Chapter 3

Dean stumbled up the front porch steps and through the door to Bobby's house. The lights in the front hall were off, but he could hear the sound of the tv coming from the living room, so he tossed his keys onto the table and shrugged out of his jacket before making his way in.

"There you are," Sam greeted him. "Where were..." He trailed off when he noticed how Dean was swaying slightly and quirked an eyebrow. "You're drunk."

Dean waved his hand and shrugged. He avoided looking at Sam, who was sprawled out in Bobby's old recliner with Gabriel perched on the arm next to him. He also avoided looking at Castiel, who was curled up on the couch and undoubtedly gazing up at him with those piercing blue eyes. Instead, he looked down at the floor, focusing on standing up straight without falling over. It was a miracle he had managed to drive home without totaling the Impala.

"Gonna go upstairs," he mumbled, turning around and leaving before his brother could say anything back. He needed to get out of there – even in his current state, he knew being in the same room with the very man who was the reason he was so intoxicated wasn't such a great idea.

He made his way to the room he had set up for Castiel and kicked off his boots before flopping down onto the small cot on his stomach. He nuzzled into the pillow and inhaled deeply. Despite how much he himself reeked of alcohol, it smelled good; it smelled like Castiel. Somehow it was comforting to think that he was in the same bed the angel had slept in for the past few nights.

He was in Castiel's bed. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just because he was messed up in the head, but the thought instantly made him hard. He groaned softly into the pillow as he felt his cock thickening, and he reached down and pressed the heel of his palm into the bulge in his pants to get some relief, but it wasn't enough. Without even thinking about it, he rolled over and unzipped his jeans, tugging down the waistband of his boxer briefs and wrapping his fist around his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath at his own touch and swiped his thumb over the head, smearing the pre-come that was already leaking out along his length before slowly pumping his hand up and down, moaning at the friction. His left hand fisted in the sheets and he threw his head back, already breathing heavily after just a few minutes.

Images of Castiel, dripping wet and naked, danced behind his closed eyelids. The smooth chest, the muscled stomach, the hipbones that jutted out alongside the trail of curls that led down to between his strong, lithe legs...

Dean felt the warmth pooling in his lower abdomen and moaned again, jerking harder at his cock, twisting his wrist at the tip. He breathed heavily, inhaling the smell of his own sex and alcohol and Castiel, and he briefly pictured a flash of electric blue eyes before he was coming, biting his tongue to keep from crying out, spurting his release all over his fist and his shirt. He stroked himself a few more times before stilling and trying to catch his breath, freeing the sheets from his vice-like grip and running his left hand through his short, spiky hair.

Finally opening his eyes, he blinked through the darkness for another minute before tucking himself back into his pants and peeling off his shirt, cleaning himself off and then tossing it into the corner. He rolled back onto his stomach and pulled the sheet over himself. He felt like a horny teenager, all frustration and desire, jerking himself off embarrassingly quickly.

He yawned and nestled into the blankets, trying in vain not to think of his fallen angel as he fell slowly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"What the fuck, man, let me go," Sam laughed as he tried to push Gabriel off of him. The archangel had his legs crossed over Sam's lap, keeping him from standing up as he nonchalantly munched on a chocolate bar.

"Eh, maybe later," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this way too much. Earlier while they were watching tv, he had hitched his legs up over the hunter, who hadn't seemed to mind at all. In fact, he was acutely aware of how Sam actually relaxed under him and absentmindedly played with the seam of his jeans, occasionally stroking his legs contentedly while keeping his gaze trained on the flickering screen. Gabriel's breathing had quickened – a strange reaction, considering angels didn't even really need to breathe – and when the hunter had tried to stand up, he kept his legs firmly planted, playing up his superhuman strength to keep him down, because in all honesty, he just didn't want it to end.

"Seriously, c'mon," Sam begged, giving Gabriel his best puppy-dog eyes. "I'm tired. Please?"

Gabriel just stared back with an amused expression on his face as he took another bite of chocolate. Puppy-dog eyes or not, he wasn't giving in. It was just way too much fun.

Eventually, the hunter sighed heavily and leaned back into the chair. "Fine, whatever," he grumbled angrily, though Gabriel could tell he wasn't really mad at him. He crossed his arms, resting his elbows on Gabriel's knees, and closed his eyes. "I'll just sleep here."

Gabriel turned his attention back to the crappy tv show they were watching, expecting to go back to fighting in a few minutes, but when he glanced back over at Sam he was, in fact, fast asleep. His full lips were parted slightly and a strand of golden hair had fallen over his eyes. He had slumped over and was resting his head lightly against the archangel's hip. Gabriel was mesmerized by how peaceful and relaxed he looked, and he wanted to reach out and run his fingers over the soft skin on Sam's cheek, but he stopped himself, remembering his brother sitting a few feet away on the couch.

Speaking of Castiel, he noted that he seemed even more reserved than usual. He suspected that it had something to do with the older Winchester's drunken absence, but he knew better than to ask. Instead, he opted to step into the role of the caring older brother, one that he didn't play very often but when he did could rival Dean in his protective instincts. "You tired, man?"

"Yes," Castiel replied quietly from his position curled into a ball at the far end of the couch.

"Go on upstairs and get some sleep," Gabriel suggested, "might do ya some good."

"I suppose." Castiel stretched out his legs and stood, swaying slightly on his feet. He made his way unsteadily across the room and Gabriel reached out a hand and caught his slender wrist as he passed by.

"You okay buddy?" He asked warily, studying Castiel's face.

Castiel didn't respond; he just stared down at his brother with heavy blue eyes for a long moment, communicating all of the things he didn't have words to say. Gabriel nodded in understanding and released the grip on his wrist, allowing Castiel to walk away.

He turned his thoughts and his gaze back to Sam, who was still resting against him. The corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile as he watched the hunter's powerful chest rise and fall with his deep, even breathing. He was breathtaking; Gabriel had known it for a long time, but he never had the chance to really look at him before. He thought back to the beach from earlier that morning. The sculpted body that Sam had built was downright sinful, every strong muscle sharply defined under silky, tanned skin. But even that wasn't the part that made his heart skip a beat; no, it was the blinding smile, the boyish dimples, the melodic, hearty laugh that meant that Sam Winchester was really, truly happy.

It was rare, it was beautiful, and it made Gabriel unbelievably proud that he had caused it. He wanted to make Sam happy more than anything now, felt like it was his job. Oh no, I'm turning into Cas, he thought with a groan. But if he was being honest with himself, he didn't really care.

Gabriel gently lifted Sam's head in his palm and swung his legs over so he could stand. He then pulled the hunter into his arms, picking him up and cradling the giant man against his chest as if he were a small child. He laughed to himself – he doubted even the strongest person with simple human strength could carry such a huge guy as Sam, and it probably looked ridiculous for his small vessel to be doing such a thing. He walked carefully downstairs to the panic room, where he knew Sam would be the most comfortable. Stepping over the threshold, he silently thanked Bobby for allowing them to remove the wards against angels, at least for as long as he had two staying with him, watching over his boys. He laid Sam down on the bed and covered him with the thin blanket, smiling again as Sam snuggled into the pillow.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered before disappearing off to someplace far away to be alone with his thoughts until his hunter woke.

Castiel stood in the doorway of his room, looking down at Dean, who was sprawled out on his little cot. He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep up here, and though he was exhausted, he didn't want to wake Dean up and make him move. Instead, he crawled up onto the cot beside Dean and laid down in the small sliver of space between the hunter and the wall, barely able to fit comfortably. He was pressed against Dean's side and could feel him breathing, ribs expanding into his side with every breath. He reached out a tentative hand and rested it on Dean's bare stomach, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

Dean stirred, taking in a sharp breath and Castiel froze, unsure of what the hunter's reaction would be if he woke up. But he didn't; he remained fast asleep as he rolled over and curled into Castiel's chest, throwing an arm around his hips lazily and sighing contentedly.

Castiel knew that it would be a compromising position to wake up in, but he didn't care. He rested his head on one arm – Dean had probably tossed the pillow onto the floor in his sleep – and wrapped the other one around the sleeping man's bare shoulders, pulling him closer into his body. He still wasn't sure what he had done to upset Dean earlier, and he would most likely have to deal with that in the morning, but for now he could enjoy a peaceful night's rest in the embrace of his hunter. He could imagine that Dean wasn't drunk, wasn't already unconscious, wasn't unaware of their intimacy. He could imagine that Dean wanted this as much as he did, that Dean cared about him as much as he cared for Dean.

Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in, smelling alcohol on the surface but underneath, something that was uniquely and unmistakeably Dean. The hot, bare skin against his own felt amazing, and he lost himself in the warm feeling spreading in his chest, allowing his mind to wander and dream of his hunter as he fell asleep.

Dean kept his eyes closed as he woke up slowly, not really wanting to be awake at all. His head was pounding, but thankfully that seemed to be the only part of his hangover he hadn't managed to sleep off. He swallowed thickly, the taste of the bar from last night still in his mouth, and remembered that he hadn't brushed his teeth or showered since yesterday morning. There was a slight chill against his back and he vaguely recalled tossing his shirt somewhere across the room, but his chest and stomach were flush against something soft and warm, which he cuddled closer to, tightening the hold he had on it with one arm.

All of a sudden he realized – he was holding onto a person. He blinked a couple times, adjusting to the bright light coming in from the window, before tilting his head up to look into a pair of wide blue eyes staring back at him.

He yelped in surprise and pushed himself away, rolling away and just barely catching himself before falling off of the cot onto the floor. He was not just cuddling, much less cuddling with Castiel. Hell no, there was no way that just happened. His mouth hung open and his green eyes were almost perfect circles; he looked like a deer in headlights. Incoherent sounds came from somewhere in his throat, but he was having a difficult time forming them into words.

"I... uh... wha... sorry," he stammered.

Castiel gazed up at him from under messy dark hair, looking almost sad for some reason. "Dean, wait –" He reached out a pale hand and grabbed the hunter's wrist as he scrambled to get his legs untangled from the sheets, "Don't go."

Dean just stared, speechless. Castiel's touch was like a red hot iron on his wrist, and he could feel the furious blush spreading on his cheeks despite his efforts to prevent it. It wasn't as if they hadn't been intimate before; it was practically the first thing that happened when the angel miraculously appeared at Bobby's to begin with. But that was on a couch when Castiel was hurting, and this was in a bed without any type of excuse. It was too much for Dean, who had somehow let his feelings get out of control, who had gotten wasted last night in a desperate attempt to avoid thinking about Castiel, but had nonetheless freaking jacked off to thoughts about him just a few short hours ago.

Castiel was the one who broke the awkward, tense silence. He released his grip on Dean's wrist, though he maintained the unblinking eye contact. "Dean, I do not know what I did to upset you yesterday, but I apologize. I do not wish for you to feel uncomfortable." He tore his eyes away and looked down at his hands, which were nervously tugging at the blanket. He took in a jagged breath before continuing, "If this is about what happened with the shower yesterday, I am very sorry, and I can promise that it won't happen again. I understand if you feel that –"

"Cas," Dean breathed, finally able to find his voice, "stop. I'm not mad at you or anything, especially not because of... I just... Christ, why would you even think that?"

"Because you left me yesterday," Castiel replied softly, looking back up at him.

The raw openness he saw in those deep pools of blue broke Dean's heart. He shook his head and started to reach out a hand, but stopped short and let it fall down to the bed. "I didn't leave you, Cas. I was just tired, and... I needed a drink, so I went out. But I wasn't leaving you. I would never. You're my friend, man."

Saying that word – friend – made Dean's stomach churn. It reminded him of all of the messed up feelings he had last night and the reason he had gotten so wasted in the first place. Friends don't get their rocks off to thoughts of their friends naked. That was so wrong.

He took a deep breath and stood up, turning away from Castiel and grabbing his duffel bag as he muttered, "Gonna go shower." Before stepping out into the hall, he paused and tilted his head back over his shoulder, just enough so that he could see Castiel out of the corner of his eye without really looking at him. "Okay?"

It was barely a question at all, but he knew Castiel would understand what he meant – are you okay, are we okay, do you understand, is everything good?

"Okay," he heard the low, gravelly voice say from behind him, affirming all of the above.

Dean nodded once and then headed off to the bathroom, not even remotely reassured by their brief conversation but satisfied, at least for the moment. When the bathroom door shut behind him, he leaned back against it and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He turned the shower on and stripped out of his jeans and boxers, stepping into the cascade of water without waiting for it to warm up and feeling the goosebumps ripple over his skin as he was pelted by the icy spray. Not only would a cold shower help clear his mind, but it would also hopefully get rid of the embarrassing wood he'd gotten after waking up next to Castiel.

If he was being honest with himself, which he was trying more and more not to do lately, that was something he could really get used to. That first time on the couch when he woke up with his arms around Castiel, it felt so peaceful and right. That short nap was probably the best sleep he'd had in a long time. And this morning, in the split second of consciousness before his instincts told him to get the hell out of that bed, wrapped up in the angel's embrace, he had felt... happy. Really, really happy.

Dean had chalked up the protective, caring feelings he had for Castiel when he first arrived to their close friendship. The angel was the closest thing Dean had to family, besides Sam and Bobby. It was natural for him to want to take care of his friend when he was injured and in need.

But there was that word again – friend. If that's all Castiel was, it shouldn't have made Dean sick to his stomach, but it did. His head started spinning and he placed a hand against the tile wall to steady himself. It wasn't even the fact that just one look at Castiel made Dean hard enough to break concrete; no, it was something else, something warm and heavy and real in his chest that he didn't want to think about, for fear of admitting what it actually was.

Lifting his face back up and letting the water pour over his head, he took another deep breath before scrubbing himself down thoroughly with soap, as if washing the dirt from his skin could also cleanse the thoughts from his mind. And it worked, more or less. Dean stepped out of the shower and toweled off feeling a little better and a lot refreshed.

After pulling on a pair of jeans and a moderately clean t-shirt, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Sam hard at work, clicking away on his laptop with Gabriel hovering over his shoulder.

"Ah, there he is," the archangel grinned. "How's the hangover?"

Dean shot him a dirty look as he pulled open the refrigerator and reached for a beer.

"Already back at it? And I thought you were a heavy drinker, Sam," Gabriel chided.

"Shut up, Gabriel," Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatcha workin' on, Sammy? Gotten anywhere with Cas's grace?"

Sam's eyes shifted uneasily to Gabriel before turning to his brother. He flashed him an apologetic grimace, "No, sorry."

Dean shrugged and took a sip from his bottle. "It's only been a couple days. Didn't expect you to find it right away, I guess."

Sam and Gabriel shared a knowing look while the older Winchester wasn't looking, and Sam couldn't help breaking into a small smile. "Don't worry, we're still trying."

Dean nodded. "Speaking of Cas –"

"When are you not speaking of Cas," Gabriel muttered under his breath, just loud enough for an amused Sam to hear.

"– has he come down yet?"

"Yeah, he's in the living room," Sam offered. He watched his brother jump up from his spot leaning on the counter and walk briskly into the living room before bursting out laughing. "Oh my god, he's got it so bad, Gabe."

"I told you he was overcompensating for something, I just never thought it would be my little brother," Gabriel replied and made a disgusted face, though his caramel eyes were sparkling with laughter. "I guess it's just a thing with angels. We're irresistible."

"Right, obviously," Sam said sarcastically. "Cause, ya know, I can barely contain myself from jumping you right now."

"Well then, I oughta turn up the charm a little, maybe we'd both get lucky tonight," Gabriel winked and wiggled his eyebrows. He was being outrageously bold and flashy about his flirting, but he couldn't tell if the hunter was actually interested or merely joking with him. It was really bothering him, too; for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, he really wanted Sam. He didn't know why, he didn't even remember when it started, he just knew he wanted those hazel eyes on him and those boyish dimples showing all the damn time.

Sam just laughed, though he had a twinkle in his eye of what Gabriel hoped was requited want. "Uh huh, definitely." He held Gabriel's gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to his laptop, pretending not to notice the sudden tension that filled the air between the two.

"Hey, man." Dean tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice shook a little, betraying his nervousness and quickening heartbeat as he approached Castiel, who was sitting on the couch with his knees pulled in tight to his chest.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel replied evenly, looking up at the hunter.

"Whatcha watchin'?" Keeping a reasonable distance, Dean sank down onto the cushions and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted, turning back to the tv and cocking his head slightly. "I haven't been paying much attention."

"Just background noise, huh?" Dean nodded before taking a swig from his bottle.

Castiel glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. "Are you drinking again already?"

"Oh, what is it with you angels? A man needs his beer in the morning," Dean huffed, though he set it down on the table anyway.

"I just thought after last night..." Castiel started, but when Dean immediately clenched his jaw, he quickly backtracked. "Never mind."

"No, it's okay," the hunter sighed and rolled his shoulders to relax himself. "I uh... That was bad judgment, on my part, I guess. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Dean."

"No, not that... I'm sorry because you thought I was mad at you," Dean insisted, turning his body to face Castiel. "I really wasn't."

"I know." Those blue eyes stared deep into Dean, and he felt like the angel could see his soul. He almost wished he could – wished he could see all of the things Dean wanted so badly to tell him, but couldn't find the words, was too scared to say.

Dean just nodded and turned back to the tv screen, barely aware of what he was watching. His eyes were too glazed over to actually see anything anyway, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat, pounding at his ribcage like it was about to break free and run for the hills any second. Words were on the tip of his tongue, but he had to swallow them down and stop them from coming out because he wasn't even sure what he was going to say, he just knew it would be embarrassing and chick-flicky and he would regret it. So he said nothing for a long time, just sat there next to Castiel, not-really-watching tv.

After a while, he cleared his throat and asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Not bad today," Castiel replied. "I can sit against the back of a chair without hurting my back. And I looked in the mirror, and I think the bruises are starting to fade a little."

"That's great, Cas," Dean grinned. "We'll have you back to your regular mojo in no time."

"Has Sam found anything about my grace?" the ex-angel asked hopefully.

"Nah, sorry. He said they're still looking though, so I'm sure they'll find it soon." Dean wasn't sure why he felt a twinge of disappointment at those words, but he wasn't about to stop and think about it. Not after what happened yesterday, not after this morning, not when everything seemed back to normal between the two of them, however briefly.

Of course, Castiel kept it extremely brief, more so than Dean would have liked. After a moment of comfortable silence, he dove headfirst into the subject Dean had taken so much care to avoid all morning.

"Why did you leave last night, Dean?" he asked quietly.

"I told you, I needed a drink. And... I needed to get out, I guess," Dean admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand. "Just sitting here in the house all the time..."

"Being around me all the time," Castiel mumbled under his breath, a habit he had quickly picked up being around the constantly bickering Winchesters so much.

"No! It's not about you, it has nothing to do with you, Cas," Dean insisted.

"You only started acting different after you helped me with the shower. I know you, Dean. It made you uncomfortable and you're running from me."

"I'm not running from anything!" Dean cried exasperatedly. "You're fine, I'm fine, everything's fine, okay? I'm not acting different and I'm not 'uncomfortable' so just drop it!"

Castiel blinked back tears and turned his face away from the hunter. He just wanted to try and talk things out the way Sam and Dean did whenever they fought, but he ended up making it worse. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. What did he do wrong? How was he supposed to fix it if Dean wouldn't even admit that there was a problem? He didn't ever admit to needing help, not with hunts, not with Sam, not with anything. Castiel could only sit there and watch as he overwhelmed himself, handling everything alone even if it almost killed him. But he wasn't going to let that happen anymore.

Castiel glanced over at Dean, who had his beer bottle back in hand and was glaring unblinkingly at the tv. He was going to stand by Dean this time, was going to help him whether he liked it or not. He would fix this, somehow. He had to.