It was one of those evenings when thinking was gonna require alcohol. So Dean hunched over a scarred wooden table in a dark corner of a bar in Phillipsburg, Kansas, and nursed a glass of cheap whiskey. This thing with Cas was a relationship with a capital R. No longer could he tell himself they were just messing around or blowing off steam or "exploring the nature of our bond," as the angel had once put it. Dean picked at a cardboard coaster advertising a brand of tequila, peeling its fuzzy layers apart. He'd already been seeing Cas longer than he'd ever dated Cassie. And while they hadn't reached his record with Lisa, he could feel them creeping up on it. And that raised all kinds of questions he didn't want to think about right now.

Dean poured a gulp of whisky down his throat and focused on the warm tingle it gave. Even if he hadn't said it out loud yet, he was confident that his feelings about Cas could be called love. In fact, he suspected they went a little deeper than that, even. This thing between them felt big, terrifying, and new in a way that alarmed him more than going to hell ever did. These feelings felt like they were going to drown him, and he didn't even have a fighting chance.

The J. Geils Band was right. Love stinks.

Dean crushed the coaster into a ball and tossed it across the table. He was pretty sure that falling this hard for someone you'd never actually seen face to face was ridiculous. Those deep blue eyes, high cheekbones and bristly jaw weren't really Cas. The angel wasn't human, and maybe looked nothing like a human in his true form. No matter how many times they had sex—and damn, the sex was friggin' incredible—it was all being done with a borrowed body. It was like Dean had fallen for a guy in a Halloween costume. He gulped the remainder of his drink and stood. He was in a bind, no lie.

A week later he'd finally worked his way around to broaching the subject with Cas. They were doing research, and Sam was off sorting through files in the Men of Letters bunker. Dean's guts quivered with nerves, but he was determined to get it out there. He took a breath in through his mouth and out through his nose. It did nothing to calm him.

"Hey Cas," he said, in a way he hoped sounded spontaneous, "y'ever wonder why I can't see your true form?"

Cas turned a page in a thick book of demon lore he was studying but didn't look up. "Initially. Why?"

Dean felt a rush of guilt and shifted down in his chair so the book he was supposed to be studying covered more of his face. "I remember you saying certain people could uh, hear you and see you." Cas'd actually said special people, which Dean clearly wasn't. "You ever wonder why some can and some can't? Is there like a, um, pattern?" That's it Winchester, he thought, let's pinpoint our failings.

"I assume there's a genetic predisposition," Cas said. "Jimmy's bloodline, for example, has always been able to perceive me. But if there's a reason why you can't it isn't fathomable to me yet." Cas paused and held the book against his chest. "Does it bother you? Are you unhappy with this vessel?"

"No. Course not. Your vessel is great." He wasn't lying. The vessel was great. That wasn't the point.

Dean let out a puff of air he intended to sound like a laugh. "Course if you ever need a loaner I wouldn't object to someone like uh, Lucy Liu. You know, if it came up."

"Yes Dean, if I need a new vessel I'll keep in mind your erotic preoccupations." Cas smiled to himself and went back to reading the book.

Over the next few days the idea of seeing Cas as he really was gnawed at his heart, tearing out chunks with a regularity that sent an ache through his chest. As Dean drove to a simple haunting case, and Sam complained about the rising price of salt, Dean dwelled on the cosmic unfairness that was his life. Jimmy Novak could see the real Cas. Your average demon-on-the-street, like Meg, could see him. Hell, even friggin' Alistair had been able to see him, and they didn't get much more evil that that son of a bitch. Dean knew he must be a disappointment to Cas. When he'd crawled out of his grave, remade by the angel's own hands, Cas had expected Dean to see him and hear his voice. Instead he'd fled from the exploding windows and the blinding light, his ears bleeding. To never be seen by the person who loves you…it wasn't fair.

By the time they were returning to the bunker, the ghost of a murdered violinist no longer attacking people at a music school, Dean realized he'd made a decision. The next time Cas was off on angel business and Sam was researching in the depths of the bunker, Dean prayed.

"Hey Gabriel, it's uh, Dean Winchester. Can we talk? Face to face?"

"Curiouser and Curiouser," Gabriel drawled, appearing in the kitchen and looking at Dean with a mix of interest and suspicion. Dean hefted a carafe of coffee and Gabriel shook his head.

Dean poured himself a cup and sipped at the too-hot beverage, hesitant to begin. But he had to get it done and there was no time like the present.

"So uh, Cas said that certain people could see his true form."

"Sure, cowboy. A few special snowflakes can see us in all our shiny glory. What of it?"

"Any way you can make me one of them?" Dean held eye contact. He needed this.

"Why?" Gabriel looked as if he was dissecting him with his eyes. "You trying to sneak a peek behind the curtain at the Great and Powerful Oz?"

"Can you do it or not?" Dean wasn't about to get into the details of the friendship-turned-mind-blowing sex-turned-soul-wrenching love thing he and Cas had going. He wasn't ready for a coming out to the family scene yet. Hell, he hadn't even told Sam, although the conspicuous way he left them alone together more often suggested he wasn't anybody's fool. Maybe he'd accidentally heard some of the sex, and wasn't that a disturbing thought? Dean wondered if Gabriel would read his mind and immediately pictured a brick wall. If it worked for that dude in Village of the Damned it could work for him.

Gabriel made an expression Dean read as 'Bitch, please!' He'd seen that same look on Sam's face enough times to know it.

"Can I do it? Of course I can." The archangel reached into his pocket and pulled out a container that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Try these on for size."

Hesitantly, Dean took the box and opened it. "Contacts?"

"What, you were expecting, Dean-O? 3-D glasses?"

Dean examined the contacts. They didn't look special. "I don't know what I was expecting. Some kind of magical eye mojo, maybe."

"I'm not the Lasik Eye Institute." Gabriel nodded toward the box and a smirk ghosted across his mouth. "Those bad boys will let you see like you've never seen before."

"Aren't your true forms, like, ginormous?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Think of it as the coming attractions. You'll get the idea, but in a size you can handle."

Dean snapped the box closed. "This the best you can do?"

Gabriel smiled, reminding Dean of something carnivorous. He didn't get why Sam liked this guy so much. "You show me you can handle the responsibility and maybe next year you can have that puppy."

There was a rustling sound and Castiel was there, his cheeks ruddy. Dean wondered if he'd been flying fast, or high in the atmosphere. It was a good look. It reminded Dean of when they…well, it reminded him of things.

"Hello Gabriel. What brings you here?"

"Imparting wisdom, little brother." The archangel looked at his watch. "Well, would you look at the time? I've got a thing with a guy." He waggled his eyebrows. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Cas turned to look at Dean, his pupils enlarging. "I thought he'd never leave." He held up a bag. "I brought more condoms. Sam won't be back upstairs for hours. I propose we defile the control room."

"Awesome." Dean jabbed a thumb toward the bathroom. "Give me a minute, will you?" He closed the door behind him and looked in the mirror. This was it. He took one of the contacts onto a finger. It took a few tries—he was definitely not used to anything touching his eyeballs. But eventually he got them in and centered. Showtime.

Dean opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Cas?"

"I was starting to wonder if you were coming out." The voice was reminiscent of Cas', but it sounded like it someone was using an echo fuzz pad on it. It was big, and sent waves of distortion into eternity. Dean turned toward the sound.

The word that came to mind was awesome, but not the way he usually meant it. Sam had once explained that he'd been using the word wrong. 'Awesome,' he explained, didn't mean cool. It described things that were overwhelming, inspiring reverence, and fear. Dean was definitely feeling fear. He'd expected something glowing with light. Something ethereal, and pretty. What he was seeing was more Call of Cuthulu.

"Dean?" The question seemed to reverberate through his soul, as if Cas had been saying his name for a thousand years.

He closed his eyes against the vision, and then did the only thing he felt capable of doing. He ran away.

Cas knocked on the bathroom door. "Dean, is everything all right?"

"It's fine!" he gasped out. "Just…need another minute," Everything was not fine. Dean splashed cold water on his face and ran both his hands down the wet skin.

God, where to even start? The dozen blue eyes blinking at him like some kind of spider? The razor-sharp beak, like a ship-crushing Kracken. Or maybe he was only thinking that because of the friggin' tentacles. And then there were the wings. There was nothing fluffy or cuddly about those wings. They looked like the last thing you'd see before your carcass was picked clean by giant vultures. Jesus Christ on a cracker. What had he gotten himself into? He gasped in air but felt like his brain still wasn't getting enough oxygen.

He glared at himself in the mirror. "Pull it together, Winchester."

He loved Cas. He knew it. Those feelings were real. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his pulse slowing just a notch. If that was Cas' true form, then that was the guy he'd fallen for. And fallen damn hard.

This shoudn't be such a big deal, he chided himself. He was Dean friggin' Winchester. He'd been to hell, purgatory, and heaven. He'd seen shit that would turn most guys to a pile of sobbing jelly. And if Cas' true form was that scary-ass monster out there he was damn well going to go out there and make love to it as hard and as well as he knew how.

He looked himself in the eye and squared his shoulders. "Let's do this!"

"That was…exceptional," Cas said between panting gasps as he stared, glassy-eyed at the ceiling.

"Yeah?" Dean grinned, pulling himself to a sitting position against an avocado green communications panel. "Well, you're pretty exceptional yourself." He'd been right about this whole true form thing. Once he got past the fear and the unfamiliarity of it all, it was fine. Touch something, lick something, nibble something, and see how Cas responds. Repeat until collapse. He probably wouldn't wear the contacts every time, but now he knew. Sure, it was weird as hell, but once he got past his nerves it had its own kind of beauty.

Cas blushed. At least his boneless appendages took on a rose hue, which Dean assumed was him blushing. Dean ran a hand up one. Now that he was used to it, it felt kind of like a muscular yet boneless arm. And they hugged really well.

Dean shifted closer to Cas' beak, nuzzling it with his head. "So…uh…how come you never mentioned having tentacles? Have I had like, suction marks all down my back this whole time and never known it?"

"Tentacles?" Cas looked at him with twelve unblinking blue orbs, each filled with concern. "Dean, are you having a stroke?"

Sam was trying not to laugh. He really was. But Dean wasn't making it easy. He swallowed and nodded, working to keep his face a mask of concern. But he could feel his cheeks betraying him, especially when Dean got to the part about the tentacles.

"Sam." Cas said his name reproachfully. "This is a serious issue."

"I know." Sam nodded, his eyes shining. "This is my serious issue face." Despite how hilarious it was, at least it had prompted the two of them to stop pretending. Sam was tired of entering rooms only to have to skulk back out and return while whistling or loudly rattling doorknobs.

"I shoulda known I couldn't tell you," Dean complained, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter, reaching out to pull a bottle of Johnny Walker to his chest. "You're practically defending the guy!" He pointed a finger at his brother. "And don't think I don't know what's behind that."

Damn. It seemed that Dean wasn't the only Winchester who was lousy at keeping a secret. On the up side, Gabriel owed him fifty bucks. He'd been sure they were being totally subtle. That, and he'd seriously underestimated Dean's deductive reasoning skills.

Sam shook his shaggy head. "You asked a trickster for a favour, Dean. What did you think was going to happen?"

"I thought I was gonna see my friggin' boyfriend!" Dean turned away, glaring at his angry reflection in the toaster.

Sam leaned back in his chair. "How is it possible you're this naïve?"

"I was desperate. Sue me."

"If I ever gave you the impression I was unhappy with our dynamic, I apologize," Cas said.

"Relax, angel. This ain't about you, exactly."

Sam hung his head and exhaled loudly. The whole situation was kind of beautiful in a weird way. Sidesplitting, but beautiful.

"Just so we're clear," Sam turned to Cas, "you uh, don't have tentacles." He bit his tongue, but his cheeks dimpled anyway.

"Definitely not." Cas' voice was deadpan.

"Or a beak, apparently, or freaky spider eyes. So the what the hell was I seeing?" Dean flung his arms wide.

Gabriel's voice sounded from where he was suddenly perched on the counter. "A manifestation of affect. Those contacts draw on the user's thoughts to stimulate the visual and tactile centers in the brain."

"Really?" Sam asked. That was interesting. He looked thoughtfully at his brother. Huh.

"That's…" Cas became lost in thought.

"Yep." The archangel polished his nails on the pocket of his garish cotton print shirt. It's quite impressive, if I do say so myself." He turned to Sam and winked.

Sam sighed. Gabriel was so obvious. No wonder Dean had figured out what was going on. Besides, how much time could someone really spend 'researching in the file room' before people got suspicious?

"Mani-what?" Dean barked. "Can I get that in English?"

Sam knew how to bridge the language gap. "Uh Dean, I think you were seeing your feelings. For Cas."

Dean ran a hand down his nose and mouth. "Big, overwhelming, and really fucking scary. Sounds about right."

"If you'd just talked to me," Cas said, his voice both weary and amused.

Sam smiled at his brother. "Wow. You're actually in love, aren't you? Great big, chick flick love. That's awesome." He hoped Dean understood how proud he was of him.

Gabriel snorted. "Sounds more like a lost sex scene from The Golden Voyage of Sinbad."

"Shut up!" Dean glared at the archangel.

At this rate he wouldn't be happy to hear that Sam was considering asking Gabe to sleep over a few nights every week.

"Given Dean's predicament, he performed admirably," Cas said, his eyes taking on a sentimental look. "The first orgasm was—"

"TMI, Cas. TMI!" Dean cut in.

Cas looked confused.

"Too much information," Sam supplied helpfully.

Gabriel's face softened. "You know, Dean-O, if you'd told me what this was all about I wouldn't have bothered screwing with you."

"Really?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Please! I am all about helping the course of true love run smooth. Sam felt blood rush up the back of his neck. Given his experience in the file room earlier today, that was probably true.