Dean layed on his bed in a cheap motel room middle of nowhere and tried to sleep, but ended up just tossing and turning restlessly around.

It had been weeks since their return from the Purgatory, and Castiel had kept his distance – probably holed up in Aziraphale's bookshop – and for that, Dean was grateful; at least most of the time, when he didn't worry about if he'd hurt the angel's feelings. He know that now on they would both do their best to pretend that that kiss and confession never happened, witch would mean that every time one of them opened his mouth he would think that "no matter what, don't bring up the kiss", and so the memory would inconsistently always stay clear and foremost in their minds.

It wasn't that Dean now hated Cass or was disgusted by him; the situation just was incredible awkward. He had no idea what was the most decent way to act next. Cass was the closest friend he'd ever had – excluding Sam, but that was totally different case as Sammy was always first his younger brother and only secondly his friend; Dean was always responsible for him, had been since their early childhood, in a way he never needed to be for Cass.

Dean shot a look to a opposite bed where his brother slept. Sam snored peacefully, and for a moment Dean wanted to throw him with a pillow, only so that he wouldn't need to be alone in his misery. Instead, he stood up and walked to the fridge to serve himself another beer.

Sam was actually another reason why Dean anticipated Cass return. If – and when - Cass dropped by, Sam would right away detect that everything wasn't quite right between them, and would think that they'd have a fight or something, and then Dean would need to tell him, too, and… And he really wasn't ready to do that. Not before he knew what he should think about this all.

The problem – or at least part of the problem – was that Cass was – well, he was Cass. He was brave, loyal and unselfish – too much so sometimes. Yes, he certainly messed up every now and then, but then again, who didn't? And he was cute, in that adorably clueless way as puppy dogs were. All put together, there wasn't many reasons for not to like Cass, maybe even enough to actually call it love.

There was jus one, big BUT in there.

Dean liked chicks. There was no question about that; it was so clear that when he was a teenager his father had seen no reason to even mention to him about alternatives. Not that there had been much of a conversation anyways… But the point was: Women. And Cass wasn't one.

Okay, so he wasn't really a man; angel's didn't have bodies on their own, so apparently they'd no sexes, either (and wasn't that just depressing?), but Cass lived in a male vessel, and that made him, well, him, at least in Dean's eyes. And maybe good ol' Jimmy had been quite a looker, but still a male.

Of course, that problem could be easily solved: Cass could always find an another body to invest. But that would be wrong in so many different levels; like Cass was flawed in some way, like he would need to change himself only to be loved (and not to even mention the original owner of that possible new body, who would be ripped away from her life and loved ones; seriously, it was so messed up that Dean tried to not even think about it).

And, even while in different body it would still undoubtedly be Cass, it would somehow make it even worse; the same tilt of his head, the same confused frown – but the face would be different, and the voice… Dean quite liked Cass' soft, husky voice as it was. And his eyes. He tried to think about Cass' deep, contemplating, soulful gaze looking at him through someone else's eyes, but that felt just so wrong.

Dean massaged his temples. He had no idea how to process this; apart from Sam, only person he could even think about talking to was Bobby, and, yeah, no. The older hunter was closest thing he could think as a father figure, but what came to feelings and relationships and the whole talking part… well, he kind of sucked at that.

So, who else there were? Crowley? No way in hell. The demon seemed to get along with Cass, and visa versa, surprisingly well, but it wasn't near enough for Dean to trust him and certainly not to ask him any kind of advise whatsoever. Sheriff Jody? She was reasonable enough, but… Dean really didn't know her that well. Then there was Kevin, but he was a teenager, and just how pathetic it would be ask him for a advice considering relationships? Mrs. Tran would probably just cuff Dean for being a loser and thinking too much. Garth… no. And just like that, there were no more names left to add.

Short list, Dean thought bitterly. He put the empty beer can in the sink and went back to bed, trying to catch some sleep before they would once again hit the road.


"He must hate me", Castiel moaned softly. He sat at Aziraphale's kitchen table, face buried into his arms, while full cup of tea slowly cooled off before him. "What was I thinking? No-one just goes and kisses someone, especially someone who doesn't even… who hasn't ever given a slightest glue that he could actually feel any attraction towards you!"

Aziraphale and Antony shared a look. As long as they had lived among humans, neither of them was really adapted in relationships; Anthony mostly knew how to break them. So far, all they could do was offer tea, pat over shoulder and gentle phrases like "it'll be okay" and "I'm sure it's not so bad" or "how could anyone hate you, dear?"; they'd even asked advise from Fergus, who at least had once been a human and should have some experience in relationships, but he'd just shrugged little awkwardly and told them that he already had enough to do with his own social life.

"So your – ahem - liaison with Bobby Singer has developed?" Anthony had inquired, and Fergus had sighed with fond irritation before replying, "If it can even be called that. Just… tell him – Feathers, I mean – that he needs to give that idjit some time to sort out his feelings."

So they gave him time. Castiel started once again to mend his bees, and tried to look contend with his life, but Aziraphale could see worry and restlessness laying right under his skin. The young angel wanted to be at older Winchester's side – so much was clear – but at the same time, he seemed to be extremely nervous of meeting him. From what Aziraphale could understand, most of Castiel's nervousness was caused by the fact that he didn't want Dean to be nervous.

Aziraphale wanted to help him – help both of them, if possible. Because, right now, Aziraphale's own life happier than it had ever been (including his time in Heaven, since although he'd certainly been happy there, he hadn't yet been a person), and like all those who have got their dream come true, he wanted to spread that happiness to those near him.

The reason of Aziraphale's happiness was quite simply: he and Anthony had started their own relationship for a sometime back – while Castiel had still been recovering from his encounter with Leviathans – and while they were still little quiet about it, that didn't made it any less serious.


As an angel, Aziraphale had always been able to feel love – its was in his work description, so to say – but it had also been somewhat abstract sort of love. He loved humans, but no more and sometimes even less than he loved his book collection, and most of the time he loved them because, well, that's what angel should do. As what came to Anthony… first he'd been just a demon, someone to fight against, but then had came the Agreement, and then one night his scaly companion had stood behind his door and begged him to help his son, for someone's sake… and as time passed, he'd tentatively started to consider Anthony as a friend.

And then had came the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and everything had changed for good.

Of course Aziraphale had known a long time that he enjoyed Anthony's company little more than what was expected from him – then again, hate the sin, love the sinner, right? - but he hadn't seen or refused to see that at some point he'd started to love him in a whole different way, deeper than a friend; he'd fell in love with him.

That had shook Aziraphale, who had always thought that that peculiar kind of love was something that required some kind of… physical aspect. Something that he, as an unsexual being, couldn't easily express and had hard time to even comprehends.

Aziraphale's body might look like that of human male, but he didn't have a working sexual organs (if he didn't really put an effort on it, and where's the point?). The whole concept of gender bemused him most of the time, and the foremost reason he even looked like a male instead of female was that the social structure of the most of the civilizations would had made more female body type impractical during most of his staying on earth. That made little sense to him, and sometimes he even thought that it had been a big mistake from those early beings to divide their sexes in the first place.

So Aziraphale had decided that it was time to finally get some clearance in to the whole gender-business, and best way to manage that would be to do some research. Normally, the first place he would look for information would be a library, but this time he hesitated. What was he looking for, exactly? Did humans even write books about things like gender and so on, when they already had one from the very beginning?

He needed to ask it from someone. First he thought about Loke, who was (in some parts of reality) Anthony's… parent, and whose gender was ambiguous at the very least; but then again, he'd never been good at following Loke's thinking process, and he couldn't help feeling jumpy at the pagan god's presence. Besides, last time Loke has visited his house, all the books in his library had moved in different selves, or the covers had mixed up, or, in some cases, all the letter in the book had changed their order making it a whole new book – all written with gibberish, though Anthony swore that it was an actual language, which had been commonly used a few universums back. Books had eventually turned back to normal after Loke's chaotic miasma had left the house, but it goes without saying that Aziraphale hadn't been very inclined to ask Loke drop by after that.

(Then there was of course that little thing that it would have felt unbelievable awkward to ask for a help from a person who was that person's parent of whom said help eventually was all about.)

The next person Aziraphale could think of was Anathema. The young woman was intelligent, and seemed to understand the world from a bigger point-of-view than most humans – possible because of her witch heritage – so Aziraphale called to her. Anathema listened understandingly and then invited herself to tea.

The talk Anathema gave to him was a little overwhelming, to say least, but it gave Aziraphale a lot to think about. Anathema could also recommend some books and after asking if he'd learned to use computer (a bit) she also wrote down some sites where Aziraphale could visit.

It was complicated; besides the biological gender, humans also had sexual gender, which could be same as the biological one or not, or even both of them at the same time; and then they also had many different sexual and romantic orientations, and their subgroups. At example: Person could biologically represent one gender, while being another by their sexual gender, feel sexual preference towards their biological gender but be unable to feel any romantic attraction towards anyone.

It was a lot bigger cake than Aziraphale had anticipated, but he'd done his decision, and wouldn't stop before he wholly understood this.

Finally Aziraphale braced himself enough to open his computer and log in one of the sites that Anathema had recommend. There people wrote with their own words about their personal experiences; they told about their feelings and worries, how they'd felt that there was something horribly wrong with them before they finally realized that their gender/sexual orientation/romantic orientation was different that what they'd thought that it was, and that it didn't make them any lesser of from whom if anyone they were attracted of. After reading many of these stories, Aziraphale thought that maybe he was beginning to understand…

And suddenly it all had made so much sense: how he'd always sought Anthony's company, how happy he was when the demon decided to spent a night at his house; why seeing him at morning, sitting in his kitchen with his hair mussed by sleep, made his heart swell while wanting to reach out and brush those hairs back in order with his fingers…

Love. He was in love… with a demon.

First, it had worried him. Angels had of course known fallen in love and even made children with humans – because that's where the Nephilim's had came from – but to be in a close relationship with demon…? Unheard of.

But then he reminded himself, that when he'd walked to stand against Lucifer, it hadn't been his brothers who came to stand beside him – no, they waited for their glorious war to start – but Anthony, his demon, who had stood at his side, scared out of wits and only a tire iron in his hand, yet still ready to die at his side.

(Okay, so Mr. Shadwell had been there too… And eventually it'd been Adam who handled the situation and struck his father into the Cage before altering the universe so that he'd now been locked in there ever since the war in Heaven… But they hadn't known that then!)

As what came to the demons inability to feel love… Aziraphale no longer found it in himself to believe so. He now felt ashamed by that thoughtless comment he'd once blurted out near Lower Tadfield, when he'd felt Adam's love towards his home everywhere around them and told Anthony that he couldn't explain it to him because of his nature as a demon. He'd no idea if the comment had hurt Anthony, but it certainly hasn't made it any easier for the demon to finally realize his own softer feelings towards both Aziraphale and his own son.


Nowadays, even while Anthony still had his apartment, he came over every day for a breakfast and stayed till evening, sometimes spending a night in. They didn't have sex – neither of them felt any need for that – but if Anthony went to sleep, Aziraphale accompanied him, and they cuddled together in his bed. The only reasons why Anthony didn't simply move in seemed to be his houseplants (which would apparently be either spoiled rotten or get killed with Aziraphale unskilled caretaking, if he ever dared to bring them in), and the fact that he hadn't yet got around to tell Fergus about their new relationship.

So that was why Aziraphale now felt so determined to help Castiel; even though - as knew Anthony all too well - he'd done so anyway. "Never the one to take care just of your own business, are you, angel?" he'd said with fond frustration.

"Never", Aziraphale had admitted proudly before kissing him softly on the cheek.


Dean was, once again, alone in a bar. He'd flirted a bit with a pretty waiter, like he normally did, but it hadn't managed to cheer him up; actually, it had just brought Cass in his mind, just when he'd thought to let it rest.

He sat there, nursing his beer, when someone sat down on his table. Frowning with irritation, he raised his head to tell that someone to find an another table, when he realized that he actually knew the newcomer.

"It's a bit… down-to-earth place, aren't it?" the angel – Azi-something? – said and raised one of his well-manicured hands to ask service. Waiter brought him a beer, and the blond angel peered at it with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"Yeah", Dean muttered, feeling completely bemused. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just happened to walk by and saw you and decided to come and say 'hello'", the angel answered and smiled cheerfully.

Dean didn't buy it. "You're here because of Castiel."

"Ah, well – yes. The poor dear is so depressed, that I thought that I should just come and ask you straight away if you truly hate him and never want to see him again now that you know about his feelings."

It threw Dean little out of balance. "Hate him?" he exclaimed. "No, of course I don't! I, I just –"

The angel watched him with his gentle eyes. "Yes, Dean?" he inquired. As Dean just dropped his gaze back to his mug, the angel sighed. "You can talk to me, if you want; I'll listen."

Dean scoffed. "Why should I do that? I hardly even know you!"

"Oh, I know; but I only have your best intention in my mind. After all, my younger brother cares you a lot; and I happen to know that my – um, my dear friend's son holds you in high regard - for a human, anyways. And", the angel added with softer voice, "I think I can relate, somewhat. You see, I know how confusing love sometimes can be."

Dean didn't know what to say in that.

The angel smiled before reached out to pat his hand. Dean was so surprised that it took a moment before he realized what was happening and pulled his hand away.

The angel – seriously, what was that name? Azirafiel? – didn't look bothered by his action. "Please talk to me, dear; even if I cannot give you any advise – I certainly aren't an expert in what comes to the matters of heart! – I've noticed that sometimes simply talking to someone who listens without judging can feel refreshing."

The angel voice was kind and somehow hypnotizing; it made Dean want to believe – in something; himself, perhaps…? "I'm just so confused", he admitted, without really planning to do so. "I mean, things were just going back to normal; Cass was back to us, I'd forgiven him for his betrayal, we beat the Leviathans and got out of the Purgatory without a cut… And then he suddenly is in love with me? The man – angel – whatever, who didn't even know what to do with a hooker?!"

The angel listened him while sipping his beer (and when had beer ever been so – red…? Was it wine or something? In a mug?!), eyes closed but clearly contemplating every word he said. "It's okay to be confused, dear", he finally reassured. "It was little… reckless for Castiel, to just blurt it out like that, without any preparations – but then again, he's very young angel, all things considered; he has a history of making some very rushed decisions…"

"So I've seen", Dean scoffed.

The angel smiled at him. It was a nice, kindly smile, which in some weird way reminded Dean about his mother, of all things. "As what comes for Castiel "suddenly" being in love with you… I would say that it was a long coming. He's always looked at you upwards. Being frustrated by your, sometimes, no doubt in that… but still given a great significance to your opinions and decisions. He really admires you, you know." The angel was quiet for a moment, seemingly hesitating, before asking, "Feel free to pass answering, but… is it only the gender that Castiel represent that makes this so confusing for you…?"

"What?!" Dean exclaimed loudly – too loudly, since people off other tables turned to look at them. He lowered his tone into a hiss before continuing, "What you mean, "only" his gender? It's a rather big part of that, isn't it?"

The angel shrugged nervously. "How should I know, dear? It's not like I have one – gender, I, mean."

Dean stared at him. "What you mean? You're a guy, aren't you?"

"Well, no… not exactly. My body has a shape of a male human – the female one would have been rather impractical back in days – but I don't have, ahem, how would Fergus put this…? – tools in the downstairs, so to say."

"Oh. …Well, sucks be you, then."

The angel quirked his eyebrow amusedly. "And why is that?" he asked.

"Well, you… doesn't that mean that you can't, uh, you know…", Dean stammered.

"… Have a sex?" the angel concluded. "That's what you're asking, right?"

"…Yes", Dean muttered, with a heavy blush. Damn, that was something he didn't want to talk about with someone he barely knew, and especially not with Cass' older brother…!

The angel smiled contentedly. "No need to be embarrassed, dear", he assured. "And what comes to, let's say, physical attraction, no, I can't either feel or express that, if I don't put and effort to it. You understand, my body isn't a vessel like Castiel's is; this was made for me, so it answers to my wishes. If I really wanted to have sex, even if just to try what it felts like, then yes, I could do that. After all, I knew for certain that Anthony has tried it some times: Fergus is kind of unmistakable prove of that…"

It took Dean a moment to process that and then to remember whom the angel was referring to. Of course – Crowley and his father. Now if he only could recall the angels name – Azirale? Azirafle?

"Aziraphale, dear", the angel said, and continued, as Dean stared at him surprisedly, "My name is Aziraphale. Though I certainly won't blame you for forgetting it – It's not the most commonly mentioned in the lore – so please feel free to refer me "Az", that's what everyone else do… And no, you didn't say it out loud, nor did I read your mind; its just been clear that you've been pondering it ever since we started talking. I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier… it seems that Anthony's nature has rubbed on me a little more than what I've expected."

"Uh… okay. So, Az, you… So you haven't never…?"

"Put an effort to it? No, I haven't; never felt like it was necessary; of course, if Anthony someday wants to try, I don't believe it would be too much to ask, but as long as simply holding him while he rests seems to be enough for both of us, I see no reason to…"

"Wait, what? You and the guy with the sunglasses – Crowley's old man – you're, like… item?"

"Oh, yes… Not that we've yet made a lot noise about it but…"

Dean had a hard time to wrap his brains around that image. "But aren't he like, a demon? And you're an…"

"…angel, yes", Az admitted. "And yes, I know our love may seem little heretic – my brethren in Heaven would absolutely not gave their blessing to it – but we're happy, and I think that that's what truly counts, or don't you think?"

Dean shook his head bemusedly. "You're something totally else than the rest of your kind, aren't you? Well, you and Castiel."

Az shrugged. "We've both spend a lot time along you mortals, and not only by observing you, but living with you; sharing experiences, learning and understanding. Of course, for me, Anthony too played a big role in my unravelling… But he isn't quite an ordinary demon – or even fallen – by himself, either." There was fondness in the angels voice, and his smile turned wishfully.

"You really love him, don't you?" Dean asked, now feeling little amused.

"I do", Az answered simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"How? I mean, when did you…?"

"When I started to love him? Or when I realized that I already did?"

Dean shrugged. "Any of them. Both. Whatever."

Az thought it over a moment before answering. "When did it happen? That's hard to say. Maybe it was when we took our stand against Lucifer duiring his first try at apocalypse; I had my flaming sword, and he held tire iron in his hand… so scared that I expected him to any moment turn into a snake and slither in hiding, but he stood his ground beside me, even if it all seemed hopeless, ready to die at my side, at the side of his friend… But probably it was earlier than that; maybe when I realized where the apocalypse was meant to happen, and I wanted to call him - it was the first thing that came to my mind: "Call Crowley" (he was still Crowley for me back then) – but then I called to Heaven instead… I should have called Anthony", Az muttered, more to himself than for Dean. "But of course, it would have been a long time before that, too; maybe it was even as early as when he brought Fergus to me, worried and desperate to safe his only child whose existence he hadn't even known before that day… or any time after that, when we started to spent more and more time together, first for Fergus' sake, and them simply because we wanted to."

Then Az was again quiet for a moment, pondering it in his head before continuing, "So it's really hard to say, when it started. As what comes to when I realized it… Well, that's a lot easier. One day we just were spending time in my house – I was reading and he played with his phone, I think it was some kind of game – Fergus has tried to teach me to use those new smartphone-things, but I still don't quite get it – and apparently he'd at some point fallen asleep since when I rose up, he was laying all over my sofa, his limbs hanging on the floor, and snoring quietly. I went to put a quilt over him – he doesn't like cold, poor dear – and when I looked at his face… he seemed so peaceful and open. He didn't even wear his sunglasses, hadn't done that while in my shop for a some time then – and I realized that he trusted in me. Not only trusted in me in things like preventing apocalypse or holding my part of Agreement, but… actually trusted me, his oldest enemy, enough to fell asleep while in my house. Trusted me to keep him safe."

The angel shook his head, his eyes shining with emotion. "I was humbled by the trust he was giving me; and that's when I realized that I would die for him. That I would be ready to lay my own existence into a waste just so he could live and be happy; that his happiness was more important for me than my own. That I loved him."

Az took a sip from his mug. "After that, I was very confused for a some time – not so much because I was in love with a demon, but because I'd never thought that I could express that kind of romantic love, which I'd always thought that was something that needed that sexual nuance to work out; but I had a long talk with one enlightened friend of mine, who then recommend me some materials for my own researches… And that's how I came to understand that there are so many ways to love, and not just only one that's universally right."

Dean was quiet. Of course he knew that not all people saw sex as an necessary prove of love in romantic relationships… Put then again, if sex wasn't the groundbreaker, then what did it matter of which gender the other participant represented in that kind of relationship…? He didn't felt any sexual attraction towards males, but then again, his romantic relationships with women hadn't never gotten so far, either – Lisa had been his longest partner, and even that – hadn't worked out as well as it could have. His work wasn't something that anyone but him should be forced to put up with.

But Cass already is in this world…

And you can't be seriously thinking that, right…?

Nah, of course not… maybe. Probably.

!

Dean was interrupted out of his musings by Az, who coughed a bit to catch his attention. "I don't know what advise I should give to you… I can just ask that you won't give up on your friendship with Castiel. He understands the difference between your feelings, and isn't going to push you into anything that you don't want to… but I can also see how it hurts him to be separated from you like this." The angel sighed. "So… Could you at least give him a call? Please. Work this out. You're a good team; please don't let it go into a waste."

Dean felt little ashamed. Of course he should had called to Cass; even though he'd said right away that he hadn't been angry or disgusted by Cass' sudden kiss, he should had made sure that the angel had understood that. Why awkward minutes on the phone wouldn't have cost him a lot, but it would had mean so much more to Cass.

Some friend I am.

"Sure", he assured to Az, "I'll give him a call. Tomorrow, okay? I think it's best if I'm not drunk while I do that." And I need some time to work out what the hell I'm going to say so that I won't turn this into a bigger mess than it already is…

Az's smile was delighted. "Thank you", he said, and would probably have hugged Dean hadn't his alarmed expression made him think it twice. "I'll… just leave you to it, then? Oh, and it was pleasant to talk with you, again; maybe we could repeat this some time in the future…?"

Dean waved his hand. "Everything's possible", he said, and added, quietly, "And thank you for company; it… helped more than I thought it would."

Az beamed at him. "Talking makes everything better", he declared. "See you, Dean Winchester."

The angel left, and it felt like the noises of the bar suddenly got a lot louder. And music, had there even been music before?

Dean shook his head and chugged the rest of his beer before asking for bill; the waitress looked at him with surprise and told him that the bill had already been covered. Dean couldn't remember Az paying anything, but he supposed that angels must have their own tricks.

Best to hit the bed, he thought. Sammy must be already wondering where I am… And I really need to think what I'm going to say to Cass tomorrow…

But be it either beer or just the lasting impact of drinking at angels company, he didn't found it in himself to worry it too much tonight.