Title: Control Issues
Rating: NC-17
Fandom/Pairing: SPN/ Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: Not mine
Warnings/Notes: Extreme spoilers for 5.08. Most likely the lamest title in existance.

Summary: Sam ribs Dean about Dr. Sexy, Cas is confused, Dean has control issues and in the end, a few things are talked about. (...okay, it's a little bit more serious than the summary makes it sound, but you get the drift)

The Trickster always gave Dean shivers down his spine. Even before he was Gabriel – or rather, before Dean knew he was Gabriel, he always gave Dean shivers down his spine. He was just creepy, in an unstable, deranged way, the particular brand of eurgh that was like sitting on an airplane, belted to that fricking uncomfortable seat and shaking through a series of stomach-turning turbulences…and then suddenly being attacked by a million grinning clowns.

Dean has issues about control sometimes. He knows that. One of the many, many (reasonable and thoroughly understandable) reasons he hates flying is because he's not controlling the damn thing, some other guy is, and he just has to trust that guy knows what he's doing and won't make them all crash in a fiery ball of destruction. One of the many, many reasons he's not letting Michael anywhere near him is because, along with certain death and destruction, blah, blah, blah, the idea of someone else riding around in his body with him trapped somewhere on the inside makes him physically ill.

It's why he exorcized Meg the way he did, back when she was still Meg, not Sam and not that random chick she was in last time they met. Because death had to be better than being a prisoner inside yourself.

Dean's control issues, if he's feeling really crappy about himself, are possibly also a reason it never worked out with Cassie. Beyond the whole secret-demon-killer thing. And the part where he could never have stayed in that dinky little town forever.

Point is, the Trickster (or, he supposes, Gabriel) totally gets off on taking away his control of a situation. He makes things happen that never, ever should, he sticks Dean in situations and makes him play a role, and Dean fucking hates it.

Right now, mostly, what he wants is to get back to their ugly-ass motel room with the bright blue flowers on the wall, sit down on his bed and breathe deeply for as long as it takes for him to reassert his control over the situation.

God, would Sam ever make fun of him if he knew that.

Dean's not calling it meditation. That's for hippies. It's a breathing exercise Dad taught him around the time he taught him to shoot for the first time. It helps him to stay calm. That's it.

Anyway. The time for that is so not now, because Sam is sitting on the other bed, drinking a beer and being an aimless lost puppy because he's not sure what they do now. Cas is standing awkwardly somewhere at a wall.

"Sit down, Cas," Dean says, patting the space beside him on the bed. "Sheets are ugly as hell, but they don't bite."

Cas does the head-tilt thing and Dean can practically see the thought process in his head go from Why would I think it bites? – Oh. Linguistic device. He sits down stiffly next to Dean, still in his trench coat and shoes.

Dean grins. Some things never change (he thinks briefly of future Cas, scruffy and drunk and wrong and decides not to tell Cas he can take off his shoes).

"I'm never going to be able to watch TV again," Dean says in the ensuing silence, taking a sip of his own beer.

"Well, one thing about it doesn't make sense," Sam says. His shoulders aren't tense, so Dean knows it's not going to be an issue, and he has the superior bitchface, so Dean knows Sam's about to say something mean.

"What?" Cas asks. He hasn't learned to read Sam too well yet.

It kind of makes Dean feel funny on the inside, that Cas knows him from all sides, by heart, can reach down into the deepest pits of Dean's insecurities, and still has no clue what Sam means most of the time. It goes both ways; Dean's noticed he can read Cas' expressions better these days, from emoangel to confuzzled. He's not sure Sam's noticed.

"Why the hell does Dean know so much about Dr. Sexy, MD?"

Sam's grinning now, and if Dean's masculinity hadn't just taken a hit, he'd be happy Sam's happy.

"Told you," Dean says, flushing up to his hairline. "Guilty pleasure."

Cas is looking at him intently, unblinking, cataloguing the rise of blood to the surface of Dean's skin, watching as his freckles become less obvious in the light pink color his skin is now.

Dean's seen that look before.

"Guilty pleasure?" Sam asks, oblivious to what's going on next to him and enjoying the chance to tease his brother too much to care either way. "I'm sorry, and I quote, 'part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the cowboy boots'? That's not guilty pleasure, that's, like, flailing fangirl."

"Shut up," Dean says, blushing harder. Sam should not, should never, have picked up on that, that is all kinds of bad.

Cas' eyes are still on him, though, which is strange, and kind of nice. He's doing the head-tilt again, and asking, "Boots are arousing?"

Dean has to laugh, because he suddenly has an image of Cas, naked except for cowboy boots, and it's a tie as to whether that's sexy or ridiculous.

Sam, meanwhile, has that look (embarrassed bitchface) that means he thinks Dean has been spending too much time with Cas. "Uh, not really," he says, and he's probably considering how to make this sound like an anthropology lecture.

Fuck that. "It's a TV show, Cas," Dean says. "Mostly, women watch it. And women like dangerous guys."

"And boots are dangerous," Cas says, in what, for anyone else, would be a deadpan voice. He looks pointedly at Dean's boots, lying next to the bed.

Dean shrugs. "Not really. Sort of. I guess. It's not logical or anything. Women are weird."

"But you watch the show, too," Cas points out. "And you are not a woman."

No, Cas has had ample proof of that.

He's also had ample proof that women are not the only people who can be attracted to Dr. Sexy, or he should have, given that Cas and Dr. Sexy have a few features in common (though Cas has way better eyes), and he should know not to ask that question in front of Sam.

Because Sam, being the bitch that he is, is laughing and saying, "Aw, Dean just has a big ole crush on Dr. Sexy, doesn't he?"

And now Cas has that other look, the one that means, complex human emotions are complex. "Do you, Dean?"

And Sam's laughing harder, because apparently the idea that Dr. Sexy is sexy is completely hilarious.

"I do not understand," Cas says in his usual tone of rumpled dignity. "Why is that amusing?"

"Why isn't it?" Sam asks, finally realizing that Cas wasn't joking (idiot. Cas doesn't joke very well), and that Dean has his train wreck, carnage, must look away but somehow can't face.

"I have difficulty understanding Dean's sexual urges sometimes," Cas says.

Sam does bitchy bitchface. "Uh, Cas, I don't think you need to understand Dean's, um, sexual urges. I don't think anyone does. But especially not, uh, you."

"Why?"

"Well, you're…an angel."

"So?" Cas asks, in an almost perfect imitation of the rugged military doctor who guest starred on Dr. Sexy, MD a few weeks ago.

"Well, isn't the whole…guys looking at guys thing kind of a sin for you guys?" Sam asks.

Dean's kind of astounded Sam's jumped straight from Dean having sex to homosexuality is bad without connecting the two, but hey, if it saves him from another bitchface, he's happy.

"No," Cas says. "Sexuality and variations thereof are part of human nature, and the Father sees and loves all humans."

"Huh," Sam says. "Okay, this is way too weird for right now. I'm gonna go get dinner somewhere. You guys wanna come?"

"No thanks," Dean says. "I'mma stay here."

"Sure?" Sam asks, concerned face. Dean doesn't usually skip dinner.

"Yeah, not hungry," Dean says.

"Okay. Cas?"

"I will stay here as well."

The vacuum of confusion Sam leaves in the room is calming. It's like there are all these issues sitting squarely between them when it's all three of them; Sam's guilt and envy that Dean got an angel and he didn't, Dean's need to protect both his baby brother and the man-angel who saved him from hell and heaven, Dean's confusion over whom he trusts more, the series of roadblocks that make up communication between Sam and Cas, the stuff Dean and Cas haven't told Sam, and on and on and on.

When it's just Dean and Sam, or just Dean and Cas, everything's okay.

"How you doing, Cas?" Dean asks.

"I'm not sure," Cas says. Understandable. "Do you think Gabriel was right?"

"About which part?" Dean asks.

"Any of it," Cas says, and Dean understands in a flash that if Cas were human he'd want Dean to say, no, no, he was completely wrong, but Cas isn't human and he wants an honest answer.

"I have no idea," Dean says. "We can only hope not. Did you…did you two get along?"

"I suppose so," Cas says. "Angels don't really…not get along."

He sighs, then, slumps his shoulders. "This is difficult, Dean," he says.

"Yeah, well, if it were all sunshine and daisies it wouldn't be life," Dean says.

Cas snorts humorlessly, because he has no sense of humor, and because he's also not really that hooked up to the concept of human life.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean says. "You gotta relax, or God'll take one look at you when you find him and tell you you need to go to a spa or something."

Cas mojoes away his coat and shoes and lies back on the bed, probably more because Dean said 'when' and not 'if' than because of the ridiculous platitude. He probably doesn't even know what a spa is.

Dean twists around till he's lying next to Cas, shoulders pressed together, comfortable in a way Dean's only ever been with Sam before.

"Dean, can I-?" Cas asks, or, well, doesn't ask.

"Yeah," Dean says, and Cas kisses him.

Dean's control issues are flexible when it comes to Cas. If Dean were feeling introspective (which he's not, thank you), he would probably have to confess to himself that it's because he trusts Cas.

But hell, Cas gave up heaven for him. He can give a little back. And if that's him on his back, legs up around Cas' borrowed body, hand tangled in Cas' borrowed hair as Cas takes them both as close to heaven as either of them has any of chance of getting these days, then Dean's not going to start complaining anytime soon.

Cas is gorgeous, flushed in ecstasy and striving for more. He's not human, he'll never, ever be human, not if Dean has a say in it, but he's alive in a way Dean revels in. Cas is naïve and innocent in spirit, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel. Anymore.

And Dean's never going to start believing that feeling is wrong, no matter what the holy douchebag brigade says.

Sam comes back when Cas is already resting, eyes closed and body warm against Dean's under the covers. They smell of sweat and sex and Dean's sticky in ways he's not entirely comfortable with, but there's time for showering in the morning. Cas doesn't need to rest, but he's had a long day, and his body is human, even if he isn't, so he deserves a bit of time-out.

There's no way Sam's going to miss the smell of sex or the way Cas nestles close to Dean, and Dean was meaning to do something about that, but he's only human and he's easily led to temptation when there's someone who needs him. It's how he failed Sam and Dad, in the end, but it's a mistake he's never going to learn from, because he needs to be needed and Cas needs to be held.

Sam comes back in quietly, noticing that the lights are off, and is already halfway through the room before he notices the sleeping angel and Dean in bed together.

His eyes go wide and his arms flail momentarily, the way they do when he's upset or shocked, like he's forgotten he's not fourteen anymore, he's grown into his body and he knows what to do with it.

Dean makes a shhh motion and slides out from under the covers. He pulls on a pair of jeans (without boxers, because he doesn't really know where those went) and jerks his head for Sam to follow him outside.

With the door closed, Sam just gapes at him like a dead fish.

"Sorry about that," Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Cas took the whole thing with Gabriel really hard-"

"So you slept with him?" Sam asks incredulously, arms flailing again.

"So he needed…he just needed, okay?" Dean says.

"Jesus," Sam says, rubbing a hand over his mouth and turning away like he does when he's trying to process. "I thought we were all joking about the Dr. Sexy stuff."

"Cas doesn't always recognize humor," Dean says.

"I'm getting that. Are you- why? I mean…is…you want it, right?"

"Course I do, Sammy," Dean says. "Wouldn't be doing it if I didn't."

"Since when do you?"

Dean's not entirely sure he's ready for this. "Look, we don't have to talk about this."

And that's when Sam gets Ultimate Bitchface. The one that gets capital letters. The one that says, oh, really? Cuz, y'know, I don't think so. "How long, Dean?" He asks, with that voice that sounds badass to other people.

"With Cas, since…Lilith died. With guys. Um. Always?"

"Why the hell didn't you ever tell me?"

"It's not like we talk about this shit!" Dean practically explodes with thirty-plus years of trying to be exactly what his family needed and cutting off whatever part of himself didn't match with John's soldier and Sammy's brother. "It's not like I could just say, 'Oh, yeah, and by the way, Sammy, I like dick'. And Dad? Could never have told him. It's cool, I'm bi anyway, and it's not like I ever had relationships."

"But Cas…" Sam says.

"Cas is different," Dean says, and doesn't say, Cas needs me because he chose to, or Cas lets me need him, or even Cas says he's sorry when he hurts me, because he's not a fucking girl.

"This is weird," Sam says.

"Not as weird as bloodplay," Dean mutters under his breath, and Sam's shoulders hunch with guilt.

"Look, I'm sorry," Dean says. "I should've talked to you earlier. But, dude, I don't do the whole talking thing."

"Okay," Sam says. "Can we at least get separate rooms when you fuck?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "If you promise not to take off on your own and do something stupid."

Sam sighs. "I thought we were trying to get over that."

"We are," Dean says blankly. "Rebuilding trust is part of the process, and it takes a while, you can't just expect everything to work because you want it to. Don't you ever watch Dr. Phil?"

Sam shakes his head. "Your TV habits just started making way more sense."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean says, "I'm still more badass than you."

"I always knew you were overcompensating."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The door creaks open, and Cas steps out, hair mussed and tie even more crooked than usual. "Did something happen?"

"No," Dean says. "Sorry, I had to talk to Sam."

Cas gives him a questioning look, and Dean nods.

"Oh," Cas says. "Will you come back to bed, then?"

"Yeah," Dean says, pointedly ignoring the warm glow he gets when Cas says that, words rolling from borrowed lips like they were meant to. "What about you, Sammy?"

Sam grimaces. "I'm sleeping in the car. Sorry. It's just weird. I think I need to get used to it."

Dean shrugs. "Your back. G'night, little brother."

Sam smiles, just a bit, and Dean knows he's not going to get another bitchface tonight. "Night, Dean. Cas."

Cas inclines his head. "Good night, Sam." Cas is in Dean's personal space again, as usual, and it's comfortable instead of intrusive, and Sam's eyes are calculating, like he's trying to understand them, and that's good, it means someday he'll figure it out and accept it.

In the end, there are three people Dean's control issues don't apply to.

One was John Winchester. He taught Dean control in the first place, and he's not in the picture anymore. The second is Sam Winchester, because there's nothing Dean won't do for Sam, including give up control. The third is Castiel, because he and Dean are on equal footing. The need and trust goes both ways, and the stumbling, trembling, halting threads of affection and commitment are still hanging free in the space between them, but they're getting there.

It's just a bit like those breathing exercises, being around Cas. It helps Dean center himself in a world spinning ever faster towards annihilation.

If Dean were allowing himself time to think about this instead of the possible fiery destruction of the earth and the possible fratricide in his future, he would think that it's kind of what he's always wanted.

But he's not thinking about it, because overthinking sucks, and everything's okay. For now.