Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.

"There's no easy way to say it, so I'm just gonna say it." Mary's words float around Dean's buzzed brain, like tiny daggers stabbing his mind. "I have sort of…been working with the British Men of Letters."

Dean shakes his head and takes a swig of his shitty whiskey. He's not nearly drunk enough if he's still thinking about his mother's betrayal, and it doesn't look like he'll reach that point until he's passed out cold. At this point, that's not looking like such a bad option.

"Dean, I should tell you…I agreed to help the Men of Letters."

"Don't give me that look! They're doing good work, Dean! They've helped so many people with their weapons, where we just run in with guns blazing!"

But it hurts way more that Sam's joined those assholes. They tortured the shit out of him! And yeah, he was quick to tell Dean, but he's once again gone behind Dean's back. At this point, can Dean even be surprised? He and Sam have fucked each other over so many times – kept secrets from each other so often – that he's not sure exactly why he and Sam still stick together, apart from an unhealthy codependency. Sure, they love each other to bits – and Dean would trust Sam with his goddamn soul – but they can't trust each other to be honest, and they've had so many fights in the past twelve years. Then again, maybe brutal fighting is how Dean shows his fucked-up affection. After all, he only ever fucks up when it comes to protecting his family – and he only ever has these fights with Sam and Cas.

Cas. Dean's stomach twists as he knocks back the last of the whiskey and just sits there, staring at the bottom of the glass and mournfully wishing that he had more so that he doesn't have to think about this shit. The angel's been notably absent lately – searching for Kelly Kline out of some guilty obligation for saying yes to the Devil. Dean just wishes that the angel was with him, because a small part of him seems to break every time Cas leaves him. He should be used to it now. After all, Cas has left him so many times before – and as much as Dean's gone behind his family's backs, he's never once left them. Never.

He's cursed. He has to be. He can't possibly think of any other reason why everybody who comes into his life ends up either leaving him or dying. He's freaking Rogue, isn't he? He's got the damn death touch and he's sick and tired of everyone leaving him. Maybe he deserves it. He's not exactly a stellar example of the best that humanity has to offer, after all.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's holding his phone to his ear. And before he can back out from this stupid idea, the other end clicks and then a rough voice is saying, "Dean?"

Dean's mouth goes dry. Great. He's too damn drunk for this.

"Cas," he rasps. He tries to force himself to say something else, but apparently his mouth has decided to take a vacation from his brain because it refuses to obey him.

"Did you need something?"

"Just…callin' to see how you are."

It takes Cas a moment to respond.

"I think I have found a lead on Kelly Kline. I have a possible location for Dagon to have –"

"Dude, I didn't call to check up on Lucifer's baby mama. I called to see how you're doin'."

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"Oh. I'm okay, Dean."

Has he really been that dismissive of Cas that the angel's surprised when Dean shows interest in him? Dean's stomach churns. He's a shitty fucking friend and he's surprised that Cas hasn't flown the coop for good yet.

"Want you here, Cas." The words leave his mouth without permission. Dean tries to stop talking, but the alcohol in his system seems intent on making his life a misery because he can't. "Miss hangin' out with you. But you always leave me."

"I assure you, I don't like leaving you," Cas says after about ten seconds too long have passed. "But Lucifer's child is my fault. This is my mess to clean up."

"You need to lighten up," Dean slurs. "Always takin' res – responsibility for everythin'."

"Dean –"

"Miss you, Cas. Wanna see you. 'M in Beloit, 'bout an hour from the bunker. Super 8. Come see me, Cas. Castiel."

"Are you drunk?"

"So what 'f I am? Everyone leaves me. Sam an' Mom are workin' with those fancy schmancy British assholes and they didn't tell me."

Dean's lip quivers. He sets his jaw, pissed at his traitorous, drunk body.

"You're cool, Cas. You wouldn't do that."

There's silence on the other end.

"Cas?"

"Dean…I have something to tell you."

Dean's heart stops.

"Don't tell me you're workin' with those assholes too!"

"No. But Heaven contacted me recently. They want me to help them find Kelly Kline…and I could be welcome back if I accept. I told them that I would consider it."

Yep, there's the other foot. Drunken anger courses through Dean. He should've fucking known that Cas would stab him in the back too.

"But I –"

"Oh, fuck off, Cas," Dean snarls before hanging up. His anger's just had an upgrade to full-blown rage and, with a shout, he hurls his phone across the room. It bounces across the carpet and clatters to a stop against the opposite wall, but Dean's already lying back on the bed, his arms crossed, glaring at the dark ceiling as though he could burn a hole in it if he tries hard enough.

"Fucking ASSHOLE!" he yells at the ceiling. The ceiling doesn't reply. That just pisses him off even more, and if he wasn't so drunk that he can't be bothered getting back up, he'd be throwing things at the dumb ceiling until it talks back to him. Why the fuck does he keep putting his heart out there? All he gets in return is pain and betrayal! And for some reason, Cas' betrayal cuts far deeper than Sam's. Maybe, deep down, he had been expecting Sam to align himself with the British Men of Letters. After all, they do have similar goals, even if the Men of Letters are total freaking dicks about it. Sam's the Men of Letters brains to Dean's hunter brawn. But Cas? He'd thought the angel had freaking learned after all the times he's gone back to Heaven and they'd dicked him around!

It's not long before Dean's anger drains away…but nothing replaces it. He can't even slip into a drunken doze, so he's left to just keep staring at the ceiling as familiar emptiness settles in his chest and coats his insides. He's so used to this emptiness that he's probably patented it by now – Dean Winchester's Good Old Fucked-Up Numbness Slash Depression™ – but he still hates it like crazy, ever since becoming a demon with the Mark of Cain. Before then, numbness had been a blessed relief from all the crap he had been forced to go through – but after turning into Deanmon and not giving a shit about anything except getting his next fix of murder, emptiness has been something that he dreads.

At some point, though, he must have fallen asleep, because he's jolted awake by something warm touching him. He jerks into a sitting position, the knife under his pillow gripped tightly in his hand and the beginnings of a hangover headache starting, but he relaxes slightly when he sees that it's only Cas, fast asleep on the bed next to him. Son of a bitch must've come anyway and used his mojo to unlock the door, then decided to take a little nap. For Cas' own sake, he'd better have locked that door again; Dean doesn't need to have outlasted hundreds of monsters, only to be undone by some burglar or something. That'd be a totally lame way to go for good.

Now that the adrenaline's drained out of his system, Dean's body slumps in sudden weariness. But he doesn't lie back down. Instead, he just studies the sleeping angel. Man, Cas hasn't slept in so long – since his stolen grace was screwing him around. Dean hopes that Cas is okay and that there's nothing wrong with him. Can angels even choose to sleep?

As if able to sense that Dean's awake, Cas stirs. Dean freezes, holding his breath as Cas turns on his side, mumbling softly. He doesn't relax until Cas is breathing deeply again, practically dead to the world, and it's in that moment that the depth of his feelings for Cas really hits him, despite his anger at the angel for the Heaven crap.

Shit. He's been trying to suppress all of this. Not out of any fear of his sexuality or whatever – he came to terms with his attraction for men as well as the fairer sex years ago – but because that way, it hurts less whenever Cas leaves him. There's no way that Cas can possibly want him; not with how he's constantly leaving Dean. So it hurts less to just bury it all and pretend that he's perfectly straight, thank you very much, and not after anything more than a nice, quick fuck to maybe not feel so alone for a few ignorant minutes.

But this here is the ultimate torture. Castiel, bent but functioning angel of the Lord, is so close…but he's too far. If Dean wasn't terrified that he'd be overstepping a few boundaries, he'd reach out and touch Cas; run a hand along his arm, maybe even thread fingers through his dark, soft-looking hair. But Cas isn't his to keep, so he's not allowed to touch. All he can do is just look, like Cas is some fancy museum exhibit that's way out of his price range.

Cas stirs again, and Dean stiffens once again. This time, Cas doesn't go back to sleep; a soft groan escapes him and then his eyelids flutter, bright blue locking straight onto Dean and rooting him to the spot.

"No – go back to sleep –" Dean tries to say, but Cas just struggles into a sitting position, yawning softly. His hair is sticking up all over the place; Dean would love nothing more than to reach out and touch it, but he's not allowed. Cas isn't his to touch.

"Dean." Cas' voice is thick with sleep. "I came as soon as I could. I apologise for sleeping in your bed but there was not another one in the room."

"You didn't have to come," Dean says lamely. "I was just being a stupid drunk."

"But I always come when you need me."

"I don't." Dean's face tightens and he turns away from Cas, setting his jaw. "I don't need you."

Cas says nothing for a moment.

"Dean…" he says.

"I don't care, Cas. Go be with your dickish family. They are your family. I got no right to tell you what to –"

"Dean. Shut up and listen to me."

That startles Dean into silence but he still doesn't turn around.

"I said to you that I told Heaven that I would consider their offer. But you hung up before I could tell you that I have absolutely no intention of accepting it."

That revelation floors Dean, and he finally turns around to see that Cas is giving him that adorable, soft smile that he reserves only for Dean.

"But Cas –"

"Despite what you may think, Dean, they aren't my family. Not anymore. Maybe they were my family years ago…but now you are my family. Sam is my family. Bobby was my family. And Mary…I care deeply for her because she is so dear to you. My family is down here."

"How can you think that, Cas?" Dean says with a bitter laugh. "After all the shit we've put you through – to the point where you said yes to freaking Lucifer to feel useful – and we're your family?"

"I…admit that I have been treated less than ideally here," Cas says slowly, like he's taking great care to choose his words. "But Dean, I'm treated poorly wherever I go. At least down here…at least you and Sam show true concern for me. Nobody in Heaven cares about me unless I am being a good 'robot'. But you taught me free will, Dean, and how to think for myself, and that is one of the most precious gifts I have been given. You taught me…how to feel."

There's silence after Cas' speech, because what the hell can Dean say to that? It cuts deep to hear Cas admit that he's been treated pretty badly down here – even if those words are totally true, and ones that Dean's mind often hurls at him when it's being self-destructive – but something in the tone of Cas' voice gives that speech the tone of a love confession. And that's totally not okay. That's straying into the realm of 'feelings Dean keeps hidden for a reason'.

"You shouldn't have to be treated that way," Dean says, his voice still bitter as hell. "For fuck's sake, Cas, you've given up so much. You deserve way better."

"Perhaps. But that doesn't change the nature or magnitude of my feelings for you, Dean."

Fuck. This is a love confession. Dean exhales shakily, running a hand through his short, spiky hair.

"Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," Dean says with an odd little laugh. "Just sounds to me like you're tryin' to say something."

Cas rolls his eyes. The move is so unlike him – so painfully human – that Dean can't help but snort at it.

"I'm trying to tell you that I love you," Cas says bluntly. "And I know that you love me back. I can feel longing, remember? And the longing that pours off you is extremely hard to ignore."

Dean blinks. Then he blinks again.

"You – you know how I – and you never –" he splutters. Cas gives him a small smile.

"I assumed that you would tell me when you were ready to accept your feelings. Why didn't you ever tell me, Dean? Surely you must have known that even if I did not reciprocate your romantic feelings, you wouldn't have changed one bit in my eyes."

"I – I didn't think I was allowed." Dean laughs darkly. "You're this – this perfect celestial being and I'm just some dumb mud monkey who's hooked on killing. No way did I have any right to you."

Cas' face grows stormy. The next minute, Dean finds himself flat on his back with a glaring angel straddling him.

"Don't you dare put yourself down, Dean Winchester," Cas growls. "You may hold a tremendous amount of self-loathing, but you have one of the brightest souls I have ever seen. You are smart, and brave, and loyal, and knowing you is the greatest privilege I have ever had."

Dean just gapes up at the angel, looking more like a goldfish at that moment than anything else.

"Now, if you have no more issues, I'd like to kiss you," Cas says as though he hasn't just dropped a freaking bombshell on Dean. Dean's mouth closes, then opens again.

"Yeah," is all he can croak. Then he can't think, because Cas has bent down and pressed their lips together roughly. He moans softly and kisses back, raising one hand to finally run his hands through Cas' soft hair now that he's allowed. With his other hand, he takes advantage of this newfound permission and runs it all over Cas' torso and back, as if trying to memorise every inch of Cas' body by touch alone.

"Dean, I want – I want you," Cas rasps when he pulls back from the kiss, his lips swollen and his eyes wide. "Do you –"

"Lube's in my bag," is Dean's consent. Nothing more is said from the moment Cas starts to open him up with one hand and trace his chest and belly with the other, and Dean can only gasp when Cas slides in smoothly until their hips are flush. Having Cas this close to him is like coming home, and everything falls into place once Cas starts to move, sending stars sparking behind Dean's eyes. God, he hadn't realised just how much he needs Cas until now, and all he can do is wrap his arms and legs around Cas and cling to the angel as tightly as he can, as though Cas will disappear if he lets go. He's still not sure if this is a dream or not, but if it's a dream then it's an incredibly vivid one.

They still exchange no words as they climb higher and higher, Cas snapping his hips forward again and again and marking up Dean's chest with wet, blooming red marks. Dean's back is probably going to be arched permanently, and he's going absolutely mad from the white-hot pleasure building deep in his body; he gasps and moans and cries out as his hips writhe, trying to meet Cas' thrusts. He's allowed to have this. He's allowed to feel this way. He's no longer confined to just admiring Cas – now he can have Cas, and that thought is enough to have him seizing up with a loud cry as he comes, painting his body with white ropes. This seems to trigger Cas' climax because the angel comes only moments later, releasing deep inside Dean with a sharp gasp.

Dean braces himself for Cas collapsing on him but the angel is considerate in this regard; he pulls out and then rolls off Dean onto his back, and they lie there together, staring up at the ceiling and panting. If Dean recalls correctly, this is the second time that Cas has ever had sex. He hopes it was a good experience – especially because Cas' first time had sounded a lot like coerced consent, with a healthy dose of being stabbed to death afterwards. Luckily, he's not planning on killing Cas after orgasm; in fact, he hopes that he never hurts the angel ever again.

His stomach drops when Cas slides out of bed. Of course Cas hadn't meant all that shit he'd said. Anything to get Dean into bed, right? At least with one-night stands, where the partners stand is made very clear before they get down to it.

He's jolted out of his thoughts by something cool touching his belly, and he snaps back to himself to see that Cas has retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom and is gently – almost reverently – wiping Dean's body clean. Shame courses through Dean at how quickly he'd jumped to conclusions. He's always so quick to see the bad in everyone, and he doesn't know what the hell Cas sees in him – but he also doesn't want to give up whatever it is they seem to have now.

Once Dean is cleaned up, Cas goes to deposit the cloth back in the bathroom and then he climbs into bed, taking Dean in his arms and pulling the covers over their naked bodies. Dean rests his head on Cas' chest, closing his eyes and shivering when Cas starts to stroke his hair, and they don't speak for a moment.

"I don't want to leave again," Cas finally says. "I want to stay with you, Dean. If you'll have me."

Dean doesn't answer straight away. But he agrees a hundred per cent with Cas. He hadn't realised how much he needs Cas until Cas had constantly left him; he hadn't realised just how much he loves this damn angel until he'd had to stand back and let Cas go. And now that he's got permission, he doesn't plan on ever letting go again.

"Sounds good to me," he mumbles, his eyelids starting to close. Cas hugs him tighter and kisses the top of his head.

"Sleep, Dean. We can talk more in the morning."