and ran his fingers through Dean's hair in a perfect recreation of the memories he'd seen. Dean clung to Cas, fighting the panic that wanted to rise in his chest. You're safe, he reminded himself. You're safe, you're safe, you're safe. He concentrated on Cas' rough voice, on the feel of his waist and back, and the firm heat of his body. It wasn't exactly Heaven with this tight ball of fear in his chest, but it wasn't Hell either. Not by a long shot.

Dean had been wrong about the kissing. It had changed everything. He sat in a chair in the main room of the cabin, pretending to read a magazine about fishing. He shifted, trying to find a position where the chair's loose spring wasn't digging into his shoulder, and stole a peek at Cas. The angel was reading the bird encyclopedia again, that concentration looking good on him. Really good. Dean drank water and shifted again. Technically they hadn't gone past first base, but having sexual fantasies about Cas and necking with the guy while slow dancing to Sinatra wasn't exactly their usual Friday night.

Dean yawned. He was dog tired, but scared to sleep. Alistair was dead, but he'd be seeing those white eyes in his dreams tonight. He gulped water and wished it was a glass of Jack. Sleep was a problem he needed to sort soon, because even with the broken spring, if he didn't move to the bed he was gonna nod off in the chair.

"It's late," Dean said, slapping the magazine down and standing. "I'm gonna crash." He pointed a thumb in the direction of the bedroom. "You coming?"

Cas turned a page in his book. "I don't require sleep."

"Fair 'nuf. But I do. And if you wanted to hang out close by, I'd be cool with that." Dean put his hands in his pockets and bounced nervously on the balls of his feet.

Cas looked up at him. "You're frightened."

"Shut up. You're frightened."

Cas made an expression of tolerant disbelief that Dean had seen on Sam numerous times.

"Okay, yeah. Maybe I'm a little anxious, but today dredged up some stuff, and I'd rather not spend the night being tortured."

"I could enter your dreams if you like."

"No!" Dean had an idea of some of the places his subconscious might go after today's tonsil hockey session and he'd rather not have Cas see that. "I mean, let's keep that as a backup plan. If it seems like things are starting to go sideways just wake me up. Okay?"

"I won't leave you to languish in your nightmares, Dean."

"Thanks." Dean stripped to his t-shirt and briefs and climbed into the bed, wrestling the pillow into submission. He lay on his stomach, watching as Cas settled into the armchair nearby with his book.

"You could read over here. If you wanted."

Cas looked up. "On the bed?"

"Yeah." Dean raised a palm. "I won't try anything. Promise."

"That's not a concern," Cas assured him.

"Well, I didn't want you thinking I'm tryna strongarm you." Into sex, Dean added in his head. Or cuddling.

"Strongarm me?" Cas smiled. "I could take you. In a battle of strength, I mean."

"As if!" Dean slapped the spot next to him, trying not to think about Cas taking him in any other sense. He failed. "Just shut up and come here."

Cas settled next to him, sitting up, and Dean moved so that his head was against Cas' thigh. It was solid and warm. Sleep took him before he had a chance to examine the feeling bubbling in his chest.

He woke the next morning with his face burrowed into Cas' armpit, but the angel had no smell of sweat. Only fresh laundry, clean skin, and Jimmy's deodorant. He raised his head and squinted at the sunshine filtering through the curtains and across the bedspread.

Dean opened and closed his mouth, feeling furry-tongued. "G'morning."

"To you as well. Did you have a restful sleep?"

"Near enough." The important part was that he hadn't had a nightmare. At least, not one he could recall.

For the first time in days, he was legitimately hungry. But real food would have to wait. He needed to go to the mine and check on the still. There was also the little task of burying the box containing his dad's purple heart.

He made his way to the bathroom, showered, dressed, and brushed his teeth.

"So. That box." Dean jerked his head toward his duffle. "Thought I'd bury it in a salt mine this morning." A guilty flush raced up his neck. Not even a day into the relationship—if medicinal kissing and dancing could be called that—and he was already lying to him. Dean thought about the still. Today he'd harvest whatever alcohol it had produced, then dismantle the damn thing. Maybe he'd even try making pizza.

"That sounds like a good idea. I can be…"

Dean waved a hand. "I can handle it. You just relax." The last thing he wanted was for Cas to know he'd deceived him for days just so he could scrape together his next drink. "If you're looking to be useful, how about rustling up some breakfast? Extra pancakes, extra eggs, extra bacon?"

"That's a lot of extra. You'll make yourself sick."

"Just extra bacon then? Pretty please? I'm friggin' hungry." Dean gave Cas' hair a tousle.

Cas smiled, and his whole face seemed to be lit from within. Dean wondered if anyone had ever called him pretty before. "Okay then. Extra bacon."

Outside Dean breathed in a lungful of air that smelled like fresh pine and moist peaty dirt. It had rained during the night. The hammer and chisel clanked together in his pocket as he strode toward the mine with the box tucked under his arm.