In the car, Cas was sitting in stunned silence, work having worn him passed real reactions. Dean had told him most everything, except that the kid had a crush on him, and was swinging out around a nice even bend in the road as the night slid passed them. The air was warm and the day had left a soft sigh on the usually chilled ground. Everything reverberated with it. The trees shifted in the remaining breeze, the grass flourishing thick and deeply spring green in the light of the lampposts flashing by. Bugs floated neatly around each hot bulb they passed and the neon signs from the bars and mom and pop shops glowed. The moon hung overhead in a black sky shadowed in big, thin clouds, draped like bangs over its nape. Sighing, Dean shrugged a bit and pursed his lips as glow of another lamp post slid over the car and through the windshield, dancing along his sharp features and illuminated his rich brown leather coat.

"At least he's not a jerk off," he offered.

"Dean." Castiel took a deep breath, "Samandriel is infatuated with me."

Looking over in surprise, Dean gave him a confused look. "He told you?"

Cas's eyes were tinged with fear as he glanced over at Dean, then at his lap. "He stalked me most of my life. Like the best friend I never wanted. He told me everything, especially that he was in love with me, but… I was not attracted to him. His openness put me off." He shrugged a bit, stiffly. "He was always a boy, and I was only attracted to men."

"So he was immature?"

"Yes. He spilled his heart out to me, and I could tell it was tainted by my appearance. He didn't truly… love me. He just wanted me. Before I was ready. I knew that, even from a young age, that he was only surface. There was no depth to his affection. If I ever became horrible disfigured he would quickly turn me away," Castiel muttered, and sighed. "My heart meant nothing to him, though he believed it did. He never understood that we were incompatible. But I could never convince him of it. He was infatuated – it was useless. Still is." Watching his fingers pull on a loose string on his sleeve, he clenched his jaw. "I thought… that I had escaped him. At graduation." He glanced over at Dean guiltily.

Dean stared from the road, to him, and back. "Wow." He managed. That was a shock. The guy had seemed so damn normal. "Jesus. Sorry, then. I told him to try and be your friend again." He winced. "Big mistake."

Castiel rubbed his face. "I'll take care of it. I… He was always trying to be there for me when I needed help, he… My depression, my loss, my life – he just never understood, though he forced himself to try. I was too far away for him to reach. But he did try." He shook his head. "I wish he hadn't. Then I would owe him nothing."

When they got back, Dean shut the door behind them, and Cas fell into bed fully clothed. He sighed into the pillow as Dean put his things away and kicked off his boots. "Gonna change, handsome?" Dean teased as he began to undress. "You can crash right after, I promise." He walked over to Castiel, who didn't move. His eyes were shut and he was curling up to get cozy.

"Can't I just stay this way?" He muffled.

"No, I can't see you under all those clothes," Dean teased, a smile crinkling his eyes. "Come on, buddy." He pulled off Cas's sneakers and shut off the lights, stripping himself down to a t-shirt and his boxers. Then he sat beside Cas in the dark and the dark haired boy let him work off his blue vest, and his nice dress shirt, and his slacks. Everything was tossed onto the other empty bed.

In a simple black wife beater, boxer briefs, and long socks in Dean's bed, Cas had hardly put any effort into undressing and it was clear he had none to give. Dean pulled the blankets up and slid in alongside him in the thin cot. Tucking the blankets around him - covering his strong shoulder, and his strong chest and back, his hair splayed over the pillows and his lips parted wearily - Dean wiggled under the soft sheets and wrapped his body around Cas to give him a fortress to sleep in.

Gratefully, Castiel pressed his face to Dean's chest and curled his hands against his waist as their legs twined beneath the covers. A heavy, inconceivably happy sigh reverberated from his chest as he sank into slumber, and Dean shut his eyes and smiled. The feel of a warm body beside him lulled him quickly into a cocoon of his own. Sleep wrapped them up together and tied them in a neat bow of warmth and happiness.

Dean dreamed a heavy dream. He could barely move except for walking, and it was more of a shuffle. Everything was white except the wood floor. It was cold but his socks were thick. The walls curved into a doorway, which he walked into curiously. It lead to a room with all the windows shut and covered with thick curtains. It had a bed, a big one, covered in messy sheets. Everything smelled like burned candles and sex.

He saw who was on the bed and felt a deep shock rattle his bones. Feverish Castiel was kissing shy Samandriel. Both of them were mostly naked – in socks and boxers – and it was clear they were getting intimate. Dean stepped back, wanting to bolt back into the hall, but his legs were stones.

Cas looked up casually and glanced him over. A seductive smile curled onto his savory lips as his dark eyes sought out Dean's. "I was just about to call you," he rasped. Which was weird. Dean didn't use his cell, and Cas's was only for work and home. Why would he call him? "Samandriel decided to pay me a visit, but… He seems to be a bit worse off. If you know what I mean." He leaned back so Dean could see the tent in Samandriel's boxers, which made him want to lurch over and strangle him dead. He was horny for Cas. His Cas. And his Cas was about to-

"Dean, do you like to watch?" Cas interrupted his whirling thoughts with a pointed hint. When Dean could focus on his face he saw a hot flush and labored breathing. He was going to do it. Cas's hand – Dean's favorite, the one that always rubbed him the right way – began to rub Samandriel. The blonde was leaning back on his arms, knees knocking apart, and had been looking rather guilty the whole time. Now he was writhing under Castiel's touch.

Dean was standing right beside the bed now. He wasn't entirely sure when he had taken those few steps up to them.

But Castiel was on top of Samandriel, making out with him, working his hips in that way that made Dean weak in the knees. His heart raced. Castiel grabbed Sam's hair and worked his boner and pushed his hot body against the thinner one and panted and moaned. It was like a porn video.

Seeing Cas so fucking horny was hot as hell – Dean felt himself getting a hard-on just watching, but his heart was being ripped apart. Cas was his. His. No one else's – no one else's to touch or have or to enjoy his touch.

This was wrong. Humiliating. Heart-breaking. A sob ached in him that he refused to release. His heart was like a sticky note being torn to shreds – no matter how small the colored pieces got, they kept tearing again and again, bleeding sorrowful flecks from every jagged edge.

Then suddenly, Dean was looking up at the sky. An angel was falling from heaven. His angel. The whisper of its fear filled him, terrified for landing, but he knew he would catch him before he was hurt. Before he created a crater in the earth big enough to span his entire grace. Dean spun around and around and around in one place, his boots scratching the dirt, his vividly green eyes open wide as he took in the sight of a million angels falling from the sky. They were falling everywhere, and so fast, like rockets; but knowing all along which one was his lover gave him strength.

Everything melted into a puddle, beside him on the ground, where he was lying, injured. He knew at once that it was healing water. Plunging headfirst into it, pushing his whole body through after tugging at the sleeve of his jacket caught on a rock, his feet hit the ground and he was running - vaulting over over-turned cars on the highway, the world in flames around him. All he had was a sawed off shotgun out of ammo and an empty thigh holster. His entire body was screaming with the pain of running so far and so fast – his heart felt like it was going to explode, and his head was spinning with adrenaline and fear. They were coming. Faster, faster. Had to get out. Had to get back.

He took a running leap and the toe of his boot got caught on the rear view mirror of a car sticking straight up from the door. It flung him into a path where his face was about to come into direct contact with the asphalt. Very quickly, and very painfully. He braced for impact.

Jerking awake, Dean sucked in a deep breath and felt his arms and legs flinch around Castiel. The room was dark and his head was heavy but his mind was pitching and spiraling, and his chest heaved involuntarily as Castiel shifted beside him.

"Dean," he whispered, voice laden with sleep. "It's all right. It was a nightmare. I'm here."

The smell of Cas's musk and the sound of his voice was calming, but Dean couldn't entirely calm down. Everything in him was on high-alert. The warm, perfect hands that cupped his face and pressed against his neck; the lips that blessed his brow and his cheeks; the soft feel of Castiel's dark hair between his fingers; all of it soothed him back to reality, bit by bit. Soon he could focus on the scruffy face draped in shadows before his own.

He kissed Cas on the mouth with all the relief of a man dreaming of his lover cheating, only to wake and find it a lie, and it sparked a lust between them. They had a feverish, quick, hard spurt of touching that evolved into grinding and grunts. Cas bucked his hips and Dean initiated sex late in the night, blossoming heated noises and gasping moans that drove them both over the edge very fast. The bed squeaked madly and Cas bucked with Dean deep inside him and the darkness gave them courage to be less accommodating, banishing Dean's nerves entirely. He rode Cas without remorse or hesitation and it was a damn good ride. Both of them pushed their bodies to the limit grasping desperately for orgasm. Upon reaching it, they cried out in unison, raggedly, and the synchronization to their bodies was unmatched.

When it was over they collapsed, helplessly exhausted, into each other's arms. They pushed their faces and bodies and hands and legs together shamelessly with a deep need for skin-in-skin comfort before dropping right off into sleep again in their sex-soaked sheets.

Neither dreamed any further that night, but they woke with heated memories.