Disclaimer: The Winchesters, the angels, the demon - none belong to me. The homophobes, the vampires and the wendigos do. I kinda like the latter, but the other two can burn in hell.

Note: I'm sorry if I screw up any of the Americanisms - I'm British, and while I've tried to stick to the speech patterns and colloquialisms indigenous to the various states of the USA, I'm aware I've probably gone wrong in a few places. Let's just call it artistic license yeah?

WARNING: Slash, mentions of light gore and sex (not at the same time and not explicit). Don't like it? Go away. Simple.

The bar was the usual run-of-the-mill shithole. Cheap beer, even cheaper women and the stench of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and piss permeating the dank air. Not exactly Dean's favourite type of watering hole, but it'd do. It was a brief glimpse of reality that settled his mind as much as it unsettled his stomach. There was something reassuring about the way that, no matter how impending an apocalypse or how many locals had met a grisly demise, everyone in these sorts of places continued drinking and fucking like they were starring in their own public porno no matter what. He could kinda respect that, if not the drunks and whores themselves.

He wasn't aiming to get pissed. He wasn't even aiming to get laid (well, he was, but he had someone very specific in mind). So of course, in the typical style of Winchester luck, that was exactly the night that he got hit on by the hottest woman in town. The local men didn't like that. They disliked it more when he turned her down. Obviously these men weren't the kind to appreciate logic.

They set on him in the parking lot. Dean was almost expecting it – he wasn't an idiot after all – but the combination of yet-to-heal wounds from a just finished hunt, exhaustion and a good few pints of beer strong enough to blind a donkey set him at a minor disadvantage. Even so, he was managing to hold them off pretty well – two on the ground by now and another two looking distinctly nervous. Right up until their friends came looming out of the shadows wielding metal pipes and baseball bats that is.

'Shit.'

The first blow brought him to his knees, the force enough to fully crack his already fractured ribs. Damn that hurt.

'Y' made a mistake coming here tonight boy. We don't take kind to you pretty boys comin' here and makin' moves on our women.'

Roughly he was seized by two cronies and held up like a prime-meat punching bag, groaning as a fist planted itself into his kidneys. Catching his breath he held up placating hands as well as he could with his arms gripped so tightly,

'Look man, I ain't making moves on anyone. I got my own lover to go back to.'

'Y' expect me to believe your woman is as fine as our Trixie? Ah don't think so lover-boy. Your woman is gonna have to sew you back together by the time we're through.'

The rusted pipe swung up in the air again, the few smooth patches glinting in the poor light. Dean closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was likely to be another rib-cracking blow and mentally planning his escape when a familiar rough voice cut through the clear night air.

'I am not a woman.'

Dean tensed further. Shit, the last thing he needed was the possibility that Cas might get hurt. Then again, the angel was back to full power and could hold his own against a crowd of demons even on a bad day. A bunch of block headed drunks was hardly a challenge. Almost reluctantly the hunter relaxed, eyes scanning his surroundings – both attempting to spy his lover and seeking the best route outta dodge. The ring leader swung round, him too trying to find the source of the unerringly polite voice,

'What? Who's there? Come out, else y' pretty friend will be losin' a finger or two. Y' hear me?'

'I could hardly fail to do so Edmund Jackson. It would be most unfortunate if you were to harm my friend – I'm afraid my reaction would be somewhat... unpleasant.'

A glimmer of startled panic appeared in the man's eyes,

'How... how do you know that name? Show y'self!'

'As you wish.'

From out of the shadows of the building came a deceivingly diminutive figure, as ever wrapped in that beige trench-coat looking about as dangerous as a kitten with his innocent blue eyes and aura of naivety. Immediately those that had tensed relaxed. The big guy snorted dismissively,

'What're you gonna do – kiddie slap me to death?'

Cas ignored him and the other men looming a good head above him, and slipped through the crowd to stand in front of his lover with a warm smile,

'Hello Dean.'

'Hey.'

'Are you injured?'

Dean nodded minutely, eyes warily darting from his lover to the men around them. It seemed Castiel's easy dismissal of them had thrown them off guard. The angel frowned, running gentle hands over the hunter's torso, expression darkening as he used his 'mojo' to sense the damage – both old and new. Visually he didn't change, but his Grace wrapped around him like a cloak – tangible now and somehow frightening. Of course, Dean immediately sighed in relief as his wounds were healed, and the sensation of loving Grace washed over him like he'd been bathed suddenly in warm water – cleansing and soothing in a way that made arousal curl in his gut. Around them however, the men felt suddenly nervous, with no idea as to why. So of course, nerves became anger.

'Hey! Who the hell are you?'

Ignoring the mortals the angel lovingly kissed Dean on the lips, lingering for a short sweet moment to absorb the delightful feeling of flesh against flesh, and then pulling away and turning around so that the hunter was at his back. Soulfully he regarded the disgusted thug,

'I am Castiel. You have damaged my lover.'

'Faggot.'

The angel tilted his head at the harshly toned insult, and then looked back at Dean, obviously confused,

'Why is he addressing me as a pork meatball?'

The hunter couldn't help but snort amusedly despite the situation, shifting slightly in the tight grip the men still had him in,

'Faggot is what jackasses call guys who shack up with guys.'

'Oh.'

Cas turned back to the beefy man with that serious but innocent expression that so often made old ladies coo over him,

'You're an ass-butt.'

'And you're gonna to burn in hell, faggot.'

The big man lashed out viciously with his metal pipe, and Dean desperately jerked forward against the men holding him, but then settled down with a sigh of relief as Castiel went so far to chuckle as he casually caught the approaching metal,

'That seems very unlikely. Crowley is himself homosexual. I doubt he tortures men for simply loving another man, or women for loving another woman. Besides, he owes me.'

With an almost gentle movement the metal pipe was yanked out of strong hands and then cast away into the night leaving its owner both confused and unsettled. Anger was quick to return however, and he lashed out with a large fist, but then made a sound akin to a wounded puppy as it was caught midflight without any seeming effort by a hand at least half the size of his.

'That was not very nice.'

The angel's grip tightened almost unnoticeably, yet it brought the large man to his knees with a pitiful whimper. The men surrounding them murmured and backed away slightly. The grip on Dean's arms became looser, and he shook the slackened hands away, taking a step towards his visibly irate lover. Gently, Cas began to glow,

'I have been told that, for a mortal, hitting an angel is akin to striking a marble statue.'

Silence reigned,

'I do not suggest you try it again.'

With barely a flex of muscle Cas physically picked up the large man and threw him into a group his friends, knocking them all to the floor. Grace flared around him for a moment, showing a flicker of his wings, and he growled lightly. Those still standing fell to their knees in terror. Dean simply crossed his arms and watched with a smirk. It wasn't often Cas went all 'Angel of the Lord' on someone.

'I have been assured by the King of Hell that there is a special place in his Kingdom reserved for those who harm others simply for daring to love someone of the same gender. In addition, praying for God to smite all homosexuals only pisses Father off. You will get no sympathy from either Heaven or Hell for your abhorrent behaviour. I suggest you repent, before your souls are eternally damned.'

The angel turned dismissively, blue eyes fixed on his lover and not noticing those that flinched away as he strode towards Dean. The warm feeling of Grace washed over the hunter again who gave one of those rare small smiles that only Cas and his brother were able to prompt in response. Immediately Castiel relaxed,

'I apologise for losing my temper.'

'Don't sweat it man, it was pretty hot.'

Cas tilted his head in that bird-like manner, and smiled lovingly,

'It was?'

'Hell yeah. In fact...'

Dean grabbed his angel by the lapels and pulled him flush against his body with a rakish grin,

'...I say we go back to our room and you prove your masculinity to the world by screwing me into the mattress.'

Blue eyes darkened with lust, and Grace warmed hands slipped up the back of Dean's body, sliding beneath the worn leather coat and tight t-shirt to caress scarred flesh, even as a faint outline of a pair of wings glimmered around them, curved protectively around the taller man.

'I love your ideas.'

Behind them the gathered men watched in a combination of fear, shock and disgust, and one by one scarpered, scarcely able to admit to themselves that they'd met and pissed off an angel of the Lord let alone the fact that said angel appeared to be gay and very much unconcerned about it. Dean meanwhile nuzzled Cas' cheek and then planted a sucking kiss on his neck, just above his lover's pulse point before murmuring hotly into a sensitive ear,

'Prove it.'

There was a muttering of vehement Enochian and a lingering deep chuckle as the pair disappeared into thin air.

R&R if you want.