Warnings: Swearing, drunkness, physical violence, mention of past drug use

Chapter 4: Reckless

The music began with drums, the kind of tempo all in setbacks that made Dean wonder how Sam came to uncoordinate his members so easily. There was almost no guitar in the piece. Only the drums, the bass and some synth chords that Kevin tinkled away with a concentrated look.

"It's a reckless mess

That came one day

Bearing a stone heart in his chest

And a rock he carved day after day"

It was the first song of the acoustic part, the one that everyone listened because it was the first time in forty five minutes that the people in the pit could afford to breathe. The one where Dean, having almost nothing to play, could take the time to watch the crowd and to catch some fan's eyes. It was also one of those who spoke the most to each of them.

Sam had written it for Kevin and Dean had composed it for him although the young man never made a reference to that. Yet, they all identified themself with the lyrics and Charlie, her, identified herself with the bass line wich was by far her favorite. Dean smiled, clenching his hand around the mic that he took from its stand to stride across the scene, briefly holding Kevin's shoulder with his free hand.

"He ran away,

From the life he always wanted ,

Turned out in the end

Sometimes what you want, you can't get"

There was no reason that anything goes wrong at Atlanta. This is probably why everything began to go wrong that night. The concert had been fine without being exceptional and they were just tired and a little dazed by the noise when they left the scene.

Of course it had to be a hall without an internal backyard. Of course some fan had waited here, but that was the good part of the night. Of course it had to be that night and not another that Sam had ended up shirtless on stage. Of course it was the night he had lost a bet against Dorothy and therefore was wearing the young woman's earings at the navel instead of his usual piercing. Of course it was the night Dean was wearing so much khol and silver jewels that Castiel had compared him to Lawrence of Arabia. What had been a compliment in his lover's mouth was suddenly striking him right in the stomach when he saw the black form of his father's car.

There weren't much Impala 1967 in as good condition, and Dean would have recognized this one even in a Chevrolet convention. He hadn't the time to find a way-out, or to warn Kevin and Charlie who were taking photos with fans.

"Boys."

The low voice of hs father was still exactly the same five years later. But this time he wasn't screaming, wich put Dean more uncomfortable than he would have confessed. It was easier to face John Winchester when he was screaming, when the man gave him a reason to dig his heels in, to fight or run away. It was easier to face him when he was obviously wrong than when he adressed them with the concerned look of a good father trying to get his sons out of trouble.

There should be a King in Hell who had Dean's name on his blacklist because it was at this moment that Castiel came up beside him. He hadn't seen him arrive, nor heard, and his first reaction was to push him away. John frowned.

"So that's what you're sleeping with these days ?"

The tone was calme, almost polite. Dean vaguely heard the horrified exclamations from some fans who had heard the remark. He knew Castiel well enough to guess his frown without even looking.

"You should go home." Sam said nicely to the fans while pushing them back, keeping his eyes on them until they were out of earshot. Kevin and Charlie were looking at John with curiosity. "Hello dad."

"Sam."

Father and son were gauging each other. Sam was far away from the child who had left the family home in Lawrence, almost eight years ago, a scholarship for Stanford and a backpack for only possession. When they were alone, when they had drunk too much, Dean used to say that that Sam was thousand dollars of tattoos from here. Sam retorted that he was dozens of mishaps from there and they were both right.

They both knew that John saw nothing else in Sam that a promising kid who had gone wrong. He had repeated it to them enough. Or at least he had hit his younger quite often with it so that he had slamed the door on the promise to never to return.

John's words, the two brothers still heard them. "I'm going to pay for my son to become a layabout who claims to save the world !"

Often when Sam was drunk or just feeling sad (the two sometimes going along) he was muttering things about being a layabout who didn't even saved the world. And Dean had nothing to respond to that.

John, him, hadn't changed. The same military cut, the same square shoulders, the same threadbare boots. Everything about him had the same look as his car: old, worn, but maintained with an almost compulsive excessive care. Sam heard him grind his teeth while examining him, his father's gaze up from his boots on his pants with holes, glued to his legs through sweat, to the earring with blue tassels on his navel. He saw him frown when he saw his tattos. He could almost follow the flow of his father's thoughts. God how far the phoenix tattooed all over his right side and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans went down ? What was that all these flowers ? When John squinted to try to read the sentence that stretched from one shoulder to the other along his collarbone, Sam made a step forward to facilitate his task.

"Beware the nice ones." John grumbled. " What does that mean ?"

Sam shrugged, resisting the urge to fold his arms to avoid attention from his father. He had not intention to do him the pleasure of being uncomfortable or affected by his judgment.

"That the bad one isn't always the one you'd think."

It was far, really far to be the real meaning of this tattoo, but Sam knew that John would have use the real meaning to blame him, and he hadn't the intention to help him with criticizes wich would eventually come anyway. John turned his look toward his older son as if he was hoping that he would be a lesser disappointement than his youngest. He wasn't. Dean's piercings sparkled under the lights of the parking lot, his leather jacket certainly smelled alcohol and smoke, his frayed jeans inhumanly tight on his legs had to give him a clean image to haunt the nightmares of his soldier father. He didn't care. Or rather, he wanted to throw it all in his face, show that had made it despite everything and despite him.

John looked deeply disappointed and saddened when he spoke again.

"That's not what your mother would have wanted for you."

Dean saw Sam clench his fists and teeth. It was the same argument they had heard all their lives, even more unfair for Sam than for Dean. The younger hadn't known his mother. For him, the only evidence of her existence was an old picture dog-eared of a baby who looked like him in the arms of a beautiful tired woman. All their lives they had heard those same words. To make them walk straight, to encourage them to take exactly the way John wanted them to.

Until the day it had been too much for Sam and he had left slamming the door. Dean remembered that moment with a cruel acuteness. He had clenched his fists and teeth exactly the same way that he was now.

"Stop saying that." Sam scolded. "Stop using her like that. She's dead, and she would have just wanted us to be happy !"

"Because you think that you're happy, son ?"

Dean could feel Sam boil beside him, feeling the tension in his muscles ready to strike. By reflex he put his hand on his brother's shoulder, a gesture that didn't always calmed him. This time it seemed to work, he felt Sam relax slightly, just enough to ensure him that he wouldn't reduce their father to a bloody pulp moaning on the asphalt of the parking lot. Yet he wanted to, Dean knew that.

"Go away dad." He said softly, hand still on Sam's shoulder. "We don't have anything to do with you anymore since a long time."

Castiel, Charlie and Kevin were watching without really understand what was happening. When John finally turned around and walked away, they saw Dean and Sam straighten instinctively as if a weight had been removed from their shoulders. They jumped all five when the bus driver's door slammed and Dorothy jumped out of the cab. She clicked her tongue, hands on her hips.

"A real role model of a paternal support that you have here boys." She said.

Dean nodded. "You have no idea."

"Want to share ?"

« Non. » Sam answered shaking his head. He forced himself to open his fists and breathe, pushing Dean's hand away with a movement from the shoulder. "I'm okay" He said low just for his brother to hear.

"I know."

"What just happened ?" Kevin asked as they all entered in the tour bus, Dorothy on their feets.

"John Winchester happened." Dean responded grinding his teeth. He sat in the corner of the seat that surrounded the small bus table, attracting Castiel against him, on his knees as if he was a comforting teddy. The young man let him do, moving only to hand him the glass of bourbon that Sam had just poured to them all. Charlie refused hers with a frown and Dorothy drank it.

"Aren't you supposed to drive soon ?" Kevin asked who was perched on his bunk a bit further with his own glass. Dorothy shrugged.

"We aren't expected anywhere before tomorrow evening." Through the bus windows she saw the hardware trucks leaving. "Beside I know two guys who need to get their spirit lifted more than going on the road."

"We're okay." Sam said drinking up his bourbon. He had setled next to the table too, Charlie sitting beside him.

"That's what people say when they feel bad but do not dare talk about it." The young woman said mid-voice.

Sam smiled softly to her. Dean had closed his eyes, placed his forehead on Castiel's shoulder, one arm around the young man's waist, the other across his knees. He smelled beer and after shave and Dean would have wanted to fall asleep immediately. Waking up the next morning in the arms of his lover with the impression that this night was just a bad dream. Dorothy woke him out of his torpor, slamming her glass against the table. He blinked a couple of times and looked up at her, puzzled. Several months on the road with their regular driver had enabled them to know approximately what kind of woman was Dorothy. The kind that never took "no" for a valid response.

"I call a taxi, we'll need more alcohol than that to recover from dad's visit."

From his perch, Kevin had a chuckle a bit embarrassed. "Looks like the intro phrase of a bad porn" he said. The remark made Charlie laugh. Sam and Dorothy exchanged a conniving glance with a smile.

"Oh non, don't tell me that's..." Castiel started. He stopped when Sam rose a hand to Dorothy to slap. "Is that really from a movie ?" Sam and Dorothy nodded in concert.

"You are.." Charlie began.

"Genius ?" Sam proposed at the moment Dorothy said "Fabulous ?"

"Depressing. The word she's looking for is depressing." Dean grinded while closing his eyes again, cheek comfortably settled on Castiel's shoulder.

Ten minutes later they were all engulfed in the back of two taxis which Dorothy gave the address of a nightclub far enough from the center to not meet a fan or pseudo journalist. Yet they wouldn't go unnoticed. Sam was still shirtless under his leather jacket, Charlie still wore her torn shorts and red boots she had on stage and Kevin hadn't been concerned to withdraw any of his piercings. Atlanta was not Los Angeles, here they knew, they would attract attention. But they had commonly decided not to care. The trip was made in a heavy silence.

Dean had almost made Sam promise to behave themselves, then he had changed his mind, had slipped his hand into Castiel's back pocket and pushed him in the car. It wasn't a night to be calm. He nibbled the ring that was in his lower lip, smiling despite himself. Curiously, he couldn't get "Reckless" out of his head and yet he rarely sang his own songs. He hummed quietly watching the streetlights succeeding each other through the taxi window.

"Running away was such a relief

That he could no longer grieve

His old life washed up on the shore

But he misses normalcy, each year a little more"

"I thought it would have calmed down by now. You know, that feeling of being less than nothing in front of him." Sam said thoughtfully during the trip. He had his forehead pressed against the window, arms folded and looked dejected.

"Apparently not." Dean said. Castiel was seated between them, his leg against the singer's, he had sprawled on the seat in order to prop his head on it and Dean would have kissed him in the neck if he hadn't seen his own reflection in the driver's mirror. He had preferred to put his hand on his lover's knee. In fact much higher than the knee and Castiel hadn't protested.

They said nothing more on the way but the brothers exchanged a glance when coming out of the taxi, just before entering the nightclub. A glance whereby they just recommended to each other to not do anything illegal. It was their rule for many years. Since the day that Sam had watched his apartment go up in smoke unable not to imagine the cries of his girlfriend trapped inside. Don't do anything illegal.

It was their rule. Everything else was allowed, but nothing illegal. They did not need this kind of problems in addition to the rest.

They had both watched their step since the long drive between California and Arizona, where they had talked more than since their teens. When they had stopped at night, exhausted, desperate and unhappy, they had entered a bar, drank excessively and had listened to a lonely country singer talking about his lost love. Sam had wanted to silence him with punches but he had restrained himself, already too drunk to stand straight.

"We should do that." He had stammered in an alcoholic fog.

"What ?"

"Music." It was how it had started. With two brothers who were nothing else but stray cats, alone and lost, who had only each other in the world.

Entering the night club, Dean was thinking about this moment. He cruelly remembered the days that had followed and some of the sharp words that their father had deigned to speak to his younger by way of condolences. Shortly after they bought an old guitar that Dean still carefully preserved in their Californian apartment, and drums for Sam they had placed in the back of an old rented Dodge. That day, he had had exactly the same feeling as he felt now. A strange excitement made of apprehension and haste, something bubbling inside him and making him want to jump in feet first in the future like in a large mud puddle. He smiled at his brother, took his lover by the waist and Dorothy by the hand. The music enveloped them six, aspiring them in a swirl of smoke and moving bodies. It was exactly what they needed.

« Carving his rock on restless nights,

And healing his heart with gentle hands

The reckless mess became a man,

The reckless mess never stops to fight. »

##

"I feel ten years younger." Dean giggled.

"Me, twenty years older." Sam replied lying on the ground on the dirty concrete of the drunk tank. Dean pushed him with the tip of his boot and reaped a grunt in reply.

"Come on Sammy, smile a little !"

"Prefer not." The younger grumbled with deep certainty that if he smiled he would vomit. The world revolved around him unpleasantly like he kept falling into a bottomless pit. His stomach was doing loops, and waves of nausea accompanied by violent chills regularly forced him to curl on himself, moaning.

Dean sat on the cell bench, head in hands, alcohol made him find very funny a situation that was probably not. The night had become interesting in a relatively short time that he counted in cocktails. Sam had minded to take only those with the most suggestive names, specifying the barmaid he would feel personally offended if he was deprived of one small paper parasol. In far too short time, their table had been covered by different sized glasses and Charlie and Kevin had started to play 3D puzzles with phosphorescent stirrers ("Do four triangles with four stirrers !"). Before that alcohol blurs his perceptions, he had seen girls turn around them, throwing glances at Castiel who wasn't paying attention and to Sam who sent them kisses, smiling with all his dimples, sometimes rising his drink so a girl could dip her lips into it. Dorothy had ended up taking his glass off his hands while Dean had led Castiel on the dance floor.

How it had all degenerated, none of them could really tell. Probably a combination of factors. Charlie had thrown her glass to the face of a too eager guy who had started screaming, calling her every name under the sun, eyes burned by the orange vodka. The guy must have had friends who came attracted by his cries covering the too loud music. Oddly it was Kevin who had struck the first blow, and from where he was on the dance floor, even with the strobes in the eyes, Dean had seen that the young man had hurt himself. Sam had not had this problem when he had stood up, dominating every client of the club, at least a head taller. Sam knew where to hit to hurt and without hurting himself. Dean hadn't had the time to hold his brother back and no torture could have make him remember how his hands had moved from the loops of Castiel's jeans to the chins of perfect strangers probably too drunk to understand what was happening to them. He had caught Sam's eye. His brother was smiling, a yellow parasol still stuck behind one ear, two rising from a pocket of his perfecto, just before his fist knocked one of their assailant right in the solar plexus. The man bent over in pain, just enough to provide a gripping spot to Sam's hand who, with a violent blow sent him flying across the table. Dorothy and Castiel had escorted Charlie and Kevin out, leaving the brothers alone with a group of furious customers, insult on the lips. The two brothers had placed back to back.

"You can't stay still !" Dean had growled seeing others gather around them.

"Kevin started."

Dean had rolled his eyes. But he couldn't really say he blamed his brother or that he fundamentally didn't like it. Adrenaline alleviated the pain of the blows he took and he fought back with a fierce joy that wasn't much next to Sam's. It should have worry him, it was his role as a brother to worry seeing his younger slip into old habits. But he just placed his back to his, and helped him distribute the blows.

The police had separated the fighters shortly after and now they were in drunk tank, Sam, Dean and a number of their assailants. Those they hadn't banged up too much at least. Sober, Dean wouldn't have been proud of him and he wasn't looking forward to get there because then the guilt would begin to eat him away. For now he was still pleasantly drunk and his ears were still slightly buzzing with excitement. He forced himself to stay still, aware that his every movement increased Sam's nausea. The youngest was still broken paper umbrellas stuck in the pockets of his jacket, small colored spots against the black leather tacky with alcohol.

"Bobby's going to kill us." Sam said between two nauseas. Dean nodded.

"But that was fun."

"Yep."

They said nothing more and Dean probably slept a while because he opened his eyes at the metal grating of a key in the lock of their cell. The sound bored his temples, seeming to pass in areas of his brain that he wasn't aware until now. On the ground, Sam whined moving his hands on his ears.

"Hello cowboy." Said the mocking voice of Dorothy. Dean painfully focused on the young woman who preceded Bobby in the cell. She was wearing a leather jacket from another age, cargo pants and boots that he hadn't seen on her the day before. She had certainly changed herself between their arrest and her return and he wondered what she had done about the others.

"Where are..." He began in a voice hoarse to have been merely used lately.

"Next motel. They're all fine." Bobby replied instead of the young woman, rushing into the cell to catch Sam's arm and force him to stand up. The young man stood up painfully, moaning in pain, eyes mid closed and Bobby threw him a t-shirt on the face that he grabbed awkwardly.

"Get dressed kiddo, we gotta go on the road." Sam's stomach clenched in protest and Bobby gave him an annoyed look. "You put yourself in this situation , Sam, take your responsabilities."

"I didn't say anything !" He protested.

"Just wanted it to be clear."

Sam pulled the t-shirt on while Dean was recovering their belongings in the office of a grumpy duty officer and was signing their defense. They followed Bobby and Dorothy outside without a word and settled in their manager's truck.

Sam had barely stretched his long legs sitting in the passenger seat that Bobby threw something on his knees.

"It's already in all the local papers and next week it'll be in all the tabloids !" He almost shouted while turning on the ignition. Dean leaned between the two front seats to take a look to the newspapers. The pictures that illustrated it hand't been taken the day before, but the articles were all more or less accurate. Someone or several someone had certainly recognized them in the club and spread the word.

"Jody's gonna love it." Sam commented, handing the newspapers to his brother.

"And she'll tear your eyes off your heads if it threatens the other dates of the tour !" Bobby grinded. "We can't afford this kind of publicity boys! Not now !"

Dean leaned back in his seat fighting against the guilt that was invading him. He didn't have to feel guilty, he hadn't start the fight and it was out of the question to leave Sam plunge into trouble alone. He had had no choice but hit back and if he'd been asked he would have to admit that he had rather liked it. It was different, for once to let go, to not have that composed face of star, to not do exactly what was expected of him. It was like returning to the time when Sam and him were wandering on the roads from one bar to another, driven only by their desires and their words scribbled alternatively always on the same old notebook.

Yet he felt guilty for betraying Bobby's trust, for breaking the promise that he and Sam had made "Don't do anything illegal, stay out of trouble". A fight in a bar wouldn't ruin their lives. Probably their reputation a bit, but after all they played rock, not opera, so fighting, drinking too much, and misbehaving was a bit what was expected of them.

Who had one day talked about "sex, drugs and rock n' roll" ? They failed this saying only on the drug plan. Bobby made sure of it and the few experiences of Dean in this area hadn't really made him want to continue. Sam, on the other hand had all the qualities required to end up nose in coke, but everyone knew their pact. "Nothing illegal." Sam sticked to it, everyone around them sticked to it and if drugs were circulating around them, at least they did it quite discreetly so members of Free Will could pretend to not see anything.

"Yeah, sure !" Dorothy said, pulling Dean from his thoughts. "It was high time we heard about them ! Scandal sells Bobby."

"Scandal isn't a term of the contract they signed !"

Sam had laid his head against the passenger window and closed his eyes with a painful sigh. "Screw the contract." He grumbled.

"You shouldn't boy. This contract ensures you regular incomes and the means to continue to make your music. I know dozens of guys that are dying in the street waiting for such opportunities."

"Great a new leash around our necks." Sam muttered, wrapping himself in his jacket, as far as he could from Bobby.

Dean and Dorothy exchanged glances and the singer sighed. He understood Sam. They hadn't left their father's authority just to get back under the heel of someone who didn't even really cared about their interests. John was a.. Dean had the words in mind but refused to think them too clearly. But at least their father sincerely wanted the best for his sons. Their only point of disagreement was the nature of this best. Their record company, however only wanted its own benefit and they were all aware of that. Certainly the money wasn't a problem even if it wasn't unlimited, but the counterpart was sometimes difficult to accept. If they still had the right to compose their songs, those were scrutinized, detailed, reformulated, re-cut to be "marketable". God save them of a worse label than the small "Mature content, parental control Advised" that now adorned the their CD case. It was almost funny to have fled to create a life and discovered that you're ultimately never totally free. Or that the price is just a bit too high for you.

Dean also put his head against the cold glass with a sigh.

"It won't happen again, Bobby." He promised, earning a disapproving grunt from Sam and a surprised raised eyebrow from Dorothy.

Bobby didn't peplied anything for a moment and then "For what it's worth boys. Charlie told me what happened. Personally I'm rather glad you rearranged these morons's faces."

The brothers smiled, relieved even if they wouldn't have confessed. It was not a perfect life nor quite what they had fantasized, but it had good, very good sides. You just had to adjust to it. The Winchester brothers were exceptionally adjustable when it came to find their place in the sun.

Dean had still the same song in mind, slightly distorted by his hangover.

"The Reckless man didn't give no shit

About anyone or anything

Carving his way through life

Even if he didn't ask for it,

There's only one way out

When life's too much a duty

But he would never think about

Giving up to fatality."

Several hours later, a grumpy Bobby dropped them at their hotel and Dorothy slipped away for a well deserved nap promising to slaughter anyone who would wake her up before the time to hit the road. Sam found Kevin playing video games, a mid closed eye under a cold compress hoping to regress his black eye.

"Sorry for that, dude." Sam said rummaging through his bag in search of clean clothes. The young man made a movement of his controller to indicate that it was no big deal and gasped indignantly when his character was killed. Sam went to the shower, promising to kick his ass in multiplayer mode as soon as he would have ate something. And drank about his weight in water.

Charlie and Castiel were reading each sprawled on one of the great beds in the room when Dean entered it. Castiel had borrowed his bedside book to the singer and was reading aloud a passage to the guitarist. A passage that talked about food like about the whole book. Dean felt his stomach turn at the mention of a spice and alcohol which despite three reading of the book he couldn't determine the origin.

They both smiled at him and Charlie stood up, one finger between the pages of her book, to greet him. She put an arm around his shoulders and held him against her before wrinckling her nose.

"You smell."

"Sorry, Your Highness, the jailers didn't let me take a shower." He grumbled by getting rid of his jacket he dropped to the ground.

"Have you told them that you had fought to defend my virtue ?"

"What virtue ?"

From the other side of the room they heard the laughter of Castiel who hadn't moved from his place. Charlie shot him a false outraged look, hitting Dean's shoulder with her book.

"Happy to see you again, Convict."

Dean smiled but didn't raise and the young woman left. He collapsed on the bed with a sigh. His vertebrae gave him the impression to put themself back one after the other as he settled deeper into the mattress.

"She's right." Castiel said drawing himself up on one elbow to look at him. "You stink."

"You love it." Dean mumbled, eyes closed.

"True." Castiel leaned over him to put his lips on his, gently, his hands gripping the singer's stained t-shirt strong enough to deform it.

"Do I have to drag you to the shower ?" He asked, not bothering to really move away from his lover.

Dean shook his head, banging their nose by the way, his eyes still closed. "Nah. I'll go, just help me to my feet before I fall asleep."

The showers in hotels were every time an adventure. Their temperature could vary from "Arctic Circle" to "Hell Circle" at the slightest touch of the taps and the pressure usually knew only two options : "Light spring rain" or "Instrument for breaking the Living" (the classification had been established by a Charlie with hair still full of shampoo at the beginning of their tour and she had stayed). Dean turned the knobs carefully to test the shower.

"Stable temperature with option instrument of torture." Castiel said amusingly, leaning against the sink.

"I'm pretty sure my nipples won't resist the shower's pressure !" Dean muttered, hurriedly withdrawing his arm from the boiling water.

"Do you need any help with that ?" Castiel laughed from his position near the sink.

"Nah, for suicide missions I'm doing very well alone." He stepped into the shower with caution as the young man was leaving the bathroom smiling.

"Protects your nipples, I became attached to them !"

"Watch yours when I'll join you !" Dean shouted over his shoulder just before his lover closes the door. Vapor invaded the shower cabin.

By the time he cleared his skin of all traces of the previous night, Castiel had packed his suitcase wich Dean found opened on the bed. The accountant's holidays were ending and he would take a plane back tonight, a few hours before the concert.

"Sorry." The singer said sitting on the bed. "I didn't mean to spoil our last day."

Castiel leaned over to put his lips on his, smiling. "You didn't spoil anything. In fact, it was... pretty hot to see you fight yesterday."

Dean chuckled. "You're not objective."

"I don't want to be." Replied the other closing his suitcase. "I save that for people I don't like." He sat down next to his lover and slipped his hand in his, gently pressing it when he saw Dean didn't answer.

"You'd love me even if I killed someone, wouldn't you ?" Dean asked softly.

"Yes." Castiel answered seriously. He meant it. Dean's face fell and he was only staring at the suitcase placed between their feet. "You don't think you deserve it." Castiel noticed.

Dean shrugged. "I've nothing special. I don't understand why you love me so much. Cas, I ended up in drunk tank yesterday, and I'm not proud of it. And yet you still look at me like I'm Batman or something !"

There was a moment of silence while Castiel was considering his response.

"You're the one that makes me... Cas." Said the blue-eyed young man. He moved to sit on the lap of his companion, legs either side of his hips, arms resting on the singer's shoulders. "Not just Castiel." He started again. "Not the accountant, the former sick child or the guy who lives alone and spends his holidays to follow a rock band like a groupie. Just, Cas." Dean blinked slowly crossing his hands around the waist of his lover. "You see me not only as I am, but as I'd want to be. What do you find in this that is not worthy of being loved ? What do you find in yourself that is not worthy of being loved ?"

Dean smiled, Castiel's forehead pressed against his. The young man's hands caressed his cheeks, his shoulders gently.

"You say that because you saw my father."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm telling you because you need it."

"Do you have enough time to say goodbye ?" Dean asked, leaning towards Castiel to lay a suggestive kiss in his neck. The other smiled.

"It depends, do you invite me to dinner before ?"

"Did I ever invited you to dinner ?"

Castiel shook his head. "Then I believe I have the time to." He said before kissing him again. It was the last time he could do it before what seemed an eternity and he had no intention to waste any second.