I tried to make Dean seem realistically conflicted based upon my own experiences but I have a feeling I failed. Review to reassure/cheer me up? Big apologies for taking so long, sex scenes are not my thing and then I totally scrapped the idea so...sorry?

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profits. Warnings: may contain spoilers for post-end of the world, slightly AU and might contain a really bad plot-twist-ending with a small "crossover". Some language. Mentions of Dean/Castiel with brief details. Sad-eventual-happy!fic.

Castiel sighed and swallowed a lump in his throat. He looked down at his open hands in his lap; even they were begging Dean not to bring up the subject. "Look, I tried, Dean. I was warned and it hurt. Like the very literal Hell," he paused to look up at Dean through the middle space between the front seats. He could glimpse his profile that way at the very least and he felt like it was important to watch Dean's face through their interaction. "And I remember what Hell feels like through you. Though that did not quite feel like a memory of mine," he ended quietly, thoughtfully.

He heard Dean clench the wheel tighter, the squish of sudden pressure on rubber. "Great, just fucking peachy. You first remember my nightmares,"

Castiel wanted to ask him why his nightmares would be a primary concern, his tongue even itched to say the words since his mouth had already formed them. He had a theory that overtime he would slowly gain his memories, starting with the most important ones first. If he could figure out the importance of each memory, he could understand more and hopefully unlock others. But the puffs of Breath inside him disagreed with that idea. A lot. "I have a theory," he explained simply, so far allowed that much.

He saw Dean's eyebrows rise in expectation through the slim mirror inside the car that showed the backseat and its contents mostly. "Alright," he acquiesced after a great pause. "I'll bite. What is it?"

Dean would voluntarily take even the most boring Angel Theory 101 class right now just to distract him long enough to get his feelings back under some semblance of control. His emotions were always quick and furious, bubbling under his skin with the need to be released, when he came into contact with any angel. But significantly more wild and pulling with Castiel than any other, even Zachariah whom he despised. That was part of the reason anything the angels did or said was so irritating to him even though it was hypocritical of him, to an extent, not to agree. Although, some of it did just lie with them being annoying dicks, too. He assumed the reason for his even more haywire emotions at seeing Castiel had something to do with being raised from perdition by him and being given such a beautiful hand print to mark that passage in time.

And then they had only gotten closer, simply put, which made the emotions worse; at least after they had made love to kingdom come the emotions were easier to deal with, if still a good deal stronger than he would have liked. But now, after going so long without anything from his angel, he apparently lost every last bit of the control that it took years to achieve. It was almost like he and Cas, or their bodies at least, were meeting for the first time again. And all he wanted to do at the moment was star in some cheesy chick-flick moment and crawl into his lap- which had also taken years for him to accept the fact the first time around. In fact, he had to say that was a damn tempting offer right about now.

"I'm not sure I am at liberty to say," Castiel began, stopping to see if the Breath would agree with that. It did. He frowned, which was answer enough for Dean.

Well, that plan took a swan dive out the window. Dean fidgeted in his seat and half-sighed, half-groaned. He missed Cas, his Cas, and he wished to God he never said what he did. He was half-hoping that he died like he should have after failing Sammy and was suffering a new, more devastating Hell.

He cleared his throat into his fist and got out of the car, shutting the door with the familiar creak and slam. He leaned against it, shoving his hands nervously into his jacket pockets and took comfort in some of the familiar things for a moment before turning to face Castiel. He was back to being right in his face, defying straight male-male senses of comfort out of ignorance again.

Dean hated labeling himself as one thing or another anyways, but he couldn't avoid it; he had never been 100% heterosexual whenever Castiel was around, ever. First, it was their few bonding moments that always touched on a deeper level than he expected and then the staring. Especially the one time down in wherever on that Cupid case when neither could put down their phones for a long time. He remembered that moment clearly because he was sure that he was feeling the angel's thoughts or emotions, or both, like he was the one with the fancy mind-trip powers. And he was just stunned by the same overwhelming sense of feeling inside Castiel. Immediately after that came the dreams, the unquestionable desire that left him mewling in the morning when he woke up hard. It became one of the many times he thanked God that Sammy was such a deep sleeper and definitely not the last.

Now, however, the awkwardness mostly resided in his decision to wear tight jeans, as per usual for him, without having his Cas to take them off like what became so usual. "Dammit," he muttered softly, licking his lips and fighting the urge to close his eyes and just lean.

Castiel fluttered closer, picking up on his internal sense and following it like always. "Are you well, Dean?" He was now as close as Anna was when she Breathed in him, but being this close to Dean felt different. More in the right state of mind, pleasant despite the churning hole in his middle.

"Yes- no. No," Dean violated step one and now stared at Castiel from the back of his eyelids. He instinctively moved closer and felt his heart race again. "Please tell me I'm on Heaven's version of Punk'd," he said attempting to sound like he was still breathing normally.

He could have literally pointed out the exact moment that Cas cocked his head in that irresistibly-adorable way even without sight. "What is this Punked?"

Step two was going, going..."God, Castiel, I missed you," Gone. He seriously would have to work on his lack of self-control. But later. Much later when his lips weren't tangoing with the short puffs that came out of the part in Cas' mouth. He had forgotten how warm they were, how they seemed to touch his core and make him shiver from the inside out. He had forgotten how good this felt, how good Cas made him feel at a time when he hated himself the most.

He didn't understand. These humans appeared to be able to swing from mood to mood just in an instant and Dean especially confused him. Just thinking about Dean caused him to ache; at least right now, it was more of a swirl of warmth churning inside him too hot to be pleasant but too cool to burn. And the way Dean was looking at him, the way he stood leaning as if he wanted to press up against his vessel's body. What did he want? What was he thinking?

The physical movement was superfluous. There was no reason why he felt the need to make them. As an Angel of the Lord and assigned Dean as his charge, he was perfectly in the right to read his mind if he felt so inclined. But there was something so familiar, so charming about the implied intimate gestures that he couldn't resist. He raised his hand, folding all but two fingers, and gently rested them on his forehead. Dean didn't seem to notice, and if Cas hadn't seen the breath escape from him, he wouldn't have known the quiet sigh his human made when he brushed them against his hair line.

It was soft, almost as soft as actual angel-feathers when fully manifested, and lightly tinged blonde from all his time outdoors. Lighter than the dark hair of his brother, at least, and shorter too. It lay tight against his head but full still, no patches or thining in sight. No grey spots for that matter too. Just young and healthy and beautiful. God's favourite Creation reflected in the image of Him, in the image of Dean. He wanted to Sing again.

Castiel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, wanting to understand everything about him, Dean, and them together.

Dean sat hunched over on the lonely park bench underneath the cover of a full tree. Its branches swayed in the light breeze and he shivered. It was dark now and his body was already missing the intense warmth Castiel resonated, the peace and love too. Now that he was alone, he just kept picking out his faults, the reasons why he shouldn't be alive.

He was broken, dead inside.

He tortured souls, and he enjoyed it.

He started the Apocalypse.

He gave up on his brother.

He was a mindless tool of his father's devices.

He didn't deserve love or forgiveness; he didn't deserve to be saved.

He couldn't win; he was a failure.

The world would simply be better off without him leaving a trail of empty beer bottles, broken hearts and depleted bank accounts. A trail with no meaning in it.

There was so much wrong with him. "Why am I here?" he whispered to himself.

"I don't know," Castiel answered simply from beside him. He too sat hunched over with his hands on his lap clasped neatly, looking sideways at and speaking to Dean like he was a complete idiot or maybe just a lost and confused child. "I had thought that, since you didn't run from me the first few times, you wouldn't any other time. Am I to be a...five-night stand of yours, Dean?"

Dean was tempted to smile, encouraged by his presence to forget the gloom. He was just afraid that, if he did, it would only come back later worse and at a more inopportune time. He would have to treat it as if he was hunting a monster; kill it on the first go or the second or the third, but definitely try for it all at once. "Why do you love me, Cas, and I mean really love me?" Might as well start with the million-dollar question.

His angel looked away for a moment in pregnant silence. He stared at the calm scenery before them, viewed the cloudless dark sky, looked at his folded hands and spoke to them. "I, uh, I don't know that either. You were my charge, I was the one appointed the task of raising you from perdition. Uriel scolded me from the start because he thought I gripped you too tightly."

He paused where a normal person would have chuckled bitterly or sarcastically, but not him. Not Cas. Cas just picked his head up and looked into his eyes meaningfully, forcing Dean to look back at him and see himself reflected in those orbs. Unblinkingly he took Dean's hands in his and caressed them, kissing each finger with the same tenderness and his eyes still only on Dean. "But when I saw you, even at your lowest, I knew that there was something that deserved to be saved inside you, Dean. And I will Fall to preserve that for you."

He stood up and looked out into the distance but even then Dean still felt compelled to watch him. To continue the nonexistent eye-contact. "Man was not made to be perfect. Angels were; and even we have our faults. My fault seems to be feeling too much, loving you too much. Yours is giving up too much of yourself for others. If anything, you may be too perfect for this world, Dean, remember that," Castiel looked back with a bright glint in his eyes and a small smile. The seriousness had ended and was lifted like it was a discardable layer of clothing. "I'll be waiting in the car for you to give some more of yourself to me."

Dean couldn't help himself this time and grinned fully. "Did an Angel of the Lord just give me the longest pick-up line ever?"

"Did it work?" Dean walked up to Castiel and kissed him gently, all traces of his self-hatred gone as soon as their lips met.

Castiel's eyes widened, his cheeks burning even though he didn't understand some of the things that the past of himself said. But at least he understood the compelling desire to be closer to Dean and the swirl in his stomach could be identified finally as lust. He realized now that when he Sang, he was Singing about their love that they shared, the love that he missed, the love that he wanted to feel again.

His heart pounded almost painfully and he licked his lips as he watched Dean's mouth with an intense hunger. They were so close, so achingly close. He could smell Dean's signature scent, feel it trickle its way inside him and stay there like Anna's Breath. But this again was different, right and pleasant. He wanted it to stay, to memorize it and recognize it everywhere. The tender musk of an arrogant but sensitive man who knew that only through hardship could he get what he so wanted and still loved to sit on a porch in the early morning after the rains. The earthy quality of someone who roams, not caring of what kind of messes he would get into on the way, trying to find a home where he could belong but still be wild and free. The sweet scent of a person so pure and so broken, a child who falls and gets back up again, a soldier who fights for love and family and is honor-bound to stay true to himself.

He wanted to memorize the feeling of Dean's lips on him, see their just-been-pinched cherry colour in roses and be able to taste their smooth fullness in his dreams. He wanted to remember the feeling of his body flush against his in passionate excess, heat fogging the air while their minds slowly uncleared and to memorize the feeling of Dean inside him. He could see why Dean was easily an obsession of his; easily understandable why he would Fall for him or in love with him.

You are dangerously close to committing the same sins of the flesh again. His own inner voice warned him, but he didn't care. He wanted this and the Breath agreed with him this time.

Castiel hesitated though, the motions of this familiar act to Dean and the past of himself now unfamiliar to him. I will just have to ask Dean to teach me again. He thought, and it sounded more like it belonged as a thought of the past him rather than him now at this moment. It was too forward and confident. Still, he latched onto that false bravado and used it to propel himself against Dean's lips.

Dean almost jumped at feeling Castiel smash their lips together. He wasn't expecting it; expecting was far different from hoping in any case. The first time Castiel initiated a kiss, he took more than 12 seconds to figure out just how to go about it. But at least one thing was still the same at first, he would always be a kiss-and-run type of guy.

Before he could pull away completely, Dean wrapped a secure hand to the back of his head to keep him no more than a few inches away. He opened his eyes slowly to take in his Cas before he could go away to what he was before. Old Cas. He absorbed the dark flush to his face, drank in the lusty glint in his wild blue eyes and imbibed his scent. His glorious, untainted, clean, fresh and innocent scent that was second only to the smell of a glorious, tainted, dirty, sweaty and thoroughly ravaged angel. It was a musk so unique that it never smelled the same way twice as it repeated itself in a never-ending circle after a period of time had passed by between bouts of sex.

He pointedly flickered his eyes back down to his plump lips that begged to be kissed and looked back up, letting a growing smirk bloom across his face. Castiel widened his eyes even more, took a disbelieving breath in and flickered his eyes multiple times back and forth himself. He licked his lips again and bit the lower one harshly, as if pain could restrain him from making what should be by all accounts a mistake but somehow felt as far as one could be from it.

"I know you want me," Dean said softly, applying the gentlest amount of pressure to inch him closer on his own accord. He assumed that something had enlightened him to their sexual tension and if he had the balls to kiss him because of it, he would still do it after the moment of pensive deep-thinking. And then Dean could pretend that he had his Cas back and he wouldn't feel so pathetic all the time; he could smile and actually laugh and be a big brother to Sammy again if he had just one moment to dream of.

It was selfish and he was using Castiel probably in some weird paradox way but dammit, he needed Cas. And wasn't he the one that said he gave himself too much? What was one moment of taking then?

"I know you want me," he repeated quieter. "Almost as much as I want you." He pressed his lower section against him and tilted his head up. "Why don't you just take?"

Castiel dipped closer by his own choosing, touching noses with Dean before stopping, that he would concede to. But he did stop, so the lust wasn't in complete control of him, which made things altogether better and worse at the same time. Better because he was free to decide what to do and when and worse because he knew he was going to make all of the wrong choices. "What if I Fall?" he managed to croak out.

Dean blinked, thrown again, and slid his hand down Cas' side back to his own. He was beginning to feel the guilt he expected to come afterwards with that one question. The first time, Castiel was being a little angel rebel and didn't start to care until Falling became equivalent with the only way to stay with Dean, with or without his angel mojo. Then, it later became his way of saying 'I love you'. For Cas to say it now meant that he wasn't taking advantage of a dick-again Castiel, but a mind-swept regular Castiel. And that was like kicking a puppy. But he needed Cas again, to feel, to live, to forget for just one moment. If only his old shrink knew his relationship with his angel; they would have to rewrite the definition of codependency, at least when it was one-sided.

"You won't, I promise you," he said feeling sick and disgusted with himself, hating the way his voice sounded so wobbly and weak. But that wasn't too different from before and he had lived, or more like, existed with that. He could, probably, do it again.

Luckily, he didn't have much more time to brood upon it since Castiel's mouth was such a good distraction. As good of a distraction as it had always been before, mashing lips, teeth, and tongue in a battle that could not be won. Dean groped alongside his other baby, pulling hard on the handle to the backseat. His heart thudded as it remembered that this was the same place as before, though under much different circumstances, that he had taken the virginity of two angels. And he was about to do it again. Sort of.

The door opened quietly, or at least nowhere near the roar of leftover blood rushing in his ears, and he debated silently with himself whether or not to go through with this plan of action. Guilt was making a home in his stomach and he was pretty sure it would stay there for awhile. Not the best condition to be having sex that he had ever been in. Dammit, Castiel. You always have to complicate things.

He trembled slightly with desire and repulsion, at a crossroads again. Every time he was there, he always made the wrong decision. He was rash, he said the wrong things, he crumbled when pushed too hard and rebelled against the ones he loved. He hurt more people than he had saved and had killed all the others; hurt Meg, killed Hendrickson, hurt Sam, killed Jo, hurt Bobby, caused his own dad's death, hurt Lisa and most of all, had hurt Cas over and over again. He wanted to make the right decision this time, begin to right the terrible wrongs he had done but he didn't know how. It was hard and he just wanted to feel unconditionally loved again like before. Something simple, something easy, something...safe.

"Dean, am I doing something wrong?" Dean shook his head, unable to bear to face Cas' eyes after hearing his timid, unsure voice. Not with all the ugly swarm of emotions swirling inside him. And especially not with an echo of that same undercurrent of want to feel loved inside Cas too.

"No," he said, his voice unnecessarily hoarse. "You're perfect, you always have been."

Castiel grabbed Dean's hands in his and kissed each finger softly and he began to gasp before he could stop himself. It ended up sounding like a cat being strangled underwater.

"No, no," he moaned, pulling his hands away. "Stop. This...this isn't right," He flexed his fingers slowly, tracing the invisible imprint of Castiel's lips on them with his eyes and shivered. Ever since his Cas had found out how sensitive his knuckles were- and for him, Cas's hips- he jumped at every chance to use that against him. It still worked. He was harder and more ill at ease with himself than before. This wasn't right. It was easy, but it wasn't right. He was better than this.

Dean turned around and hunched as if his stance could protect him from Castiel, or rather, from himself. "I fell in love with you, but you now...you just aren't you," he sighed and whispered under his breath. "Nothing feels right anymore; I don't know what to do."

Castiel cocked his head and squinted at Dean, not that he would know, and absorbed the chaotic being in front of him. For some reason, just as Dean could insist on how the angel was changed, so could the angel know Dean was not the same man he once was. "It seems as if at this current interlude in time, it would be best for us to simply remain comrades in regards to one another," he said slowly, having come to a consensus on what was the most diplomatic way to say what needed to be said.

Dean gave a short, almost hysteric based laugh, and rubbed a hand down his face. "Pretending I don't give a fuck about you, right, this will end well."

"I don't understand," he continued as Dean turned back to face him. "Are you agreeing with me or not?"

"It's sarcasm, Cas, something you're going to have to get used to quick. Again." He easily slid into the comfort of his Impala; the one thing that was so simple and never changed in his life it seemed nowadays. "Now, get in the car and let's find Sammy,"

"I think Bobby was messing with us," Dean grumbled as he threw down another book that he quickly scanned or anything supernatural-related.

"I think you're right," Sam agreed, walking back towards Dean in the typical, abandoned "haunted" house stereotype complete with cobwebs and no working electricity. "This house is completely clean." Castiel hung around in the shadows while they began to pick up, trusting his instincts again to lead him to whatever it is that was causing alarm. The building truly was uninhabited for years, perhaps decades if one went by the level of dust and decay. There was still drops leaking from the ceiling in the middle of summer when it had rained four months ago onto a roof in desperate need of repair. Now it played background music to the creeking of floorboards underneath the angel's otherwise silent feet.

He ran his hand on the debris that laid likea blanket over an abandoned piano and raised it to his nose. There was a burning-like scent attached to the dust that he couldn't quite place. He strode over to the plain wood-walls to see if they too had random fire damage, but they were bare. He narrowed his eyebrows and walked right into the centre of the room, kicking at the floor with a controlled anxiousness.

"Hey, Cas, are you going to be joining us on the ride back to Bobby's or what?" Dean asked, popping his head back around the corner. "Cas?"

"Dean." Castiel greeted finally, moving to squat down by the area he had just cleaned off. "What does this smell like to you?" Dean hesitantly joined the angel and pressed his fingers into the floor.

"Sulfur," he growled before the stench could reach his nose. "Demons. Sam!" he called, rising. Castiel remained, wondering why he couldn't determine that himself.

"What is it?" the younger brother asked walking back into the study. "Did you find something?"

"Cas did," Dean said with an odd grin on his face, looking closer to a grimace. "Turns out we have something demonic going on in this house."

Castiel suddenly stood up, looking oddly attentive to the ceiling and quickly forgetting his classification woes. "That's not all there is," he said quietly before moving into a prayer that he wasn't sure would be respected given his status as more of a "rogue" angel. Sam flashed a light onto the ceiling, following his look out of curiousity and both Winchesters cringed at the starkly clear image of the shadow-imprint of a dead angel's wings in return.