Dean walked alone down the dark street, a cold wind whipping around him, and felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen.

Sam calling…

He clicked reject, sending the phone call to join the other fifteen missed calls from his brother, and shoved the cellphone back in to his pocket. Somewhere along the street he heard the metallic clang of a trashcan falling over but he thought nothing of it, assuming it was a result of the wind, or some drunk guy staggering home from a night on the Strip. But then he heard a woman cry out. He immediately broke in to a run, sprinting towards the noise until he came across two figures grappling at the entrance to a narrow, unlit street. One was a woman, desperately clinging to her purse while a much taller, broader man was trying to pull it from her.

"Hey," Dean called. The man looked up, and doubled his efforts to steal the bag before Dean could reach him. Finally, the bag slipped from the woman's hands and he turned to flee. In a few long strides, Dean caught up with him, grabbed him by the collar and threw him back down the dark side-street. He stood facing Dean, who was standing poised to grab him if he tried to run again. The man looked about fifty, with a scruffy beard and wild looking eyes that were darting around, looking for a way out.

"Hand it over," Dean commanded, reaching his hand out for the purse. Instead the man pulled a short knife from the back of his jeans. Dean looked at it with slight amusement.

"Oh, please," he scoffed. The man lunged for him but Dean easily overpowered him, grabbing him by the wrist and neck and pinning him swiftly against the wall. "Drop it." The man stared at him, his small eyes frightened now. The knife fell to the ground with a high pitched clatter and Dean reached out with his foot and kicked it to the other side of the road. "Now the purse," he ordered. The man hesitated this time and Dean pushed a little harder on his neck. He spluttered and coughed, managing to choke out,

"Okay, okay." He dropped the purse and Dean released him at last. The man doubled over, panting, his hands massaging his neck. "You're a crazy person," he gasped, looking up at Dean.

"Get out of here, assclown," Dean growled, straightening the guy up by the front of his shirt and tossing him roughly on to the main street. As soon as he was on the open road, the man ran and didn't stop even as he disappeared around the corner. Dean dusted himself off, feeling his pulse a little quicker than normal from the short fight, but he didn't feel any of the usual exhilaration. He just felt numb.

The woman was standing at the street corner, pressed against the wall, clutching at her coat and staring at Dean with slight concern. Dean picked up the purse and handed it back to her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. She took a long look at Dean, and, apparently deciding that he wasn't a threat, she added, "thank you."

"What are you doing out here alone?" Dean asked. "It's 3am."

"I was out with some friends," she said, "but they all went home. My house is only a couple streets away. I thought I'd be okay."

"Let me walk you home then," Dean offered, with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She thanked him again as they made their way along the road and introduced herself as Marlene. As they walked under the street lamps, her face came in and out of view, lit up by the yellowish glow from above. Dean supposed she was quite pretty, maybe a little younger than him, with long dark hair. Their walk took around ten minutes, and over the course of it, her shock seemed to dissipate and she became cheerful and talkative.

Soon they reached her front door.

"Would you like to come in for a coffee?" she asked. "I really owe you for helping me out." She held the door open for him, her eyes promising more than a hot drink. Dean considered her offer for a moment. They had only just met… she could be a crazy demon or a witch or a shifter…

"Sure," he said, at last. "Why the hell not." They stepped in to the warmth together. She clicked on a light on her way to the kitchen while Dean looked around. Her house was small but well kept, open plan with all-neutral furniture. It looked like something from a catalogue. Dean wandered around the living room, examining the few ornaments and framed photographs as Marlene started brewing the coffee. A moment later, however, he heard footsteps behind him and he turned around to see her standing close behind him.

"I don't really want coffee," she admitted, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss Dean softly on the lips. More out of habit than desire, Dean kissed her back, one hand moving to her hair while the other wrapped around her waist.

"It was only a purse," Dean said a few moments later, as she started pulling him by the hand up the stairs.

"This isn't about the purse." Dean looked at her questioningly. "Basically," she explained, "you're incredibly hot." Dean smiled as she continued. "You only get one shot at life, Dean. I'm not going to waste mine on missed opportunities. Do what makes you happy. And right now I want to do you." He laughed.

"I think you might be on to something there," he said. She gave him a mischievous grin and he hurried up the stairs after her.

The rising sun filled the unfamiliar room with orange light as Dean lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Marlene rolled over with a soft moan, shuffling further under the covers. Dean looked at her, with her makeup smudged and her hair sticking up a little, and realised in the warm morning light that she was even prettier than he had thought. He kept thinking back to what she had said on the stairs about missed opportunities and seizing the moment. He had been running from everything for weeks, from his brother, from Cas, his feelings. But lying there he realised with a rush of mingled relief and fear that he couldn't run anymore. Because no matter how hard he tried, even after having great sex with a beautiful woman, all he could think about was an angel in a trench coat.

He picked up his cell from the bedside table. He had two more missed calls from Sam and three texts.

-Dean where are you?

-Please call me back.

-Dean I swear to God if you don't contact me soon I'm going to hunt you down and beat you to death. Cas is really worried. So am I.

He slipped out of bed and dressed quietly, trying to spare himself the awkward early morning conversation. Marlene didn't even stir. He was about to walk out the front door when he felt a little stab of guilt and doubled back to scrawl a quick goodbye on the notepad by the phone.

Stop wandering the streets at night, you'll get yourself killed… or rescued by a devastatingly handsome stranger. One or the other.

P.S. Thanks for the advice. Going to do what makes me happy.

As he emerged in to the still morning, he couldn't help the bounce in his step as he walked across town. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialled.

The phone barely rang once before a concerned voice answered.

"Dean?" Just the sound of his voice was enough to make Dean feel more alive than he had in weeks.

"Hey, Cas."

"Where are you?"

"Relax, buddy," he said, and even as he spoke he could hear Sam's agitated voice in the background. "I'm coming home."

"You've been gone for almost a month, Dean. What have you been doing?"

"Oh you know," he said, spotting his car in the distance, "having an identity crisis, trying to come to terms with the fact that you might be the love of my life. The usual."

There was silence from the other end of the phone, and he instantly regretted his off-the-cuff remark.

"Uh, Cas? You there?" Dean waited for a reply, feeling increasingly tense despite only a couple of seconds passing by.

"Yes, I'm here," Cas said eventually, and Dean could hear the smile in his voice. "Now hurry up and come home to me." Dean grinned as he approached the car, because he knew that every step was bringing him closer to Kansas, closer to happiness, and closer to Cas.

A/N Feel free to leave a review, positive or constructive! It's so helpful to hear from you guys.