MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD, AND THEY'RE LIKE—

"Ugh, turn that shit off!" Dean complained, reaching over and twisting the volume button down himself.

"How did a milkshake manage to have a gravitational pull that is gender specific?" Castiel questioned his tired boyfriend.

"I—what?" Dean shook his head and swiped a hand over his face. "No, Cas. It's just a song."

"But she said—"

"Listen, it's too late for this, and I need my two hours of sleep."

Castiel accepted his quick goodnight kiss, but squinted up at him in confusion. "I thought you required four."

"Yeah, well...Metatron isn't going to find himself, so until we catch that bastard, your name is still mud." Dean said, standing up and stretching beside the world map table.

"My name is Castiel. I am the Angel of Thursday." Castiel reminded Dean, in case he had forgot.

"I—it's...are you coming to bed or not?"

"I will stay vigilant for any sightings of Metatron." Castiel replied. "But you should rest. During my time as human, I required much more than two hours of sleep."

"Alright. Goodnight, I l-lo—"

Dean leaned down and kissed Castiel instead, hoping to convey all of his feelings through the physical action. That was how men showed emotion, right? Only instead of hitting stuff, he was kissing...his...boyfriend. Which was still pretty gay, but there was nothing gayer than saying I love you to another man. Except maybe sucking dick, but they hadn't done that.

Yet.

Sometimes Dean wished Castiel would just let him call him a bitch, and then the angel would say assbutt back, and then he'd have the same system for saying it to his boyfriend as he did with his brother. But wow, maybe that was a little too close to Wincestiel, so—

"Dean!"

Dean opened his eyes and blinked, confused and a little arou—panicked to find himself sitting in Castiel's lap. Straddling him actually, with his head previously resting on his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Dean, you lost consciousness for several seconds and collapsed against me." Castiel informed him.

The hunter swallowed past his dry throat and tried to pretend the buzzing in his veins came from sheer exhaustion and not from how close his boyfriend's crotch was to his own.

"Because I am still a novice at kissing, I highly doubt that was the cause, although your knees do tend to go a little weak whenever I push you against hard surfaces."

Dean winced. Goddammit, there were some things that just weren't supposed to be verbally acknowledged!

"I've determined the cause is exhaustion." Castiel announced.

"Yeah, I uh...I'm just tired." Dean muttered back.

"Alright."

The world suddenly spun, and Dean instinctively began thrashing, but supernaturally strong arms kept him from putting up too much of a struggle. When his vision cleared enough for him to see again, he realized he was being carried down the hallway.

"Aw, hell no, Cas! I can walk by myself!"

"Doubtful. What if you fell again, and I wasn't there to catch you?" Castiel asked.

Dean didn't reply. That was exactly what he was afraid of. What if he did start relying on the angel for stuff other than killing things? Like...emotional stuff and...things. What if one day he fell and Castiel didn't catch him? Or even worse, what if Castiel fell and he wasn't there to catch him?

"I can feel you worrying. We have both fallen—literally for myself, although you did go to Hell—and we've both picked each other back up. I'm uncertain on many aspects of love, but I believe that is a primary part of it." Castiel said, holding Dean with one arm and opened their bedroom door with the other.

"I told you to stay out of my mind." Dean grumbled.

"I did." Castiel replied. "Your thoughts are just simple and very obvious to those around you."

The angel laid him down on the bed, and Dean glared up at him.

"Anyway ever tell you how great you are at stroking a man's ego?"

"No, but I'm glad you think so." Castiel said with a pleased and somewhat oblivious smile.

All of Dean's sass deflated, and he cooperatively allowed his boyfriend to take his jeans and shirt off, pull the covers over him, fluff his pillow, and generally tuck him into bed.

"Goodnight, Dean."

"Night."

Castiel walked away from the bed, but paused at the doorway. "I love you too."

He disappeared down the hallway before Dean could reply.

Sam turned onto the dirt road leading to the bunker, ready to put away the groceries, rare herbs, and cursed house slippers so he could call it a night. He stopped the Impala and cut the engine when he saw flickering lights in the field near the bunker though, debating whether or not he should call Dean or Castiel. Dean had been working himself to exhaustion trying to catch Metatron and clear his boyfriend's name though, and Castiel was notoriously bad at answering his cellphone. Sam considered praying to Castiel, but only one of the Winchester brothers ever got his prayers answered and it wasn't the tall one.

So with a sigh and a bitchface, Sam quietly exited the Impala and doubled checked his weapons. He'd just go up close enough to check out what was up there, and if he needed backup, he'd double back and call Dean. As Sam got closer to the flickering lights, he saw that they were candles surrounded many different containers full of something that surprisingly didn't appear to be blood. A lone figure stood in the middle of the arrangement, but as he moved, Sam recognized Castiel.

"Cas?" He called out, only half-lowering his gun.

If he thought there was a God left to pray to or an angel who wasn't a giant dick, he might have prayed that Castiel wasn't going insane and trying to take over the universe again.

"Oh, Sam." Castiel greeted, turning around fully. "Hello."

"Hiiiiii. What are you doing there, buddy?" Sam asked, keeping his gun at half-mast.

"I have learned of milkshake's propensity to lure in other males to one's yard, so I am attempting to draw out Metatron, although I haven't yet been successful." Castiel explained.

Sam blinked. Opened his mouth. Shut it. Blinked again.

"Is Dean asleep?" He finally asked, putting away his gun.

Castiel bent over and adjusted a cup of milkshake. "Yes, I put him to bed a little over an hour ago."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them again. The scene was still the same. His brain offered up a dozen different replies, but he eventually latched on to one question.

"How did you manage to make all these milkshakes in an hour?!"

Castiel glanced back up and gave him a stern look. "As much as I would love to teach you Sam, I would apparently have to charge for that."

A/N: I'm not sorry, and I regret nothing, not even the Supernatural pun. I saw a meme of Castiel on tumblr, and my plot bunnies held a gun to my head. Or maybe that was Deadpool...

I only meant for this to be half a page! It wasn't supposed to be like this, my Destiel feels just got so strong and—THIS WILL NOT BE A FIC!