Hellooo! I know it has been ages and I sincerely apologize! I'm back and we are coming to the end of our story! I hope I made up for the long wait…? Please enjoy!

When Dean awoke the next morning, it was with a dry mouth, a headache and the sensation of soft hair tickling at his throat. Sighing, he just lay like that for a long moment, his dreams already forgotten but leaving behind a warm feeling that enveloped him now. Of course, that warmth could also be from the other body currently pressed up against him…

Blinking his eyes open, the writer stared in shock at the dark head of hair currently pressed up against his chin and then took in the rest of the person he was in bed with. Castiel, his limbs toned but paler than Dean's, was currently wrapped around Dean, his head tucked into the younger man's neck. His breaths came out steady and calming, and he looks so innocent lying there in Dean's arms.

His breath hitching, Dean waits for the inevitable freakout, because having thoughts about guys sometimes (and maybe a little bit more, okay) and having gay sex (or well, almost anyway) were two completely different things. Very, very different.

So he should be freaking out. He took a deep breath, pulling away from Castiel enough to sit up and look down at the other man, and carded his fingers through the other man's shockingly soft brown hair while he waited. And waited. The thing was… it hadn't felt wrong, or degrading. It had just felt good. It had felt right. He felt better than he had since the divorce, possibly even since before then.

And if that was the feeling he got from something he had been so afraid of basically his entire life, maybe—just maybe—he shouldn't be so afraid of it. Looking down at Castiel now, he couldn't think that this was so wrong or even shameful. A strange feeling that felt strangely like hope spread through him and he felt his lips curving upward into a smile. To think that just two days ago, he had hardly even known this man existed. Just two days ago, he had barely been able to peel himself away from the empty word doc on his computer in order to get on a plane to this convention, and now he felt as if he should be thanking someone.

Speaking of that word doc…

Castiel hardly even moved when Dean pulled away even more, trying to slip out of bed before the other man woke. Ignoring the pounding in his head, he stood and padded to the bathroom to clean himself up and relieve himself before he did anything else. Feeling a stroke of thoughtfulness, he filled one of the glasses from the bathroom with water and set it out on the bedside table for Castiel. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was early enough that he could probably leave this room without anyone being the wiser. A small smile on his face, he collected his clothes from where they had landed on the floor last night and got dressed. Then he made his way back to his own room as quietly as possible.

Castiel had only been drunk a handful of times in his life, and he had never had that much before. The first signs that he had most certainly not drank responsibly last night were probably the throbbing in his head and the sand paper mouth, but the pain caused by the crack of light invading on his hotel room through the curtains was kind of a giveaway as well.

A pained groan passed his lips as he forced one eye open to survey his surroundings, replaced by a sound that was right next to prayerful when he saw the glass of water on the table. With as little movement as possible, the man grabbed the water off the table and brought it to his lips with a relieved breath, reveling in the cool feel of water running down his throat before lying back again.

What the hell happened?

Still not quite ready to pull himself up out of bed, Castiel tried to run yesterday's events through his head in order to clarify for himself how on earth he had ended up in bed with a hangover like he had never before imagined.

He remembered the panel, then eating with Dean… then there was the bar with Ellen and Jo… Yes, that would explain the hangover… but what else? There was something else at the edge of his mind, just beyond his grasp. He couldn't remember what had happened after the shots with the Harvelle women, but there was definitely something there.

Sighing, the author moved to sit up as slowly as possible, doing his best not to make his headache any worse. As he did, he felt the tell tale signs of something dry and cracking on the skin of his chest and was horrified when he realized what it was. Looking around him, he tried his best to piece together what in God's name happened.

Flashes of memory came back to him then as he strained to recall who he had taken to bed with him last night, many of them of Dean Winchester. Slowly the memories crept into his mind's eyes, and he remembered Dean helping him up to his room, Dean kissing him, Dean licking his chest and making him come.

Oh god, Dean. Dean who was now nowhere to be seen, who had a reputation for one night stands so bad that even Castiel—who never could keep up with gossip—had heard. Dean who was straight.

A low laugh left him at that last thought, because it was very clear that rumor at least had been false. The humor disappeared pretty quickly, however, because obviously the first rumor had been true. Dean was gone, leaving Castiel with an ache that seemed strange considering that he had only met the other author two days ago and had spent the first day bitterly disappointed with him. Admittedly, he had had a sort of crush on the man before then, but it was in a strictly celebrity sort of way. What he was feeling now seemed too strong for such a short period of acquaintance.

Also, Dean was gone.

His cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anger at the realization that he was just one in a line of Dean Winchester's lays, he forced himself out of that bed and into the shower so that he could scrub all the evidence of last night off his body. He may perhaps have scrubbed a little harder than necessary, but oh well.

He was being childish. Of course the other man wouldn't feel the same way he did—they hardly knew each other. It wasn't as if he had made any expectations clear, and the younger man didn't exactly hide his one-night stands. It was stupid of Castiel to feel hurt by the other man steeling away before he woke up, which is why he walked downstairs again, fully prepared to ignore the other man for the rest of the convention (which was, thank god, only the rest of the day).

Apparently, Dean didn't quite get that memo. The minute Castiel stepped into the hotel's breakfast room, he spied Dean sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and a muffin sitting next to his laptop as he typed away. As if he could sense the other man's presence, Dean looked up and met Castiel's eyes with a bright grin and a wave before going back to his work.

Thoroughly confused now, Castiel poured himself a coffee and grabbed a piece of toast before sitting at a table on the opposite side of the room from the man he was very carefully not looking at—o very carefully, in fact, that he didn't notice Jo sitting down in front of him until she kicked him under the table.

"Well?" she exclaimed as soon as she had his attention. Castiel just stared at her and she stole his toast before clarifying in an exasperated tone, "Did you guys…?"

She gestured with his toast some sort of sign that didn't look even vaguely like anything at all before taking a bite and giving him an expectant look. He still said nothing, but she apparently had her reporter hat on this morning.

"Castiel," she pronounced his name as if it gave her no end of vexation at having to do so. She didn't repeat her question, but Castiel was very aware of her reputation. She hadn't won two Pulitzer Prizes in reporting for nothing.

Not feeling particularly desirous to experience Jo's own version of the Spanish Inquisition, Castiel admitted, "Yes. We did."

She squealed and clapped her hands in delight, attracting the attention of everyone in the room, including Dean himself. He looked up, noticed Castiel sitting at the other end of the room, and shot him a confused look before going back to his typing.

It obviously took a moment, but Jo seemed to finally catch on that Castiel wasn't nearly so pleased as she was.

"Wait, what's wrong?" she asked.

Figuring he had already revealed the worst of it, he stole back what was left of his toast and admitted, "He left. Before I even woke up this morning."

She gaped, shot a scowl in Dean's direction and then bemoaned, "But you guys were clicking so well. I saw the way he looked at you… This doesn't make sense!"

Castiel sighed but didn't respond, choosing instead to take a drink of the hotel's attempt at good coffee. He was thinking the same things himself to be quite honest. He too had thought he and Dean had made a connection, beyond just the sexual. Apparently he was wrong though.

Jo stood up abruptly and Castiel let her go, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care what it was she was doing. He didn't care at least until he realized she was stalking over to Dean's table.

Gaping despite himself, he watched her slam his computer close. Dean jumped and then glared up at Jo, saying something that Castiel imagined went along the lines of, "What the fuck?" Jo responded by hitting him over the head and pointing in Castiel's direction before starting what Castiel could only assume was one hell of a rant.

Burning red with embarrassment, Castiel tried his best to disappear, praying to whoever was listening to please, please make him invisible. Either no one was listening, or they actually knew what was going to happen next, because his prayer wasn't answered and Dean was now coming toward him.

"Cas? What the hell?" he demanded. Oh god, Castiel thought. Dean was angry. Castiel realized suddenly that he was probably mad that Cas had blabbed about the night before.

"I'm sorry," he said automatically, looking down into his coffee instead of up at the younger man because the coffee at least didn't seem particularly interested in this situation.

"Sorry? What the hell for?" Dean looked thoroughly flustered by this point and now Castiel was confused as well.

"Cas, I didn't leave," Dean exclaimed. Castiel frowned and he clarified, his cheeks turning red, "I mean, I left, but not like that!"

When it was obvious that Castiel wasn't getting whatever it was that the other writer was trying to tell him, Dean leaned down and pressed his lips haphazardly against his. Startled, the older man just sat there without reacting for a long moment until Dean finally pulled away.

"I didn't mean for you to think…" he started, brushing a hand through his hair and moving to sit down in the chair Jo had vacated minutes before. "I was just looking at you and you were so… And then I got this idea, and you know how that is, right? I couldn't let it go. I've been in a block for months, Cas."

He looked up at Castiel again, his expression almost shy, and Castiel just wanted to kiss him.

So he did.

Smiling against the other man's mouth, Cas murmured, "I guess that makes me your muse, doesn't it?"