A/Ns: Hello, beautiful readers! Welcome to Waiting on a Winchester, my one-shot attempt at smut that turned into a five-shot with very little smut, but I'm too stubborn to admit that I can't actually write a one-shot, so now it's just a 35k word single post. Oi vey.

This Story: Let me tell you a story. A story that will make you laugh (if you know me at all as an author, that is.) It's an origin story of a story (this story, in fact).

Me, way back in December of 2018: Maybe the writer's rut is coming from a lack of Destiel.

The Muse: Did somebody say smut?

Me: Um, no, but you know what, why not? We could do with a good old fashioned PWP. Get a little saucy. Stir up the old juices. Jump start that writing spark again.

The Muse: You had me at smut and I didn't actually listen to anything past that. Can we have a teeny bit of plot with it?

Me: Uh, sure, but just a little. We'll call it Mostly Smut with a Little bit of Plot.

(Side note: for real, this story was labeled SwaLP on my desktop for four months)

The Muse: Love it. We're gonna make it angsty, too, right?

Me: Well, I mean, it is us, after all.

The Muse: Great! And it'll be 58 pages long!

Me: Wait, what?

The Muse: With 1 page of smut!

Me: Uh, that's not… but PWP… um, oh boy. Okay, well, uh, we're gonna have to change the title.

The Muse: Oh, fine, we'll add a smutty epilogue and make it 58 to 7.

Me: ….

This Story Continued: So, friends, I present to you: LAPwLS – Lots of Angsty Plot with a Little bit of Smut. I… I want to say I don't know how this happened, but I know exactly how this happened -_-

Story Warnings: PLEASE READ because this story has potential triggers and MATURE CONTENT. While a happy ending with smut is guaranteed, we go through a lot of angst to get there. There is dubious consent in this story which should really be called rape, though you'll probably get why I'm putting it more on the dub-con side after you read it. There is unrequited love, forced confessions, really inappropriate dreams, very awkward brotherly conversations, and a lot of unhappy emotions to be had all around, including some pretty dark thoughts that lean towards the self-harm category. There is a lot of swearing. There is minor F/M (Dean/OFC) and not so minor M/M (Destiel). There is Sam being a fed up (but also understanding) little brother who ships it. And there are sex goddesses. Because what Supernatural Smut Story is complete without sex goddesses?

Now that you know what you're in for (and good god, no wonder it's fifty eight pages long), do enjoy!

-o-o-o-

Part 1:

When Shit Hits the Fan, Duck

(When You Can't Duck, Lie)

-o-o-o-

It all went to hell in a handbasket pretty damn quickly, like most things did in their lives. At least lately, it always felt like it.

Sam was unconscious, the hit to his head worrisome but Dean was pretty sure he was still breathing. He didn't have the best angle on him, strung up as he was in the center of the room. The bitch who'd dragged them in here had tied his hands up good, lifted him like he'd weighed as much as a sack of potatoes, and slipped the ropes over a rusty hook – one of dozens – hanging from the ceiling by equally rusted chains.

Real nice interior decorator this place had.

She'd dragged Sammy in next, by the hair, which Dean was sure his kid brother'd be feeling whenever he woke up (and he would wake up, damnit). Dean would be sure to use this newest example as yet another reason his brother should cut that ridiculous mane. Oh, he wouldn't live this one down for at least a month.

The gigantor of a hunter had been carelessly tossed against the wall of the barn and left there, unrestrained. Dean refused to read into that. Sammy was going to be fine. Still, he'd attempted several tries at twisting his body around on the hook he hung from to get a look at the kid (not a kid anymore, Dean). The older hunter wasn't able to keep his body turned against the tightness of the ropes or keep purchase on the ground with just the tips of his boots long enough to be sure, but he was pretty certain of the rise and fall of Sam's chest.

Cas was dragged in last. Whatever that bitch had hit him with was enough to keep the dazed angel from fighting back as she tied his wrists and hung him across from Dean. The hunter immediately didn't like the blatant setup; the both of them swinging slightly, struggling to keep the weight off their wrists, only scant feet apart but facing each other in the large, open space of the abandoned barn. It screamed at something more elaborate than just 'I caught a couple of hunters and now I'm gonna kill them like a normal friggin' monster would.'

Dean didn't like it one bit.

"Now, now, now. This is much better." The woman sauntered back into the room, movements unearthly in how she practically glided rather than walked. Like liquid smoke. The bitch was tall, gaunt like death, though the bronzed skin, heavily painted eyes, ridiculous obsession with gold bangles, and long strands of pitch black hair definitely spoke of an Egyptian monster, whatever she was. What the hell she was doing halfway across the world stalking some shit Midwestern county, Dean didn't know.

Wasn't that just the story of their lives lately, too.

They'd shown up in this crap little town that was piling up dehydrated corpses like it was Halloween and Dracula was in town. Only it wasn't Dracula, or any other suped-up vampire like they'd hazarded, given the shriveled, dried up stack of bones and leathery skin that was each of their victims so far. Turns out? Definitely not a vampire.

"Who the hell are you, lady?" Dean twisted his shoulders violently to tug at the restraints, but it got him nothing but some even sorer wrists.

The woman hummed as she withdrew from Cas. She tapped one perfectly manicured, golden nail against her cheek as she observed her handiwork between the two of them. "Anat. And you are hunters."

Castiel grunted, swinging slightly as he lost his precarious hold on the floor. He was shorter than Dean, and the bitch hadn't given him much slack to counter that difference, leaving the angel hanging almost entirely by his restraints. "Goddess of war and fertility."

Anat smiled prettily at the angel. "One of them, yes."

"How the hell do those two things go together?" Dean balked with a blink and heavy dose of insolence that had Cas sending him a squinty-eyed look of warning (and possibly a touch of annoyance). Not that he'd ever listened to that look before (and no reason to break that perfect record now.)

"What, you've never gotten laid after a good battle?" Anat sent a skeptical, taunting look over her shoulder at the hunter, a smirk on her face that said she knew better. She turned – the movement a pure slink – that could have gotten Dean's blood flowing if it wasn't for the fact she was a monster that had them strung up like chickens. That perfectly manicured hand settled on his bulging deltoid and slid over his collarbone to trail down his chest. Dean gritted his teeth against the shiver that followed that hand across his skin.

"Big, handsome hunter like you? That pulse of adrenaline, the thrill of victory throbbing in your veins? And…maybe some throbbing elsewhere…"

Dean locked his jaw and glared at the creature as her eyes and her hands darted down his body to places they did not belong. One hand picked at his t-shirt, just above his heart, as she drew her gaze back up to stare at him from beneath long, painted eyelashes. He refused to react, despite the fact that he could feel his body answering, at least in part. "You're something else, lady."

It wasn't a compliment, but she smiled widely anyway and slid her fingers tantalizingly back up to his neck. Dean tried to pull away from that cold skin.

"I bet you've gotten yourself plenty of delicious pussy after a good fight. Maybe even a tight ass or two, haven't you, hunter?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell her where exactly she could shove her smugness, but what came out was, "Hell yeah, I have." He blinked, surprise sticking thick to the back of his throat like mucus.

Anat laughed, the sound loud and hollow. She pulled away and a shiver racked Dean's body as that coldness withdrew from his skin like a breeze.

"What the hell was that?" he growled out, rubbing his shoulder against the side of his neck the best he could to chase away the crawling feeling that lingered.

"Compelling, isn't it?" Anat was still chuckling as she crossed the small space towards Castiel, who withdrew as well as he could with her approach. Dean growled low in his throat, not liking her attention on the angel instead. Regardless, she ran those slender fingers down Cas's cheek, even as he jerked his head away from her touch. "How desire simply screams for release."

The goddess's touch turned punishing, hand lashing out to wrap around Castiel's chin, nails like claws digging into his cheeks as she held him still. "Tell me, angel," she said, voice still a purr, "what do you desire?"

"My blade through your heart." The angel didn't even fight her magic, letting the words slip free as though he would have spoken them either way.

Anat pouted, releasing his chin to cup his skin more like a lover. "Not much for fun, you halos. Although, I can't help but notice the undercurrent of penetration in your words." Again, she snickered, stroking his face and pissing both of her conscious captives off with every brush. "For an angel, you reek of humanity, little bird. You must have spent quite some time with them. In all of that, you've never thought about it, even once? Never fantasized, never wondered?"

Castiel ground his teeth against her power, trying to pull away but with nowhere to go. The goddess switched her grip like lightening, wrapping those claws around his chin again, piercing hard enough to draw blood from his pale skin.

"Answer me!" she snapped, power threaded in her voice.

"Yes."

Her anger passed, a truly wicked grin spreading across full, painted lips. The violent grip remained. She lifted one of those fingers from his skin, leaving a trail of red to drip down in its absence, and tapped her nail against his cheek. "Oh? And what does an angel fantasize about?"

Cas's skin darkened, reddening as he fought against her power, veins starting to bulge in his neck and temple as he kept his lips tightly sealed. But he couldn't stop his eyes from sliding over the goddess's shoulder, to the hunter hanging feet away, fighting madly against his restraints while her attention was on his friend.

Anat blinked, glancing behind her to where Dean hung, going still at the sudden attention. The goddess stared for a moment, the two having quite the competition of wills, before she burst into laughter. She release Cas so she could brace a hand against her chest, the amusement bubbling out of her.

"The hunter?" Castiel looked away, teeth grinding hard enough to damage his jaw, but he refused to speak. "Oh, honey. Of all the men! You could do so much better."

Dean glanced between the two of them, chest heaving with exertion from pulling at his ropes. He tried to backtrack the conversation, having only been giving it a half an ear while he focused on getting them out of this mess. But she latched back onto the angel before he figured out what it was they were talking about.

He really, really wished he'd had a little more warning for what came next.

"Is it love?" Her grip practically forced Castiel's jaw open, and he stared up, away from the bitch and the truth she was forcing out of him. "You don't seem the type to do things halfway. This is about so much more than tapping that perfectly tight ass."

Castiel slammed his eyes shut, even as the answer was pulled out of him. "Yes."

Again, Anat glanced over her shoulder at the hunter, who had completely stilled now, with realization niggling and something heavy and full and painful settling deep in his gut. She locked her cold, golden gaze on his and, with that stupid smirk he swore he'd wipe off her face with a machete, asked the angel without taking her eyes Dean, "He didn't know, did he?"

Cas's blue eyes stayed hidden away behind closed lids. "No. He did not."

It felt like the world had gone slow-mo. The real cheesy type that movies used at the worst moments and let drag on for far too long. Dean's eyes left the goddess, tracking to his best friend as complete bafflement (not just confusion or disbelief, but true, punched-in-the-gut-with-a-bag-of-bricks shock) gripped his chest, tried to push all his organs down to join that weird weight in his stomach.

"Cas?" It took a minute, but the world caught back up, and Dean glanced between the angel and the goddess, her eyes still locked on his, cruel amusement lighting her face.

"Oh, this is too good." She laughed, loudly once more, and turned back to the angel. Slivers of ocean blue peaked out from beneath dark lashes, but he kept his gaze unfocused, locked on the rafters. Anat leaned in, almost nuzzling his cheek with her nose as she breathed in his scent, a parody of something far more sensual than this ever could be. "Tell me, angel, what would you do with your hunter, if you could have your way with him?"

Those cruel eyes slid sensually to a still stunned Dean. It was obvious that she was expecting something filthy from Castiel that would make the human truly uncomfortable.

"I would erase his memory of this moment."

Both goddess and hunter startled at that, eyes wide, and turned their focus to him. Surprise painted their features for entirely different reasons. Cas was clenching his jaw hard enough for Dean to hear it grinding, refusing to so much as look at either one of them.

"Interesting," Anat said, tapping her fingers against the angel's skin idly. "Why is that?"

Castiel finally lowered his gaze to lock on the goddess. "Because Dean will never reciprocate these feelings, and this entire conversion is going to needlessly compromise our friendship."

The angel was not looking towards his friend and charge. He didn't even allow himself to view Dean in his periphery. The man he'd fought for, bled for, died for, so many times Castiel had lost count. The man he'd eventually fallen for in every last meaning of the word. Castiel knew this man too well and did not want to see the surprise that would steal his breath away. The stunned confusion that would glass his eyes, turning green depths watery. The hurt that would wrinkle his forehead and pull his eyebrows close together. Then he'd run his tongue over his bottom lip, run the skin rough beneath his top teeth. And were he not tied up, Dean would surely throw his arms out, blink through the emotion until his voice was steady and he didn't look like he was going to let those tears fall, and then he'd ask…

'What the hell, Cas?'

No, Castiel did not need to see that, and so he did not look.

The goddess hummed, tapping her fingers in a wave of mockery against his skin before releasing him as swiftly as she had first taken hold. "Let's see if you're right, shall we?"

Castiel's eyes widened as she left him, her powers draining from his skin like icy rainwater, and she crossed the room towards his hunter. "No! Stop-"

The angel struggled against his bindings. He didn't want her touching Dean. Didn't want Dean to suffer the same humiliation. But mainly, as ashamed of it as Castiel was, he didn't want to hear the words spoken in Dean's voice, formed by his lips, backed by truth. It was a needless cruelty.

Dean tried to pull back as Anat approached, but there was nowhere for him to go and he growled deep in his throat as she cupped his chin with gentle hands, the mockery of a caring lover.

"Is that true, Dean? That you don't feel the same?"

"Fuck you, bitch," he bit out while he still could, but the overriding urge to speak, to answer her questions left him gasping for air. "Yes."

Castiel wasn't looking at him – hadn't looked at him since the goddess had first laid her hands on him – but Dean could see it. The flicker of resignation on a face trying so hard to be stoic. The cracks of disappointment leaking from a mask that had never been perfect. Crushing defeat that he couldn't hide, even though he'd known Dean's words to be true before they were ever spoken aloud.

The human's heart hurt just watching him, so he looked away too and instead imagined the look this ugly bitch would make as Dean stabbed her through the heart. It would certainly wipe that amused smile right off her face as he twisted the knife so much harder than the one she was trying to twist now.

"You couldn't, ever? Even just a teeny bit, little hunter?"

Dean ground his teeth through his forced response. "No."

She hummed again, running her tongue over her lips slowly before she leaned in and licked a stripe up Dean's cheek. The hunter grunted, turning away in disgust as much as he could until she pulled back. Anat just smiled, slid her hand down his neck, to his chest, fiddled with the hem of his neckline, before ultimately pulling away and taking her chill and control with her.

"Well. Guess the angel's really got you pegged. He must know you pretty well. And yet, still he loves you." She made a face as she stepped back. "Too bad for him, huh?"

Dean breathed through his nose, a million and one insults on the tip of his tongue but none of those mattered. All that mattered now was getting himself out of those ropes, getting his angel blade back from wherever she had stashed it, and running this bitch through.

As if she'd heard his murderous thoughts (and given the glare he was stabbing her through with, she probably could have guessed them), Anat raised her hand, flicking her wrist in mid-air. An angel blade suddenly appeared in her hand, and Dean straightened.

Silver platter much? Now all he had to do was get the hell out of the ropes.

Anat turned back to Castiel, and Dean's breath caught in his throat as she placed the tip of the blade to the angel's throat. Cas was forced to tilt his head back to avoid an additional puncture wound from a weapon a lot more permanent than Anat's nails.

Time to find that way out of the ropes right friggin' now.

"Putting you out of your misery would be a mercy after that, don't you agree?" She tilted the blade slightly and Cas hissed, a trickle of blood leaking from the very tip to trace down his neck. When he refused to answer, she reached forward and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, drawing him closer to both her and the blade. "I asked you a question, angel."

"Hey!" Dean yelled before Cas could respond, mouth already opening against his will. Anat paused, weapon still poised, and tilted her head towards her shoulder in acknowledgement. Dean let out a breath of air shaking with anger. "I got one for you, lady."

"Oh?" The goddess lowered the blade, half turning to regard the human with a flicker of amusement. "You do, do you?"

"Come find out."

Castiel shook his head, but Dean ignored him as Anat crossed the distance, humming in approval. She slithered up to him, tapping his chest with the flat of the blade.

"This should be good. What's your question, hunter?"

"Not my question," Dean answered, lowering his head to regard her with a dangerous look born from Hell itself. "Yours. Ask me what I'm going to do when I get down from here."

Anat chuckled, eyes darting up to the ropes securely wrapped around the hunter's wrist, leaving him suspended and as helpless as any of the victims she had drained dry over days of sucking the desire and violence and need right out of their frail little bodies.

"Okay, I'll bite." She lowered the blade and replaced it with her free hand, chewing on her lip as she reached up to curl fingers around the back of the hunter's neck and play with the short hairs there. Anat leaned in, pressing herself flush to the mortal man, breath brushing his lips as she whispered, "What are you going to do to me when you get out of those restraints, Dean?"

"Nothing."

Anat let out a startled gasp as her body arced into the man with a staggering force. The angel blade fell from her hand to clatter on the ground as another ripped through flesh and muscle. She reached up shakily, chin dipping to stare at her chest and the tip of the silver, celestial blade sticking out of her bloodied sternum.

"Cuz you'll already be dead."

The goddess screamed as cracks rippled through her body, spreading from the bleeding wound until she was wrapped entirely in them. Then she shattered, like so much broken glass, and collapsed into a pile of scattered ash on the barn floor.

Sam, chest heaving and bloodied angel blade in hand, stumbled for a second, clutching at his pounding head that made the room spin and his vision fuzzy and his ears sound like he was underwater. He made his way to his brother mostly blind, kicking through the remains of what had once been Anat, to reach up towards Dean's ropes.

Cutting him down wasn't easy, and Dean had to do half the work since his little brother was seriously suffering from a concussion. But once he was free, Dean told Sam to sit down before he fell down ('and, you know, thanks for the save'), and quickly crossed the open space towards Cas, Sam's angel blade in hand.

Castiel met his eyes for only a moment, Dean struggling to keep that gaze himself, before blue flickered away and the hunter put all his focus into cutting the angel down. Cas didn't say anything, shaking the last of the ropes off before pushing past Dean to assist Sam. The angel's grace wasn't what it used to be, but healing a concussion was still within his power.

The angel steadied his friend as he swayed in his upright position on the floor. He pressed two fingers to Sam's forehead. Dean joined them, expecting the wave of relief to cross his brother's face as the angel's healing power washed over him. Only it didn't happen.

"Cas?" the hunter prodded, chancing a glance at the angel who was frowning deeply in way more concentration than should be needed to heal a head wound.

Castiel flinched and pulled his hand away, shaking out his fingers like he'd received a shock from an electrical socket. "I cannot access my grace. Whatever Anat did to render me powerless has not worn off yet."

"Tha's okay, Cas," Sam slurred, his stomach a roiling storm, eyes clenched tight to fight down the swimming sea. "Jus' a cuncushun. Had pl'nty b'fore."

"Okay, time for a car ride, little brother." Dean leaned down, grabbing Sam beneath his arms and pulling upwards. Sam struggled to help – mostly doing the opposite, but not much could be blamed on the poor kid at that moment, especially considering he'd just saved their asses – and Dean staggered beneath his weight. It equalized as Castiel stepped up to Sam's other side, slinging one long arm over his significantly shorter shoulders and sparing Dean a glance that didn't last long.

The hunter found himself swallowing glass through a desert-dry throat. "Right. Hopefully Baby's right where we left her."

Or he'd be figuring out how to raise a goddess from the dead just so he could run her through again.

-o-o-o-

They got Sam in the backseat with minimal difficulty due mainly to years of practice. Cas leaned across his semi-conscious form and pressed his hand to the human's head once more. Sam mumbled something incomprehensible before his eyes slide closed and he went limp. It wasn't much, but it was all the angel was capable of for the time being.

"Uh…we shouldn't let him sleep with a concussion," Dean mentioned offhandedly. He was pretty sure Cas knew that, but those big brother protocols drilled into every fiber of his being never did know when to keep quiet.

"He will be fine. I will heal him the rest of the way when my grace is fully restored." Or, as restored as the pathetic tatters of his once powerful light could be these days. Cas walked around the Impala to the passenger seat, leaving Dean to close the backdoor.

The hunter chewed aggressively on the inside of his cheek as he watched the angel climb into the car without another word. The tension in the air was like friggin' Jell-O; kept wiggling long after it had been poked. With a frustrated sigh and a hand through his hair, Dean yanked open the driver's side door and slid into the car.

-o-o-o-

They drove back towards town in total silence for almost ten minutes before Dean couldn't take it anymore.

"So are we just not gonna talk about this?" The leather of Baby's steering wheel creaked beneath his grip as he wrung his hands over her smooth curves. He darted a look to the rear view mirror, checking for the fourth time that Sam was still completely out in the backseat.

"I assumed that would be your preference."

Dean's eyes started towards the angel sitting passenger side – expression stoic and back rigidly straight – but aborted halfway there and refocused on the road. He fought the urge to gnash his teeth against that pooling weight back in his stomach. "Yeah, well-"

The hunter cut himself off, not even knowing what it was he wanted to say. That Cas didn't know him as well as that bitch mocked them for? Only he did. Because this was absolutely something Dean didn't want to talk about. But he couldn't just leave it unspoken, either. Couldn't pretend it didn't happen. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Never."

Dean sputtered indignation. "What the hell, Cas!"

"You do not reciprocate my feelings." Cas turned towards him and Dean snapped his gaze forward, heart hammering in his chest at even so much as the idea of having to stare his friend down as they discussed this. "Telling you about them was superfluous at that point."

Dean gnashed his teeth and sputtered some more, wringing Baby's leather in ways she didn't deserve that he'd have to make up for later. "Don't you think I deserve to know that my best friend is friggin'…friggin'– That's something you tell a person, damnit!"

The angel in his passenger seat sighed, rubbing at his forehead and Dean wanted to tell him that he wasn't the one who got to be annoyed, here.

"To what end, Dean?" Castiel lowered his hand and retrained his tired gaze on his charge. "I am aware how you feel about romantic relationships to start with, nevermind one between a human and something other. And though I am not male, this body is, and you have made it clear through your… nightly activities over the years that you are not interested in men sexually."

Dean swallowed and sputtered and also choked on his own spit because please, dear lord, could they stop talking about sexuality and nightly activities and Cas having a mother effing crush on him all in the same sentence, please? Only no, they couldn't, because Dean was the one who apparently wouldn't let this go.

"The goddess revealing my feelings for you will have done nothing tonight but ruin our friendship."

At that, Dean pulled his head back, insulted and angry and offended all in one. "It's not- it won't- our friendship isn't ruined, Cas."

"You can't even look at me, Dean."

The hunter fell rigidly silent, realizing the truth in that statement.

Castiel sighed, deep and weary and so damn full of resignation and regret. Dean didn't like it. Didn't like hearing Cas sound like that. Liked even less that it was about him. Liked even less what it was about him they were discussing.

"Yes, I love you." And even though he'd known what it was the goddess was pulling from Cas like so many broken teeth, it still punched the air out of his lungs to hear it in those dreaded three words. It sent that weight in his gut plummeting into his feet and bouncing right back up into his throat. How could Cas talk about this – say that – so damn casually?

"At first… I didn't understand what I was feeling. For a long time I thought it was a platonic love. The love of brothers, of family. But…I love Sam, and yet I love you in a very different way." Cas was staring out the windshield and Dean caught a quick reflection of eyes full of pain that had nothing to do with his minor physical wounds. God, this sucked and Dean didn't have any idea what to do about it.

"I am aware it is not a love you will ever return, and I have come to accept that. I never told you because I value our friendship more than even the slimmest chance of a romantic relationship with you."

The human swallowed in the silence that followed, entirely unaware of what to say to that. His fingers felt like they were shaking, but that could have been the white-knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel or the adrenaline crash, for all he knew. A flittering wish, only for the briefest moment, that this had never happened quickly called forth another thought, and Dean sucked air through his teeth.

"Would you… Would you really have erased my memory of…" he cleared his throat, "…that?"

"Not without your permission," Cas answered quietly, rolling his head to the side to stare at the passing streetlights and trees, blurring together in the night under the Impala's speed, the closest thing he got to flying anymore. It was a poor imitation. "I would never alter your mind without your knowledge, Dean."

The hunter nodded, knowing the answer but still… Memories of a Castiel who might have done it were not so many years away as to nullify his fears entirely. He knew his friend was thinking of the same years. Of going behind Dean's back, of lying to him and Sam. Of betraying them.

Dean really hadn't meant to dredge all of that up and stir it into this already nightmarish cocktail.

"And if I gave you my permission?"

That dark head of wind-blown hair turned towards him abruptly, but Dean kept his eyes on the road as his arms prickled with raised hairs and his palms turned clammy. Castiel was staring at him. He could feel the intensity of those blue eyes more than he could see in his peripheral vision. Seconds ticked by like hours before the angel finally looked away.

"Then I would comply with your request."

The reply was monotone. Dull. Dean really didn't like the robot answers he was getting from the angel. It was too similar to how his friend had been when he was under someone else's control. When he'd been on Heaven's short leash, both under Zachariah and Naomi. But Dean didn't know what to say to possibly make this better.

He hadn't been lying back in that barn (couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to); he didn't feel that way about Cas. The angel was his friend – his best friend – and he loved him as that. But not more. And now… now he had no clue how to handle knowing Cas felt that way about him.

-o-o-o-

Cas didn't stay in the motel that night. They'd left his truck there when the three climbed into the Impala hours earlier, and the angel grabbed his keys once they'd gotten a fully healed Sam resting on one of the room's two beds. Dean made a half-hearted attempt to convince the angel to stay, but Cas was insistent that he should sweep the area, make sure there was nothing left of the goddess's power or anything remiss that might continue to harm the townsfolk. The older Winchester didn't really fight him on it. He didn't know what to say, and honestly, some space between them might help him figure it out for next time.

It didn't. Castiel was waiting for them beside his truck the following morning. They exchanged awkward small talk, which had a fully recovered Sam staring at both of them with a definite what-the-hell expression, before they parted ways to drive back to the bunker separately. Sam, unsure what the hell had happened the night before to cause such weird tension between his brother and his friend, didn't say much about it, but he did keep Cas in view in the side mirror of the Impala as they drove the four hour trip back to Lebanon.

Dean filled him in on what he'd missed; some Egyptian goddess had knocked him out, strung Cas and Dean up, and proceeded to yap until Sam ganked the bitch. Despite Sam pressuring him for more details – like whatever had gone down to make things so obviously awkward between the hunter and his angel – Dean insisted there was nothing else to tell and clammed right up anytime Sam pushed.

So they arrived back at the bunker with Sam none the wiser on what had gone down, but the elephant in the room between Cas and his brother was just as big in the bunker as it had been in that barn. Maybe bigger.

-o-o-o-

Dean wasn't great at admitting he was wrong. He was probably worse at admitting someone else was right. And damnit, Cas had been right.

It had been weeks since the damn goddess had forced the confession out of the angel's lips, and Dean hadn't managed anything close to normal a single day since. And it pissed him off so damn much. He couldn't do it, couldn't pretend like he didn't know what he knew, and now everything he thought he'd known about his friendship with Cas was constantly being called into question.

Everything he did, his brain supplied him with questions he didn't have answers to. Was he leading Cas on by passing too close to him in the hallway? Had he always passed that close, or was he just hyper aware of distance, now? Was Cas getting the wrong idea when their hands accidentally brushed handing over a weapon on a hunt? Or sharing a room at motels as they still occasionally did? Was Cas acutely aware of where Dean chose to sit when they were in the same room? He realized pretty quickly that he and the angel often sat on the same side of the table in the library. And in the kitchen. And at diners. Was that because Cas was in love with him? If Dean kept sitting next to him, was he encouraging that? Leading him on? If he changed his routine, was he going to hurt Cas's feelings? Yeah, he'd rejected the angel, but Cas was his friend. He never wanted to hurt him intentionally.

It got so bad that Dean was friggin' freezing up just trying to sit down at a damn table. Eventually, Cas would make the choice for him, either by switching to Sam's side or sometimes by leaving the room entirely. And each time, Sam's bitchface grew worse. Dean didn't even have a good lie for him.

An entire month passed that way, with Dean tongue-tied in panic about how he might be leading Cas on anytime he said anything remotely positive in the angel's direction. Or suggesting they tag-team on a hunt. Or the angel help him get something down in storage. Or head to the kitchen for a beer. Or pretty much any and all things, no matter how mundane or innocuous.

It was at the point where Castiel was avoiding Dean, and the hunter knew it was entirely for his benefit and not the angel's. He'd declined to join them on the last two hunts, and most days Cas now stayed in his room, researching Kelly Kline's whereabouts from his laptop.

And then, one day he was standing in the war room with his trench coat on and a backpack hanging over one shoulder, car keys in hand. He was leaving, for a time.

"Leaving?" Dean balked, anger flaring more fiercely than he knew it should, but honestly, he didn't know what the hell his emotions were doing ninety-eight percent of the time anymore. "Leaving where?"

"I'm going to search for Kelly manually, as we have no leads," Castiel explained, meeting Dean's eyes without shame or reservation, and biting back any reaction when the hunter couldn't keep his gaze. He never could, anymore. "I may have better luck finding her if I'm out on the road."

Dean didn't buy it for a second. He knew what this was. This was Cas hiding out in his room, only on steroids. This was the angel giving him even more space because, damnit, Cas had been friggin' right all along. Their friendship had changed. It was strained – an absolute mess – and Dean didn't know how to fix it. Couldn't turn off what he'd heard from his best friend.

Sam, just about at wits end and wanting to kind of hit both of his brothers upside their heads, let out a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and told Castiel not to leave. He looked expectantly at Dean, but the older Winchester didn't know what to say. Honestly, having some space from Cas might be what he needed. Maybe it would fix them.

Cas nodded in the silence that followed Sam's expectant glare, and Sam realized the angel had already known his brother's answer to a question no one had asked aloud.

"I'll check in with my progress, or when I find something."

The sound of the heavy bunker door closing rung in the silence he left behind and Sam stared at Dean, so damn disappointed and frustrated with him. And Dean couldn't even meet his eye. The older Winchester turned and headed back into the library. He picked up his half-eaten burger he'd made for a lunch and took it back to the kitchen to throw away. Unsurprisingly, he'd utterly lost his appetite.

-o-o-o-

After a week of getting nowhere with Dean, Sam switched tactics. His brother refused to talk to him, and truth be told, the older Winchester was off balance. Sam kinda wanted to punch him on most days. So Sam switched tactics by switching targets.

Come home.

The younger Winchester stared at his phone, waiting for a response he knew would come shortly. Castiel had checked in with them often enough that neither of them really worried, though it did nothing for Sam's frustration or Dean's…whatever.

He'd managed to guilt Dean into sending Cas several texts of the same variety, but Cas returned each the same way. He would return when he found Kelly Kline. Until then, that was a problem that needed to be solved and he was actively trying to do that.

Sam had tried several times himself, only to receive the same lines, or whereabouts. He never included it in his message, but Sam didn't think the angel should be out on his own. Castiel had struggled with depression in the past, with feeling unwanted, kicked out of his home once before. The younger Winchester didn't think Cas leaving of his own accord was much better this time. It was too similar to past grievances not to run the risk of causing a relapse. And Cas had honest-to-God been getting better.

But Sam didn't say any of that, because he didn't want to give Cas the impression that he didn't think the angel was strong enough or that the brother's didn't trust him to stay out of trouble. Also things that the angel had struggled with in the not-so-distant past.

When Castiel didn't answer in his customary two minutes, Sam didn't wait around and pressed the phone icon next to the angel's name.

"Come home," he repeated the moment the line picked up.

He heard Cas's hesitation – his resignation – on the other end of the call and he wanted to shake the angel. Cas's absence wasn't helping anyone, least of all the angel himself. "We need to find Kelly Kline."

Sam bit back his frustration at the automatic reply and Cas's go-to. He reminded himself that getting angry with Cas wasn't going to do anything that Dean hadn't already covered by being a complete ass or an emotionally incompetent child.

"Roaming around the country randomly isn't going to find her, Cas."

"It could." There was a pause, but not a long enough one to give Sam any kind of hope. "Do you have any new leads?"

It was Sam's turn to stall, falling silent as he clenched his teeth and fought the urge to lie if it meant it brought Cas home. But that wasn't going to help Cas's trust issues where the brothers were concerned, and Sam refused to damage their relationship any further than Dean already had, for reasons still unknown to the younger Winchester.

"No," he ground out, his own frustration clear even if he managed to bite back that sigh.

"Then this is a more productive use of my time than sitting around the bunker waiting for one."

"Because Dean's here?" Sam couldn't help but bite out, and didn't regret that he had.

Down the line, Cas sighed. "If Dean requires space to handle this challenge to our friendship, then my being out looking for Kelly isn't hurting anything."

"What happened with the goddess, Cas?" Sam didn't remember much from before Cas healed him that night. He had muddled memories of waking up to find himself inside the barn they'd previously been pulling up to in the Impala. He had blurry flashes of Cas and Dean strung up, of the woman – the goddess, he'd later learned – with a blade poised on Cas. But that was about it. His vision had swam and his hearing had been shot. And his brother wouldn't talk to him, surprise surprise.

"What the hell could she possibly have done to mess you two up so badly?" he said, more for himself than an actual question directed at the angel.

"I do not believe Dean would want me sharing that story." It wasn't the first time Sam had asked, but it was probably the closest to hesitation he'd ever heard in the angel's response. The younger Winchester straightened up, grabbing onto that strand, however small and fragile it was.

"Wait…is this-" Sam tightened his grip on his cell subconsciously as a thought occurred to him. A hunch – well, more than a hunch – about the angel that he'd had for quite some time now. "Cas, this isn't about how you- how you feel-"

"I have to go now, Sam," Cas interrupted, speaking over the hunter to drown his inquiry before it could be completed. "I will check in at the end of the week or if I find something sooner."

Castiel hung up before Sam could protest, but he might as well have answered the question Sam hadn't finished asking.

Well shit.

At least now Sam had some idea what the hell was wrong with his brother. A couple missing pieces of the puzzle slid right into place, now that he had the bigger picture to work with. The next step was figuring out how on earth to approach it without Dean shutting down any further. If that was even possible at this point.

Unfortunately for the Winchesters, the next round of shit to hit the fan that was their lives did so before Sam had a chance to talk with his emotionally challenged brother. Because of course it did.

-o-o-o-

Part 2:

When Life gives you Lemons, Buy a Bigger Fan

(and When the Store is Sold Out of Fans, Go for the Tequila)

-o-o-o-

Castiel stared at the phone in his hand as the screen flashed Dean Winchester's name and the device buzzed with the incoming call. The angel hesitated, though he did not know why. He had every intention of answering. Despite the current strain in their relationship, he would always answer when Dean called.

"Hello, Dean." He pressed the device to his ear, hoping to avoid any more of the awkward small talk that had been their friendship for the last three months.

"Heya, Cas. Sam and I caught a case and we could really use your help on this one." Dean's voice was surprisingly even, and Castiel blinked at the steady vocals coming down the line. Hope – that perhaps they were on the mend, that things could return to normal, that Castiel could go home – flickered at the edges of his grace and he hesitated far longer than he yet had to push those feelings back. Perhaps time and space had given Dean the distance he needed to move past Castiel's unfortunate confession. "Think you can meet us?"

"Of course. Where are you?"

Dean rattled off an address only an hour away, telling him he'd text it to him as well so he didn't have to remember it, and then almost cheerfully hung up. Castiel stared at the screen as he lowered the phone, confusion rattling around in his mind, mixing with those frazzled strands of hope he kept pushing back.

With a little frown pulling at his brow, Castiel climbed into his truck and pulled out of the Biggerson's parking lot to head towards Dean's location. It wasn't like he was making any progress on Kelly Kline's location anyway.

-o-o-o-

Castiel stared up at the small farm Dean's address had taken him to. It was a nicely kept building, with several grain silos in the distance, a chicken coop filled with flittering birds pecking at the ground, and a stretch of field for what appeared to be more poultry of various types. Castiel couldn't sense any humans around, but the Impala was sitting beside where he'd parked his truck, and the angel could tell the Righteous Man was inside the main building of the farm, painted a cliché but appropriate red with white trim.

"Dean? Sam?" Castiel pushed open the large sliding door, reaching out with his senses once more for the younger Winchester, but he came up empty. It was possible the two had split up, as they often did on cases that covered large, open spaces like this current property.

It was dark inside, and his call echoed along the metal vats that lined the far wall of the barn. This must be a processing building of some sort, though Castiel was not familiar enough with human agriculture and animal domestication to know what this particular farm was for. The angel moved past the machinery on one side, several long tables with raised edges. A thin layer of clear water pooled inside each basin. Plumbing pipes and wires ending in metallic tips hung above these tables, and Castiel paused to stare at them curiously – he could hear the light humming of electricity coming in those wires – before he moved forward on his mission.

"Dean?" he called again, following the beacon that Dean Winchester's marked soul had always been for him.

"Hey, Cas."

The angel turned to his right as the hunter came out from between two of the large, cone-topped vats, and Castiel wondered briefly what it was he'd been doing back there. The human did not look well. Despite the simple smile on his lips, he looked tired, with sallow skin and circles beneath his eyes. Castiel did not get the chance to inquire as to Dean's health, however. The hunter flicked his thumb over something in his hand that Castiel recognized as a lighter scant milliseconds before it was dropped to the floor.

Cas stumbled back a step in surprise as flames sprung up around him in a circle. Confusion was quickly overridden by a flare of betrayal and hurt, before the angel violently shoved those feelings – useless in this moment – to the side. Dean had not sounded like himself on the phone earlier, he did not look well, Sam was clearly missing, and all of that very quickly led Castiel to the cold hard facts. This was not Dean, or, at the very least, Dean was not in control of the situation. The angel had very little reason to believe his friend would do this to him, despite their current…difficulties.

"What is this?" He squared his shoulders and stared at the hunter head-on, uncertain which scenario he was facing. The bright, pulsing soul within Dean's chest was certainly that of his friend, and he hoped this was a matter of witchcraft or control and not something much harder to undo.

"This is a trap." A new voice – a feminine voice – came from the space Dean had stepped out from moments ago, and was followed by a voluptuous, unclothed woman, adorned in an ornate gold choker and hefty bangles. A half-moon crown of white stone sat atop her loosely gathered bun. "Hello, angel."

"You are a deity." Castiel did not bother reacting to her statement (he'd figured as much out for himself, obviously) or to her state of undress. He had seen humanity grow from the dawn of time, and that included a lengthy period of little-to-no clothing. Nudity was nothing new or particularly exceptional to him.

"Astarte," the goddess answered with a nod, coming to stand beside Dean. She reached her arm up, resting the tip of her elbow on the hunter's taller shoulder, leaning into him in something of a sensual pose that curved her spine and left a voluptuous hip jutted out in a sharp contrapposto. Beside her, the hunter smiled almost dopily, though his eyes stayed on the angel trapped in the ring of flames.

"Sister-goddess to Anat," Castiel supplied, realizing now how much of a trap this truly was. His voice remained steady and unchanging, though unease curled in his gut. His captor's identity explained the look of his hunter: Dean's glazed eyes, pale and clammy skin. Like her sister, this was also a goddess of desire and secrets, one who could clearly snare men in the power of her enchantments. And given her state of undress and that damn dreamy smile on Dean's face, Castiel had little doubt how exactly it was she had ensnared him.

His fists clenched at his sides and he fought to stay neutral, if only for his friend. One of them needed to remain clear-headed if they were going to get out of this. Dean was obviously no longer a candidate for the task, so Castiel could not allow his emotions to compromise him. So he stalled, words falling from his lips easily enough as he surreptitiously glanced around the room, looking for anything that might douse the flames. "It was believed you and Anat had merged into one."

Astarte shrugged one delicate, bare shoulder, turning her body into Dean as she started to fiddle with the rolled up sleeve of his flannel, as though this was merely a domestic conversation. Castiel barely resisted the need to grind his teeth as the goddess touched what he knew was not his but felt the affront as though it was, all the same.

"We did, in some ways. I felt my sister's death as deeply as though it was my own, as we both felt Quetesh's end so many years ago. Now I am the last. I am alone." She dropped her hands, chin dipping as she breathed in something mournful. Then she turned fully to the angel and anger simmered in her golden eyes. "And you were the ones to make it so."

"So this is revenge." Castiel kept his voice even – bored, Dean had amusedly called it after a hunt gone wrong, not so unlike this one – and would not be swayed by her anger or justification. Anat had been killing innocent humans and had to be stopped. Her death was as simple as that and Castiel had no regrets there.

"Actually, Sammy was the one to kill her," Dean volunteered, that stupid smile still stretched across his face in a way it had no right to be. No Dean Winchester that Castiel had ever known would willingly volunteer his brother for the slaughter. Not even Dean as a demon had managed that without at least hesitation. The angel clenched his fists at his side and swore to kill this woman as surely as the younger Winchester had killed her sister.

Astarte beamed up at the hunter, her eyes flashing dangerously in complete contrast to the almost sweet smile spread across her pretty, painted lips. She patted Dean's chest. "I know, stud, and we're going to call him here next. Right after we take care of the angel."

Dean was already nodding, but his smile slipped for a moment and those glazed pupils were suddenly filled with confusion and the beginnings of clarity. "We will?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie." Astarte smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt and Castiel could feel her push more power into Dean's chest, right where his heart was. He gritted his teeth as the hunter's posture relaxed once more and that dumb smile split his face wider.

"Okay."

Castiel infused his voice with every inch of the commanding angel he had once been, acutely aware that it was all he had currently to fight against the goddess. At least for now. "Release him. I am the one you want. I facilitated Anat's death."

Astarte hummed, much like her sister had been fond of doing. She straightened Dean's shirt, leisurely motions setting Cas's teeth on edge, before she turned from the hunter with a telling dip of her head. "Not true. You know, no man can lie to me. Not even an angel, it would seem. You each played a part in my sister's demise. Even had you not, you were all three there; you will all three die."

The goddess held out her hand to the hunter beside her, and Dean reached into his inner jacket. Castiel's breath caught (though he refused to let it show) when Dean withdrew his angel blade and passed it over without complaint. Suddenly, the Cas was very aware of how dire a situation this truly was. Within the circle of holy fire he was defenseless, and now, on top of it, Astarte had the means to kill him with a single thrust.

He could not let that happen. He could not leave Dean under her control.

His best defense was that Astarte would have to cross the flames to kill him. They may not be as deadly to her, but fire was still fire. Perhaps he could meet her head on, gain the advantage and use her body as a bridge like he once had with Meg, a lifetime ago.

Cas mentally prepared himself for the assault, but it never came. Instead, Dean removed a second object from his jacket pocket and tossed it Castiel's way. The angel caught them one-handed, bringing his arm down to find a set of handcuffs in his open palm, modified with the Enochian symbols for ensnarement. Blue eyes rose to regard the woman coldly. She must think him an idiot if she expected him to willingly put them on.

Astarte clucked her tongue cockily and, in a motion as taunting as everything else had been so far, she raised the tip of the angel blade to Dean's throat. The human tilted his head back to avoid being cut, but otherwise did not appear alarmed. Castiel wondered what level of awareness his friend even had. That stupid smile – perhaps a tad smaller now, but still there nonetheless – suggested the answer was 'not much.'

The metallic click of the bracelets locking around his skin was loud in the quiet facility. Once he had secured his second hand, the chain between each bracelet significantly shorter than the version the Winchester's kept in the bunker, Astarte gestured once more and Dean walked a few feet away to one of the tables with pooled water. Beside one of the table legs was a bucket that he scooped up with a swagger. Castiel ground his teeth at his friend's obvious cheer, the human starting up a tune. Dean dipped the container into the inch or so of liquid and returned, whistling, to douse the flames.

As he did so, Astarte idly cleaned her fingernails with the tip of the blade in her other hand. "My original intention was to kill you," she began, not even looking at Castiel as she spoke to him. "But then Dean, here, told me all about the little angel with a crush on him."

Cas shuttered his eyes for a moment, taking a deep but silent breath in through his mouth to avoid any other reaction. He couldn't help the hurt that flashed through him like a blade of its own, or the shame that followed. All for emotions he had, until so recently, staunchly refused to be ashamed of. But he could not stop the hurt any more than he could stop loving Dean. To have his love be little else than a joke shared – an irony in itself, since the older Winchester had barely spoken to him at all these past weeks – with a complete stranger, and an enemy at that.

Castiel packaged all of that up into a small box and shoved it deep, deep down in heart and mind. Right this moment such things were a danger and a distraction, neither of which he had the bandwidth for. The whole thing had unlikely been by Dean's choice, either.

The hunter said nothing, and Castiel was purposefully keeping his eyes forward, locked on the goddess that held them both. His focus needed to be entirely on escaping this situation. This…dilemma with Dean and their relationship would have to wait until they were both alive and free to discuss it.

Astarte, no doubt monologuing about her genius plan for revenge (which Castiel honestly wasn't listening to), was interrupted by the trill ringing of a cell phone, coming from the angel's pocket. Dean, having put out the fire, set his water bucked down and stepped over the blackened line to come around Castiel's front. He patted the angel's sides, feeling for the telling shape. With Dean so close, Cas switched his gaze to his friend's face, searching for a weakness in Astarte's spell. Dean withdrew the phone from his coat and crossed back over to the goddess before Castiel found anything.

"Sam," Astarte read aloud from the brightened screen of the still ringing phone. "Dean, my pet, how long do we have before your brother finds us with this?"

"If Cas doesn't answer?" The phone went silent in Astarte's hand and Dean shrugged beside her. "He'll call again, then he'll look up the GPS. He'll have our location in the next fifteen minutes and probably get here in… maybe an hour total? You should turn it off if you need longer."

The goddess hummed again, staring down at the device. "No, that ought to be enough time." She turned her back on both hunter and angel to set the phone down on the cement foundation of one the vats she and Dean had hidden behind. Almost immediately, it started to ring a second time.

Castiel prayed that Dean's assessment was wrong and that Sam was much closer. Truth be told, they might need a Winchester-last-minute-rescue. But he couldn't afford to count on it. If Dean knew one thing with a hundred percent certainty, it was anything and everything to do with Sam Winchester. If Dean said he was an hour away…well, unless he had more control over his faculties than he was letting on, Sam wouldn't be there for an hour.

"Do you know what I am a goddess of, Angel?" Leaving the phone behind, Astarte walked towards the cuffed celestial being, hips swaying with each step.

"Sexual desire and violence." Castiel straightened as she approached, stopping at the edge of the burnt circle he had yet to exit. There was not much point without a plan, which he was still desperately working on. "Like your sister."

"Ah, yes. We shared a lot, my sisters and me. But we were also very different. Perhaps it was what kept us from merging completely into one entity over the years." The goddess ran her hand distractedly down the gleaming blade in her hand. Castiel did not believe for a second that she was not acutely aware of everything she did. "Anat's appetite was a little more…complex. She fed on secrets that wanted out. Desires. And she could whittle them out of almost anyone. Engorge them until her victim was bloated with need, begging for release. And she would give it to them: suck them dry of the truths they could not let go of on their own."

Astarte turned her head to the side, pausing her overly sexualized speech as Castiel's phone began ringing for a third time. A little frown of annoyance crossed her features as she stared at the small, buzzing device in contemplation. For a moment, she didn't move, but then she was sweeping her way back towards the vat, hips swinging in distaste rather than sensuality. What once spoke of grace and desire now seemed fierce and volatile. She raised her arm and slammed the angel blade home, cracking the phone in two and embedding the weapon into the concrete.

There was that second part of her deism, Castiel supposed.

"My needs are not so complicated." The goddess resumed her speech, rising to her full height, which may be nothing compared to the two other beings in the room, but physical strength was not where her power lied. Her body was once more a portrait of desire and Dean watched her with that stupid smile, just a few feet away from Castiel, who had only a glare and no shortage of impatience to share with either of them. Though, he knew that every second she was speaking was another second she was not killing him before he could plan their escape.

Turning back to them, Astarte saddled up to the hunter, cupping her hand around his neck and causing Castiel to tense at the sight of it. It was clear that she had fed on him already and a repeat act was not one Castiel could allow to happen, let alone be forced to watch. The goddess drew the hunter close, though she hardly had to work at it. Dean went willingly, that smile stretched across his face in a dreamy manner that both infuriated and solaced Cas. Dean's mind was far away, that much was very clear, and as helpful as it might have been to have his friend's cunning brilliance and luck right now, it would be far worse for Dean to be awake through this.

"I thrive on sexual desire, clean and simple. Well… maybe not clean." She sent a wicked look Castiel's way, before Dean leaned down to seal their lips together and Cas put eight little crescent shaped wounds in his palms.

He had spent many years aware of his feelings (and many more before that lost as to why he seemed to have so little control over himself or his thoughts in the presence of the hunter). Throughout that time he had seen Dean become involved with all manner of woman, and he had been fine with it. Dean's feelings did not mirror is own and the human did not desire a relationship with Castiel. There was no reason to hold it against him for pursuing the desires he did have.

This, however, was not any of those things. This was a violation. Dean would not want this woman all over him, were he capable of refusing her. Despite his own feelings, Castiel knew this truth to be unbiased, on the sole fact that Dean Winchester believed in – and respected – free will. And free will meant having a choice, having the option to say no.

Astarte was using his spelled will and Castiel's affections to torment them both. And he would kill her for it when he got them out of this.

Dean lips were red and swollen from the kiss which Cas had largely ignored for the sake of looking for a way out (and for the sake of not losing their way out because he was too overcome with rage to think properly). As Dean finally, finally pulled back from the goddess, she made a noise no decent human made in the company of others if they were not a member of a porn film. At least not in Castiel's experience.

It made his blood boil, as much as he tried to contain the useless ire.

"You will not touch him again," the angel intoned, knowing his threat was currently empty but still promising himself – and Dean – that he would fulfill it.

Astarte laughed, reaching up and wiping the corner of the hunter's mouth. She smiled up at him and Dean returned it, oblivious to the danger he was in even as she stepped away from him and addressed the angel. "He's not the one you should be concerned about."

For a brief moment, Castiel's eyes darted to the broken phone and his thoughts were filled with worry for Sam's unprepared arrival. However, he very much doubted her warning was for the Winchester an hour away.

"I am an angel. A Warrior of God," he replied, voice huffy with the strength and weight that position once carried and the modicum of shielding it offered him now. "You will find me an unappealing meal."

Astarte broke into laughter, but Castiel refused to be shamed. He may have feelings for a human, may be in love with his friend, may have fallen far from what he once was, but his own sexual desire was still quite muted. He was an angel, and as such he was capable of sex, even interested, but the physical and hormonal drives that were such a part of humankind were not a part of him. There was little for her to feed on but curiosity.

"Oh, you're not wrong about that. As you are now, you'd barely be a snack, honey. Killing you would take more energy than you're worth."

Castiel hid his flinch at her words well, too reminiscent of a time not so long ago when he had felt that very way. When a fellow angel had said as much and Castiel could not shake that she was right. When the Darkness had confirmed it and Lucifer only drove it home. It was something Cas no longer believed to be true, thanks in a large part to the Winchester brothers making such an effort to drive the message home and have it stick this time. Still, the words dug deep into old wounds and clung like spindled barbs.

"As pathetic as that sputtering flame inside of you is now, it is still there. I can see it. I can almost feel it." Astarte breathed in deeply, closing her eyes and pressing her hands to her bosom. Castiel understood why men so easily fell under her spell. He could feel the pull, even as an angel. It left a sour taste in his mouth. She opened golden eyes once more and locked a dangerous, hungry gaze on him. "I'm willing to bet, with the object of those desires under my thrall, we can turn you into quite the feast."

The angel regarded her with little more than bemusement. That was, until Astarte slipped around behind Dean. Her hand slid along his shoulders, across the nape of his neck where she played with the little hairs there that Castiel knew would send shivers of pleasure down the human's spine (from one too many accidental arrivals while Dean was…busy with nightly activities). The goddess of sex and war leaned in, arm draped across his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, and whispered in his ear just loud enough for Castiel's enhanced hearing to pick up.

"Make him feel good, stud."

Castiel's brow pinched tightly, part in concern to what she was doing to his friend, part in confusion from her words. Then she was stepping away and Dean was pulling his jacket off, green eyes locked on Cas in a way they never had before. Understanding hit as his friend tossed his coat to the floor with a predatory grin that Dean only ever got when he was in a bar 'on the hunt,' as he called it.

Astarte's words slammed home and panic immediately followed. Castiel stumbled back, raising cuffed hands in front of his chest to somehow ward the human off.

"Dean, stop," he commanded, though he knew he had no power here. The hunter swept in, arm curling around Castiel's waist and pulling the angel flush to him, trapping his chained hands between them. Cas refused to acknowledge the hitch in his breath as Dean leaned down and stole any further protests off his lips with a kiss.

The sound that left him involuntarily when Dean's tongue entered his mouth was not one Castiel was particularly proud of, even if the mere knowledge that Dean had been the one to cause it sent heat pooling in his belly. Still, he managed to pull away, breathing far more raggedly than one kiss had any right to cause, and he pushed at Dean's chest with the flat of his palms.

"You need to fight it." The words, meant to be a command fueled by angelic power and righteous intent, were breathless. For all he knew, Dean was deaf to them anyway, as he dipped his head back down and started sucking a wet, terrible, wretchedly delicious trail up Cas's neck. The hand at the small of Cas's back kept him pressed to the hunter, and all the fight in him couldn't have made his muscles work properly enough to pull away. All his traitorous body seemed capable of was stumbling back. But Dean only followed, their bodies still flush, their lips sealed together, until Castiel had backed himself right into one of the metal tables, water sloshing inside with the force of Dean trapping him against it.

The angel was ignoring all sorts of hitches in his breathing, now. Dean pulled away, and Cas was not proud of how he practically gasped for air. He'd known, in an observational way, that Dean was a talented lover, but knowledge and experience were two very, very different things.

"Gonna make you feel so good, Cas," his friend whispered, voice husky, as he cupped Cas's cheek and captured his mouth once more.

Castiel broke the kiss after far longer than he should have allowed, turning his head away. "Dean, listen to me. This isn't you."

A second hand cupped his chin and brought the angel's face back into the range of Dean's incessant lips. The human peppered him with kisses that had no right to be so soft or so loving. This was not Dean. His human was full of heat and need and playfulness. Castiel may never have experienced it for himself, but he had witnessed enough of Dean's dreams and nightly activities (mostly by accident) to know Dean didn't make love to his partners; he had sex. It was sweaty, messy, full of need and release and pleasure, and both parties got exactly what they needed by the end. But it wasn't love. What was happening now had no right to feel like it was.

"You don't want this," Castiel pleaded against Dean's lips as the human sealed their mouths together, lapping and nipping and tasting.

"Course I do, Cas. Wanna make you happy." Dean licked the corner of his mouth, then dropped one of his hands so he could attack the angel's ear. He tugged at malleable skin, and Castiel shut his eyes and focused on breathing exercises. Dean licked along the shell, whispering like the words were not meant for another living soul. "You've been sad for too long. And you left the bunker. Left me."

Cas sucked in a shaky breath that threatened far more emotion than he could afford right now. He gave another half-hearted attempt pushing against his friend's chest. "Please, wake up, Dean."

"I don't know why you're fighting it so hard," Astarte interrupted and Castiel latched onto the distraction her presence provided. He welcomed the anger that flowed through him, overwhelming in its righteous fury, and he allowed it to overtake all the other feelings freely. She stood several feet from them, hip resting against the end of the table Castiel had cornered himself against. "You won't break my hold on him, so why resist? Enjoy it, angel. It's the last chance you're ever going to have to get what you want."

"I don't want this," Castiel snapped back so quickly that Astarte had barely finished forming the words. He turned his gaze back onto Dean, reached up and latched onto his collar with fisted hands. "Listen to me, Dean, if you can hear me. I would never have you like this. Not like this."

The goddess just shrugged, the closest to looking bored as someone overly sensual as she could ever get. "Too bad for you, then. Because you're getting him, either way."

If he wasn't so intent on killing this woman, Castiel would thank her for the rage she fueled within him, enough to keep a level head when she waved Dean onwards and he answered by pressing a muscled, denim-clad thigh between Castiel's legs. The rest of his body followed, Dean gripping Cas by his belt loops and bodily pulling the angel's hips flush to his own, sliding him along the length of that thigh. Castiel shuttered his eyes against the telling heat and bulge he could feel pressing into his waist, not to mention his own. He wanted this, dear God, how he wanted this, and he hated himself for it.

Dean would be back, Castiel whispered in the depths of his grace again and again. He would free him of this woman's control, and when Dean came back to him, the human would be very uncomfortable to have witnessed Castiel's utter lack of control and wanton need. So Cas fought his body's natural response, viciously clamped down on every sound that threatened to escape. There was little he could do about his hardening erection or the heat in his belly or the way his skin prickled with goosebumps. So he focused all his willpower elsewhere: into feeling nothing, hearing nothing, and above all, focusing on nothing but escape.

"Looks like he's fighting you, stud," Astarte whispered, far closer than she'd been only a moment ago. Or had it been longer? Castiel was finding it hard to focus on the tracking of time with the way Dean's tongue worked the hollow of his collarbone. When had his shirt come unbuttoned?

Pulling away with a wet little pop and a lascivious grin, Dean tracked his eyes down Castiel's trapped body then back up to his face. The angel might have been able to control his expression – keeping his face slack and eyes neutral as possible as they darted back and forth between Dean's own – but there was nothing he could do about the flush of blood filling his cheeks.

Astarte perched a hand on Dean's cotton-clad shoulder, her other idly playing with the nape of his neck once more. It was pure ego – something Castiel had struggled with more than once before when it came to Dean Winchester – that had him viciously proud of the way Dean's eyes stayed locked on him. How that smile, however drugged by magic it was in that moment, was for him and not the whore who dared to lay hands on his human.

The goddess smiled into Dean's ear as she whispered words Castiel could not hear. In response to whatever she had commanded, Dean ran his bottom lip through his teeth, fighting back a grin that made Castiel shiver in his arms. The angel tried not to focus on that particular movement. Or the human's mouth in general. In fact, best not to look at Dean at all until this had come to its natural conclusion, be it his death or Astarte's.

Castiel turned his head away from his friend and put all of his focus into finding a way out of the angel-sigiled cuffs.

His breath hitched, a gasp escaping before he could contain it, as Dean's hands circled around to the back of his thighs and hauled him right off the floor. As his weight resettled on the lip of the table, water splashing and quickly soaking through his coat and slacks, Castiel found his legs wrapped around Dean's thick waist, heels pressing into the back of his thighs for counter-balance. For the life of him, he had no idea how they'd gotten there. He certainly hadn't ordered them to wrap around the human. The moan Dean made as he nuzzled Castiel's neck, hands settling on his hips as he rocked their intertwined bodies together, was obscene. Even for a man Castiel knew to watch entirely too much porn.

Dean pulled back to share a smile that might as well have shattered his heart. "I gotcha, Cas."

The angel did not know what he meant until a hand slid up his back to settle between his shoulder blades, and then Dean was kissing him hard enough to push him over. That hand kept him from falling, and Castiel struggled briefly before he found himself lying in the shallow pool of liquid and shining metal, staring up at Dean as he winked down at him.

"I've got you," he repeated, hands sliding down the sides of Cas's now-wet clothing to grip his hips. A sudden tug from the hunter re-seated Castiel's groin to Dean's, hips lifted by the lip of the table, legs loosely hanging now. The edge of the table was digging into his pelvis uncomfortably, and Castiel found himself fiercely focusing on that one discomfort over any of the other pleasures, including the overwhelming heat trapped between their connected bodies.

This was not Castiel's first time with physical intimacy. Unfortunately, because of that fact, the angel now realized a grave miscalculation. Foolishly, Cas had thought this encounter would be the same as his last. The fact that it was Dean rather than a stranger should not have altered his body's response so much (and yes, it had been a stranger who lured him in with kindness, turned his sexual curiosity into spectacular shame – nothing more than a game to the reaper – and then attempted to kill him shortly afterward. It might also have been partially why he never pursued sexual intercourse a second time). Castiel could only assume Dean was a far better lover than April had been, for him to struggle for control over his faculties now. Or, perhaps there was something to say, after all, about an emotional connection enhancing sex.

Astarte moved around the table, out of Castiel's range of vision as Dean resumed his earlier treatment to the angel's collarbone and neck. He could hear the goddess make a low, rumbling noise of approval in the back of her throat and sensed movement in the water from where she was dragging her fingers across the surface. The liquid rippled with her power, little bubbles of red and purple turning the clear water into a myriad of colors that spread around Castiel until the entire bath was a miasma of energy. Castiel felt the heat of it as the water grew warm where it soaked through the protective layer of his clothing and right into his skin. It filled him with an irresistible heat, and suddenly all he could smell was Dean.

The hunter rolled his hips and whatever focus Castiel had managed was lost. The angel bit back the moan, yet could not control the needy rotation of his own pelvis in response to that delicious shiver that crawled right up his spine. Dean responded so happily that Castiel momentarily forgot himself. His legs found their way around Dean's hips once more and his bound hands fisted his shirt. He was panting against that damn heat.

Dean's hand slid to where their hips met, palming him through his slacks, and sparks literally flew. Had his mind been intact, his friend would have had a clever line about that, complete with the Winchester smirk, Castiel was sure. But Dean was silent as the lightbulb above their table and the surrounding six burst simultaneously. Glass and sparks rained down on them, and Dean might have flinched at the unexpectedness, but he covered Castiel's body with his own, the shards bouncing harmlessly off his back.

"Told you I got you," he whispered, a chuckle in his voice before he nipped at Castiel's ear and pulled back. "Just wait. It gets so much better than that, Cas."

But Castiel wasn't watching his friend. His gaze was on to the sigiled cuffs around his wrist, which had been trapped between them when Dean leaned over him. They, too, had sparked. Castiel had felt it more than seen it, and the angry, reddened flesh beneath the metal was evidence enough. The power surge that Astarte's magic and Dean's administrations combined had created in his grace had been too much for the wards to handle. The pain of the cuffs backfiring was enough to bring Castiel back, at least in part, from Astarte's mind-numbing heat. His grace was still trapped, but the cuffs were damaged, and now he had a plan.

It was an unfortunate plan, considering it meant allowing this farce to completion, but it was the only one he had.

"The power!" Astarte was laughing from behind them, and Castiel angled his head back in the water to see her upside down visage. She was watching with amazement and eyes hooded with greed and glee. Considering Castiel himself had been surprised at the flare in his energy levels, the goddess must be downright shocked. The 'feast' was clearly much more than she had imagined.

With a wicked grin, she submerged her hands in the water, and Castiel could see this time as she heated it. He watched the transfer of power spread throughout the liquid until the wave of miasmic pink reached him and his senses were once again lost to the overwhelming need. Keeping his wits long enough to enact his plan was going to be difficult.

Although… Castiel slid his eyes shut as Dean's hand settled on his groin once more, the other starting in on the button of his slacks. His plan stood a better chance of not being detected if Castiel could bring himself to play along. The cons were significant, however, knowing as he did how Dean would likely react when he was back to himself. That would be a no-win situation either way, as far as the angel could figure. If he fought this, Dean would be guilt-ridden with what he had done against Cas's obvious wishes, even if it was entirely not his fault. If Castiel played along, Dean was going to be very, very uncomfortable around him, and their friendship was already in tatters to start.

But if it meant bringing his plan to fruition without Astarte noticing the flaw in her own… Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, then made his decision. He released the tight hold he had on his inhibitions and allowed himself to react to Dean's administrations.

He probably should have factored into his list of cons how hard it would be to play along and not lose himself entirely. He also probably should have practiced much earlier, when Dean was only kissing his mouth.

Castiel cried out as wet heat wrapped around him and his chained hands found themselves buried in Dean's hair, regardless of their bound state. Dean was much, much better at this than April. Castiel had been a fool to think he would survive it intact.

A different kind of heat pooled in his lower stomach, begging for release, and Castiel knew what came next. He was close, and maybe that was for the best. If Dean merely touching him was enough to skyrocket his power reserves, climaxing would likely be all he needed to break free of the cuffs. The sooner that happened, the sooner this would be over and they could take a page out of Dean's book and never speak of it again.

He was so close, back arching out of the water, hands resting on his chest when he could no longer keep them in Dean's hair without fear of hurting him. Then that pressure, Dean's warm mouth and sliding, searching, talented tongue, was gone. Castiel let slip a broken noise he was not proud of, built out of a frustration not entirely driven by his need for release.

"Not yet, stud," Astarte was saying from her place beside Dean, arm wrapped around his chest as she pulled him off of the angel. "I promised he'd get what he's always wanted from you. So you take him all the way, you understand?"

Castiel wanted to scream, rage at the wrongness, but he held it back, fisting his bound hands, useless against his chest. He watched as Dean's frown turned into a wide grin, something truly predatory and yet it sent shivers of anticipation through Cas, not fear. He knew it should be fear. Dean's arms dropped to the waistline of his own pants, unfastening the button with a look in his eye that was simply not fair. None of this was fair.

"I understand," the hunter answered, and the sound of his zipper dragging down was terrible and wonderful, and for that it was all the more terrible. Castiel let his head fall back into the water, grinding his teeth as he stared at the pipes and tubes overhead and tried not to feel Dean's fingers as they dug into his slacks and pulled. His boxers followed quickly after, the hunter using his not-inconsiderable human strength to lift Castiel's hips off the lip of the table long enough to divest him of the clothing. The warm water lapped at his bare skin pleasantly and it was all the angel could do to remind himself that he did not want this and neither did Dean.

Once more, Dean wrapped his hands around his now-bare waist and reseated Castiel firmly against his still-denim clad groin. But that didn't last long, as Dean planted his feet more than a shoulder's width apart and slid his jeans and underwear down until they caught on the width of his muscular thighs. Castiel refused to look, keeping his gaze locked firmly on Dean's face. He shouldn't be looking at all, but he supposed he was weak, after all.

Dean's hand slid between his legs, following the curve of his ass before sliding between his cheeks and Cas could not help the way he jerked in response. His friend grinned and rubbed the pads of two fingers repeatedly over Castiel's puckered entrance.

"Do you need prep?" he asked, removing his hand only to pull Castiel's thighs wider apart and tuck the angel's legs around his waist. The way he tapped Cas's ankle until the angel figured out the message and locked his feet together was too reminiscent of the Dean he knew and wanted, and Castiel ended up looking away. He didn't want this to be Dean. It would have been easier if the goddess's control was total, so that nothing of the human's nature leaked through.

"Anal intercourse will not cause me permanent damage," Cas responded, trying to keep it as impersonal as possible. "But I will not be able to heal any injury until the cuffs are removed."

"Got it," Dean nodded back and, without pause or ceremony, slipped one finger inside. Cas's breath hitched and his hips bucked against his control. With a grin, Dean started twisting his first knuckle in and out of the angel. "We'll be extra cautious, then, cuz safety first."

Castiel greatly doubted that was Astarte's opinion on the matter, but he stayed silent as Dean worked him open so that when he entered him it would not tear. That was his understanding, at least, and focusing on the mechanics of it all was easier than the actual activity. Activity like the way he could feel each crevice and bump of Dean's cuticle and knuckle catch ever so slightly against the ring of muscle with each push in. Like the way he could feel the shape of Dean's second joint slip past, spreading him ever so slightly wider. Cas could picture that knuckle perfectly. Knew the dimensions of it. The number of wrinkles spread across the joint. He knew every inch of Dean's body, as no one else did.

"Thought about this, you know."

Of course, not thinking of any of that would be easier if Dean wasn't smiling down at him, or using his other hand to work Castiel's erection, or staring at the angel with something in his eye that Castiel flat out refused to acknowledge. Or talking. Dean slid his finger deeper in, pulled out, twisted and pushed. Then he added another.

"Told myself I shouldn't. Kinda hated myself because of it."

"Dean, stop talking." Castiel reached up, fisted his hands in Dean's collar, and pulled him down. He crushed their lips together, desperate to shut the human up from saying anything further that would bring both of them nothing but pain.

Dean took it as the hint that it was to get things moving. Castiel threw himself entirely into the kiss so he wouldn't notice so much the way Dean's fingers slid out of him or the way they were quickly replaced by something thicker. The first breach still hurt – Castiel was not experienced enough to know if that was a result of stopping Dean before he finished his preparations or if it was normal – but it was a minor pain compared to what an angel was built to handle. Dean was not terribly long as he seated himself fully inside the angel, but the girth of the human was not something Cas had been prepared for.

He wondered if he had hurt April during their time together. The souring thought was more than enough to anchor him. It was easier to remember that he did not want this while busy remembering how much he wished his last sexual encounter had not happened, either.

Castiel breathed through each of Dean's thrusts, letting the hunter go enough so that their lips were no longer locked together, but he hovered just above the angel. Their breaths intermingled, and Castiel registered the intimacy – this, this one thing, so much more than what was happening in their nether regions – before he could stop himself.

It was yet another slap to the face that reminded him none of this was real. Dean didn't feel this way, and he never would. And Castiel would be lucky if he got his heart out of this intact, let alone their friendship.

The damn thoughts carried with them a secondary consequence he'd entirely forgotten, and that was the significant dampening of his own desires. He could feel his erection softening even amid Astarte's heat, could feel the heat in his stomach souring until he felt sick. If Astarte noticed, she might realize something was wrong or cast another of her power-trips through the water to dull his focus more. If Dean noticed, he would only try harder to correct Castiel's flagging interest, which Cas was fairly certain would make things that much worse.

Either way, he was now only prolonging their torment and risking their only chance at escape.

So, the angel wrapped his hand around the back of Dean's neck as far as the chains allowed, curled his fingers in the short hairs there because he knew Dean liked that, and pulled the hunter down to him again. As much as he was loathe to, Castiel stopped thinking, started pretending, even knowing it would wreck him in the end, and stopped trying to stop himself.

It did not take long (and yet, it took so much longer than Castiel would have preferred) before they were both breathing ragged, staggered breaths against each other's lips. Dean's moans turned deep, Castiel was buzzing, and he sealed their lips together anytime his own noises took on shapes far too close to words. The angel quickly learned that nipping Dean's lower lip often kept the hunter too incoherent to form sentences either. Not that a Winchester was easy to shut up in any situation ever.

"God, you're gorgeous, Cas. I don't deserve you," he mumbled against the angel's lips, and Castiel quickly cut him off with yet another kiss. The Pizza Man hadn't taught him how to keep his partner quiet, unfortunately, and he was winging it the best he could.

Castiel was close when Dean reached between their bodies – something not easy to do, given that he had to pull back from the angel's mouth to do it – and wrapped his hand around him. Two strokes was all it took, and then every lightbulb left in the building blew. The dangling tubes above them lit with electricity, apparently carrying a current the entire time, and they flipped and wriggled underneath the sudden outpouring of crackling blue power. The cuffs sparked and spat from where Castiel had buried them between their bodies to hide what was about to happen. His wrists burned sharp enough to counter the wave of pleasure and disorientation that washed over him. The warding carved into the metal fought the surge of intoxicated grace until it was ultimately overrun and they, too, blew out with an impressive light show that was, thankfully, disguised by the surrounding explosions and sparks. The metal remained secured around his wrists, but Castiel instantly felt his power returned to him, surging up and through his body, to his aching rear end and the sore, angry skin beneath the bracelets.

Sensing his partner's own inevitable climax, Castiel grabbed Dean by his shirt and pulled him into a fierce kiss. With their lips sealed together, the angel transferred as much of his returning power into his friend as he dared, praying he had it in his diminished essence to break the goddess's control. Energy sparked between their lips with a tingly zap – the feedback of his own energy overtaking Astarte's – and Castiel shut his eyes with a terrible mix of regret and desire as Dean came inside him.

Lucky for them, Astarte was busy feeding off the angel's mounted power, the explosion of which might have been unexpected, yet had her chuckling with glee. Castiel could feel the pull of her own abilities as she fed off his grace in waves. It would require physical contact for her to drain him completely, however, and he had to wake Dean up before she tried.

"Dean," he whispered against the human's lips. Relief and dread filled him in equal parts as the hunter shuddered against him and then stiffened. He went so rigid that Castiel could feel the muscles tighten between his wrapped legs, even if he could not see the hunter from his position currently buried against in his neck. "Are you with me?"

"C-Cas?" It was a whisper filled with just about as much fear and dread and oh-god-please-let-this-have-all-been-some-terrible-nightmare as the angel himself currently felt. But they didn't have time for that now.

"My blade. Dean, get my blade," Castiel insisted urgently, tapping his still bound forearm against Dean's bicep.

The hunter, startled by the movement and likely still coming back to himself (and the…position they were in) took several shaky breaths before he nodded against Castiel's cheek. The angel felt trembling fingers slide into his sleeve for the sword he could now manifest freely. Dean had hardly finished withdrawing it when Astarte was tapping his back.

"Alright, lover boy, that's enough. You did well, stud, but now it's my turn."

Astarte reached between them, smooth hand running across Dean's chest to draw him away from the angel. Dean allowed her to pull him back, a look of pure horror on his face as he realized what that ultimately meant for their entangled bodies. His face darkened into something very dangerous when Cas could not completely contain the breathy noise as Dean slid out of him.

With expression murderous and angel blade firmly gripped in hand, the hunter didn't hesitate. As Dean stepped away from the angel, pants still clinging to his legs, he turned and buried Castiel's blade into Astarte's chest, all the way to the hilt. The goddess had only a moment to look surprised, clinging to the hunter, before she was nothing but a pile of ash on the floor of the factory.

The angel blade clattered to the ground and Castiel knew he was about to have a very panicked, very angry, and very mortified friend on his hands. He sat up and immediately winced at the pain in his bottom that sparked up his spine. His grace was already working on it, though sluggishly. His internal regulation had definitely been thrown by the overload of energy, most of which he had used to free his friend.

"Dean."

"Jesus. Jesus." Dean was shaking as he scrambled for his open jeans, pulling them up around his waist and snapping them shut with a desperation that Castiel knew only scratched the surface of what they both were now going to have to face.

"Dean."

"Oh god," Dean wasn't hearing him, wasn't even looking at him, with his back turned to the angel, perhaps to hide the way his entire body shook.

"Dean." Castiel's I-Am-A-Warrior-Of-God-You-Will-Listen-To-Me command voice was usually enough to grab his friend's attention in even the worst of scenarios. Luckily this was no exception, and Dean turned to him, clearly wrecked. Castiel opted not to bring further focus to what had just occurred, though he could do little about his state of undress. So, instead, he directed his friend's gaze to his bound hands by lifting them, the metal chain giving a perfect little jingle.

"Jesus." At an apparent loss for any words that weren't blasphemous, Dean scrambled for the keys. They were in his jacket, tossed on the floor back by the vats and Cas's shattered phone. The hunter hesitated a moment, hovering over the article of clothing as he stared at the angel blade embedded in the device, before forcefully shaking himself out of it and digging into the pockets for the keys to the sigil cuffs. It was only a second, but Castiel saw it, and realized, with regret, that Dean had been awake for all of what had occurred.

The hunter couldn't meet his gaze as he staggered back over and started unlocking the cuffs. Castiel's wrists were raw and bleeding, having taken the brunt of the wards breaking, but his grace would heal them shortly. The angel was not worried about that.

"Dean-"

"Shit, Cas, I'm- I'm so- I'm so sorry." The words tumbled from Dean's mouth like he could hardly contain them, but they were ragged and torn, as though someone had ripped them out of him. It broke Castiel's heart, and he wished the goddess had not died so easily.

"It wasn't you, Dean." The cuffs hit the ground and neither of them bothered to retrieve them.

Rubbing his wounded wrists was probably a bad idea, but the pain helped ground him. Astarte's magic may have vanished with her death, but his own chemical and emotional reaction had not. Castiel was heady with a still-buzzing body, warm wetness was running down his leg, and he used the slowly healing wounds as an anchor to ignore all of that. Dean opened his mouth to speak, abruptly closed it, and then turned away with cheeks red in anger and shame as Castiel bent down to pick his pants and boxers up from where they had fallen.

The hunter kept his back to the angel until Castiel was fully clothed once more. When he still didn't move after Cas had clearly finished, the angel let out a silent sigh and sent a prayer heavenwards, though he knew no one was listening and it wasn't intended for anyone anyway. He asked for strength and a way to get through to his friend, though he knew such a thing would take time and many insistent talks. The problem was, the angel wasn't sure he had it in him.

"It wasn't you," he repeated, his voice closer to a whisper as he stood at his friend's back and wished Dean would just look at him. But he knew the human couldn't. Not right now. So Castiel walked past him to his broken phone and Dean's angel blade imbedded in it. He pulled the weapon free, scooped up the pieces of his phone – he'd have to get another, unfortunately – and went back to the hunter who had not moved and looked more lost than Castiel had ever seen him.

The angel retrieved his own blade off the ground as well, pocketing it while Dean fumbled to put on his jacket for lack of doing anything else. Christ, his body was still vibrating with that orgasm (and god damnit, he was not going to think about how it had been one of the best he'd ever had. That was the goddess' power and his own dry spell. He had not gotten off ra- having sex with his best friend. He hadn't). Although Castiel kept his eyes locked on him as he stepped within his personal space once more, Dean's head remained bowed.

"Cas-"

The angel saw a flash of green for only a moment and then Dean's eyes were elsewhere again and Cas added a request for patience onto that earlier prayer.

"Dean, look at me." He waited until his friend, wincing at the harshness of Cas's tone, which was regrettable but necessary, locked eyes with him. "This was not your fault. The guilty party is dead and cannot hurt anyone else this way ever again."

He held out Dean's blade, and the hunter dropped his gaze to it. He clenched his jaw to stop his lip from trembling because, damnit, he had no right to be the one hurting here, to be the one freaking out. Not when Castiel was keeping it together, not when it was the angel who should be screaming at him, fearful of him, running from him…

Dean took the blade with more force than he probably should have, given that Cas had every right to be cautious of him right now, yet there he was giving Dean a weapon that could fucking kill him. The hunter stashed the blade back inside his jacket like it was burned his skin. In reality, he couldn't stand touching it right now.

He'd handed it over to Astarte without hesitation. She could have killed Cas right in front of him, with his own blade, and he would have let her.

Fingers pressed to his forehead while his gaze was still lowered and Dean staggered back. Horror flooded him in tandem with that healing warmth and Dean wanted to throw up. Cas shouldn't have to touch him right now, let alone waste his energy on him. Shouldn't even have to share air with him.

"I'm fine," he bit out, taking another step back. Cas's healing touch always left Dean with this squeaky clean, good feeling, and that was just about the last thing on the planet he deserved right now. The angel sighed, and Dean took the chance as he lowered his outstretched arm to make sure Cas was healing himself. His wrists were much better, the open sores replaced with reddened skin that was continuing to fade back to a healthy pink.

"Dean…" The angel tilted his head back, blue eyes filled with pain that the hunter mistakenly assigned directly to his own guilt. With a deep breath, those eyes met his briefly before he had to look away. "My offer to alter your memories still stands."

That got his attention. He hadn't been expecting that, and surprise flushed his system followed so quickly by anger that his head spun. "What?"

"With your permission," Castiel clarified, misplacing Dean's tone. "This was not your fault, yet I can already tell you think it is. If you will not listen to me, if you won't let me change that, then let me remove the memories. We can go back…back to how we were before."

The human couldn't breathe for the vice gripping his chest with bone-cracking strength. Jesus Christ. Cas wasn't just talking about this… about what…what they had- what had just happened. He was talking about the other goddess too, the other incident. What had... started all of this.

"You want to just-" Dean had to cut himself off, seeing red. He spun away from his friend, running his hand through his hair and then doing it again when it didn't help any. This wasn't- this couldn't be happening. Cas wanted to give him an out? He just fucking raped his best friend, and the angel wanted him to forget about it? Just like that, like it hadn't happened? Like he didn't have to live with it, with being a fucking rapist? He didn't deserve an out. He was the scum of the earth-

Castiel's hands were gripping his wrists hard enough to hurt, the angel's commanding voice loud in his muffled eardrums and his gorgeous blue eyes way too close, way too suddenly. Dean tried to scramble back, but the angel had a death grip on his arms. Dean realized he'd been speaking out loud, tugging at his hair until his scalp hurt as much as the rest of him, and his friend had been physically trying to shake him out of it.

"Stop this," the angel repeated, probably for the tenth time. "Dean, stop. This. Was not. You."

"It was me, Cas," he whispered back, broken and miserable and hating every inch of himself. "I-I ra- I hurt you."

"You did not," Castiel insisted, giving his wrists another, far gentler shake as he lowered Dean's arms between them. His fingers shook as Cas's thumbs rubbed small, soothing circles across his skin and he wondered where an angel learned to do such a thing. "You were a victim of Astarte as much as I was. Please, Dean. I need you to hear me on this."

He was still shaking, but the hunter nodded. He didn't believed it, not for a second, but at that point he would give his angel just about anything he wanted. He owed him that much, and so so so much more. Jesus, he could never make up for what had just happened.

"We need to call Sam. I am sure he is worried." Cas released his hands and Dean stood, lost, for a minute before his mind latched onto the task. He dug into his pocket once more, pulling out his phone. Unlike Cas's, Astarte had just let Dean turn his off.

As the screen lit and the device powered on, vibrations and pings started pouring in. Seventeen calls from Sam, a dozen more texts, and an alert from the phone company that his GPS had been activated. Running his tongue over his teeth, Dean took a deep breath, then took three more, and called his brother.

Sam picked up, breathless and panicking, and Dean started by confirming he and Cas were both alright. His voice caught on the word (they were so far from alright it wasn't even okay), but they weren't dead, so they'd go ahead and start there. The younger Winchester wasn't necessarily surprised to hear Castiel was with him, but he was thankful. Astarte had grabbed Dean while he was out at a bar, drinking himself silly trying to forget his best friend was in love with him and, oh yeah, had left him because Dean was a total fuck up who couldn't even act normal. Sam had probably been freaking out for the near eighteen hours it had been since he'd left the bunker to drown his woes in whiskey and women and not returned.

Dean shut his eyes against the memories of more than just the last hour since Cas had come into this mess. He had been completely under the goddess's control. God damn it, he was lucky all she had done was feed off him. Yeah, that had involved some activities that any other day – any other human – wouldn't have been so bad, but in this case, like this…. Hell, he had fucking deserved what he got, to be pawed all over, unwanted and unable to stop it. Least he had some idea of what he'd just put Cas through.

God, he was going to be sick.

Castiel took the phone from him as he nearly dropped it, and gave Sam their location. The young man was already on his way, having gotten a signal from Cas's phone before it had abruptly cut off. He was only fifteen minutes out. Dean could hear the conversation, tinny and chipmunk-like from the two feet away that Cas stood. Sam was on his way, and then they would have to explain what happened here.

Dean emptied his stomach across one of the table basins – not the one that he had- that they had… – and then promptly emptied it again. Cas watched him with regret-filled eyes, but didn't dare approach as he hung up with the other Winchester.

"Sam will be here shortly." The angel stood, listless, for a moment before he approached the downed hunter. Dean's grip on the lip of the table was white-knuckled, and Castiel purposefully planted himself against the side of it, blocking the hunter's view of the rest of the room and the things that had happened there. "Dean-"

"Don't." The hunter shook his head, miserable, as he wiped the back of his mouth. "I don't deserve it, Cas."

"You do. You always have, and you always will."

"Why?" Dean straightened up, anger mixing with his guilt and shame and pain in a formula Cas was very familiar with. "How can you possibly lo- defend me? After what I did?"

"Because it was not your fault." Castiel held up his hand before Dean could counter him. "And because I believe in you. Time and destiny and multiple world endings haven't stopped me yet, Dean. This won't either."

The hunter hung his head, nails digging into the metal and Dean convinced himself the pain felt good. Felt better than the rest of it. "One day you're gonna realize I'm not worth it, Cas."

"Never."

The angel's conviction, that small little lift in the corner of his mouth, fucking hurt like hell because of how much Dean needed it and knew he didn't deserve it. Even though he didn't argue, just hung his head as the two waited in silence for Sam to arrive, Castiel knew this was far from over. Dean was nothing if not stubborn. He was never going to forgive himself, no matter how much the angel implored him to.

They stayed like that until the rumbling engine of the Impala filled the barn.

-o-o-o-

Part 3:

When the Tequila's gone, and the Lemons are Rotten, and the Fan's still Broke,

Maybe it's Time to Talk

-o-o-o-

She was gorgeous. Sultry and dark haired, with golden skin and amber eyes. Dean could tell from the swing of her hips that she was going home with him that night – or, he was going home with her, more like. Motels never impressed the ladies so much and the bunker was definitely out.

She called herself Astarte – a weird enough name that Dean kicked himself later for not asking questions – and leaving the bar was the last conscious choice he could remember making. From then on out it was a haze of pleasure, dreamy smiles, and a never disappearing undercurrent of something being terribly wrong.

She was soft and supple against him, nude as she had been the second they'd left the bar and arrived somewhere completely different. But by then, Dean was already under her thrall and unconcerned. Astarte was against him, with him, wrapped around him and he didn't care about anything else.

He answered every question she asked him, told her any story she wanted to hear. Handed over his angel blade, his ivory-gripped gun, the keys to the Impala (which was god knows where, but he hoped safely back at the bar, not that he cared at the time, and wasn't that a god damn travesty), and turned off his cell. It would be hours before Sam realized he was in trouble, but then, Dean didn't care about that, either.

Her skin was like ice cream, he decided. Cold, but sweet on his tongue and so smooth he didn't even have another analogy to compare it to. Like coffee ice cream, that was it. Her mouth was smoky, ash and cinnamon on a frigid morning, and he didn't really like the taste – like licking a burnt log – but he didn't really mind it either. And her voice, the hum she made when he dragged his fingers across the wetness between her thighs, was pure sin.

She made Dean feel so, so good.

Cas made him feel ever better. It was his angel in his arms now, underneath him, blue eyes ablaze and locked on his. The water rippled around them with each thrust, sloshing against the sides and lapping right back. Cas's coat was all floaty and weightless, and Dean wanted to laugh at the fact that his angel had a halo made of tan trench coat. Fitting.

He made a breathy little noise, tried to muffle it, Dean could tell, but wasn't successful. The hunter grinned, that special Winchester-on-the-hunt grin he'd mastered when he was sixteen and had his first taste of manhood.

Dean dragged his hand through the water, even scooped a little up, before he wrapped his palm around Cas's weeping dick and gave the needy little thing a stroke. The strangled noise that came out of Cas should have been illegal, the things it did to his body. Dean leaned down and licked the corner of his mouth, those lips sealed tight over clenched teeth.

"Let me hear you, Cas. Love your deep, I-gargle-rocks-for-breakfast voice."

Both the angel's hands fisting in his shirt (why was he still dressed? Why were they both still dressed above the waist, this was far too much clothing…) and the light jingle of chains that followed was out of place, but Dean wasn't sure why. It made him uneasy, and he didn't like it but didn't know why he shouldn't.

"Dean." The moan was strangled with suppressed need, and it cleared Dean's mind of whatever had bothered him, that had slowed his thrusts. The hunter grinned again, giving his hips a quick jut forward that had his angel stuttering beneath him.

"You like that?" He couldn't keep the smug grin out of his voice if he tried (and he had absolutely zero interest in trying). He made Cas look like that. Made those crazy blue eyes glaze over in wanton desire, made that mouth part for air the angel didn't even need. He made Cas's toes curl and his heels dig in, and his ass clench around him on every thrust. An angel. His angel. Looking up at him for all the world like he loved him, like he belonged nowhere else but right there in that moment. Hell yeah, Dean was gonna take that with no small bit of pride.

"You gonna come, Cas?" he whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against Cas's. The angel bucked beneath him as Dean slid his grip to the head of his dick and circled his thumb up and over the slit. Cas moaned something needy and beautiful, and Dean hoped the answer was yes because he wasn't going to last much longer himself. "C'mon, gorgeous, I wanna hear it."

"Nngh-" Cas clenched his teeth, arching into his touch, body begging for it, but Dean tsked. That wasn't words or an answer, and Dean was adamant that he was gonna get his stubborn angel to let loose a little. Cas apparently got the message as the hunter slowed once more. He glared up at him for all he was worth, face flushed and eyes needy, and growled out, "Yes!"

The hunter offered a particularly deep thrust as reward, making sure to aim just right, and Cas cried out and writhed beneath him. He dropped his head further down, feeling hair matted with sweat and water as he pressed his lips against his angel's ear. "What are you waiting for, then?"

Cas came with Dean's name on his lips.

-o-o-o-

Dean sat up in bed with the kind of gasp that tried to tear your lungs free of your chest cavity. He was heaving, sweat-slicked and shaking, as the vividness of distorted memory began to fade into just another dream. It took precious minutes, but he realized he was alone, in his bedroom in the bunker, in the dark. No goddess. No Cas. No nightmarish loss of control where he violated his best friend.

When he realized the front of his pants were soaked through and sticky, he managed to make it to the bathroom in the hall before emptying his stomach, but only barely.

The dreams had started up on the first night back from their hellish ordeal with Astarte, and hadn't backed off since. At first, they were mostly memories. Running into the goddess at the bar, the things they'd done together that turned Dean's stomach now that he was awake, and the utter loss of control that still left his heart racing and his fingers trembling. Those dreams had been bad, the kind where you don't realize it's a nightmare until you wake up shaking.

The ones that came after that were so much worse.

It had been two weeks since their second…incident with the sex goddesses (and damn, but that wasn't even fun to say anymore. Now it was just nausea-inducing). Over that time, the memories-turned-nightmares plaguing Dean slowly shifted focus from Astarte to Cas. The first few were straight up nightmares. Astarte commanding him to kill Cas with the angel blade (and he did). Astarte setting Cas aflame with the holy oil Dean had gotten from the trunk of the impala and poured himself (he just watched once the fire took, dopy smile right smack dab on his face the whole fuckin time as his best friend screamed and burned).

Those dreams were easier to deal with, despite the state they left him in when he finally woke. They were full of fear, terror, horror, you name it. Nightmares.

When the dreams had started to take on a more…fantasy feel, Dean didn't really know. He just knew one night he went to sleep thinking eventually something would have to give, and woke up the next morning on the heels of a dream that hadn't ended with Cas's death. It had been more of a memory, a replay of exactly what had gone down and how it had ended only…

Only he'd enjoyed it. He'd woken up hard, heart pounding in the good way, body begging for completion. He hadn't made it to the bathroom the first time. That morning he'd rolled over the side of the bed and emptied his stomach right there on the floor.

As if Dean had needed more reasons to hate himself. Having a wet dream about raping his best friend sure topped the god damn list.

The next night wasn't any better. They hadn't been in the barn, but one of Dean's go-to Victoria Secret dreams. Only the angel that showed up didn't have strap-on wings or barely-clad breasts. Since then, Dean had taken to drinking himself into oblivion and avoiding Cas at all costs. Clearly, neither was doing a damn thing for his subconscious.

Dean groaned against the cool porcelain of the toilet, letting his sweat-slicked forehead soak up the chill. Just another minute. Another minute and he would get up and face the reality of being a rapist who had re-occurring wet dreams of the guy he fucking assaulted. Right now, the toilet was a damn better friend than he was, and he needed its comfort.

"Dean?" There was a knock accompanying the soft – pitying – voice and Dean bit back another groan. Sam hadn't been giving him any damn space at all, apparently making up for the monumental space he'd been giving Cas. Dean knew his brother was worried, was trying to help, but he just didn't get that this situation couldn't be helped.

Dean was the scum of the earth – worse now that he was dreaming about it – and there was nothing that could change that. Cas shouldn't have to share the same air as him, but there wasn't much he could do about that either, damnit.

"I'm fine, Sammy," he mumbled, loudly enough to make sure his brother heard. This was only the second time Sam had found him after one of those dreams, but he had a feeling his kid brother was more than aware that it wasn't just a two-time occurrence.

The doorknob jiggled and then it was swinging open (shoulda friggin' locked it, damnit), Sam standing in the doorway with a concerned-but-also-kinda-pissy expression on his face. Dean buried his face back into the toilet. His porcelain friend was preferable to his brother's disappointed judgement. It also helped hide the fact that his hands were still shaking.

"You need to talk to him."

"Lay off, Sam." Dean picked his head up to send his brother a look – the one that said he was deathly serious about this. Sam just crossed his arms.

"I found his bag packed yesterday." That got his attention. Dean straightened, staring up at him with a look that was serious for entirely different reasons. "He's going to leave – again – if you don't fix this."

The older Winchester scrambled to his feet, only a little unsteady. He might still be drunk. "It can't be fixed!"

"Everything can be fixed," Sam admonished softly, eyes taking on that understanding puppy dog quality that Dean friggin' hated at times like this. He uncrossed his arms in a gesture just as defensive as crossing them had been. "You and I know that better than anyone."

"Yeah, well, not this." Dean pushed past his brother, stopping in his room to throw on a pair of sweatpants and be rid of the evidence of...well...but Sam only followed him as he stomped back into the hall and off to the kitchen.

"Dean, you need to talk to someone. If not Cas, and not me, then someone. Anyone. But whatever this is, it's eating you from the inside out." Sam opened the upper cupboards to grab two mugs even as Dean turned the coffee maker on with a vicious flick of his finger. "Worse, it's going to chase Cas away. Permanently. I got him to agree to stay for now, but unless you two start talking to one another, I can only keep him here for so long."

Dean wanted to not be talking about this at all and he wanted that right now. Like he didn't know. Like he didn't know that Cas shouldn't have to leave his home, again, because of Dean. Hell, Dean should be the one leaving, but he knew, between his brother and his best friend, he'd never make it. It would be a flip of the coin which one found him, but they'd both go looking, and that would solve absolutely nothing.

It was too damn early for this, he was nowhere near ready (never would be), and he was absolutely not talking about this with his kid brother. Even if Sam was hardly a kid anymore. Still. Dean obstinately refused to so much as open his mouth, glaring at the coffee pot and urging it to hurry the hell up.

Sam set the mugs in front of him, leaned his hip against the edge of the counter, and waited.

God damn it.

"I can't, Sam."

His brother was having none of it. Just kept that calm, I-would-have-made-a-hell-of-a-lawyer face and said, "Can't talk to him or can't talk to me?"

"Both."

Sam was silent for a moment as the coffee gurgled, but when he spoke it was quiet. Gentle. A breaking point. "We're going to lose him, Dean."

The older Winchester, tension curling every limb of his body like the middle of a fight, suddenly deflated like a saggy, old balloon. His shoulders crumpled and his body just hurt everywhere. He was exhausted, he was tired to being tired, and hurting so damn much he didn't even know where to start. Most days he couldn't even look in the mirror, and god, he just wanted it all to stop.

"I-" He chewed on the inside of his cheek, realizing he was really about to do this. About to tell Sam that he'd- what he'd done. To their best friend. God, Sam would hate him. No, that wasn't true and Dean knew it. Sam wasn't capable of hating him, even when he deserved it. "I r-ra-… I hurt him, Sammy."

Sam bit back his first response, which was that outside of being morose and clearly regretful of their current situation, Cas was fine, and had been since he walked out of that barn. But, given what said situation was, Sam was intelligent enough to guess it hadn't been a physical hurt Dean was referring to.

Given that this all stated with what Sam suspected was Cas's love confession, he could at least hazard a partial guess about what his brother had hurt. But he couldn't rush this. Dean would clam right back up if he got it wrong, or said the wrong thing.

"Cas said the goddess had you under her control," Sam hedged cautiously, though honestly he wasn't hiding much. That was about all Cas had said, tone cool and clipped, then he'd clammed right up and Sam hadn't gotten any more out of either of them. He lived with a bunch of stubborn-headed, martyring, emotionally stunted morons. Morons that he loved, more than anything. Which was why he would weather this with as much patience as God or fate or genetics (and experience) had granted him. "Did she force you to hurt him?"

Dean made some sort of noise – like a cut off, high-pitched groan – that made Sam practically backpedal. Okay, he hit the nail on the head with that one. So, the goddess, a sister to that first one that they'd ran into, had captured Dean for revenge, gotten him under her control, and lured Cas in using Dean. Then…had Dean hurt him.

Only, Cas hadn't had any injuries when Sam showed up at the barn to pick them up. His phone had been split in pieces and most of his clothes and hair had been soaked. Which he'd only mojo'ed away after belatedly realizing he'd be climbing into the Impala wet. But both of them had been pretty spaced out (Dean hadn't even been the one to gripe about Cas's state ruining his Baby), and other than being frustrated over not knowing what had happened and spending the last ten hours in pure panic searching for Dean, Sam hadn't thought it that out of place for them to be frazzled. They'd managed another last-minute Winchester save, walking away by the skin of their teeth. Space-casing it after one of those close calls was pretty normal for their day to day routine.

"Hurt him…how?" Sam asked it slowly, unsure of the landmines he was most definitely treading amongst. But something about all of this kept catching in his brain and while he couldn't grasp it just yet, he couldn't let it go. There was something more to it than Dean was putting into words.

Anat had been a goddess of sexual desire, drinking her victims dry. Castiel had confirmed the second goddess had been Astarte, who Sam had, of course, gone and researched immediately, even if she was ash on the floor of some barn who's owner she'd undoubtedly killed (Dean confirmed, he'd been there, unable to do a damn thing, smiling all the while like a lovesick fool). Goddess of sex and war, same Anat. Dean had picked her up in a bar, so Sam could guess well enough that she'd enthralled him with the first part of that deism. Maybe she'd gotten her kicks with the war part by having Dean hurt Cas?

But Cas's healing powers hadn't been very strong since Metatron and the Fall. He was still able to heal himself, but it was slow-going. And he'd been physically unharmed as far as Sam could tell by the time he'd gotten to them. They both had.

So how the hell had Dean hurt the angel?

"Oh."

A lightbulb went off in the younger Winchester's head. He didn't know what exactly caused the connections to fire, two and two to become four, but he got himself there. The six feet of space that had been between the two when Sam pulled up to the barn. The six feet of space minimum that had continued to exist between them at all times. The way Dean was the one to insist it stay there. The way he flinched whenever it became less. The guilt that existed entirely in his brother and the lack of any of it or anything else in Castiel. A sex goddess out for revenge, with Dean under her control and an angel in love with him.

"Oh."

Dean's knuckles went white on the counter and the coffee maker finally beeped its completion. Neither brother moved to fill the mugs.

Sam managed not to react much, which was no small feat, but he knew instinctually that a bad reaction would send his brother running for the hills. He'd be lucky if he ever saw him again, let alone get anything more out of him. He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to cure the sudden dryness there, and thought if that woman wasn't already dead, he'd be hunting her down and killing her all over again for what she did to his brothers. What she had made them do to each other.

"Okay," he started, going for gentle but not pitying. Pity would absolutely set off every one of Dean's panic-and-run buttons. "Okay, that's…a lot to unpack."

Dean snorted, and it was painful and bitter and as self-deprecating as Sam had ever heard.

"Dean…" he cautioned slowly, a new realization coming over him that came coupled with shock and a whole new level of concern. "This wasn't your fault."

Which was apparently the wrong thing to say. Dean didn't run, but he did round on him fiercely enough that Sam took a step back, half expecting to be blocking a punch. But Dean didn't move otherwise, even if he was exploding in that very singular space.

"How is it not my fault?" He was yelling, and Sam cast a half glance at the open kitchen door. Cas didn't sleep much these days, and his hearing was still up to angelic par. "I r- I forced- I hurt him, Sam!"

Dean's voice dropped in volume but went right into something broken, and Sam's heart hurt for him. For both his brothers. He risked the two steps forward, putting himself in his brother's bubble with hope that it would force Dean to meet his eyes. It worked, and Sam put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He could feel the muscles rigid beneath his grip.

"You didn't have a choice, Dean. You weren't in control."

"It doesn't matter! It was my body!" His brother shrugged out of his grip, looking for all the world like he needed it but refused to let himself have it. "It was… it was me. Oh god…"

Sam didn't care at that moment if he scared his brother off. Dean was falling apart. He reached out again, gripping his shoulder harder, refusing to be shaken off. Dean needed this. Needed to be grounded, needed to know he was still deserving of touch, of love. Sam knew his brother too well, and he could only begin to imagine what this – what having been forced to do that – would do to his brother's psyche.

"I know you feel responsible, but I need you to listen." Sam kept his voice firm, as serious as he ever was, and forcefully kept his brother's gaze. "What happened was not your fault."

"I raped him, Sam!" He was back to shouting, and he gave a half-hearted attempt to pull out of Sam's grip again, but his brother held firm. Green eyes darted, almost in a panic, to the kitchen door. Sam had never seen his brother so close to hysterical, so close to being sick. He lowered his voice, clearly as aware of angelic hearing as Sam was. "He didn't have a choice."

"Neither did you." Sam didn't push it, but he tried to convey his own conviction as Dean walked himself right into that truth that Sam knew better than anything else on the planet. Dean never would have hurt Cas on his own, not like that. Not in a million years.

Sam bit back the urge to blow out a huff of air or bite his lip. Realization of just what he was tackling in both of them grew like a mountain of weight in his stomach. This wasn't going to be easy. Dean wasn't going to go willingly into this. His macho and capable big brother who was used to being the hero, was going to fight too and nail against accepting that he had been the victim here. Sam had his work cut out for him.

"That woman forced her will on you. Forced her will on Cas, through you." He squeezed his brother's shoulder and felt the tension beneath ripple and tremble. He could feel it in his hand as much as see it on his brother's face; Dean wanted to believe him, wanted his words to be true, but couldn't let himself off so easy. "That doesn't make you the violator, Dean."

"It…it was my body, Sam."

"Yes, and she used it to hurt Cas. The only one responsible is Astarte." Sam withdrew his hand as another memory, an emotion mirroring Dean's own, stirred in his mind. He met his brother's gaze firmly and drudged up his own guilt and horrors. Nothing ever got through to Dean as much as calling attention to how he so quickly and willingly swept away Sam's faults and mistakes. "You're as responsible for what happened to Cas as I am for what happened to Kevin."

Dean opened his mouth immediately, and Sam knew it would be to tell him that hadn't been his fault. He knew the speech well by now: it hadn't been him, he hadn't had control, he wasn't the one that killed their friend. So all Sam had to do was angle a pointed look at his brother, challenging him to say it aloud and prove his point. Dean swallowed it back as he realized exactly why Sam brought it up.

It didn't feel the same.

"I know what that guilt is like, Dean," Sam continued softly, lowering his eyes to his own clenched hand. He flexed his fingers and shook loose his own emotional labyrinth, at least for now. "It's not going to go away overnight. But if we're going to get into any of the rest of this, you have to first accept that what happened wasn't your fault."

Dean's eyes bounced between his brother's hands and brown pools of emotion that he could never say no to. Swallowing roughly, he nodded. He didn't feel an ounce of confidence in his response, but for his brother, he'd always at least put in the effort. "Alright. I'll- I'll try."

"Good." Sam nodded, a small, bittersweet smile on his lips that was meant to encourage. It didn't really work, but Dean didn't have the heart to disappoint his brother, so he tried to smile weakly back.

The younger of the two turned back to the coffee maker, grabbing the pot and filling the two mugs. Beside him, Dean fidgeted, like he didn't know what to do with his hands, and Sam pushed the steaming drink his way.

"There's, uh…" Dean wrapped his hand around the mug, picked it up, set it back down, turned his back to the counter, then went for the coffee again. Sam tried not to wince with pity as he sipped his own mug. Finally, Dean settled with one hand wrapped around the mug, not drinking it, as he turned and leaned against the counter. He looked miserable. "There's more."

Sam had figured. The guilt Dean was clearly carrying was enough, but it wasn't everything. The younger Winchester had never seen his big brother so full of self-loathing, and that was saying something. It was Dean Winchester he was talking about, after all.

Thinking he knew what was coming next, he let the silence hang for a moment, seeing if Dean would fill it himself while he contemplated his words. When his brother didn't, he set the mug down beside him and turned towards Dean.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready," he offered, even though he didn't want to. Dean would likely take it, though sometimes reverse psychology worked well with his mule-headed brother. But not offering it wouldn't be right; he needed to be fully supportive here, or he was only going to make Dean that much worse. "But there's nothing you can tell me that's going to make me think less of you."

"This might," Dean muttered, but Sam refrained from countering. The two had been through so much over the years that there was very, very little left undiscovered between them. And Dean had come so far over the years, finally starting to listen to his younger brother and not treat him like such a kid anymore. They still had they're hiccups, but Sam truly believed what he'd said.

Dean opened his mouth, closed his mouth, opened again, and finally made an aggravated noise, running a hand over his face. Sam decided to jump in head first, since Dean was struggling with just the big toe.

"Is it because Cas is in love with you?"

His brother's head shot up, surprise widening his eyes and whitening the knuckles wrapped around the coffee mug. Sam sighed internally.

"What the hell, Sammy. How-"

"I have eyes, Dean," Sam countered, keeping it closer to their usual banter and avoiding anything that sounded judgmental in the slightest. "It's pretty obvious to anyone who does."

His brother sputtered, and Sam took it as a good sign.

"When did you find out?" he asked instead of letting his brother continue muttering about angels and their secrets that apparently the whole damn world knew and no one thought he should be clued in. "Was it the first goddess?"

Dean nodded, his face an interesting color, anger-reddened cheeks but a tad green around the gills. "She played some sick game, getting Cas to confess. Getting me- getting me to say I didn't feel the same."

Sam let the silence hang longer than he should have as Dean tilted back towards guilt. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully.

"Not being in love with Cas isn't the same as not loving him, Dean, and it's definitely not something you can be blamed for," he said softly, offering a small smile for his brother that was not returned. "I doubt he holds it against you; Cas knows he's loved."

"It's not him," the older Winchester muttered, something dark in his voice warring with the misery and brokenness. "It's me."

When Sam made a noise for clarification, Dean set his completely untouched coffee down and scrubbed both hands over his face, tugging a little harsher at his skin than was probably healthy.

"I couldn't hack it, Sam. Knowing that he lo- knowing that. It's like everything changed! Suddenly, it was all I could think about, worry about. And I couldn't act normal around him for the life of me. I tried, believe me, I tried!"

Sam did believe him. Believed he tried and failed miserably. It made sense, now, that first month after Anat. How awkward Dean was around the angel, and how each encounter only seemed to make Cas more tense.

"He told me it would ruin our friendship." Sam picked his head up and out of his thoughts at Dean's quiet confession. His brother wasn't looking at him, but the younger Winchester was fairly certain he'd never seen Dean so miserable. Angry, sad, heart broken, torn up, furious, delirious, but never so damn miserable. "And he was right."

"He knows you pretty well," Sam offered, taking a lighter tone. It fell a little flat, and he knew joking right now probably wasn't appropriate. But sometimes Dean responded better to that than the chick-flick drama Sam usually tried to make him at least face. "But you're not giving yourself much credit here. Neither of you are. Yeah, you might not have handled it all that great, but you're basing a conclusion on just a couple weeks. You'd have figured it out, Dean."

Despite the ugliness of those weeks, Sam had been fairly certain, in a distant sort of way, that the two would work it out. Cas would have come back after a month or two of searching for Kelly or the two of them would have hunted him down and dragged him back. Eventually Dean's emotional dam would have broken and he'd have told the angel to stay. They'd have talked, awkward and forced as it usually was, but in the end they would have worked it out. Dean would have figured out how to act around him, and another couple weeks of awkwardness and hesitation would have eventually faded back into normalcy. It wouldn't have been perfect (and it would have earned Sam a few more grey hairs), but it would have worked.

Now, it was so much worse.

"Look, I understand your hesitancy, even more so after- uh, the…thing with Astarte, but you have to stop avoiding Cas. Don't you think it's better to act off, to struggle around him, than to chase him away completely? Right now he doesn't think he's wanted here, and we're going to lose him if we can't show him otherwise."

"I can't, Sam."

The answer was so immediate it took the younger Winchester by surprise. Dean might be an emotionally stunted mule when it came to dealing with his or others' feelings, but he wasn't usually a quitter about it. And Sam wasn't past the point of being annoyed with how quickly his brother was giving up on their best friend, here.

"Why?"

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek and didn't answer.

"I need more to go on, here, Dean." Sam pushed off the counter and stepped in front of his brother. He knew he probably shouldn't bully an answer out of his brother using aggressive and confrontational tactics – he knew better than that – but Dean wasn't leaving much else open. And not fighting for Cas was not an acceptable course of action in Sam's book. Ever.

His brother didn't even look up, turning his head away, neck muscled bulging with tension.

"You'd never let Cas go without a fight." Sam held up his arms, staring Dean down. "So what am I missing?"

"He shouldn't be around me." When Dean finally said it, it was a low, dangerous growl and Sam barely caught it.

"What?"

"He shouldn't have to be around me, Sam!" The second time was a lot louder, Sam almost flinching at the yell. "He shouldn't want anything to do with me, after what I did to him! After-"

Dean bit down on his lip hard and looked away.

Sam sighed. "We talked about this, Dean. It wasn't your fault, you weren't in control. What you did or didn't do to him wasn't by choice."

The older Winchester glared at the side of the refrigerator and chewed his cheek hard enough to make Sam wince.

"I'm dreaming about it."

He bit it out like the words were acid, spitting it out on the floor, but the damage was already done to his insides. Sam frowned.

"The nightmares?"

"They're not-" Dean breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and still refused to face his brother. "They're not nightmares. Not…exactly."

"Then what…" Sam trailed off as the lightbulb went off for a second time that morning. Dean flinched in front of him, and Sam recognized the look on his brother's face. The one where Dean was waiting for the hammer to fall, for judgement to be cast, for Sam to hate him. But Sam never could, and even if this was definitely not what he'd been expecting… maybe it wasn't as bad as Dean was clearly thinking. "Um…wow, okay. That's- that's more to unpack."

Dean snorted again, shoulders still rigid. Still waiting for that hammer.

"Dean-" Sam didn't even know where to begin.

"I'm a fucking rapist who enjoys hurting Cas in my dreams, Sam," Dean bit out before he could even try, and the violence in his words, the hatred in his voice, did cause Sam to flinch this time. "Why are you even still talking to me?"

The younger Winchester bit back yet another sigh. God, what a mess.

"Are you 'hurting' him in these dreams?" Sam already knew the answer. Sam knew his brother better than anyone on the planet, and in no universe ever did Dean Winchester enjoy hurting people. Even as a demon, he'd been ridiculously reserved when it came to inflicting damage on others.

"N-no…"

"Is it against his will?"

Dean got visibly uncomfortable as he faltered, having to think back through the last several nights of horrors and desperately wanting not to. He felt physically sick. But the more he let those images – so damn vivid – flow, the more he faltered. Cas under him, breath hitching, hands wrapped around his neck and back, not pushing him away, not fighting. Nails digging in, but not in pain. Heels pressed to his thighs and butt, urging him onward when he slowed. Those blue eyes, always locked on his.

Cas in his dreams never looked away, but Cas in his memories always had.

"They're just dreams, Sam," he countered, muttering words that sounded so untrue even to his ears. He'd just been telling Sam he didn't deserve to breathe the same air as Cas because of them, so it was a pretty pitiful defense to write them off now that they might not serve his self-loathing as much as he thought.

"Right." Sam didn't even miss a beat. "In these dreams, is it- what you're doing- against Cas's will?"

Dean looked away, not ready to even accept that Sam might have some sort of purchase in this argument. He didn't deserve purchase; he was a fucking horrible human being and he needed Sam to just agree or drop it. So he went on the defensive.

"I'm not gay, Sam."

His brother snorted, rolling his eyes in a move that said he knew exactly what Dean was trying to do and it wouldn't work. "I didn't say you were. Just that…" He shrugged one shoulder and reached over for the coffee that was now luke-warm at best. "I think you might be attracted to Cas."

"How is that not gay?" At least this was an argument he could stick to without wanting to lose his stomach. And by god, he was going to stick to it.

Sam blew out an annoyed breath of air. "You don't have to be gay to like Cas. First, he doesn't actually have a gender; he's Cas. Second, even if it turns out you do like one man, it doesn't mean you like all men, Dean."

The lecturing tone of a fed up kindergarten teacher was familiar territory. Dean clung to that too.

"I'm not into one man or any man or Cas for that matter!" He turned to face his brother fully, finger jabbing viciously in his direction. "I don't like Cas!"

Sam shrugged. "You're fantasizing about him."

And there went everything Dean was clinging to, shattering apart somewhere down near his feet.

"Damnit, Sam, stop making it sound like those dreams are okay. They're not okay! I'm not okay! I rap- I fucking… hurt him, and now I'm getting a turn on out of it? How is any of that okay?!"

Sam chanced a glance towards the kitchen door again, wincing even as he did so. The last thing he needed to do was shut Dean down when they were finally getting somewhere. But maybe this wasn't something Cas should be hearing as a third party. He and Dean were going to have to talk sometime, but that talk needed to be face to face.

Dean, thankfully, wasn't looking at him or the door. He was staring at the floor, hand gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to turn the tips of his nails white.

"I-I don't… I can't like him like that, Sam."

Sam blinked at his older brother, that lightbulb trying to flicker back on for a third time.

"Why not?"

Dean surged forward, and Sam once again thought he might have to block a punch from his brother. But all Dean did was grab a fistful of Sam's flannel and shake. "Because I fucking raped him!"

Sam didn't bother checking the door this time. If Cas hadn't heard them already, he was either dead to the world or not in the bunker, and there was nothing they could do about either of those things right now. Not when the tension in this room was at a precipice and Dean hadn't realized he was the fulcrum yet.

"It wasn't you, Dean."

"It doesn't matter!"

"Yes, it does."

"You're not listening! I can't like him now!"

Silence reigned for a minute as Sam stared at his brother, brow furling. "Now?"

Still amped up from the building anxiety and tension, Dean tugged viciously at his hair. His whole body was buzzing, just about ready to explode. He was utterly unaware of the silence or the pause in the conversation or how close he was to tipping over and letting everything out in one giant rush.

"Don't you get it? I didn't feel this way before- before I… just before. My dreams were perfectly playboy bunny material, Sammy, because I'm not gay! I can't be gay. I can't- they're not – I can't like him now. Now when- not if…"

The lightbulb finally ignited, and it was pretty damn blinding.

"Not if the catalyst was seeing him…" Sam finished for him, words trailing off. Sam would have finished it with 'orgasm against his will', but he knew what Dean heard, or would have heard either way. 'While you were raping him.' But that's not what Sam's brain was catching on, because he was pretty sure none of that had a starring role in Dean's dreams. He needed more information to draw an accurate conclusion.

"What did Astarte tell you to do to Cas?" The change of topic seemed to throw his brother, who had been on one hell of a tirade and was now completely de-railed. "What did she say, exactly?"

Sam could tell the question instantly made Dean uncomfortable, but he was going to have to work past it if they were going to fix this. It also helped settle his brother back down. Uncomfortable and awkward Dean was far easier to handle than the angry and self-loathing alternate.

"She told me to make him feel good," he muttered, once again removing himself as far away from his brother as he physically could without turning his back to him completely.

The pieces were starting to come together in Sam's brain and he nodded absently, mind flying a million miles an hour and far away from the bunker's kitchen. As far as he knew, whatever happened between the two of them under Astarte's control, it was likely Castiel's first time with a man. A man he happened to love. While Sam really didn't want to picture what exactly Astarte's words had meant for Dean, he could imagine his brother took good care of their angel that day.

It was more than possible that what fueled Dean's dreams now were after images of seeing his best friend – someone he was immeasurably close to, who loved him and gave up everything for him (something no one had ever done for Dean before) – be made happy. And not just sexually. Astarte's command, if those were the words she really used – didn't actually imply anything sexual.

Dean was a caregiver by nature: a protector. He thrived when he had someone to take care of. And that's exactly what Astarte had asked him to do, albeit in a sexually charged situation. While he really didn't want to think about it, Sam had walked in on Dean's escapades enough times and heard enough tall tales to know that his brother had likely taken damn good care of Cas: made sure he felt loved, felt wanted. All things Cas desperately needed and received a shortage of more often than not.

Having been in love before, having seen what someone looked like when they were truly taken apart in that moment, well… Sam didn't really blame Dean's brain for latching on to that one good moment and putting it on replay to avoid all the other nightmares leading up to it.

"I can't, Sammy." Dean was muttering miserably again when Sam came back to the present, the last puzzle piece firmly in place and giving him a solid picture of what he was looking at. His older brother sank onto one of the kitchen stools. "It's so messed up. I'm messed up. I deserve to be in Hell."

Sam closed his mouth, the words having already been half formed when what Dean said hit him. He needed a minute to collect himself, the volatile reaction to hearing his brother say that and mean it, took precious seconds to recover from.

"Maybe-" He tried again, but had to stop and clear his throat, remind himself that his brother didn't really mean it, and it was his job to show him that. "Maybe it's not about the sex, Dean."

"They're friggin' wet dreams, Sammy!" Dean buried his head in his hands, wrapping his fingers around his skull to scrub viciously at the back of his hair. "How the hell is it not about the sex?"

"It's about making Cas feel good." Sam immediately held up a hand to stop his brother from telling him that's what sex is. Because he knew Dean well enough to know that those were the words he was already forming. Sam slid into the seat next to his brother. "Look, we've both been known to take advantage of having Cas around. Of misusing his friendship and treating him like a tool, when he's not."

What he was, was family. They both felt that way, both agreed to it, but weren't always the best at showing. Dean was leveling him a look that said this was clearly not helping. He did not need past reasons to feel like crap right now, he had plenty of present issues. But Sam had a point, and he would get to it whether or not Dean liked the way he went about it.

"Cas has really struggled these last couple years with being happy, with belonging here. Feeling loved and wanted," Sam stressed the last two words, though he knew Dean wasn't following yet. He knew where his brother's mind slipped to, though, because Sam's was right there with him. In that barn that night with Ramiel and the Lance of Michael. How close they'd come to losing him, how he'd confessed his love of them and expected them to leave him there to die alone right after. "Dean, sex may have been how you got him there, but Astarte told you to make Cas happy."

The older Winchester frowned immediately, because that- that couldn't be right. That's definitely not what this felt like, what it had felt like. And he was not okay writing off an assault on his best friend – his assault on his best friend – like it was anything other than that.

"I know you, Dean. If someone told you to make Cas feel good, then, sex aside, I guarantee you made him feel loved," Sam continued before Dean could argue, knowing his brother absolutely would. "When was the last time either of us could say we did that?"

The hunter ducked his head, again not needing past crap right now. But Sam had a point, at least on that last one.

"Even if that's true, that I was trying to make Cas…happy, or whatever, which I got serious doubts about, how the hell does that make any of this better?"

Sam sighed, tucking his hair behind his ear before settling his elbow on the counter. "It doesn't – not the assault itself. Which was not your fault, Dean. But what you're experiencing now, the dreams… Look, even if you're not attracted to him that way, he's still your best friend and you do love him, at least that much. And you're kind of a people-pleaser when it comes to the ones you love." He shrugged. "I think your brain is riding the high of making your best friend feel that way."

At least, until both of them came crashing down from that high, realizing it had been entirely forced on both of them. Yeah, that didn't help matters. But Cas feeling like he had to leave the bunker, his home, to salvage whatever threads of friendship were left between the two wasn't going to help. Take out the sexual component and even the romantic one, what you were left with was an angel without a family or home who desperately wanted to belong somewhere. To be wanted and needed as just himself, not for what he could bring to the table. Dean, meanwhile, was a provider. A protector and a caregiver. The two fit better than a two-piece puzzle, and Sam had known it for years, even if he hadn't thought Dean would come around on the romantic side of it.

After everything they'd just gone through, though? Yeah, Sam wasn't surprised in the slightest that Dean's subconscious took the sight of Cas coming apart at Dean's hands, probably the first and only time he'd seen Cas that way, and then fucking ran with it.

It looked like maybe, just maybe, Dean was starting to realize what Sam was trying to say. He didn't like that it made him feel better – he still thought he should feel like the scum of the earth and nothing should change that – but damnit, it did make him feel better. And he could see it, even if it felt like a stretch. What Sam was saying, embarrassing as hell to listen to and worse to communicate, made some sense. Wanting Cas to feel good… yeah, Dean could get on board with that a whole hell of a lot better than getting his rocks off having nonconsensual sex with his best friend.

He still didn't have a clue how to handle it, though.

"I don't know, Sammy…"

"It's not going to fix itself overnight, Dean," Sam admonished, though his words were not unkind. "You need to talk to him."

Yeah, only Dean reeeeally didn't want to do that.

"Cas wants to remove the memory." That was not what he'd meant to say, but it sure as shit came out of his mouth all the same. Sam frowned immediately, that kind of smoothed-out-forehead look that screamed danger, and Dean realized that statement needed immediate context.

"With my permission," he added hurriedly, and while the tension in Sam's shoulders eased off ever so slightly, he still looked pretty damn unhappy about the idea. "He wouldn't do it without me asking, first…"

His brother gave him the side-eye something awful. "Are you thinking of asking?"

"I-" Dean blinked, then looked away. "I don't know. No, because I don't- I don't deserve to forget this, Sam. I don't get to just walk away after raping my best friend, like I did nothing wrong. Like it never happened!"

But yes, because it would be so much easier. They could go back to the way they'd always been. They could be better.

"That's not what happened," Sam reminded him, voice quiet, and Dean scrubbed at his hair again.

"I know," he finally admitted quietly, and for the first time, maybe even believed it a little. "Still doesn't seem right. Too damn easy. Like I'm cheating, or something."

"It doesn't sound like a healthy solution, to me. And I don't think it's fair to Cas." Dean's head picked up at that, and Sam offered a sad smile. "Who's going to erase his memory of it, after he erases yours?"

His brother's face darkened so quickly that Sam was worried he might go do something stupid. Like marching straight to Cas's room to ream him out for even considering fixing Dean's head when it meant leaving the angel to deal with the assault entirely alone.

That- Jesus, that was worse than Dean getting off scott-free.

Sam couldn't help but think so as well. Cas had a bad habit of sacrificing his own happiness for the comfort of the Winchesters, and this sure sounded like yet another example of it. He doubted it was going to end any better this time than the others. Probably worse, since the angel's heart was so directly involved.

One of them needed to talk to Cas. Preferably the one holding said heart.

-o-o-o-

Part 4:

Well, the Fan may be Fixed, but We're Still out of Lemons and the Liquor Store's

Closed Up for the Night

-o-o-o-

Two days later, they still hadn't talked and Sam caught Cas heading for the stairs with bag in hand. So he locked them in the control room and told them he'd bring them lunch in two hours, but he wasn't letting them out until they figured this out.

It was awkward as hell and emotionally constipated, but they did talk. Well, they didn't talk about it, but they talked about everything that happened before, and all that came after. Dean managed to convey to his friend, in a stumbling, tangent-riddled manner confusing as hell to follow, that he was feeling guilty as hell, and that was why he'd avoided him for weeks, now. He recognized, on a logic level, that it wasn't him back there at that barn, but he still felt like dirt.

Cas just nodded, entirely too understanding, and reminding him, as Sam did on a daily basis now, that this was not his fault.

"The offer to erase the memory still stands," Cas mentioned quietly, once they'd settled into some sort of more understanding silence. Dean looked up at the angel from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the wall and legs spread out in front of him. Cas had remained standing, on the other side of the room, the entire time. Not quite a statue, but nothing living either. Dean didn't like it.

"You offering for me, or for yourself?" The angel frowned sharply at his words, and Dean had to bite back the anger that surged up in response. Self-sacrificing idiot. "You can't erase it for yourself, right? So I get off scott-free, and you're stuck living with it? Pretending it didn't happen? Alone?"

Blue eyes looked away, and Dean had his answer. It sat like a dead weight in his gut.

"I don't want that, Cas. If we're going to get through this, it's going to be together."

Cas spared him a look, like he didn't think they could do it, which hurt, but yeah, wasn't totally unfair.

"We'll get through it, Cas," he repeated, sharply, and climbed to his feet. Cas watched him warily. "I know I fucked up, alright? I know that I- I can't seem to act normal around you anymore but… but I'm trying. And I'm gonna keep trying until I figure it out, alright? I- I'm not giving up on us. I just, I need you not to give up, too. I need you to stay. I know it's asking a lot, especially with what I did- with what happened."

"It wasn't your fault Dean."

And maybe if they kept telling him that, one day he'd actually believe it.

"Will you stay? Please, Cas. I need you here."

Blue eyes stared into his own, piercing and hurting and Dean tried to convey everything he couldn't seem to put into correct words into his gaze instead. Finally, Cas nodded. It didn't feel like a total victory, but it did feel like a win, and he'd take it, at least until he could convince the angel of more.

Dean nodded, too, then turned around and started banging on the door, yelling for Sam to let them out. They'd had their talk and he was hungry, damnit.

-o-o-o-

They got back to a somewhat normal routine for a while. They even went out on hunts. It was still awkward, sure, and Dean and Cas weren't as close or comfortable as they once had been. But they made it work. Sam did his best to both be there for his brothers and stay out of their way. That was awkward too, but after a week, they sort of fell into a rhythm and, for a while, it almost seemed good.

Of course, in the Winchester life, nothing good lasted long.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep. He knew better than to fall asleep. Dean had been ridiculously careful not to fall asleep around Cas the past few weeks. But the hunt had been exhausting. The damn werewolf had pulled his arm out of his socket hard enough that even after a round of healing with Cas, it still ached. The room had been blissfully quiet and warm and safe, and he was tired and hurting. Sam was out getting bandages; despite Cas assuring them he was in no actual danger, he'd taken five razor-sharp claws straight across his back and was still bleeding all over the place even after Sam applied the last of their field dressings to him.

Now the angel was silent on the other bed, stomach down since both brothers had told him to lie his ass down and quit moving until Sam got back ('And don't even think about trying to heal Dean again!' Which he'd already attempted. Twice. The damn moron.)

It was the last thing Dean remembered thinking, lying on the other bed, head lolling to the side as he took in the stoic angel, eyes closed, trenchcoat bloody. Then he was asleep, and dreaming, and then Cas was shaking him out of it.

'Oh fucking shit, no. No no no.' Dean sat up like the bed was on fire, almost bashing heads with the angel, who stepped back from the bed quickly, and Dean could tell. Could tell just from the haste with which the angel backed off. The shattered confusion on Cas's face was just cherry on top, the signature on his friggin' death warrant.

"Cas, it's not- it's not what it looks like…" Only it was, wasn't it? He'd fucking had another dream about Cas, and the angel had heard it.

"I don't… I don't understand," Cas fumbled, still withdrawn from the hunter, and Dean couldn't blame him. He was right back to feeling like the lowliest dirt pile again, despite his progress the last few weeks. His friend drew himself up, shoulders back, eyes fierce, and when he spoke, he was obviously biting back anger. "I need you to explain, Dean, because that- that's not… you said."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Cas, I don't-" Dean scrambled off the bed, but Cas simply moved further away from him, and he faltered. God, he was scum. Cas shouldn't even be in the same room as him! "I know it's fucked up. I'm fucked up. God, shit, I can't- I don't even know…"

"You…you said my name."

Dean's shoulder's sagged, and the last hope he had that maybe this wasn't what he already knew it was, shattered on the floor between them. "I know, Cas."

"You moaned my name," the angel reiterated, and Dean winced, unable to even answer that. "You told me my feelings were not reciprocated."

Dean swallowed, and it friggin' hurt.

"They're- they're not." At least, he was pretty sure they weren't. He wasn't gay, and he didn't like Cas that way. Couldn't like Cas that way. Not now. "Sam thinks it's-"

"Sam knows about this?" The pain on Cas's face was obvious, and Dean winced again, realizing his mistake.

"I had to talk to someone!"

Those blue eyes closed off, dulling into something dark, and Dean was suddenly the backing up.

"Just not me."

"Jesus, Cas, I couldn't talk to you! I fucking raped you!"

It wasn't what he meant to say – or, it was, but he hadn't meant to shout it at the angel – and Cas immediately frowned, some of that anger edging off as the same old argument and guilt came into the mix.

"You did not."

"And next thing I know, I'm having wet dreams with you on your back beneath me?" Dean kept going, like the angel hadn't immediately come to a defense he didn't deserve. "Just like back in the- Fuck, Cas, I thought… I thought I was going back to Hell. Express ticket, one way! You don't fucking rape your best friend and then keep dreaming happy thoughts about it!"

Castiel flinched, and Dean immediately regretted the volume of his voice, the anger in it. Which was mostly aimed at himself, but Cas had never been good and knowing that and Dean was never good at saying it.

"Shit, I didn't mean…" Dean let out a frustrated breath of air, shoulders sagging and head hung low. "I'm not dreaming of…that."

"Just of me." Apparently on his back. Cas didn't know what to say. Though, he had a feeling what Dean was apologizing for was not the part Castiel was angry about.

"I don't know what to tell you, Cas. I don't even know what to tell myself, okay?" He ran a hand through his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp. "My body is confused as hell and…I don't know. This is how it's sorting shit out?"

Which sounded like bullshit, even to him. Sam had explained it better. Sam's version had made sense, and also not made him sound like a complete creep who deserved that one-way ticket to the pit. The look Cas pinned him with pretty much said as much.

"Perhaps I should spent the rest of the night elsewhere."

Dean tensed, straightening as something like worry shot straight to his gut. Shit, this was what Sam had warned him about. He'd been trying to fix it, but this, sending Cas away, was what he needed to not be doing.

"No, Cas-"

"I will meet you back here in the morning." The angel was already turning for the door, and Dean panicked.

"Cas, come on, please, don't… I'll- I'll go. I'll get another room, alright?"

He didn't leave, but he spared Dean another look and yeah, the hunter knew as far as compromises went, that one hadn't made a whole lot of sense. "I do not need a room to myself, Dean. I don't sleep."

"Then, then stay." Which also didn't make much sense as far as arguments went, but Dean didn't really care. He just wanted Cas to stay.

"Dean..." Cas closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. "I can't be in the room while you…"

His heart sank, but he realized, of course. Of course Cas wouldn't want to listen to his friggin' rapist moan his name in his sleep while he got off on a dream of him. God, Dean wanted to throw up, and he staggered back a step, turning away. "O-Of course. Sure, right, that- um…Right.

Catching his tone and realizing they were most definitely not upset about the same thing, Castiel almost rolled his eyes at the hunter. Instead, he squared his shoulders, facing back towards the hunter and growled, "I can't be in the same room as you dream of having me, while I'm not allowed to have you back."

Dean's 'o' face might have been comical in any other situation. But nothing about this was funny, especially not to Cas. The hunter cleared his throat, dropped his gaze, raised his gaze, looking away, then at the ceiling, then cleared his throat and offered a weak smile. It was like channel surfing through facial expressions. "Then, uh, I won't sleep either."

Although, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how unrealistic that alternative was and sighed in tandem with Cas.

"You need to sleep, Dean." The angel's words were soft, not unhearing of Dean's continuous attempts to fix this. Still, he turned to the door. "I will see you in the morning."

"Please don't leave," Dean blurted out, mind locked on a loop of Sam's words. About how his subconscious was just latching onto the way Cas looked when he felt wanted. He couldn't seem to get the idea out of his head, which, Sam was right, was probably what was fueling the dreams. But it was easy enough to see, to know, that Cas felt anything but that right now. Dean might not know what he wanted, but he knew what he didn't want. He didn't want Cas feeling that way ever again, and he didn't want him to leave.

"I want you," was the second thing to leave his mouth, and Dean immediately blinked at the ridiculous confession. There were absolutely better ways of telling Cas he wanted him around. Ways that didn't sound like he was a misleading, mother-effing, asshole. As Cas's eyes widened, in a disbelieving, painful, suspicious way that quickly turned into something hurt, Dean knew he'd messed up. Cas thought he'd thrown those words out just to make him stay. Damnit, after weeks of being worried he was leading Cas on even before Astarte and her mess, now he was actually doing it. Shit, he had to fix this. "To stay. I want you to stay, Cas."

Real smooth.

Cas watched him extremely warily, like he was calculating the odds that he was being extorted. Dean swallowed roughly and, biting back how terrible an idea this was, how stupid he was going to sound, how much he should just shut his mouth and maybe also leave and just let Cas have the hotel room he didn't need, he confessed softly, "I don't know what I want."

His friend's eyes, those blue pools, softened ever so slightly around the edges.

"My brain and my body are all sorts of shot right now, Cas," Dean continued, raising his shoulders and dropping them again. He tried to think how Sam would, in this situation. The words he would use – had used – to make all of this sound so much less… well, less Dean-ish. "I know that I want- I want your friendship. I want you here, where you belong. That's what I was trying to say that day in the bunker. I know… I know it's more messed up now, with the…with me, and maybe I should have told you, but I just…"

He took in a deep breath and let it out, trying to sort his words in his head and failing miserably. "I don't have any right to ask you to stay, but I want you to. I want you here, Cas, where- where you belong. Where you're…loved. Even if- if it's not the love you, um…want."

Silence filled the room as his last word trailed off, and it lasted far longer than Dean liked. Eventually, though, Cas walked back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, though he wasn't quite looking at Dead as he did so. The hunter didn't know what else to say, so relieved the angel had agreed to stay. So he settled again on his own bed, rubbing at his aching shoulder, and tried not to fall back asleep before Sam came back.

He failed, of course, but at least he didn't have any more dreams.

-o-o-o-

There was no denying it was still awkward after that, but in some ways it got better, too. With Cas at least knowing how messed up in the head he was and not running for the hills on that alone, Dean was able to subconsciously relax more around him. It didn't make it perfect, but it was closer. It was progress, as Sam called it, anytime Dean felt like he was losing precious ground on the occasional bad day they still had.

Mostly when he woke up after a particularly hot and heavy dream and realized what had woken him was the sound of the bunker door shutting behind Cas. Who had clearly overheard him once more. The walls in the bunker were thick, sure, but Cas was an angel.

God, the first time it happened, Dean had chased after him, terrified his friend was leaving for good. That confrontation, with Dean in his boxers (and thank god his panic had killed the residual, er, evidence) and Cas on the edge of the tree line where he hadn't planned to do anything more than observe nature until Dean was awake and done moaning for a dream version of him, had been so…so awkward.

Dean still didn't know what do to about it. The dreams simply weren't going away, like he'd hoped. If anything, they'd become so frequent that he was getting used to them. Oh, it's a Victoria Secret night. Cas did look damn good with those wings. Hm, hot springs in the mountains. Dean liked the way the water lapped around them and the heat of it everywhere. Last night had been another one in the barn, but this time there had been no sex goddess and Cas had begged for it, so desperate and clawing and indulgent that Dean had woken up, the front of his boxers soaked, well before they'd gotten to the good stuff.

Cas clearly didn't know what to do about the dreams, either, given that the angel started avoiding the dormitory wing during the night. Sam, on the other hand, knew damn well what needed to be done, and was more frustrated than the both of them combined. Dean could see the 'pull your head out of your ass' lecture coming a mile away, and managed to avoid it for a solid day and a half before Sam finally cornered him.

"Get your head out of your ass already and just accept that you want him, Dean!"

The older Winchester managed not to spit his coffee back into his cup, and possibly all over the kitchen counter, but only just.

"Jesus, Sam, give a guy some warning! And I don't-" Dean cut off, shaking his head. This was not an argument he wanted to have. Possibly because he was starting to worry he wouldn't win it. He glanced towards the kitchen door for their angel, but he hadn't heard or seen the guy since he'd woken up and had to take a cold shoulder. With the coast clear, he hissed at his brother, "I don't want him! This is just- this is what you said! My body's…figuring shit out!"

Sam didn't given an inch, and he certainly didn't look pleased to have his words misrepresented and then thrown back at him. "You dream about him almost every night, for Christ's sake. I'd say your body has it plenty figured out, Dean. If this was a girl, you'd have proposed by now."

The older Winchester drew his head back, face scrunched up. "How the hell do you know-"

His brother pinned him with a look that could have liquefied steel. "Because Cas doesn't come back to the bunker until after breakfast every night you do."

Ah. Well. That explained where their angel was.

Dean swallowed. He'd sort of known that, or at least that Cas had a tendency to leave in the middle of the night. But he'd also gone to great lengths not to track Cas's movements around the bunker, since they seemed to fuel his dreams all the more. He'd had the angel in almost every room so far. They still had the armory left, but Dean figured they'd check that one off the list soon enough.

Which, come to think of it, should really be freaking him out. It all should, really, but those dreams had stopped disturbing him days ago. Maybe even weeks. He'd stopped freaking out every morning he woke up with a problem he had to take care of or a shower he desperately needed. He stopped freaking out that it was a man's body getting him off in his head every night. Or that it was Cas whose mouth had him hornier than a teenager. Cas's dick that he…uh…did stuff to. (Okay, so maybe Dean wasn't a hundred percent over the male factor.) The dreams had become so routine, he wasn't bothered by them so much as annoyed at the inconvenience.

Oh god.

Oh god, what the hell, Sam was right.

Son of a bitch!

The smug look on his brother's face gave away that Dean's own expressions clearly weren't hiding much of his thought process. Sam wanted to roll his eyes at the older Winchester, eyes the size of saucers, first from realization, then panic, and then a whole second level of panic after the first one.

"Go talk to him before I lock you both in a room together."

"You already did that," Dean responded on rote, despite his panic still being in full swing.

"Don't make me do it again, then."

Dean looked so damn terrified, but he sort of numbly picked up his coffee cup and made his way out of the kitchen, through the bunker, and up the stairs to the door. He wasn't really sure how he did all that, but there he was, outside. Cas was there, just a couple dozen feet away, head tilted up to the early morning sun, and Dean felt a flicker of regret at the sight. Once again, he'd managed to chase his best friend out of what should be his home.

Castiel glanced over to him, head tilted his way, as Dean came up beside him. He didn't know why, but the look made him shiver. Okay, he absolutely knew why, but it would be really great if his body could just cool it for ten minutes. He was friggin' sixteen anymore, damnit.

"You don't have to hide up here, you know." He looked down at his coffee mug as he said it, a little too afraid to face the angel. It was three quarters empty and he felt stupid having brought it along. He should have brought Cas one. The angel no longer required food or drink, but he'd grown to like the taste of coffee during his time as a human, and still dreank it now and again.

"I have mentioned before," Cas said lightly, though there was an edge to his words that made Dean feel instantly guilty, "that I have no desire to listen to a version of you that I cannot have, take a version of me that I don't get to be."

The hunter swallowed, staring into his coffee. Well, uh… it was now or never, right?

"What…if you…did?"

God, he should have stuck to a poem or something. Stolen a line from Jerry Maguire. Anything more than just his mouth, not even connected to his brain this early in the morning. Or, possibly ever, when this topic was involved.

Cas turned his head more fully to him, a cute frown on his face (and god, when had he started using words like that in association with the angel?!) He was clearly trying to parse the sentence for whatever Dean had meant. It should be kinda obvious, the hunter thought. Although, probably not coming from him, of all people.

Indeed, the only conclusion Castiel could draw was that he had misheard, or Dean had used the wrong words. Because the only other inference was clearly incorrect. Dean had made it abundantly clear that he did not feel the same, despite his body 'figuring it out.'

"Um," Dean cleared his throat when the angel didn't say anything after a long, painful pause. "What if you…got to be…that version. I mean."

Cas just stared at him.

This was bad. This was so bad. Dean may not like chick flicks, might think they were utter garbage, but it wasn't like he hadn't seen them before. Where the hell was that penchant for movie quotes now, damnit?

Growing increasingly self-conscious, he dropped his gaze back to his coffee. This was such a stupid idea. He was gonna kill Sammy when he got his hands on him. "Cas? Can you, uh, say something, please?"

"If this is a joke, it is a cruel one and I would like you to stop immediately."

Ouch. Maybe silence had been better. Dean looked up and tried to convey his sincerity through his expression, though he was pretty sure all it was gonna show was panic, panic, awkward, and more panic.

"It's not a joke, I swear." He kept his eyes locked on those blue pools for as long as he could, but the longer he did the more he was suddenly sure Cas wasn't going to accept what he had to say. Why had he thought this was a good idea again? Shit, he hated emotional crap, he hated relationship crap. Why was he doing this?!

Because he was clearly infatuated with his best friend and his body thought that one time they had sex now needed repeating.

Dean dropped his gaze. God, this had been a dumb idea, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

"It's, uh… I know it's fucked up, and you should probably say no, because I'm only gonna fuck it up worse but… it's not, it's not a joke." He struggled to meet Cas's eyes again, internally snapping at himself to man the fuck up. "I…I want- um, I think I want you."

Well, it certainly wasn't Shakespeare. It wasn't even Dr. Suess. But it was something.

That was Cas's opinion, anyway. Maybe it wasn't the most beautiful love confession ever – and he was most certain that 'love' wasn't factoring into this conversation, not if Dean Winchester was the one coming forward with it – but he'd take it. Still, he didn't close the wide space between them. Didn't even move. Cas might be willing to take anything Dean was willing to give, but at this point, it would not be without a grain of salt. After so long of knowing it would not happen, of then being told it would not happen, Castiel did not trust this.

If Dean was serious, then the gap between them would be his to close. However long it took him would be fine by Castiel. He was an angel; patience and time were two things he had in abundance.

"What changed your mind?" he asked instead, still watching his charge from the corner of his eye even as the human looked away, cheeks flushed red.

"I don't know. The dreams aren't going away and…" And he still felt pretty skeevy about that, but a lot of the guilt was slowly being replaced by a low-burning desire in his belly. He'd tried desperately to quench that fire with the ladies. Victoria Secret models, SI Swimsuit Edition, and porn. God, so much porn. Yet every night he dreamt of Cas, not any of those gorgeous women, and he supposed it was about time to accept that it wasn't their face he wanted to see, come undone in bliss.

But that, uh, that was a lot to tell someone you'd only just realized you wanted. So all Dean said was, "I don't know."

Cas remained still beside him, staring out into the woods. Though he did glance down at the space between them. Oh, how he would love to close it, but he would not. His inexperienced heart had had its fill of breaks lately, and he would not be so irresponsible as to lead it to its final shattering.

Luckily for him, Dean seemed to get the hint. He sort of sidled closer, awkward as all get out, until they were touching shoulder to shoulder. He didn't do anything else (he really didn't think he was at the point of initiating physical contact (in fact, fuck, he had no idea what he was doing at all and did he mention this was a terrible idea?!)) but Cas didn't seem to mind. It was, apparently, the right move, as the angel relaxed a fraction. The two stood there, the most companionable they'd been in months, listening to the wind rustle the leaves and the sun warm their skin.

It certainly wasn't an epic confession of love, nothing porn-worthy or even all that note-worthy. Hell, it didn't even have a damn kiss in it. But it was exactly what they needed it to be. Dean could work on the rest in time and Cas, well, he was good at waiting on the Winchesters.

-o-o-o-

Epilogue

Lime Goes Better With Tequila Anyway

-o-o-o-

It had been months. Months of slow build-ups to light touches and even kisses, the first of which had been incredibly awkward. Blushing-virgin-school-girl-in-pigtails awkward. The second had gone waaaay past what Dean was ready for, but damnit, he hadn't exactly been putting the brakes on. Friggin' body. Friggin' Cas and his friggin' Pizza Man skills.

Months of little eye catches and Dean sporting wood more often than he wasn't (god, talk about awkward.) Sam had taken to earlier morning runs before Dean made it out of bed and also going to bed ridiculously early. Thank god for both of those things, but also so, so friggin' awkward. It was months of his brother growing less and less tolerant of their middle school romance (it had started out cute, Sam could admit, but good god, could they just get on with it?) until he finally told both of them, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to lock them in that room together and leave them there if they didn't go find one themselves and 'do it' already.

So….here they were.

Dean's palms were sweating like it was Mission Impossible and he had a nuke to disarm in the next thirty-six seconds. But it was just Cas, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at him through long lashes and god damn it, no one should look that demure, that sexy, that irresistible, while doing absolutely nothing, and in a trenchcoat. Dean was pretty sure he was just making it up. Seeing things. Him and his horny-as-all-mother-effing-get-out body.

"Dean, you have nothing to be nervous of," Cas whispered, reaching out to curl his fingers around the hunter's waistline, pulling him forward until he was forced to shuffle between the angel's legs or fall over. Fuck, he was practically shaking, what was wrong with him?

He giggled near hysterically as the thought, 'Will you still like me in the morning, Cas?' flitted through his head. It was funny, really, except that it wasn't. Because he'd never had to worry about that before. Well, almost never. There had been Cassie (and gee, apparently he had a name type) and Lisa. But this…. He'd loved both of those women, but this felt a hell of a lot more permanent. Bigger risk, bigger fall.

What was he going to wake up to the next morning?

"Me," Cas whispered as he pulled Dean down onto the bed, laying back as the hunter braced an arm on either side of him, one knee pressed into the mattress and warm against the angel's thigh. He wondered if he'd spoken aloud or Cas still had enough juice for soul-reading. The angel distracted him by lightly kissing his lips, just a brush of skin on skin, and Dean let out a shaky breath. "Still in love with you. Here with you. For as long as you'll have me."

Dean pulled away only enough to look down at his angel, at those blue eyes staring back up at him, so full of love and understanding that it damn well hurt. He knew he didn't deserve it, this, no matter what Cas or his brother said. He knew what Cas was offering, giving him all the outs in the world if this didn't work out, promising to remain by his side even if Dean changed his mind.

Then he knew, all of a sudden, that it wouldn't happen. Despite all his fears, despite not having a friggin' clue what he was doing, Dean knew he wasn't going to change his mind about this. He never wanted Cas to be alone again, never wanted those blue eyes to stop looking at him like that, for those lips and that body to not be his.

Holy shit. He didn't have a clue in hell how to say it, but son of a bitch, he was in love with Cas.

Dean grabbed Cas's lips with his own, always a man of action (which was good, since he was total crap with words), and the angel hummed between them. Cas's hands slid up his waist, tickling at his sides before wrapping around his back to cling to his shoulder blades. The angel had a way of enveloping him like a drowning man clutching a lifeboat, and Dean wondered if he'd learned that from the Pizza Man too, or if it was entirely Cas.

"Make love to me, Dean," the angel whispered against his lips, breath warm on his skin. It was sensual, and sexy, and inviting as hell, Dean couldn't lie, but he also couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest.

He pulled back enough to nip at the tip of Cas's nose. "No chick flick moments."

The angel wrinkled his nose in response, wiggling his face like he had an itch, and it made Dean want to do it again. When Cas responded, it was with a pout, but his words had the smile his face did not. "I think you like chick flick moments."

"Lies." Dean kissed his nose again, then his cheeks, along his jawline, nibbled on his chin, and started down his neck until Cas was squirming beneath him.

"You are wearing too much clothing," the angel complained with that low voice of his, and Dean found himself laughing again.

"Well, you better do something about that." The look in Cas's eye was enough of a hint at what the angel planned to do, so Dean shifted his weight to his knees to free up his arms. He wrapped his hands around the angel's wrists before Cas had time to mojo away their cloths. "Slowly, Cas. It's called foreplay."

The angel straight up growled, eyes narrowed up at him, and Dean chuckled. He slid his hands down Castiel's arms, along his forearms and up his biceps, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "It's worth it, I promise."

Cas let out quite the put-upon sigh, but his complaining sure vanished the second he started to divulge Dean of his clothes. Slowly. The angel took his words to heart, apparently (that, or he was a brat.) By the time they were both down to only their boxers, Dean wanted to tear the rest of his clothing off, posthaste.

"You are shaking."

Dean paused, his fingers poised on the waistband of Cas's underwear, and he realized the angel was right. He smiled, though that seemed as shaky as the rest of him. "Kinda hard not to."

He meant to make a joke of it, but it fell flat. They both knew where his thoughts were, back in that barn, doing this same exact thing, only against Cas's will.

Hands folded over his, and Dean's eyes darted up to meet earnest, loving blue. Cas sat up, bring their chests close. "Dean, I want this. I have always wanted this. Had you been in control of your own choices that night, I would have wanted it then, too."

Castiel drew Dean's hands away from his hips, fingers curling around the hunter's as he brought those hands up until he could brush his lips along his knuckles, down the back of his hand and up the other. Dean let out a slow breath and Cas drew back to meet his gaze again.

"But we do not have to do this now if you do not want to."

The hunter smiled, a real one this time, and wondered, again, what on earth he'd done to deserve this. He really couldn't fathom it. He took his hand from Castiel and slipped it around the back of the angel's neck, drawing him into a kiss.

"Nah," he said, leaning his forehead against Cas's, "I want to. Just… kinda new territory for me, is all."

The angel exhaled, the sound husky, and heat stirred in Dean's belly. "I have heard that it is human nature to explore new territory thoroughly."

Dean couldn't stop the snort. But there was a fire in his eyes as he leaned down, nipping at the angel's throat. "Better get to it then?"

"Yes." Cas drew out the last consonant like a snake, threading his fingers into Dean's hair. The hunter laughed when pressure was applied, pressing his lips back to skin. He took the hint.

Dean kissed and licked his way down Cas's throat, collarbones, chest, ribs, navel, and hips. When he reached Castiel's waistline, the boxers still firmly in place, he hesitated. He was being an idiot, he knew, but his hands remained still on Cas's waist.

Before he could steal the nerve (and he would have, he really would have) Cas rolled them. Dean kind of yelped in surprise as he found himself flat on his back, deprived of his last article of clothing, thighs spread by strong hands, and an angel's head between his legs with absolutely no warning or hesitation.

"Whoa, hey!" Dean arched his hips, simultaneously in an attempt to maybe give Cas a little more space between his mouth and, uh, other regions, and also in a knee-jerk, hip-rolling reaction to having Castiel's hot – god, so hot – tongue on him. "Thought I was doing the exploring- ah! -there."

He honestly couldn't tell if he was relieved that Cas had removed the decision from his plate or disappointed. Maybe both?

"You have gotten to explore this region," the angel corrected, firm and commanding tone sending Dean's blood straight south. Cas's breath was hot on his thigh where he licked and sucked at soft skin, making the hunter gasp and hiss. Searching fingers ran across smooth skin, then dipped lower, cupping his balls experimentally and Dean's hips jerked. He could feel Castiel's grin, teeth scraping his thigh. "I have not."

Then the angel dove head first, and Jesus, he might have learned how to kiss from the Pizza Man, but he sure as hell learned how to do this from the lady ordering that pizza. Son of a bitch, Dean wasn't going to last long under that tongue.

"If you, ah- god-" Dean was having trouble breathing, damnit, as Cas hallowed his cheeks. The human wondered if this was a super-powered angel thing, because he was pretty sure no woman had ever had constricted their damn throat around him before. "If you want this to last to the love-making stage, you better ease up, buddy."

Cad did so, lifting himself free of Dean's weeping dick with an obscenely wet sound. The way he licked his lips was positively feral. And possibly the hottest thing Dean had ever scene.

"Come up here." He grabbed at Cas's hair and jawline, tugging him encouragingly until he crawled his way back up Dean's body. He licked and nipped his way, causing Dean to twitch and jump, until he was seated across the hunter's hips, firm thighs tucked on either side of him. Belatedly, Dean realized Cas's boxers had gone missing as well. There was nothing between them, now.

His hands settled softly on Cas's hips and he stared at the bare angel before him. Cas was unabashedly on display, blue eyes regarding Dean with heat and confidence and an utter lack of judgement. The human swallowed beneath that gaze, before he reached out and gave Cas's stiff erection a stroke.

Cas hummed his approval and rolled his hips lazily atop Dean's. The hunter grinned and repeated the movement.

"How, uh…" He released Cas's cock and settled on his hips again, his own need trapped between them and reminding him with every roll of the angel's pelvis that it could be participating too. "How do you want to…?"

"However you want, Dean." The angel scooted purposefully back an inch, the hunter's erection sliding perfectly between his ass and Dean had to focus on breathing evenly. He bit back the moan as his dick reminded him with a twitch just where it wanted to be. Castiel grinned down at him, knowing exactly what he was doing, and leaned down until he was laying atop Dean, their chests pressed together. "I would have you in every way, in every room in this bunker. But, perhaps it would be best if we start slow."

Dean's fingers dug into the angel's hips, his eyes sliding closed. He couldn't help the low-throated noise that escaped him at just the thought. God, they needed to send Sam on a vacation. A long vacation. Maybe they could find him a solo hunt, because this, this needed to happen ASAP.

"This is good," he gasped, tapping his fingers against Cas's hips, thrusting jerkily up into him. "Yeah, this- this is good."

Cas smiled against his lips, sealing their mouths together. His fingers played in Dean's hair, and the hunter's hands circled around to his butt, kneading and pulling and squeezing.

"I want you in me," Cas growled against his skin when they finally broke apart, panting in the space between them. He wiggled atop Dean impatiently, as if to accent his point. "Now."

"So bossy." Dean nipped at his Adam's apple, but reached between them to grab and position himself. He paused only when he realized his mistake; Cas wasn't a woman. "Uh…I haven't, erm, prepped you."

"Well you better do something about that," Cas said, looking down at him with a challenging glint in his eyes, words a parody of Dean's own earlier that evening.

"So bossy," he repeated, growling against Cas's throat as he nipped there again before he rolled them. He grabbed Cas's calf, bring his leg up to his shoulder before peppering the muscle with light kisses. Dean had never been a romantic, but he knew how to worship a body. He was good at worshiping that much. He lowered Cas's leg again, planting the angel's foot on the mattress firmly away from his body and leaving his thighs spread wide, groin on display. Cas's cock bobbed eagerly, but Dean's target lay lower.

Fingers wrapped around his wrist as he reached forward, and Dean looked at Cas, partially sitting up, propped up on one elbow.

"Slowly, Dean." Cas's gravelly voice was deep and teasing, and god, did it do things to him. "It's called foreplay."

"Ass," the hunter bit out, but it was hard to keep his tone reprimanding through the smirk on his face. Cas wiggled his butt against the mattress as if to agree and Dean smacked the flat of his palm against one globe as punishment. It had been a light slap, but Cas's breath hitched, his body stilling in surprise. Dean's eyebrows went up at those dark eyes, almost all pupil now, stared at him from hooded under eyelids. "Oh, you like that, do you?"

Dean grinned, grabbing beneath Cas's knee and forcefully pushed his leg further to the side. He grabbed the other and hauled Cas's leg up and over his shoulder, forcing his hips partially off the bed and Cas to slide down. The angel gasped again, abandoning his propped up position, and Dean used his new leverage and space to deliver a playful smack to Cas's rear.

"Dean!"

Those hips jerked against his stomach and Dean couldn't help the truly evil smirk on his lips. He let go of Cas's leg, but the angel kept his calf hooked and Dean gave his ass a rewarding tap. Good boy. He used his free hand to slide down Cas's other thigh, down beneath his testicles to the neglected pucker of skin. He rubbed across Cas's entrance, and the angel groaned beneath him.

"Shit, hang on, I need lube." Dean went to extricate himself from their oh-so-hot tangle of limbs, when Cas's hand shot out in front of him, the tube of lotion he kept in his nightstand suddenly tight in white-knuckled grip. Angel mojo. "Huh. Handy."

Also impatient, it turned out, as Cas growled. "I want you in me, now."

Dean grabbed the bottle, but kept his fingers sliding up and down the crevice of Cas's ass. With a wicked grin, he mockingly reminded the angel, "Slowly, Cas."

The growl he got in return was fierce, and Dean decided he'd probably teased the poor guy enough for one night. He uncapped the lotion, pouring a liberal amount over two fingers, before repositioning his hand. There was a moment where his mind tried to de-rail him, years of straight-white-male yelling 'what are you doing?!' before Dean pushed that voice and all the panic that went with it to the side. It wasn't so hard to do, not so hard as he would have thought, with countless nights of dream-Cas material where he'd done just this. With an actual memory of the way Cas's breath would hitch once he slipped inside, or how Cas looked when he orgasmed. He'd wanted to see that face again for months, and his mind and body reminded him constantly of that fact. So his internal homophobe could just fuck off.

Dean slipped one finger inside easily enough and pumped his hand, twisting every few thrusts. Cas did make that noise again, and made an even better one when Dean slapped his ass, hips jerking roughly enough that Dean's finger slipped out. He pushed two back in, and Cas moaned, bucking with each push of his wrist.

"This is so much better than dreams," the hunter moaned himself when he added a third finger and Cas clenched around him. "So, so much better."

"Yes," Cas agreed breathlessly. "A shame you didn't figure that out sooner."

Dean gave him a punishing tap on the ass for that one, but it just made Cas's breath hitch and face flush a dark red. The hunter wrapped his hand around Cas's weeping cock as an apology, stroking in time with his fingers. The angel looked like he was having trouble breathing through the jolts of pleasure, and Dean's own erection throbbed in response.

They were gonna have to pick this up if they wanted to have actual sex before they both came.

"I know, I'm an idiot," Dean continued their conversation as he slipped his fingers free of Cas's wet, stretched hole. The angel mewled at the loss, and it the most damn beautiful sound Dean had ever heard. God, his angel was needy. Dean grabbed the lube and upended it over himself, liberally coating his dick. He gave Cas's a squirt as well, working his hand around the lotion to spread it from tip to base. The angel arched up into him at the silky smooth slide of skin on skin.

Dean abandoned Cas's erection, much to the angel's disappointment, to grab the leg on his shoulder and hold the angel in place as he scooted forward. He lined his hips up, taking himself in hand and pressed the head of his cock against Cas's entrance. With a short breath, he pushed forward, breaching the angel.

"Yes," Cas hissed, and it was unclear if he was agreeing with Dean's self-assessment or encouraging his choice to finally get on with it. The angel's fingers fisted in Dean's comforter, his blue eyes sliding closed, the whites of his eyes the last Dean saw as he kept going, bottoming out before he could worry too much about going slow. He knew the angel could take it, and he was pretty sure Cas would kick his ass if he tried to go any slower than they already had.

Dean rolled his hips, and Cas's whole body shifted forward on the mattress with his thrust. It was a friggin' beautiful sight, hot as hell, and Dean did it again and again. Cas gasped, mouth hanging open, and he threw one arm over his head to brace himself, palm flat, against the headboard. Dean used both hands on Cas's hips to adjust how the angel was seated against him, before leaving it to just one so he could see to Cas's needy cock.

The angel gasped and moaned and writhed beneath his ministrations, and Dean lapped up every sound. Although Cas's eyes remained closed for the most part, Dean never took his own off Cas's face. That face that had haunted his dreams for months. Mouth parted, emitting the most scintillating little gasps and breaths. Eyes squeezed shut, skin flushed hot, brow furled as he fought off his own inevitable climax.

God, Cas was gorgeous.

Dean bent double, taking Cas's leg with him and practically bending the angel in half (and Jesus, he was flexible. They were going to have to take advantage of that later), and sealed his mouth to Castiel's a little desperately. The angel moaned against his lips, the hand not bracing himself untangling from the scrunched up comforter and burying itself in Dean's nape. Fingers scraped just as desperately at his neck and the base of his skull, and Dean's hips jerked uncontrollably as he came inside the angel.

Cas cried out against him only a second later, and Dean slid his hand up and over his slit two, three, four more times until Cas was practically crying into his shoulder, the treatment to his overly-sensitive tip caused his whole body to jerk. Dean released him with a chaste kiss, and another to his temple as he pulled back, sliding out of the angel and letting Cas's body unfold from their cramped position.

They were covered in ejaculate, sticky white spread over Cas's belly and chest. The angel was still propped up off the bed, arm thrown over his head, legs hanging around Dean's waist as the one slid free from his shoulder. He looked completely debauched, and the human drank in the sight.

He leaned over, placing an arm on either side of Cas's torso so he could bend down and kiss the angel long and slow and sweet. Make love, indeed. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

"Everything you hoped for?" he asked teasingly once he pulled away, smile on his lips, still brushing Cas's.

"Definitely." The angel was still catching his breath, but a thoughtful look crossed his features. "I will need a larger range of experience, of course, to be sure."

Dean grinned, rolling across Cas's body to hit the bed beside him. Sleep was calling to him already, his post-orgasm lull making his limbs heavy. But he liked where Cas was going with this. "Think we can get Sam to take a nice long vacation? I bet you'd really benefit from a multi-room experience."

Cas rolled partially onto his side, their legs entangled in one another. "I think it will not take much convincing, considering he left in the Impala during my first exploration of your cock."

Dean laughed, then refused to think too much in to the fact that Cas could not only hear Sam getting in a car from all the way down here, but was also paying enough attention to do so. Apparently, he'd have to up his game if Cas had that much spare focus. But for now, he was just going to concentrate on the way his stomach tightened and his body buzzed at hearing Cas say the word cock.

"Love it when you talk dirty."

The angel curled tighter into him, and Dean matched the movement, thinking Cas was trying to go for a whisper-in-the-ear bit. Despite the happy lull his body was in, sleep pulling at the edges of him, Dean felt the first coils of warmth stir in his belly once more in anticipation.

"Perhaps we should keep Sam out of our dirty talk going forward."

Dean pulled back, grabbed the pillow beneath Cas's head and hit him with it, all with a hunter's speed. He could still hear the angel's muffled laughter from beneath it.

-o-o-o-

The End

-o-o-o-

A/Ns: Sooooo, that was way harder than I ever thought it was going to be. I hit the first round of smut and was like… ohmygawd, this is actually embarrassing. How is this embarrassing? Not only is it anonymous, I read enough of this crap to write it in my sleep! Whelp, guess I learned my lesson about making assumptions. (Ass. Me. Yup, you get it)

Characterizations: I don't really need to point this out, but since it's on my brain, I'm going to. I can't decide if the epilogue is OOC or not. See, I've been on a Star Trek kick lately, and whenever that happens, my Cas comes out a lot more Spocky than he should be. Cas has always been a formal talker (extra emphasis for Seasons 1-6) but he's not a Spock. So, I worry. Plus, I'm a Bones gal, myself, and as both he and Dean can be grumpy, sarcastic bastards, they sometimes get muddled up too. But Bones is a big old teddy-bear and old school romantic at heart, so now I'm like, is Dean coming across too lovey-dovey? Cuz that's def not Dean. But it's sweet and cute, and I am trying to imagine a world in which Dean actually found himself in love…

Sigh.

I should not read Star Trek while writing Supernatural. I *know* better.

Reviews: So I continue to be the insecure, people-pleasing author who needs validation, and not only is this story no exception, it might be worse than the others. This is the first smut I've actually put out there, as well as the first I've written in about a decade (god, I'm getting old). If it's the kind of story you'd like to see more of in the future, you should encourage now. I have a bad habit of taking silence as disapproval.

Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed my five-part one shot because I just can't not be verbose as fuck.

Cheers,

Silence