I apologize for having to leave this morning. My job can be a pain sometimes, but I didn't want to wake you.

I will be back later in the day if you would like to do anything.

I had fun last night, and I hope you did too.

Hopefully we can do it again.

Here's my number...just in case.

922-0817

Dean can't stop smiling like an idiot. His cheeks are beginning to burn a little even, but the smile on his face refuses to die down. He sucks in his bottom lip to keep from smiling, but it doesn't work.

He backs away from the counter, eyes trailing around the room for a long while, trying to process the previous events of last night.

I had sex with him.

Dean laughs, "I had fucking sex with him." He says, hands finding messy hair and brushing through. It's extremely hard to believe, but Dean knows for a fact that it happened, "Holy fuck!"

Dean feels like he's glowing. He feels like he's freakin' covered in glitter.

Castiel Milton has given him a reason to be happy. So fucking happy. Dean feels like a weight from his chest has been lifted, and he feels lighter. He feels less alone, which is odd, because Dean has felt alone his whole life mostly. If Dean had known from the moment that dorky little freak had accidentally bumped into him, that he would end up staying in his life, Dean would've thought himself crazy.

To say the beginning of he and Castiel's relationship had been rocky would be an understatement. Dean had wanted nothing to do with him in the slightest bit. No attraction, no desire, no hunger, no want.

But the more Dean had taken the time to look at him; really look at him, the more he had noticed how oddly perfect he was. Dean had seen that Castiel had the kind of facial hair that he usually only sees in photoshopped cover magazines for men's underwear. He had noticed that Castiel's eyes were like a poet's miscellaneous metaphor-collection. That his eyes could be compared to anything blue; but of course, nothing could truly compare to the actual color. And he had noticed the small little things he does, like when he tilts his head a little to the side when he's intently listening to something, or the way his stupid blue tie is always backwards, or the crazy, messy hair that still drives Dean wild.

But above it all, it was when Dean had noticed that Castiel was dauntless. It was strange when Castiel hadn't backed away when Dean snapped at him; showed him the dangerous side. Which Dean thinks is why he actually became so desirable.

Castiel is just someone who fell into his life accidentally. And he left a mark.

A mark that Dean knows will never leave. There's just no way in hell Dean will forget him. Not because he had the ability to manipulate Dean's sexual preferences a little, but because he's this weird, dorky, little guy that changed him. Castiel has shown him the good in people, even when Dean had believed that most people were rotten. Castiel makes him feel things; different things that he's never come across before.

Naked as he leans against the counter, Dean sucks in a breath.

I have to tell Sam.

Dean slaps his hand on the granite. He can't tell Sam. Not when they're still in one of their stupid teen-drama sessions. Dean huffs when he realizes he's going to have to talk it out. He loves his brother to death, but Dean will never understand why Sam spontaneously grows a vagina sometimes. Nevertheless, Sam's still his brother. Dean can apologize in person like a mature adult.

Dean swallows, annoyed when he finds that his throat's a little sore. Well, actually his whole body is sore. But it's a good kind of ache. A relieving pain.

So, as Dean leans shaken elbows on the counter, he decides it's a good time to call his brother.

Or, he hopes it's a good time.

He scurries over to the edge of the bed, searching in the pile of discarded clothes for his pants. He eventually finds them, yanking out his phone and flipping it open to dial Sam's number. It wasn't more of making up now as it was just needing to tell Sam he fucked the shit out of Castiel.

The phone rings, a lot actually, and Dean knows Sam is probably sitting on the couch and staring at the screen and debating whether to answer or not. In the long run, Sam picks up.

"Sam!" Dean shouts instantly, unable to hold in excitement any longer. Sam's silent for a while.

"Dean, this better be important. I'm trying on my suit."

"Me and Cas we..." Dean chokes on his words a little, "...we had sex."

Sam's silent for a long time now. There's rustling movement on the other line. Sam sucks in a breath.

"Mr. Winchester, are you alright?" Dean hears an older man's voice say, and then he hears Sam clear his throat. Dean chuckles and wishes he could see his brother's reaction right now.

"Oh. Uh—wow, that's-that's—wow." Sam scoffs. Dean rolls his eyes. He knows that tone of voice. That's his brother's tone of: 'I'm giving you the cold-shoulder but also not trying to be a complete and total ass'.

Dean pinches his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "What time does your uh, thingy end?"

"About half hour." Sam says plainly.

"Wanna' come by the hotel after? And uh—" Dean clenches his fist for what's about to come out of his mouth, "—and talk things out?"

Sam huffs a laugh. "Sure, Dean. I'll be over as soon as I can." He says sternly before he hangs up.

Dean holds the phone to his ear for a while even after the line goes dead. Sam doesn't hate his guts, thank God, but Dean's now stuck with the inevitable future of having to talk out his daddy-issues with his brother. He shrugs his shoulders, at least thankful that he'll be talking it out with someone who will kind of understand where he's coming from.

Although, Dean thinks that Sam will never have to deal with coming out to John, so he doesn't completely understand. But he understands enough, which is enough for Dean.

With a hand on the back of his damp neck, Dean makes his way out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, grinning at the pile of clothes at the end of the bed, the rustled sheets, the bottle of lube on the floor, and the teared open condom package on the side table. Dean nods his head in satisfaction. If anything, last night was even better than Dean had expected it to go. Castiel was just the right amount of gentle; not too soft but soft enough. Just the right amount of rough; not too aggressive, but aggressive enough to feel the pleasure, the lust, the desire, the want.

He was and is just the right amount of everything.

And oh god, Dean will do anything to feel it again. Dean gets a chill up his spine, remembering his kisses; the kind that girls can never get right. The tender and tantalizingly needy kisses, on his lips, his neck, his collarbone, his stomach, his—

Dean clears his throat and places a hand over his growing erection. It's awfully difficult to think of Castiel and not get a boner.

He starts the shower, letting the water run hot before he steps in. As cheesy as it sounds, it's a little difficult for Dean to step in at first, mainly because he doesn't want to wash away his kisses. Dean shakes his head and denies himself the fact that he's actually kind of fangirling over last night. He still feels excitement in his core, or some other feeling that he thinks is excitement, but he actually doesn't know what feeling it is.

"You're just happy, man." Dean reassures himself. He steps into the steamy shower, hot water running over his face when he rubs his eyes under the downpour, "That's it. You're just really really happy. That's all."

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry alright? I really am it's just—" Dean sucks in a breath, "— it's just I-uh, I—ugh. Okay, maybe you just need to grow the hell up and maybe I just need to—ugh, fuck this." Dean stops talking and shakes his head at his own reflection. "Dammit, dude, if you can't talk to a damn mirror how the hell do you expect to talk to Sam?"

Well, Dean doesn't expect to talk to Sam, Sam expects Dean to talk to him. Dean would rather just sit in silence with the guy until they could both just out-bore their problems and go back to the way they normally are. Feelings are bad, dangerous; Dean would rather just keep them in than let them out. It causes less emotional stress for everyone that way. His main job and focus: take care of Sammy, don't let him take care of you.

That was what his mother had told him to do, and god dammit, Dean had promised he would. And he's not going to break that promise. He's not going to break his mother's dying wish. Of course, Dean had almost been forced to do that anyways, after their father had just drank himself to death every nigh after the accident, leaving 8 year-old Dean to take care of his 4 year-old brother.

Dean had taken on the mother-figure pretty much. It was always, and still is, about taking care of Sammy. Sam may be older now, but he's still Dean's little brother. And Dean's not going to show the one person that looks up to him his weaknesses, his feelings.

Dean knows his feelings don't matter, he's been reassured that enough by his father. So what better way to turn that around other than to pretend he doesn't have feelings?

"Okay," Dean nods his head, "Just say you're sorry. He'll get over it."

Dean's head snaps away from the mirror when he hears the knocking at his door. Dean leans away from the sink, clapping and then rubbing his hands together. "Alright, showtime." He mutters.

Back to his own hotel room now, Dean walks hastily to the door, fingers lagging when he reaches the knob. He swings it open, and Sam just whips by him, almost knocking Dean over against the wall. Dean keels back, struck by his brothers sudden entrance.

"Dude, tell me everything."

Dean stands with the door still swung open, his head scuffed back into his neck and his eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"

Sam makes a questionable gesture, swinging his hands out open palmed to the side. "Well, what are you waiting for? You wanna' tell me about Cas or no?"

So much for apologizing?

Dean parts his mouth to say something about how their last goodbye wasn't so good, but he shuts his mouth instead. Dean grins, "Uh, he was uh, fucking awesome, dude." Dean laughs and shuts the door. And surprisingly, it's not awkward. Maybe Sam had already forgotten about it, thank God.

"That's great, Dean." Sam nods, his smile fading suddenly. He sucks in a breath and scratches the back of his neck. "So, uh—"

Shit. Maybe he didn't forget.

Dean feels his stomach twist, and now his mind is running different ways to apologize.

Sam looks at the ground, hair covering his eyes. "Lisa?"

Oh shit.

"Oh, yeah. That." Dean sarcastically laughs and then clears his throat. He looks over to his brother, arms crossed firmly over his chest and eyebrows raised. "I don't know, Sammy. I guess I fucked it up. I mean I think I ended it?"

"You think?" Sam says deeply. Although he's serious, Dean can tell he's happy. Sam's never liked Lisa. Well, he did. But that was before the incident.

Dean shrugs. "Well what do you want me to say? That I came out of the closet and happily ended it with Lisa and then me and Cas frolicked off and confessed our undying love for one another?"

Oh, if it had only been so easy.

"Well, what did she say?" Sam asks.

Don't tell him.

Dean swallows. Telling Sam that Lisa said she was coming up to California would put more on his plate than he has room for. But then again, lying never got him anywhere either.

"Tell me the truth, Dean." Sam speaks up again. Dean looks up at him, hazel eyes squinted and narrow. It's like Sam knows that he's contemplating telling the truth.

Damn it, Sam.

"Cursed me out. Said she'd deal with me when I got back."

FUCK.

Sam nods. Dean picks at his nails, watching his brothers face morph into a hesitant glare. Dean hates lying to him. God, he hates it. But this isn't what his brother's supposed to be dealing with on his marriage week. He's supposed to be happy. And so far, Dean feels like he's made it all the opposite. He's already had to deal with Dean stupid hormones and their father. He can't have this to worry about right now.

"Alright. I-I'm sorry, Dean." Sam's eyes trail down to the floor, and he takes a step closer to Dean. "Whatever happens between you and her, you know you always have a place to stay with me, alright? Ruby can suck it up for a while."

Dean grins at him. He may not always show it on the outside, but Dean's grateful when his brother's a big soft serve. "That is if I even make it out of New York alive."

Sam laughs, dimples burying deep into the sides of his cheeks. Dean has no idea what's going to happen with Lisa. Hell, he has no idea what's going to happen with Cas, but he't got his giant-ass, gigantor brother by his side, and that's all that matters.

Sam crosses his arms in front of his chest again. His smile fades, and now he's gritting the ends of his teeth together. "Dean?" He asks shyly, and Dean looks at him in question. "Look, dude, I'm sorry about the other day. With Dad and all. I was just—I was angry, and I had no right to snap at you like that—"

"Sam," Dean starts, holding his hand up, "I'm the one who should be sorry. I get it, alright? I'm not the talk-it-out and hug-it-out type, and I know that. But my problems are mine. Not yours. Mine." Dean says, surprised at how easily what he had just said flew out of his mouth. It was his apology, clean cut and serious. And he needs Sam to know that he doesn't want him interfering with any of his own problems, in fear of making his problems Sam's problems.

Sam parts his lips, and Dean can sense he wants to argue back, to tell him that he wants to help, but instead he shuts his mouth closed.

Atta' boy, Sammy.

"Alright, Dean." Sam says, "But you know I'm—"

"Ah!" Dean interrupts, holding a pointed finger in front of him, and Sam shuts up and rolls his eyes. Sam's as stubborn as mule, which makes Dean laugh because he's the exact same goddamn way. An argument between them is like a pendulum going back and forth.

Sam tsks and holds open palms out in front of his chest, "Okay, okay, okay, jeez!" He laughs, eyes peering down to check his watch. "Shit, I was supposed to grab a beer with Garth at nine. It's almost ten to. Gotta run, Dean. You know what time the wedding starts tomorrow, right?" Sam says, hastily making his way to the door as he talks.

"Uhhh—yeah totally." Dean nods, but then Sam looks at him with his stupid bitch-face. "Alright, no."

Sam grabs the door and swings it open, "Five is the reception, okay?" He nods swiftly, backing out of the room, "See ya' Dea—" Sam slams the door before Dean has a chance to hear the rest of what he was saying.

Dean rolls his eyes, "Okie-dokie then." He sucks in a breath, sitting on the edge of the bed and running fingers over his damp forehead. Okay, so Sam isn't mad anymore. Dean can check that off his list. The apology wasn't too bad, thank God. Dean's always been grateful for how quickly the two of them could manage to play it cool with each other, even if there were grudges being held.

All he has to do is get through the wedding. Then he just has Friday to relax. Thanks to that one faithful day in the broken elevator, Dean has one free complimentary day at the hotel. The whole day, he can just relax.

With Cas.

"Shit." Dean mutters to himself, fingers rubbing tired eyes. He only has basically one more day with him. One.

Dean suddenly gets the feeling like he just got punched in the gut. One fucking day. That's it. And then he's gone.

Dean shakes his head. Just like all good things in his life, it has to be cut short. And maybe it's for the better, he thinks, because he knows he probably would've just fucked it up anyways. Just like he always does with every God forsaken thing that he cares about. And he knows he doesn't deserve him. Castiel is too good for him, and Dean knows that. There's no question about it.

So maybe it's for the better.

He will just go home on Saturday, deal with Lisa's wrath, whether it be here or in New York. He'll continue on with his life, like it has been for the past 30 years. And there's nothing he can do about it.

But Dean wants to do something about it. He wants to do something so bad. He wants this; this being, whatever he has with Cas. As long as Dean can see him, he'll take whatever he can get. Friends, friends with benefits, even arch-enemies for Christ sake. Whatever it is, he just wants to stay with him.

And he can't. And it's killing him.

But Dean can live in the moment, for just a few more times. So with that, he reaches for the phone in his pocket, and dials the number that he most recently programmed into his phone.

It rings in his ear a few times. And then he hears an echo. A sharper ring, a muffled one. Dean takes the phone away from his ear and listens, and then realizes there's a phone ringing.

Right outside his door.

Cas?

Dean keeps the phone in his hand and listens to the hum on the other line, also listening intently to the blaring noise outside his door. He slowly opens the door, heart beating the whole time.

Castiel stands there, and when his eyes meet Dean's, he presses the 'decline' button on the touch screen of his phone. Dean swallows. Castiel looks angry. Dean can't imagine why, but he hopes he's not the reason.

Castiel's eyes are squinted and glassed, red veins peeking out from the edges. Brows furrows and deep, nose scrunched ever so slightly, almost as if he's about to growl. His jaw is sternly and clearly flexed, and he looks like he's sucking in a breath by the way his collar bones push sharply out of his skin.

And oh God.

Dean makes a choked sound in the back of his throat when he sees the purple marks on his neck.

Dean parts his lips and hovers for a few seconds. "Uh, Cas?"

Castiel grabs the collar of Dean's light blue henley-shirt, shoving him hard back into the room and pressing him tight against the yellow hotel wall, kicking the door closed behind him. And then he just kisses him. Castiel kisses the fucking shit out of him.

It's so quick and needy, making Dean drop the phone out of his hand. Castiel presses into him more, teeth biting hard against Dean's bottom lip, enough that Dean thinks he might've actually drawn blood. Still having Dean pressed against the wall, Castiel removes his trench-coat and suit jacket, spiking them to the ground without ever having to remove his lips from Dean's. Cas is stronger than Dean had ever assumed, arms and calloused fingers clamped and pressing him tightly to the wall.

Next comes Castiel's white dress shirt — which he's actually tearing off, buttons flying away in the midst of the action. After a portion of Castiel's chest is exposed, the shirt is still on but he's riding his hands under and across Dean's abdomen, fingers exploring and scraping across tender skin. It's rough and hot as fuck, but something's wrong. Something is so very wrong with him, and Dean knows it.

Dean hands finds Castiel's forearms, gripping them tightly and pressing him back until Castiel is forced off.

"Cas, what's wrong?" Dean asks, panting and out of breath. Castiel's eyelashes twitch before he furrows his brow and tries to come out of Dean's grip. Dean holds him tighter.

"Nothing, Dean." Castiel hisses, "I want you." He says, his eyes softening a little, blue irises being overtaken by dilated pupils. Castiel's tongue swipes across his bottom lip, "I just want you so bad."

Dean nods, "I-I want you too." He murmurs, hands releasing Castiel's arms, allowing him to melt back against him. It's a little more passionate this time, the way Castiel is slower when he stands to meet Dean's lips again, tongue sliding against his lips and forcing Dean's mouth to open.

Dean knows Castiel is lying. He can see right through his eyes; beautiful, but hiding. Castiel digs his thigh up against Dean's cock, and Dean can't help but lose focus for a second. Dean knows he'll never get tired of kissing Castiel, will never get tired of the way he tastes, of the way he smells. It's intoxicating.

Dean's hands find Castiel's hips, rutting his body closer until he can feel Castiel's hardness pressing into his own. Dean finds Castiel's ass, grabbing it with his hands and rutting him up against his hips, his body desperate for friction.

Castiel's fingers are digging hard into Dean's shoulders, scraping and tearing at anything his fingers find. Castiel's tongue twists around Dean's, urgently, until he bites down onto Dean's bottom lip and then sucks it into his mouth. Dean's so happy he can finally kiss him, can finally breathe him in and taste him, but Dean can't seem to shake the feeling away that Castiel is not as okay as he says he is.

His kisses are fervent, and nothing like they were last night. He's going too fast.

"Dean," Castiel whimpers against Dean's mouth gently. His fingers act different then his mouth, quicker and more urgent, going to Dean's jeans and unbuttoning them hastily, "Fuck me, please. Just fuck me."

Dean stares down at him in the dimly lit light of the room, highlighted shadows making all the colors of blue in his eyes fade into one. Dean watches his eyes and face almost sink into hidden emotion. Castiel charges forward again, eyes planted on Dean's lips. Dean stops him, hands pressed softly but firmly against his chest. Yeah, something definitely isn't right.

"Castiel," Dean says, moving his hands to the outer parts of his arms and squeezing them gently, "What happened?"

Castiel swallows, fingers lightly pressed onto Dean's chest. And Dean can see it; the uneasiness in his eyes, the way his eyelids creep ever so slightly over the blue. His eyes fall away from Dean's allowing himself to look anywhere but at Dean's face. Castiel's lips part suddenly, hesitating and twitching before he licks his lips and takes a breath.

"My brother," Castiel starts, swallowing down a gulp again. Dean holds his shoulders tighter, " He saw my—" Cas stops talking and gestures to the mark on his neck. Dean feels his throat tighten.

"Okay," Dean nods, urging him to go on. He actually really doesn't wan't Castiel to continue, but for some reason he can't stop. He feels the compelling need to help him, do whatever it takes to make it better.

Castiel's breath hitches. "Im afraid he's going to inform my mother."

Dean's thumbs circle shapes on Castiel's arms. He grins, "Well I mean if you're mom's gonna' go ape shit on your ass about it, then—"

"No," Castiel cuts him off harshly, fingers coiling into Dean's shirt, "You don't understand. We're a very religious family. She won't allow me to be with men. Naomi she-she's strict."

Strict.

Dean knows strict. He grew up with John for Christ sake. He knows what it's like to feel like you don't have a say, he knows what it feels like to feel powerless. He knows exactly what it's like to feel worthless. But for some reason, he can't shake the feeling that this type of strict is different.

"What kind of strict?" Dean asks, and Castiel looks down at the ground and goes into space, a frozen emotion stuck onto his face. Castiel doesn't answer, instead keeps looking at the ground. Dean shakes his arms a little, "Cas, what kind of strict?" He asks again.

"Painfully strict."

Dean's chest goes hollow. Painfully strict. At first, Dean had thought that Cas was just trying to emphasize his point. But then he gets it. He really gets it, and never before in his life has Dean ever felt this compassionate, so awful and sympathetic.

"She..." Dean swallows and tries to speak but it's almost impossible by the look on Castiel's face. "She—"

Beat you.

Dean can't even push the words out of him. John has cursed, he's spit, he's thrown and yelled, but never, never once, has John struck him. And suddenly it's as if Dean doesn't know strict at all. He feels Castiel's arms begin to tremble a little, and all Dean wants to do is touch him; to rub his thumb against his cheek and to run his hand up the curve of his back, to hook his hand around the back of his neck and pull him in tight. But his fingers are stuck, glued and frozen against Castiel's arms.

"She assumed that I would be disciplined. Brainwashed. That maybe I would stop liking men." Castiel shrugs, head shaking ever so slightly, "But, I can't seem to."

Dean parts his mouth, "Who you're attracted to isn't your fault. You're allowed to love whoever the hell you want to love." He says sternly. Castiel's eyes find his again, finally, glassy and red. And Castiel just lets out the smallest of smiles, barely a curve in his lips. His eyes light up, contorting into somewhat of a comforted demeanor.

"He didn't know it was with me, though, right? He doesn't know it's from a guy? He just saw the mark?" Dean asks cautiously.

Castiel becomes nervous again. "At first yes. I wasn't going to say anything. Well, actually I couldn't say anything. It was—" Castiel shakes his head and shuts his eyes, "—my sister, Anna. It was an accident. She hadn't meant to but—"

Dean shushes him, "It's alright, Cas. Anyone comes after you, I'm not gonna' let 'em touch you. I won't let it happen."

And then Castiel smiles again. The same goddamn smile that he had done the first time Dean had ever seen him smile. Ever so slightly, small but meaningful, smallest dimples burying in the stubble coated cheeks. And Dean isn't going to let him go. He can't let him go on Saturday. It's just not something that Dean's ready for; to lose him. Dean wanted to keep him at arms length, to avoid getting hurt again. But Dean's going to take the chance anyways. God dammit, he's going to take the chance.

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel whispers so quietly it's barely audible, but Dean watches his lips move and understands what he's saying.

Dean's fingers finally decide to uncurl from Castiel's arms, moving from the muscled skin to the back of his neck. With one hand on the back of Castiel's head, and one at the nape of his neck, Dean pulls him in tight, letting Castiel bury his face into the crook of Dean's neck. And it's really strange, the way they're holding each other. As if the person would vanish if the other doesn't hold on tight enough.

Dean buries his nose into Castiel's hair; mint and honey, just like he remembers on the plane when Castiel had his shoulder crooked into Dean's neck just like he has now. But it's so much different than last time. He's warm, hands hooked around Dean's back and pulling him so close there's not an inch of space between them. Dean knows that after this they wont be able to return to their casual interactions. Or, he wont.

This was a whole new level of something — or at least, it is to Dean. If his father had ever done anything like that to him, he'd keep it so far buried down it would be coming out of his ass. He wouldn't tell a damn soul if his life depended on it. But for Castiel to trust him with it, for Castiel to trust Dean to protect him. It's all so special to Dean.

Dean doesn't want him to be alone. He needs to be there to protect him, even if he doesn't need to be protected. It's who Dean is.

"Cas," Dean says, his voice muffled, "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

Castiel retreats his head back, "Yes, I have a meeting at two."

Dean brushes the back of his head, massaging fingers into the back of his neck. He smirks, "Two, huh? Yeah, you can make it."

"Make it to what?"

Dean smiles wider. "Sam's wedding. You're coming."

Castiel unhooks his arm from Dean's back and placed them flat on Dean's chest. He shakes his head but grins. "No, Dean. I-I couldn't impose. I'm not—"

"Ah, ah, ah." Dean slides out from Castiel's grasp and shakes his head, waving a pointed finger at him. Castiel's eyes follow him to the bed as Dean pulls his shirt over his head, pants and boxer briefs sliding off easily too. Castiel's eyes widen and Dean shrugs, "I need a date anyway." He says, pulling back the cream colored covers and shimmying over to the other side of the bed. He pats the mattress and looks at Cas.

Dean winks. "So you wanna' come cuddle, or what?"

Castiel stands there, hair a disheveled mess, shirt unbuttoned and tie askew. He squints his eyes and smirks, pulling off the tie and tossing it on the ground. Dean can't help but stare at him when his shirt comes next. And even Cas is messing around a little bit, slowly sliding the fabric across his body like a professional stripper.

Dean starts humming the tune of "Pour Some Sugar On Me".

Castiel smiles widely when his pants and underwear comes off, and he crawls under the covers next to Dean, letting his head rest back into the crook of Dean's neck. Dean wraps the sheet around them both, warmth enclosing them as Castiel presses against Dean's side. It's relaxing; the hot breath on Dean's neck, sometimes even a tender kiss followed by a soft sigh.

Dean turns his head toward him, allowing his lips to skim against Castiel's forehead. They lay like that until Dean's sure Castiel is asleep. And when he hears the muffled snore, Dean laughs and finally shuts his eyes.

"Yeah, there's no way I'm letting you go." Dean whispers against his forehead, fingers rubbing shapes into frail and tender skin. Dean had never thought he'd see Castiel like this. It's like he's seeing him different, in such a way that even the slightest glance of his eyes will make Dean's heart skip. He knows it's bad to get this close, Christ, he know's it's bad to get close at all. But Castiel does things to him, and Dean can't help it.

But now that he's finally here, he doesn't want it to end.

He doesn't want to shut his eyes, because the sooner he falls asleep, the sooner this moment will end. So Dean lies awake awhile, listening to Castiel's soft breaths, watching his eyelashes and fingers twitch, watching him dream.

He thinks about the wedding, of how wonderful it'll be to watch his brother get married. Yeah yeah, as much as him and Ruby bitch, Sam must love her for a reason. He thinks about seeing Bobby, seeing Karen. Watching Karen roll her eyes at one of Bobby's cheap jokes. And he's starting to fall asleep, thinking of how wonderful it will be.

How absolutely fucking wonderful it'll be to show up with the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty around his arm. To finally be able to call him his date. To show up with Castiel Milton in public, not having to hide his feelings

But then his eyes snap open.

Because John will be there.

And he won't like seeing the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty around his arm.