This chapter has been edited.

"There's nothing going on! That's what you said Dean! What the hell?!" Sam was in hysterics, screaming and gesturing wildly with his hands, as though there were invisible bats flying around his head. "I-I-I-I mean, I don't care either way but Dean! WHAT THE HELL?! An Angel Dean?! Really?! He's- he's our friend!" A vein had begun throbbing in his forehead, his face flushed bright red. Dean finally regained control of his body and he pushed Cas off, quickly moving to a sitting position. He could feel his heart beating too erratically to be healthy and his stomach was tied in knots that he was sure wasn't possible. How am I going to get out of this one?

"I'll just-" Castiel picked his clothes up hastily from the floor, holding them limply in his hand. His face was an exact duplicate as it had been at the brothel, pure terror mixed with an almost sadness. He was frantically looking back and forth between the two Winchesters before he finally locked eyes with Dean. "I'll just be going then."

"Like hell you will!" Dean said roughly standing up from the couch, scooping on his own shirt and pulling it over his head. "I'll nail your feathers to the floor if I have to Cas. You're not leaving." A subtle defiance in the angels' eyes was quickly pushed down as he began pulling his shirt on. To Dean's incredulity, the wings slipped right through the shirt as though it were an apparition, and not a solid object. He pulled his eyes away from Cas' pale torso and turned his head to look at his brother once again. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I-I-" He hesitated, trying to gain some semblance of calm and failing miserably. "Long enough to see," He gestured wildly at the couch, "That!" He dropped his arms to his sides, a resolved expression coming over his face. "I'm going to ask you questions and you will answer them, understand?" Dean nodded guiltily, glancing at the angel beside him who had finally adorned all of his layers. "First, wings?" He threw his hands up in the direction of the man standing beside Dean, eyes wide.

"They are a physical manifestation of my true wings in heaven." Cas paused and looked up at his wings, almost with a look of disgust. "They are nowhere near their usual grandeur." He looked back over at Sam, who stood, hunched over and gaping at the huge protrusions. Dean marveled at how easily Cas had calmed and resumed his usual indifferent demeanor.

"But-why?"

"Well-" Dean began, rubbing his neck. "I-"

"You know what?" Sam cut in, putting his hands up, "I don't want to know." He shook his head violently and sighed. He crossed over to the kitchen and grabbed a beer, grabbing one for Dean out of habit more than anything. He walked back, considered sitting on the couch, he shook his head again and made for the desk. Both Cas and Dean stood in the center of the room and waited until he had taken a few calming breaths, a few swigs of beer, and had situated himself on the desk. "So, you two-"

The implied question hung in the air and Dean shuffled from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He thumbed the bottle in his hand before unscrewing the top and taking a large swig. He shook his head at the floor. "Sam, it's n-"

"Don't you dare say it's nothing Dean!" Sam shouted, his face had turned stormy as he took a step forward so he was looming over his big brother, he pointed toward the doorway. "I saw it, that was not nothing."

"Sam.." Dean's voice was pleading, he wasn't proud of it. He looked up at Sam, something in his eyes saying please just let it go. But Sam wouldn't, and he didn't, and somehow Dean knew it would come to this. He looked at Cas desperately, who furrowed his brow and shrugged minutely, before looking at Sam again. Thankfully, he had retreated back to the desk so Dean didn't have to look up at him. "I don't know. It's nothing. Just a-" He struggled for words. "I don't know." He shrugged helplessly before sitting back down on the couch and taking another drink.

"Okay so," Sam began, flushing. "How long has - this - been going on?"

"Remember the case in Iowa a few weeks back?" He motioned at Castiel, who stood motionless and slate-faced beside the couch. Sam nodded, the realization hit and he made a face like he had just sucked on a lemon.

"God, Dean!"

"Yeah." Dean chuckled nervously and upended his beer, guzzling it like a dehydrated man would when faced with water. He figured if he drank it quickly enough, it might give him a little bit of a buzz and make this whole thing easier. He eyed the bottle, nope. No way would it get him buzzed, he sighed at the loss.

"Do you guys," Sam paused, rubbing his neck. "Love each other?" Two things happened simultaneously at this point. Dean choked on the drink he had been in the middle of and began a ten minute coughing jag, spraying beer onto the carpet and his lap, whereas Castiel made the surprised and terrified face he had when Sam had just caught them.

"Love?" Dean managed to spit out after he had finished coughing. He wiped his mouth and looked over at his brother with bewilderment. "Love, Sam?" Sam watched as he put his head in his hands and sighed. Neither of them noticed the flutter of wings.

"Do you realize what kind of question that is? I mean, for us, Sammy! Think about it! You know how bad that question is!" He looked up at his brother, then over at the space that was now distinctly lacking an angel. "Cas?" Dean stood and looked about wildly. "Cas?!" Dean called again, as though hoping the angel would pop his head from around a corner mentioning something about a game of hide-and-seek. "Son of a bitch!" Dean kicked the couch, furious.

"Dean..?" Sam tentatively asked.

"Drop it Sam!" Dean yelled.

"Dean." Sam reached out and grabbed his big brother's shoulders, spinning him around so they were looking each other in the eye. "Tell me what's going on! Please!"

"We-" Dean swallowed and softened beneath his grip, a tiny crack showing in the mask he had built over the years. All Sam needed was a crack, a sliver, and he could help. "We-" He sighed. "We, y'know…" Dean trailed off, and it took a moment for Sam to understand, but he did. And when he did, he was not quick enough to mask the look of repulsed disappointment that crossed his face before Dean saw it. Retaliating, Dean pushed Sam away with enough force that the big moose actually stumbled backward. "Drop it Sam." Dean's voice was threateningly low.

"Dean." Sam placated.

"Just drop it." He glared at Sam threateningly before turning away, going out to the kitchen and propping his elbows on the lip of the counter.

Sam was about to say something, anything, else, but all it would do would anger Dean further. So he turned on his heel and trumped up the stairs, not even remembering what he had come down for in the first place.