Broke another promise
And I broke another heart
But I ain't too young to realize
That I ain't too old to try
Try to get back to the start

- "Ride On," AC/DC

Ellen Harvelle is strangely intimidating to Castiel in a manner Sam Winchester was not.

Castiel's life has been threatened in a few imaginative ways at this point, as if every person who loves Dean feels that the best way to secure his happiness is to subtly or not-so-subtly offer to inflict bodily harm on anyone who might be a danger to it. Sam was by far the most earnest about it, and Jo the most overt (Castiel sees no legitimate reason she would have for flipping a knife open and closed and staring at him), but Ellen Harvelle finishes the polite introduction with Castiel, briskly awakens the mulletted man asleep on her pool table and hands him a slip of paper, and then thirty minutes later she ducks behind the bar at her employee's call, and when she returns she knows him.

They're all still gathered around Jess within the empty pub, welcoming her to their small family, attempting to distract themselves from the upcoming memorial with talk about weddings and baby names and showers and events, when Ellen turns to Castiel and asks how old a child should be for baptism. When he blinks and answers by instinct and by rote, she smiles at him and continues on the conversation without allowing time for anyone to register what happened, or to notice that anything was strange about it. When she hands him a glass of water, she addresses him as 'doctor,' without his profession ever being mentioned in their conversation.

It's subtle and quietly terrifying. An Alpha male had made it absolutely clear that if he hurt Dean he would suffer for it, and he didn't flinch. But a Beta female with a mile-wide maternal streak did a few internet searches, and now Castiel is nervous and unsettled.

Brothers he understands: he has an abundance of them. Mothers are frightening, and he has no experience to prepare him for this. Ellen smiles at him again and that smile is a warning. Castiel straightens on his stool and attempts to look harmless and innocent-minded.

It's harder than it should be. Dean has a hand on his knee, his thumb rubbing circles idly against the joint, and while it's far from sexual every touch, every casual nudge, every time their shoulders brush as they sit beside each other seems to be gathering electricity between them, a static charge and potential energy that is building to something dangerous and explosive. He's too sensitive to it, too aware of Dean, but when he rests his hand over Dean's to still the movement and draws Dean's eyes to him, it's clear that he's not the only one effected.

He put that spark of lust into Dean's eyes, and Dean's interest is a heady drug. One unconscious swipe of Dean's tongue across his lips is enough to derail Castiel's train of thought entirely. One look across this bar had been enough to break him out of his self-imposed isolationism. One kiss was enough to fuse them together, to send them crashing to the walls trying to somehow get closer to each other. It's not just that he wants Dean; that alone would have been unusual from him, given how long he has gone without feeling much sexual attraction to anyone. It's the possessive need to keep him, to claim him, to wrap himself around his mate and snarl at anything that tries to hurt him again. It's the desperate desire to make him laugh again, and chase away the dark thoughts that seem to seep into him regularly, from what Castiel has witnessed.

He's fallen too quickly. Feels too much. This is dangerous, rewriting his instincts and motives, and he doesn't know if he can have this. He doesn't know if Dean wants it, either, wants anything more from him. The uncertainty and impermanence are making him anxious, and it's already enough of an awkward situation that he's reeling.

When the Harvelle women and Winchester boys fall into a quieter discussion regarding John's memorial, and whether or not Ellen and Jo should close the Roadhouse for the evening to attend, Castiel takes advantage of the shift in focus to regroup. He is not really a part of this discussion, not a part of this family, and as he slips off his stool and turns away he notices Jessica hanging back from the conversation as well. It's with dual purpose that he quietly pulls a chair out for her at the nearest table and touches her elbow to draw her attention, gesturing at the seat. Jessica's thankful smile is beautiful, warm, and she slides off of the stool beside Sam with a grimace, hand to her lower back. "Thanks, Castiel. A month ago, wouldn't have bothered me at all. Now I'm pretty much terrified of what the third trimester's going to be like. Sit with me?"

Cas can feel Sam's eyes move from Jessica to fall on him, and he smiles at the blonde quietly. "Gladly." He's not asking for permission when he looks to Sam, but he takes long enough in pouring her a glass of water from the pitcher on the bar that if the younger Winchester had a problem with Castiel being alone near his pregnant fiancée, he could find an excuse to stop him. Dean had said he was protective, and one conversation with Sam about Dean is enough to prove that true; Castiel just doesn't know him well enough to know if he's the territorial type as well. He'd never have thought to wonder about it before: not only because only the truly insecure considered a celibate priest a threat to their relationship, but because he's never felt anything like that himself before Dean. He refuses to let himself become ruled by it, not merely because he thinks Dean would become skittish at possessiveness, but because he refuses to allow his rational mind to be overrun and ruled by base instinct.

After a moment, Sam flicks his eyes at from the glass of water to Cas's face, and then turns back to Dean and his conversation. Castiel takes his seat, and they're the only two in the bar to notice the moment. It's heartening, overall, though Castiel wouldn't ever be able to explain why, but it also raises his opinion of Sam to know despite his well-intentioned threats, he's clearly rational as well.

"So. . ." Jessica lowers her voice, wrapping her delicate hands around the glass of water and leaning across the table towards Cas, and there's mischief and light in her eyes, an irrepressible brightness to her spirit that is infectious. Castiel's saddened that it has to be surrounded and muted by all this talk of death. "I feel like I should be apologizing to you or something. Because it's bad enough we're doing the 'meet the family' rounds at the worst possible time, but we're doing it at the same time. . ." she pats his hand consolingly. ". . .and I'm sorry to say so far I'm clearlywinning. It's hard to trump a baby bump."

Castiel huffs a silent laugh, and tips his head in agreement, letting the vivacious blonde draw a slight smile from him. "You should put that on a t-shirt."

"You know what, maybe I will." There's a laugh in Jess's whispered voice, and she glances at the somber knot of the family she's joining, sobering now and resting her chin on her fist. "Sam's been putting off letting me meet his family for about a year, now. I guess. . . I don't know. Dean seems great. . ."

Castiel rumbles a wordless confirmation, letting himself look at Dean again now that he has an excuse.

". . . But they're both on eggshells talking about their father, and I . . . I always figured Sam was worried to let me meet him for some reason. Now he's beating himself up because I never will."

"From what little I've gathered, they've had a difficult relationship." Castiel's words are tellingly interrupted by an increase in volume from the eldest Winchester, bitter and pained, and Castiel has to force himself to keep his seat, to not literally rise to his defense.

"Ellen, there's not really going to be a funeral. It's not like people are lining up to come talk about how great he was, and near as I can tell we're more likely to get a bunch of assholes who want to soapbox because of the accident. You don't want put the Roadhouse into the middle of some frikkin' 'drink responsibly' crusade, showing up as the people mourning the guy who drove drunk all the time and eventually killed two people. I'm not gonna let you get dragged down too just because we all feel like shit that we let him drink himself into a hole."

"Dean." Sam rests a hand on his brother's arm, trying to calm him down, to soothe his obvious guilt, and Dean shrugs him off and glares.

"What, Sam? You know I'm right. You hauled ass to California as soon as you could and I slunk off to fucking South Dakota. He pissed off everyone in this town, even you Ellen. Even Bobby hasn't talked to him in five years, and it's been fifteen since they were really friends. We all left him. . ."

"You ever stop to think the only person John had to blame for that was himself, boy?" Ellen shakes her head slightly, bracing her hands on the bar top between them. "You loved your dad, you both did, nobody doubts that. Him dying doesn't mean the crap he pulled goes away, but he's gone and this is for the people he left behind. I'm not trying to go to his funeral to show support for him, Dean."

"Then why the hell even go?"

"Because we're your family, idiot." Jo snipes, arms folded on the bar. "Yeah, John was an asshole. . ."

"Joanna Beth!"

". . . I'm not saying anything he doesn't know! I was as much involved in kicking his ass out of here as you were, Mom." Jo flashes a glare at her mother, before turning back to Dean. "He was an asshole. But without him, we'd never have met you two. I'm sorry he died, Dean. I am. And I'm sorry you're hurting. But you're the one that made us family, not him. And I don't give a shit about appearances. Blaming a bar for alcoholics is like . . . like blaming spoons for making you fat. And anyway, all you're doing is coming up with the worst possible scenario: you've got no idea if someone's going to make an issue of it anyway. And even if they do, fuck 'em. You two are going, so I'm going. So shut up about it already."

Sitting at the table, eyes narrowed and head canted to the side as he silently watches this family interaction, Castiel comes to the realization that helikes the Harvelles and their unwavering if unorthodox support of the Winchesters. He likes Jessica and her easy manner. He is cautiously optimistic that given time he and Sam might grow to like each other as well. This is the strangest little family unit he's encountered, but it's far more genuinethan his own.

And for that, he's somewhat envious.

xXx

The already dim sunrise is turning into a slate gray afternoon, the air clinging and humid, clouds and ash combining to make the skyline forbidding and dismal. It suits Dean's growing mood.

They drop Sam and Jessica off at the hotel to change and to have lunch on their own before the funeral, and Dean brings Cas back to his apartment, his own bag in hand to allow him to eat, borrow Castiel's shower, and change into more appropriate funereal attire before leaving. Dean is quiet through the ride there, withdrawn again with a perpetual crease between his brows, and when he parks he stares blankly at the tarp-covered shape of his car in Castiel's covered space.

They're cremating his father, feeding John Winchester's body to 1500 degree flames and reducing him to ash, as his eldest son sits staring at the only token of their life before the fire knowing it's scarred and damaged now because of him.

Castiel sits in the passenger seat watching him with a frown, before reaching over and unbuckling his seatbelt. Stepping out of the car, Castiel hooks Dean's bag out of the back seat and circles the vehicle, opening the driver's side door to draw Dean out by the hand and up the stairs to his apartment. There's something incredibly satisfying about setting Dean's bag down on his dresser, a sign that Dean is here, anchored by this small trove of possessions that he won't leave without. Then he turns to Dean again, slides his arms around him, and tugs his shirt off smoothly.

"Shower." He explains when Dean tenses, hands sliding down his chest, fingertips tracing along defined muscles slowly before hooking into the button of his jeans and pausing. He waits until Dean meets his eyes, until he knows Dean is back with him from wherever he just went and is giving Castiel his complete attention, before he pops the button, curling his fingers into the pull of the zipper and sliding it down tooth by tooth. "May I join you in it? It needn't be sexual."

The slow approach started as a way of giving Dean time to stop him, giving him the chance to tell Castiel to give him space, to push him away or just take control again, but with an interested twitch of Dean's hardening cock, Castiel finds himself curiously dragging his knuckles lightly down Dean's length through jeans and boxers as he slowly unzips his fly.

Dean shouldn't be letting himself get distracted. He should be wallowing in self-loathing and grief right now. But Castiel is uniquely distracting, and he knows that's the point, that's what Cas is up to, the plan unapologetically transparent.

"Hah, 'needn't be sexual.' Jesus fucking Christ you're a tease. And now I'm saying 'Jesus fucking Christ' to a priest." Dean groans, and Castiel tsks quietly, shaking his head, allowing his fingers to just barely dip into the waistband of Dean's boxers, sliding on either side to his back, leaving him with his hands caressing down the curve of Dean's ass as he pushes both layers of clothing down together until gravity pools them at Dean's feet.

"I'm really not, you know." Castiel murmurs against Dean's neck, kissing the jumping pulse point of his carteroid, leaning into Dean's naked body even as Dean kicks his shoes off and his jeans away from him.

"What, a tease or a priest?" Dean's fingers are fumbling over Castiel's shirt, without the distance needed to see or manipulate the buttons easily, but Castiel is busy nuzzling into him, breathing him in with his voice muffled against Dean's skin, completely unwilling to make things easier on him.

"Either. I haven't been a priest in years. Longer than I was ever ordained, now. And, technically. . ." Raising his head, Castiel flattens his hands to Dean's back, keeping them close as he looks him in the eye. ". . . Wouldn't I have to be willing to withhold something to be considered a tease? Was there something that you wanted, Dean?"

Castiel looks and sounds like sex incarnate. His blue eyes are lust-blown and sharply intelligent, shirt half unbuttoned to bare him past his collarbone, jaw shadowed with stubble, and he's offering Dean anything he wants. Dean crooks his finger beneath Cas's jaw, thumb coming to rest in the dimple of his chin, and lets himself stare. "How the hell are you still a virgin, man?"

Something flickers through Castiel's eyes, another secret to be unraveled later, but he arches one eyebrow slightly instead, head tipping faintly to the side, and begins walking Dean backwards towards the bathroom, pushing the door open and then closed again behind him with his foot as he goes. "Are you offering to change that, Dean?" And a moment later, he squints curiously and asks, serious as anything. "Does oral sex count as sex?Am I still a 'virgin' now?"

It catches Dean off guard, startles a guffaw of laughter from him, and then he's untucking Cas's unbuttoned shirt from his slacks and shaking his head. "Cas, rule of thumb. If you have to ask 'am I still a virgin,' far as I'm concerned you're probably still a virgin. Plus, you weren't even the one getting off. Definitely still a virgin."

Castiel looks like he's about to turn sex into a frikkin' philosophical debate, so Dean kisses him to shut him up. And then he kisses him again because he's naked, hard, and Castiel is really fucking distracting and he needs that right now. "Why aren't you naked yet?"

"Why haven't you answered if I can join you in the shower?" Castiel counters easily against Dean's lips, but now he finally joins Dean in stripping himself down; his shirt ends up flung over the sink, slacks kicked to somewhere between the door and the linen cabinet.

"Because I assumed you were the genius here, and you could figure out?"

"I didn't want to make assumptions. I prefer clear permission and instruction." Cas sounds entirely serious, completely straight-faced, but Dean isn't fooled. There's humor to that deadpan. The smartassed sarcastic bastard is teasing him without breaking face at all and Dean narrows his eyes, stepping back to put space between them and wetting his lips before attempting to assemble his own straight face.

He's never had to do that when completely naked and slick and hard as a rock, while staring at a flushed, aroused and sexy Alpha who apparently pings all the right sensors to be pheromone overlord. Even with him doing nothing but blinking those baby blues at him slowly, Cas is making this more difficult than he should. Yeah. He should get bonus points for being able to stare Castiel down stoically.

"Okay, so clear instruction and permission. You and I are going to take a shower together. You're going to keep your hands to yourself. Capice?"

"I. . . yes. I understand." Poor bastard. For half a second, Castiel looks like a kicked puppy, completely confused by a turn of events that has himnot pressed against Dean, not getting to kiss him, and Dean almost relents and gives himself away. He would have, if Castiel didn't politely and dutifully turn away, then, clearly working to control himself. He turns the tap and steps into the shower mechanically with his back to the spray, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw, completely prepared to try and be a 'gentleman' per Dean's request.

He is consequently not prepared for Dean to step into the shower past him, close the curtain, drop to his knees on the floor of the tub, and suckle the head of Castiel's cock into his mouth immediately. The reaction is instantaneous and damned gratifying. The moan ripped from Castiel is loud enough that Dean's fairly certain the neighboring apartment is getting this in movie-theater volume, one hand slapping against the tile to brace himself as the other hand fumbles, smacking at the shower curtain before he manages to grab the rod.

Hands to himself after all. Good. He loves it when a plan comes together. Dean hasn't done this in a while, and Castiel's a frikkin' virgin who might not know when to pull back. Better that Dean's the one running this show for a moment. If they do this again, he'll let Castiel get his hands into Dean's hair, direct him a bit, but no way is he willingly letting an overeager Alpha try to fuck his face and dislocate his jaw on a knot.

Curling one hand around Castiel's hip to keep him still, fingertips pressing into the swell of his ass, Dean tests the weight of Castiel on his tongue, and then bobs his head slowly, a teasing glide, the warm-up act, just to make sure he has Castiel's complete attention.

Not that there's much doubt of that.

Castiel, for his part, is unraveling quickly. He was ready for the metaphorical cold shower, ready to have his advances shut down again. He wasn'tready to be swallowed down by a hot, eager mouth. Dean's lips wrapped around him look obscene, sinful in the best possible way, and as Castiel leans over him, shielding him from the spray of the water, Dean glances up at him through his lashes and winks.

It takes ten seconds after that for Castiel to realize how much more to a blow job there can be than just sucking and moving your head. Dean pulls back, leaving the tip nudging against soft, spit-slicked lips, darting his tongue at the slit and waiting until Castiel is meeting his eyes. Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock and squeezing, a rhythmic pulse of pressure that drags another moan out of Castiel that seems too-loud in the enclosed space, Dean swirls his tongue around the head of Castiel's cock, and begins fucking his mouth onto him, each time bringing his lips down to the circle of his own hand. . . and the growing knot Dean is teasing into life beneath it.

"Holy mother of . . ." Dean hums around him, laughs, and the vibration of it is more than Castiel can handle. "God, Dean!" This is his Omega, hismate, in a pose of genuflection and kneeling, of submission, but by the look in his upturned eyes Dean knows completely who is in charge. He is all bare skin and sleek muscle, gorgeous and perfect and turning Castiel inside-out, until he is babbling broken prayers and uninhibited moans and when he comes he's fairly certain everyone in the apartment complex hears it. With the first hot splash into Dean's waiting mouth Castiel manages to rip the shower curtain off of several of the cheap plastic rings.

But then he doesn't stop. Dean swallows until he can't, until come is escaping his lips, and rather than release Castiel completely he shifts back to his feet. Each deliberate pulse of Dean's hand around his knot seems to milk more from Castiel, wrenching another burst of pleasure, and he hasnever done this before. It takes Castiel a moment to manage to crack one eye open again, watching as he marks Dean's skin with his seed, and now he realizes his hands are free and he needs to touch him.

Castiel locks an arm around Dean and pulls him close, watching the water of the shower spray mix with the next spurt of his come between them as Dean teases more from him. He drags his fingers through the mess, wraps his hand around Dean's cock, and begins to stroke, root to tip, letting himself watch. Dean's eyes fall shut, his bruised lips slackening, and Castiel dives in to taste himself on them as Dean gets the idea and presses their erections together, letting them work together, a dirty slide and squeeze that has Dean coming as well, mixing his load with Castiel's.

They slump together against the tile wall, spent, until Dean's sated laugh cracks Cas's eye open, blinking water away as the shower stream now falls between them.

"Considering what comes out of your mouth when you come, I don't feel so bad about 'Jesus fucking Christ' anymore." He teases ruthlessly, just to see if Castiel can blush even after that experience. He can. And does. And then he slurs something that was likely a come-back, but fails at properly being any discernible language, too blissed-out to care. Dean grins smugly and turns Castiel towards the spray. "Guess that leaves me with clean-up."

Dean soaps Castiel up, massaging fingers through his scalp and then carefully rinsing the shampoo out, before letting the water rinse away the evidence of Castiel's first ever assisted orgasm. Under the guise of cleaning him, he presses Castiel's muscles to supple, loose and relaxed, and by the time they're both clean Castiel's knot has receded, and the dark haired doctor himself is easy to tip into bed and tuck in.

Dean tugs on his dress clothes, scrawls his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with a brief note to call him when he's conscious and that he'll be back after. Then he leaves the sleeping Castiel before he can realize that Dean never intended to bring him to the funeral.

Castiel has had to watch Dean grieve since he met him. He had to be there with him when John died. Dean needs to do this part by himself.