The sun was sinking, heavy, practically kissing the horizon, when they stopped in Tomah, Wisconsin. Dean didn't have it in him to go any further. He found a motel, something small and cheep and quite a bit nicer than the last place they stayed. There were still dubious stains on the low pile carpet, but the sheets on the two beds were clean and smelled like bleach. And, you know… two beds. After lines of salt were laid against the windows and doorway Dean went so far as to kick off his boots before laying face down on the bed nearest the exit.

Cas sat on the other bed, his prayers had run dry and distantly Dean wondered if the Angel had received some sort of answer, but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Sleep was illusive at best and just as Dean was starting to fade away his cell phone started yelling at him. He considered ignoring the call, but very few people had his number, so it was probably important.

"Yeah?" He grumbled, blinking into the dark of the room. He could make out Cas' shadow still sitting on the edge of the second bed, still awake, but he had not bothered to turn on the light.

"Dean." Sam's voice came down the line, all small and diminished. "Hey, I called Bobby's and he said he hasn't seen you yet. Everything ok?" Aw, Sam was checking in on him. It was kind of nice to be reminded that he had family and was not actually alone.

"Yeah, we stopped in Wisconsin for the night." He rubbed his face, grimacing as he felt the last tendrils of sleep receding.

"Wow… have you been following the speed limit or something?" The worry in his brother's voice had faded, replaced with amusement.

"No." He scoffed at the idea, but it came out sounding hollow. "We just ran into a bit of trouble out near Racine."

"What kind of trouble?" And the worry was back just like that.

Dean looked over at Castiel again, the Angel had not budged an inch, dark eyes fixed on the hands folded carefully over his knees. "Nothing I couldn't handle." He assured.

"How's Cas?" He had adopted the nickname as well, but Dean didn't care for how it sounded coming from his brother.

To tell the truth or not?

"Cas? He's fine." Nope, no truth. It seemed best to not to bring it up in detail… just in case the Angel could actually hear him from the distant land he had checked out to.

"Good. His brother's worried about him."

"Yeah, I'm sure the little creep is." He rubbed at his face again, stifling a yawn. Sam chuckled all warm and soft and for a moment it fought off the icicles that had grown up in Dean's chest.

"You sound like hell."

"I feel like hell." He assured so that there would be no doubt.

"Call me when you get to Bobby's?"

"Sure, Samantha. I wouldn't want you losing any sleep over lil' old me."

"Night, Jerk."

"Night, Bitch." He said with more affection than he intended to put out. Talking to Sam was like taking a sledge hammer to the deep seeded sorrow that had pooled in his gut. He never said the actual words, but he really did love the bid dumb moose of a brother he had been saddled with. He closed his phone and tossed it onto the nightstand between the beds, clicked the light on and sat up.

He rummaged through his bag, finding the bottle of Jack he had stashed away and sitting back against the headboard. Artificial warmth was better than nothing. He took a swig and pulled his lips back from his teeth, hissing softly as the heat traveled downward, trailing flecks of gold over his insides.

"Hey…" he started after his third pull from the bottle. "How you holding up?"

Cas stirred, like coming up from a trance, shaking himself just a bit and letting his eyes meet Dean's. "I feel like hell." He repeated Dean's earlier sentiments to his brother but he said it much more like he really meant it.

"Here," Dean held out the bottle, shaking the amber liquid slightly.

"I don't think that alcohol is the solution, Dean."

"It's always the solution, you just haven't been around long enough to know." He slid off his bed and set down beside the Angel, foisting the bottle closer.

Cas watched him with that stony gaze and slowly opened his mouth. He was waiting, just like he had when Dean had fed him vicodine after the fall. Dean's breath came sharp through his nose and he had half an inclination to just go back to his own bed- but it wasn't like they hadn't done it before. He shifted his hold on the bottle, tilting it to the Angel's mouth, the knuckle of his index finger settling on the underside of his lower lip. It was a small sip, but it was enough to send Cas sputtering and coughing, leaning away from the bottle like it might bite him.

"That's awful." His voice was raw.

"You drank it too fast." Dean was trying with little success to hide a smile. "Here, come on." He held the bottle back out and was pleasantly surprised when the Angel eyed him warily but got closer once more. "Just a bit this time." They repeated the assisted drinking, it going down much smoother.

The Angel sat back with a scowl and grumbled, "it still tastes awful."

"But is it warm?"

"Yes," He said haltingly. "But I wasn't cold."

Dean took another drink. "Neither was I, but it covers a multitude of sins."

"Sins." He said softly, watching Dean's face. "Do you have many sins, Dean?"

"Too many to count." As soon as he said it he felt guilty. He didn't really want to confess his sins to a man of God. Not to a priest and not to an Angel. He didn't want to share them and he didn't want to be forgiven. They were his- they were part of him.

Cas didn't say anything for five or six heartbeats, then he nodded slowly. He reached out, hand closing over Dean's and the bottle of whisky as he guided the hunter to give him another drink. The Angel made a face. "Then I will indulge with you and perhaps it will count as penance for us both."

"To penance." He said by way of a toast. And if Dean stumbled over those words at all he was the only one to notice.

They drank and watched late night children's programming. It was some weird thing with computer animated trains that talked, and under any other circumstance Dean would have been annoyed by it, but not with a fifth of whisky churning against the darkness that had taken up residence within him.

The show was fucking hilarious.

He sat beside Cas, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip and knee to ankle, sharing the bed and the whisky. The Angel was not affected in the same way as Dean, he wasn't rosy cheeked or smiling at the cartoon, but he drank just the same, trading shot for shot, keeping pace. He took the whisky like some people take medicine, scrunching up his nose and running his tongue over his teeth. But he never actually took the bottle, just kept a hand on Dean's, guiding him when it was his turn, or helping Dean when it was his own.

Dean had never gotten drunk in a motel room quite like this, and he doubted that he ever would again. He certainly couldn't imagine his brother being willing to watch Thomas the damn Train while feeding each other shoots. Likewise, if Sam offered, Dean had the feeling that he would be quick to decline.

The credits rolled on the show, getting small in the corner while a hand puppet shaped like a lumpy star announced the next show and then encouraged them to get up and dance while bouncy music played. Cas started to slide off the bed, looking fully prepared to do a 'wiggle dance' along with the small, ethnically varied, preschool children.

"Whoa there." Dean caught him by the sleeve and pulled him back.

"But, Dean. The wishing star told us to get up."

"That fat little bastard has no power here."

"Don't hurt his feelings, Dean."

Castiel was sloshed.

Dean grinned and tucked the man in beside him, setting the bottle down near his cell and putting his arm around the Angel's shoulders. "Just watch the dancing, don't participate."

He harrumphed, sending a puff of air along Dean's cheek as he settled his head on Dean's shoulder and they grew quiet. Cas was watching his shows with all the rapt attention a drunk man could manage and Dean watched him.

They were practically cuddling.

In a very manly way, mind you.

The manliest of cuddles.

Like the kind that men do in the arctic wilderness for warmth.

Cas still smelled like early fall, his hair tickling Dean's nose. And god was it good, but that was mostly just the whisky talking. Liquid courage had always got Dean in trouble, at least where ladies were concerned. Part of him was considering making an amendment to his list to include awkward Angels. He leaned down a fraction of an inch and let his mouth brush along the mess of dark hair. He then realized what he was doing and forced his eyes to the small tv screen, watching a cartoon mouse who was also a ballerina, and Dean guessed that he could be ok with that. There were no laws against mouse ballerinas.

The show was disgustingly pink.

Maybe there should be laws against it.

"Dean?" Cas' voice was incredibly pleasant from so close, like a mild electrical current running through the length where their bodies connected.

"Yeah?" He made a point not to look down, not trusting himself suddenly.

"Dean?" Cas insisted.

"What?"

"You were right."

"Probably… about what?"

"I feel better now."

"Told you you would. It's cuz I am always right."

"Always?" There was no doubt, just pleasant acceptance.

"Yep." He risked looking down and wished that he hadn't. Cas was looking up at him, eyes as blue as the sea, bright and deep and waiting- and Dean found himself leaning, pulled in like the gravity of the moon pulls the tides. Cas was watching him as he inched closer, gaze steady and uncomprehending.

And if the Angel had been giving him come-hither eyes, or looked hopeful or anything like that at all then Dean would have kept going. Instead he back out at the last second and rolled his head back, watching the ceiling whilst reevaluating his life.

"It is fortunate that I found you. It is good to have a guide through my stay, however long or short it may be."

Dean didn't like that. It sounded too much like the Angel would be leaving at some point. Sam had gotten to keep Gabe for over a year and it looked like the little monster had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Dean wanted to keep his Angel too. He looked down at Cas, who was still watching him with those damned eyes. Dean swallowed what little pride he had left and kissed the man's forehead. It meant a lot of things, all sorts of things that refused to have words applied to them.

Those blue eyes blinked up at him in confusion. He wore the emotion well. "What was that?"

"A kiss, now watch your fucking show." He was successful in keeping his smile off that time.

The episode almost ended before the Angel spoke again. "I liked that."

"The ballet mouse?" Dean was drifting somewhere on the edge of sleep again, feeling light and distant, only the faintest twinges of pain and misery lingering in the haze of liquor.

"The kiss." His unbandaged hand came up and rested heavy on Dean's chest. "Is it acceptable for humans to kiss each other when feeling timorous?"

Dean opened his eyes slowly. Timorous? It was like talking to Sam when only half the words seemed even close to English. "Uh, yeah. It's the thing to do."

The Angel took this on good faith, sitting up enough to press a kiss to Dean's forehead, somewhere over his left eyebrow. Kiss was a generous word for it. It was no more than a press of lips, dry and soft and chaste. And it was just shy of being wonderful. Dean hadn't been kissed like that since him mother still tucked him into bed and he willingly wore footy pajamas. He couldn't stop himself that time, a hand came up and he cupped the Angel's cheek, feeling more lost than he had in years.

"The wishing star wants us to dance again, Dean." He leaned into the hand against his face, a gentle weight, the tv singing quietly in the background.

"He can go fuck himself." Dean advised softly, brushing his lips lightly over Cas's forehead again, getting that little spot between his eyes, right before the slope of his nose.

Cas was frowning, his brow drawn down. "I don't think that is possible. The star in not in fact alive… I believe."

He pressed another kiss, this one landing on the tip of his thin nose. "If an Angel can manage I'm sure a puppet could too."

"You are teasing me, just like you do with Samuel."

Dean smiled, gentle and just as warm as he felt inside, burning out of him like a beacon. His brother was right, he really shouldn't drink so much. He got sloppy. "Bingo." The last kiss almost fell against those confused, down turned lips, but in the face of such acts Dean found he just couldn't. He kissed the cheek opposite where his hand rested. "Just like that."

"Does that make us friends?"

It seemed like the theme of that night. Dean remembered the train show explaining the import of friendship, same as the mouse in the pink tutu. It must have made an impression on the Angel. "Yeah." He said softly and it had been years since he had trusted anyone enough to call 'friend'. But Cas had saved his life twice now and Dean had a man-crush on him in the worst way. Friend was an easy name to put to what they had. It was a safe name for it. Dean could handle being friends.

"Friends." He confirmed and butted their heads together gently, hoping that the jostle would set things in his mind straight again. It didn't. He dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly and smiling. "I'm dead tired." He fell back on his bed, hand finding the little clicker on the light, and he cast the room into semidarkness. "Night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

When Dean came back too he felt like he was dying. His mouth tasted like the final resting place for something small and pitiful. He half crawled into the bathroom and clung to the toilet while he emptied his stomach. Somewhere in the back of his mind he took note of the fact that Cas was awake and watching Sesame Street. It was morning, though it was difficult to tell when in the morning it actually was. Dean had no real recollection of the night before. He just remembered staggering into the room and falling into bed.

After what felt like an eternity Dean stood, rinsing his mouth in the sink. If he had been awake an hour before he would have seen the Angel performing a similar dance, but as it was Dean lowered himself back to his bed and eyed the bottle of Jack, assuming he had drunk that much on his own and not even bothering to wonder at why he felt so awful. He pulled a pillow over his face, blocking out the light and some of the sounds from the tv. He already knew his damn alphabet, he didn't need a reminder.

Something touched his mouth, light but persistent. He blew at it, but it would not leave him be. Poke, poke, poke it went. He felt a growl building in the back of his throat and he tossed aside the pillow. "What?"

Cas looked down at him, holding a little white pill between his fingers and gently poking it alongside Dean's lips again. "For the pain."

There was something nice about that sentiment that came through the hangover and the melancholy feeling. Dean opened his mouth and accepted the pill, only mildly distressed at the feel of fingers sliding past his lips. He waited for the intrusion to end and swallowed, hoping that Cas had fished it out of the duffle and not found it somewhere on the floor or something.

"Thanks." He grumbled, honestly appreciative that he had someone around to take care of his sorry ass.

But then, to his horror, the Angel leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose and Dean sullenly wondered just what the fuck was going on.

Cas said nothing, didn't even smile like there was some secret joke going on or anything. He just went back to his own bed and resumed watching his show like nothing strange was going on.

Dean rolled, putting his back to the strange man and lightly touched his nose. It didn't feel any different, though for some reason he had expected it to.

Ultimately the pill kicked in and they stopped at an IHOP and had pancakes and eggs, because nothing chases off a case of the blues like breakfast. They got back on the road, Dean still suspicious over the nose-kissing thing, and still feeling like he had been punched in the chest by a professional boxer. Everything was tight with a quiet sort of desperation that made outright sobbing seem more like a promise than a possibility. Dean really was looking forward to the alien feelings leaving him, for the time that he would feel whole again and not like a host for a heartbroken teenaged girl's deepest misery.

They made it to Bobby's before nightfall, and for that Dean was thankful. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he had to spend another night in a hotel room with the Angel. He still didn't know what his sorry ass, drunk self did the night before, but Cas seemed honestly content for the majority of the day. Dean was afraid to ask.

Bobby met them at the door with a shotgun in hand and a small smile hidden by his beard. "You're late, boy."

"Am I?" And Dean couldn't help a smile in return, Bobby just had the effect on him.

"Your damned brother keeps calling me, asking if I seen you yet." He lowered his gun, letting it hang down by his side. "Get your sorry ass in here, an go call him so he'll leave me alone."

Dean nodded, still smiling and gestured for Cas to follow him. The Angel did, but was eyeing Bobby with more curiosity than anything else. "Bobby, this is Castiel."

"Not what I imagined an Angel lookin' like." He set the gun down in an umbrella stand beside the door and offered a hand out for shaking. When Cas made no move to do the same, the old hunter lowered his hand, but didn't look too offended. "They drink beer?"

"I don't think so." Dean shrugged. "But I'll grab one for you an me." He went into the kitchen, made a quick call to his brother to assure him that he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere and came back to Bobby with two beers and a glass of orange juice for the Angel.

They sat in the study, Dean catching up with the old man and Cas watching them while he worked on his juice. They talked about the Impala and what sort of work Dean would have to do on her. They talked about Sam, about some hunts Dean had been on. It was nice to just clear the air. Eventually they did run out of those things and come down to the fact of the matter that Dean's car had been flipped over, and Bobby wanted to know how he had managed that, and the bullet holes and the dried blood in the backseat.

Dean looked over at Cas and was surprised to see him asleep, slumped on the couch, head bowed to his chest. "Give me a sec, Bobby." He got up and gently shook the Angel, rousing him enough to get those eyes he was so fond of gazing up at him. "Come on, you don't wanna sleep out here."

"I did, Dean. I was."

"Good lord, it can talk?" Bobby leaned forward curiously.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Cas to his feet. "They're just like real people, Bobby." And he led the half conscious Angel up the stairs and deposited him in one of the spare rooms.

He stayed up another hour or so, trying to explain the whole Fallen Angel things that he had seen twice now. He told Bobby about the banishing sigils and showed him the ones penned on his own chest. The old hunter listened stoically, like he always did, asking a question here and there, nodding occasionally. Dean left out the part about John, just the thought of his dad brought a lump to his throat and there was no way in hell that he was crying in front of Bobby unless there was a body between them. He had some pride. Somewhere.

As it happened, Bobby hadn't heard much about any sort of apocalypse, or whatever war Gabe had mentioned, but he promised to ask around and told Dean to get some sleep.

He managed a few hours, but with the rising of the sun he found himself out in the scrap yard, mulling over the remains of his poor, shattered car. Dean spent the better part of the day banging out dents and making a list of parts he would need to order to get her running again. Castiel found him a little after noon, wearing his yellow windbreaker and blinking into the bright sunlight.

"How long are we going to stay here?" His didn't sound annoyed or anything like other people might have, just curious.

" 'bout a week?" Dean did not bother taking his head out from under the hood.

"Alright," and the Angel wandered off into the scrap yard.

Bobby came by about an hour afterwards. "He's writing on my cars with a marker."

"What?" Dean looked over, wiping his hands on a towel.

"A marker. He's been walking the perimeter, drawing on things. Is he all right in the head?"

Dean shrugged. "He's hiding from those things. He's probably laying wards." Dean really hoped that's what they were.

"Don't look like no damn wards I've ever seen." He started to walk back to the house. "An keep him out of my books."

"Wait, he can read?" Dean honestly felt surprised at that.

"How the hell should I know? He just keeps popping up in the dammedest places, starin' me down like he aint never seen an old man before. An then I catch him in my books, don't know if he's looking at the pictures or what, but he isn't putting them back where he got 'em from."

Dean hid a smile behind a little cough. "I'll talk to him about it."

"I've got a system, you know." The old man grumbled to himself and stomped off, back up to the house, mumbling to himself.

He decided it was time to take a break from his car and he went on a walk out into the salvage yard to find Cas. Indeed, the Angel's handiwork could be seen on a number of car windshields and fence posts, carefully drawn wards in his precise and neat hand writing. The Angel himself was a bit more difficult to find. He had taken up residence in an old Ford Pinto that had been stacked haphazardly on top of the bed of a dinted pickup. The small, once green car didn't exactly fit in the bed, it sort of hung drunkenly up over the cab, the windshield tilted parallel with the sky. Dean would have missed the little Angel nesting up there if he had not poked his head out through the place where the driver side door should have been and called out to him.

"Dean, are you lost too?"

"Nope. What'cha doing up there?" Even as he asked, Dean found himself climbing up into the passenger side to join him.

"Your friend gave me this and told me to get lost for a bit." Cas held out an old Coleman thermos that smelled like it held soup. "I didn't want to get lost for too long, so I found this. I can see fairly far from up here." He offered Dean some of the soup. "So I don't suppose I stayed lost at all."

Dean took the soup and sipped at it. It tasted like it came from a can, and that was alright with him. "Don't worry about it."

"Will he be upset with me?"

"Bobby? Nah, he just wanted you out of the way. He's not used to company." He passed back the thermos and watched the Angel's throat as he took a drink.

"He reminds me a lot of your father." He was watching the sky and its few stray clouds.

"Don't tell him that." Dean felt a pang somewhere between his lungs. Bobby and John had a falling out years ago. Most people had a falling out with his Dad, though after so long, he thought maybe the bad blood had probably faded. All things considered.

"Alright."

They enjoyed the quiet, the distant birds and the sputter of an engine from out in the yard where Bobby was working on something that was fighting him. Dean was tired, not like he wanted to sleep, just like he had spent the brunt of his day half buried in car. It was a good sort of tired, natural and clean and his muscles ached with the familiar burn. If he had not been a hunter, if life had dealt him different cards, he would not have been a cowboy (despite the childhood ambition) he would probably just have been a mechanic. Working with his hands, being useful and content with his job.

The Angel leaned over and kissed him again this time on the edge of his jaw, his stubble brushing against Dean's like sandpaper and sending a shiver on a round trip through his body.

"The fuck, Cas?" He leaned away slightly, fighting the urge to wipe at the little spot of warmth. "You've got to stop doing that."

He was frowning, tilting his head to the side in that way he did so well. "But you said it is what humans do with one another."

"When did I say that?" It seemed like something he would make a point to remember saying.

"Two nights ago."

Not exactly the answer he wanted, but none the less the one he was expecting. Dean stared fixedly at the tree line over the dashboard and his knees. "What else did I tell you that night?" His voice was careful and he did not know if he wanted to hear what came next. Drunken confessions were a Winchester specialty.

"That we are friends."

Oh… friends. That wasn't so bad. He could live with that.

"And not to dance even if the wishing star tells us to."

That didn't even come close to making sense and he doubted that context would help. Dean looked at him sideways, his lip curling up in a strange expression. How much had he had to drink?

"And then you kissed me many times. It was much nicer than I thought it would be." There was no coyness to that statement. It was just simple and shameless and blunt like he was reciting a grocery list or telling Dean that the sky was blue.

His stomach had dropped out, his mouth had gone dry and try as he might he could not look away from the Angel beside him. He had actually kissed him? "Oh… right." He managed to look back out at the trees, a voice in his mind screaming quietly while he fought down a mild panic attack. Why had he kissed Cas? What on earth had possessed him to kiss the man? That was a dumb question, the answer was obviously whisky and that stupid fluttering feeling he got whenever the Angel stood too close. The mighty Dean Winchester had fallen. The king of the ladies men had died. Long live the king.

He took Cas' soup away and finished it off, hoping that it could calm the weirdly upside down feeling inside of him.

He had kissed a man, an Angel to be more exact, but it still qualified. And apparently it had been nice. Nicer than the Angel had thought it would be. Well… that sort of went without saying. Dean didn't half-ass anything. If he had gotten it in his liquored up mind that kissing the Angel was a good idea, or coarse he had done it like he meant it. The stupid part was that he couldn't remember a damned thing from that night. All the sin and none of the fun. And wasn't that just a normal day in the life of Dean?

The empty thermos got wedged between the two seats and Dean rolled his shoulders, working out a kink. He sighed. "How many is many times?"

Cas blinked over at him and frowned. "I wasn't counting."

"But it was… nice?" Eww, if felt dirty to even say. 'Nice' kissing was for hand holding children and old people.

"It made me feel happy." He clarified, his gaze softening slightly, the edges of his mouth turning up ever so slightly into the first smile that Dean had seen on him. It was like light breaking through the clouds, or the sun dawning after a night that felt endless.

Two days ago an Angel had died in front of them and Cas had broken down, totally check out… and Dean had somehow made him feel happy in the aftermath. It must have been some kiss.

Drunk Dean would not be permitted to upstage sober Dean.

He reached out, catching Cas' jacket collar and pulled him in. He kissed Castiel in that sort of haphazard and desperate way reserved for last kisses, not first ones. After a painful moment where Dean feared he had just made a colossal mistake, Cas yielded under him, making a soft noise somewhere between surprise and want, a gasp tapering off into a moan, his hands coming up to Dean's face, holing him in place. And they kissed, all hot breaths and teeth scraping in ways that bordered on painful. It was obvious that the Angel had no idea what he was doing, but it was apparent what he wanted. His mouth was begging without words, his hands carding into Dean's hair as he kissed back like he was attempting to take him in as a replacement for oxygen.

Dean pulled back as much as he was allowed, breath shaking and lips slightly bruised. It was not what he had wanted, he had caught the Angel with the intention of a nice kiss, whatever the hell that was. He had failed miserably and he was not sure if that was a bad thing. Cas was watching him, pupils blown wide with lust, all unfocused and beautiful. Dean had done that. It was a matter of great pride.

To his surprise, the Angel was pulling him back in, the hands tangled into his hair much stronger than Dean thought possible. Cas licked into his mouth in a way that the linguistic part of Dean's brain helpfully described as possessive. It might have been what people meant by the phrase 'coming undone'. He couldn't be sure, but as good as it felt, he didn't like it much.

It was too intimate.

Too real.

He had to get out.

He pulled back again, catching hold of the hands that held him and gently detaching them. He needed air. He needed gallons of it, and maybe a blanket and some cocoa… and a good place to hide. Cas was leaning back in, using their hands held between then as leverage, his very white teeth flashing in something akin to a drunken grin.

"Stop." Dean's voice was rough and low in a way that it only tended to be when in a bedroom. "Cas, no." His heart was hammering and he felt like he might drown out here on dry land. Cas had tasted very close to how he smelled, with the simple addition of tomato soup and Dean was fairly certain that he was now an addict to it. It took every ounce of will he had not to crawl out of his seat and into the driver's side.

"Why not?" It came out as a whine, something desperate and needy.

"It's getting late… I've got some more work to do on the Impala before it gets dark." It was one of the worst excuses in the history of excuses. But it seemed acceptable.

Cas nodded slowly. "Then you will go work on your car." He withdrew his hands from Dean's and hugged himself. "I must stay here."

"Why?" The word caught and he hated himself.

"You told me cars are like rooms."

"What?" Dean had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he should have just gotten out of the car while he had the chance.

"Because I am not allowed to touch myself while in the same room as people."

Dean's mind went completely blank. If it had been a woman beside him he would have known precisely what to do. But this was different- worlds different and he was out of his depth.

He found himself a while later, on his back beneath the Impala, installing new fuel neck assembly, and wondering at what point he had started to hate himself so much.