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Drop Your Expectations (And Your Pants)

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This is the story of how Dean fell in love, for the first time, with his brother's boyfriend. (And how Sam didn’t mind giving Dean this one thing he would never ask for.)


It was three firsts for Dean, actually.

Dean had never wanted, nor meant, to take anything away from Sam. He’d always given Sam all he wished for, more than he needed, and insured that Sam was beyond comfortable.

Dean had never wanted to be with a man before – at least not one that wasn’t famous, badass, and kind of slutty – in his life.

And, most importantly, Dean had never believed in love at first sight. Not that he’d admit to that being the case; he’s still in utter denial of the entire situation, even after weeks of having Sam’s blessing.




How it all began


At first, Sam was afraid he wouldn’t be able to make friends. He and Dean knew how little Sam had been able to make in high school, and Dean just didn’t care enough to try. Sam was this geeky kid with a smart-ass brother to everyone, and neither of them fit into normal society despite how much they’d often wanted to.

Then Sam grew, and grew, and he was still a geeky kid, but people seemed to like the longer limbs. Dean had stopped going to school - their parents unfortunately having passed away – long before Sam received his acceptance letter to Stanford. Dean was proud enough for the both of them, though.

And that was enough for Sam to head into another stage of life with Dean trailing close behind, working at a body shop for their father’s friend, Bobby. Luckily, Dean wouldn’t need to spend a cent of the money he saved for Sam – what with the nifty scholarship Sam’s “geekiness” provided him.




It goes a lot smoother than it did back when Sam struggled to blend in during high school. He’s constantly praised for his knowledge of—well—everything; he’s picked up a lot of useless facts over the years he’d spent in solitary confinement as a youth.

There is one man, however unlikely, who seems to know just as much about all the topics Sam dips into (when he’s feeling particularly boastful). And that someone quickly becomes Sam’s rival, his target.

Jessica, a friend he’d made within the first week of class, tells Sam he shouldn’t try to out-smart the reserved guy, but befriend him instead. They could be much more productive as a team than as separate entities. (She makes it seem like they’re superheroes or something. It’s kind of flattering.)

Sam mulls the suggestion over while eating supper that night with Dean. If Dean notices Sam’s mind drifting far away from the dinner table, he doesn’t say anything. Dean takes the half-eaten steak from Sam’s plate, and scoops more salad, dropping it onto Sam’s plate. Sam smiles at the gesture, but Dean pretends like he’s done nothing.




As Sam is considering walking up to his rival and offering a peace treaty, the blue-eyed man does it first.

“Hello, Sam,” he says in a deep, resounding tone. “I am Castiel.”

“Nice to meet you, Castiel.” Sam puts out a hand. Castiel’s lips curl slightly, and he takes the hold; his palm a welcomed warmth.

Both men are thinking the ‘glad to be your friend’ that’s left unsaid. And things get much easier, better, for Sam after that. He promises to bring Jess out for supper later as a thank-you.




Weeks pass and Sam and Castiel are deemed the Einstein Twins by Jess (and the rest of their peers who know their freakishly sponge-like minds). Eventually, Sam discovers Castiel isn’t even a law major, but took the classes Sam was in because he’d developed an interest in the younger man’s intelligence. If that isn’t a compliment, Sam isn’t sure what is.

Sam invites Castiel over to study and to show Dean that he’s capable of making proper friends just by being himself. Dean isn’t very friendly – not usually good at meeting new people – but he’s nice enough to offer them beer, which they take upstairs to Sam’s room so Dean can relax in the living room on his own.

The next times Castiel comes over, Dean doesn’t do much more than nod in his direction and jerk a thumb at the fridge in silent approval of their stealing some of his stash. It’s a bit weird that Dean is already so comfortable with Castiel’s visits but, if anything, Sam is glad for the strange outcome.

When they finish their beers, reminiscing over their two years of friendship already gone by, Castiel is batting his eyes – perhaps because he’s a lightweight, but Sam would have noticed sooner if he was—and he presses closer, his book falling off his lap as he kisses Sam’s cheek.

If Sam’s mouth hadn’t gone dry he would’ve asked ‘what was that for?’, but Castiel takes the silence as rejection and packs his books in his bag, standing to leave. Sam catches his wrist as he’s swinging the bedroom door open, and Sam stands, following Castiel’s lead and pressing a chaste kiss to the smaller man’s cheek.

Just as their friendship was sealed with a soft touch of skin, their shift in relationship is, too.




It’s getting closer to graduation, and Sam has been dating Castiel long enough that he feels compelled to re-introduce him to Dean. This time Castiel isn’t Sam’s equally geeky friend, he’s Sam’s best friend and boyfriend. Dean needs to understand the importance of getting along with Castiel.

Sam is tugging nervously at the cuffs of his plaid shirt with Castiel right behind him as he unlocks the front door. Dean is lounging on the living room sofa, and doesn’t even look up when he says ‘Hey Sammy’ followed closely by ‘Cas’.

Castiel pushes Sam forward when it seems like he’s stuck to his spot on the ground. Sam’s too afraid to admit he’s started dating his best friend who’s been coming over and sneaking up to his room for over a year. That just makes it seem as though they’d been keeping it from Dean all along. Sam knows how Dean’s mind works, and it’s not pretty.

Dean looks over at them when Sam is still not moving, not speaking, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. Castiel huffs from behind him and pushes him forward, again, to convince him to spit it out.

“Um,” Sam stammers, looking at Castiel for courage. He mouths I can’t do this and Castiel nods, looking disappointed but understanding.

“Just say it,” Dean snaps, twisting off the cap of his beer. The bottle’s just about at Dean’s mouth when Sam finally finds his voice.

“I wanted you to meet someone,” Sam says, still skirting around the subject.

“I already know Cas,” Dean says, unimpressed, pressing the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

“My boyfriend,” Sam blurts out. Dean sputters, the beer dripping down his chin.

“Boyfriend?!” Dean shouts, wiping the beer away with the back of his hand. “You’re kidding, right? This guy? Since when do you even swing that way?”

Castiel frowns, pushing past Sam to stomp up every single one of their stairs until he reaches Sam’s door, and (logically for him) slams it shut behind him. Dean grunts, and Sam shoots him a patented bitch-face that would make strangers wither and die. Dean puts his hands up in defeat and mutters a ‘sorry’ before taking another gulp of beer.

It’s a clear sign of things to come, but Sam refuses to acknowledge that.



Once upon a time


It’s summer, or close to it at least, and Dean spends most of it riding his bike while watching Sam play with a soccer ball in the grass of their backyard. Their mother is never far away; inside the house behind clear, glass doors fixing her boys some iced tea to cool them off, or turning on the radio loud enough for them to enjoy from outside.

Dean’s barely eight years old, but he enjoys his task of keeping innocent Sam safe—or operation K.I.S.S. as their mother calls it—from the outside world and from pesky bees. However, there’s a kid next door who always manages to interfere with this important duty.

The kid is about Dean’s height with dark, messy hair and eyes that seem like a reflection of the sky. He peeks over the fence one day to greet his neighbours.

“Whatchu doing?” he says, his chin resting on the wooden fence.

“None of your business,” Dean says, riding in a circle around Sam who is staring intently at an ant hill.

“Okay,” the boy disappears back behind the fence.

Dean struggles with keeping his eyes fixed on Sam and not going over there to see where the boy has gone. But it’s not fair. The kid is gone. And Dean—Dean just has to know where he went.

Dean drops his bike next to Sam and shuffles over to the fence, leaning on his toes to get a better view. He can’t see that dark hair or those blue eyes anywhere.

When Dean turns back to look at Sam, Sam is trying to ride Dean’s bike, falling flat on his face when he can’t reach the pedals properly. Their mother rushes out quickly, glancing over at Dean, but too busy trying to calm Sam to actually scold Dean. She carries Sam inside and asks if Dean can help with cleaning up Sam’s knee. He nods, looking serious beyond his years; that’s the least he can do for already failing his mission.

That night Dean is resolute about not letting a single distraction get in between him and Sam’s safety ever again. Their mother may have forgiven his careless behaviour, but he doesn’t want his baby brother to end up crying and bloody every time something (or someone) else catches his eye.




The boy returns to the fence the next day, but Dean is busy helping Sam dig a hole in their yard—which Mary strictly said not to. Dean couldn’t refuse when Sam made puppy eyes and his lip trembled.

“Whatchu doing?” The boy asks again, leaning both arms on the fence under his head.

Dean ignores him this time.

“What’s your name?”

Dean digs faster, throwing dirt on Sam’s clean shorts by accident. They won’t be clean for long anyway.

“Is that your brother?”

Dean calls for his mom in an attempt to intimidate the meddlesome boy next door. He hears the boy jump down from his side of the fence and scurry away. That could be used again in the future.




It’s another sunny day and Mary is inside doing dishes. Dean is riding his bike again, circling Sam like a hawk to make sure Sam doesn’t eat worms or get attacked by a bumblebee. One of those yellow suckers could probably do some damage to his baby brother.

Dean hears the familiar shuffling of the neighbour kid climbing the fence to get a better look.

“Hey!” the boy calls from his yard.

Dean is not going to let that guy distract him anymore. Sammy’s well-being is way more important.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Dean stops riding his bike for a second, turns, and glares at the boy. Afterwards, he resumes prowling around his baby brother with the relentless sun beating down on their skin. Mary steps outside with a tray of iced tea, and catches sight of a bob of black hair at the fence.

“Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” the boy replies solemnly. He jumps down and goes back in his home.

Mary frowns at Dean as if she knows he’s the cause for that kid’s premature depression.

“I didn’t do anything, mom.” Dean hops off his bike and grabs the two cups from her. She smiles but she doesn’t seem convinced.




The next day, the kid doesn’t show up. And Dean is about to go looking for him until he remembers how scared he was last time he’d let Sam out of his sight. That wasn’t going to happen again under his watch.

Dean doesn’t see the kid for the rest of the summer, and he feels kind of bad about making him disappear altogether like that. A month later, right before the start of the school year, Dean sees the family next door packing boxes into a truck that their father is driving.

This time Dean can let his eyes stray from Sam, but the neighbour doesn’t even look over when Dean waves goodbye. He just climbs into his parents’ car, in the front seat with his mother, keeping a steely gaze on the road ahead, not turning back as Dean shouts out his name to the boy.

Dean! My name’s Dean! And my brother’s name is Sam!


Years pass, and Dean mentions it once or twice to Sam. Sam says he doesn’t remember anything about that summer, so Dean just assumes he was too young (and too interested in becoming a biologist) at the time. Dean doesn’t forget those eyes though, no matter who he meets, even if it was only one summer a long time ago.


No time like the present


Dean feels bad for making Sam’s boyfriend storm off like that, but not bad enough to actually apologize. Instead, and Sam recognizes it distinctly, he tries to treat Castiel like he does Sam – like someone with many intricate feelings, someone very fragile. At least Dean is sort of trying.

Castiel comes over once per week, hiding behind the wall that is Sam’s torso just in case Dean still hasn’t accepted him. Dean mutters a quick ‘hey’ to Castiel when Sam escapes to the washroom upstairs, leaving Castiel standing awkwardly next to the front entrance. Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel stares at him, really stares, as if he might be able to extinguish Dean’s life-force if he concentrates on it hard enough.

When it gets so awkward that Dean wishes Castiel could actually do that, Sam rushes down the stairs and grabs Castiel’s fingers in passing.

“Bye, Dean,” Sam says quickly. “Don’t wait up.”

“Oh, ew,” Dean says, taking a long swig of his beer. Much alcohol is needed to erase the images of whatever Sam intends to do.

Sam rolls his eyes, lacing his fingers with Castiel’s before locking the door behind them.

Dean shakes his head, discouraged; he thought Sam had better taste than that—whatever that is. He’s seen Castiel quite a few times now, and he never seems to loosen up. He’s always wearing that beige detective coat, a crooked, thin tie, dark pants that hide his already small frame, and a white dress shirt that seems to have had better days. The thing is, Castiel’s hair is constantly mussed up like he’s actually spent time trying to make it look naturally messy when—surely—he’s spent as little time on it as he has his outfit.

And, sure, it’s not only about the physical in a relationship, but it’s Sam he’s dating—little Sammy who scraped his knee when he was four because Dean was too busy trying to search out the irritating neighbour kid—

Dean spits his beer out across the living room table. Well, fuck.

Dean should have known there was a reason for his immediate annoyance when Sam first announced they were dating. Castiel is that kid. He’s the one who wouldn’t stop staring and asking questions with wild, dark hair and eyes that brought you up to the clouds. And, although Dean had only really looked at Castiel a handful of times, he would never forget those eyes.

Castiel is one person Dean thought he’d never see again. And from the way they parted, Castiel most likely would have preferred never seeing Dean again. Did he even remember Dean or was this just some supremely freaky coincidence? Castiel couldn’t have remembered and decided to get back at Dean by dating his baby brother, could he? That’s lower than low.

At least now Dean has various, valid reasons for disliking Castiel (and secretly hoping their relationship collapses in the near future). Sammy deserves better than a weird dude with no fashion sense and poor people skills. He should be with a hot, blonde chick with brains and sex appeal dripping out of her pores, someone who compliments Sam, not someone who mirrors him.




Since Sam isn’t one for confrontation and wants Castiel to be the happiest when he’s around him, he always drags Castiel up to his bedroom. That way Castiel can feel comfortable, and Dean won’t have a chance to make off-handed comments about attire or their sexual relations (or lack thereof since they’ve only kissed so far).

Oftentimes the nerdy couple, as Dean secretly calls them, stay up in Sam’s room until Dean needs to prepare for bed. On those occasions, Dean knocks and says ‘goodnight geeks’, but usually doesn’t get any reply until much later or the following morning. But, once in a while, Dean waits to see if Sam will shout something through the door, pressing his ear on the wood for a better listen.

Usually there is only silence or murmuring, but—to Dean’s great misfortune because of how active his imagination is—sometimes he hears moaning and panting. The kind of sounds you never want to hear your baby brother making. And then a second voice chimes in, louder and deeper, and Dean knows it has to be Castiel—which is definitely less revolting, but not any more comfortable. Dean’s mind offers a myriad of options for him to choose from in regards to what Sam could be doing for his boyfriend to sound like he’s barely hanging on to his sanity.

Dean doesn’t get much sleep on those nights.




Castiel decides to surprise Sam by dropping in unplanned. Once he knocks and Dean is the one to answer the door, he starts losing bits and pieces of his previous joy. Dean narrows his eyes, but reluctantly lets the blue eyed (devil) man inside.

“Sam won’t be back for a while,” Dean offers, plopping down on the couch to resume the extreme sport of channel surfing.

“Oh.” Castiel looks down, deciding whether he should stay and go up to Sam’s room to wait or leave and come back another time.

For someone who was so aggressive and outgoing as a child, he’s ridiculously timid and unsociable now. If it wasn’t for Castiel’s eyes and hair being the same, Dean would wonder if his memory wasn’t lying to him. He’d never found out that kid’s name, so there’s still a possibility that Castiel is not that same kid.

Dean sighs and turns to Castiel to say, “You can wait here if you want, dude. I’m not going to attack you.”

Castiel looks up at Dean, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He’s like Mona Lisa, this one. And those eyes – goddamn them – sparkling with shades of blue. There’s no denying that Castiel was the boy from behind the fence.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel crosses the room and sits in an armchair next to the sofa.

Dean glances at Castiel, wondering when they’d become close enough to actually ‘hang out’ together. The TV rumbles with a rowdy audience chanting ‘Jerry, Jerry’ and Dean considers staying put until he reads the subtitle.

I’m sleeping with my brother’s boyfriend and I don’t care!

No fuckin’ way is Dean watching this with mister prissy, deep moan man next to him—who also happens to be his brother’s boyfriend.

Dean switches the channel, and Castiel makes a weird, gargling noise. Is that a protest from the sir with an I.Q. of 140? That’s unexpected.

“Did you wanna watch that?” Dean says, still switching channels.

“No.” Castiel fidgets in his seat, leaning back so far it looks like the armchair is swallowing him whole.

“Even if you like Jerry Springer, I’m not watching that crap,” Dean replies, keeping his gaze on the blur of mindless shows. High school drop-out or not, Jerry Springer is below him.

Castiel grumbles, his eyes now fixed on Dean. “Then why did you pretend to offer?”

“It was a question, not an offer,” Dean quips. This is his living room in his home that he paid for with his money. Castiel should be glad Dean didn’t tell him to go wait upstairs for Sam like a good little nerd.

“You are like a child, were you aware of that?” Castiel scowls at Dean, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. How could Sam tolerate being under a roof with a man like this for so long?

Dean scoffs, his eyes darting over to Castiel who is starting to get red in the face. Well, if Castiel’s going to be a little bitch, then let’s see how much more it takes before he storms out or upstairs. “Dude, this is my house. You’re a guest, but not my guest. And your host isn’t here right now, dear.”

Castiel sits up abruptly, burning a hole through Dean’s skull with the death-glare he has pinned on him. “I don’t think Sam will appreciate the inhospitable way you’re treating me, Dean.”

“Sam’s got nothing to do with you trying to be all princess-like, and trying to make me the dumb chauffeur,” Dean answers, struggling to keep his tone at a steady level.

“How have I inconvenienced you, oh mighty king of the Winchester castle?” Castiel spits. His eyes would be shooting machetes—forget daggers—if they could.

Dean looks over then, and Castiel smiles a shit-eating grin. “Your presence alone is bad enough without you being in my personal space with your Martian eyes and lame excuse for a hairdo.” Castiel’s grin shifts back into a deadly scowl. Dean smiles, returning his attention to the television.

“Really? I’ve been so bothersome these past weeks by merely staying in Sam’s room and being polite? And wasn’t it you that said I could stay here? You never specified which areas of your home were forbidden to visitors. I’ll make a note of that for next time, Dean.” Castiel sits back, crossing his arms.

“Where do you get off being all uppity in someone else’s house? Just ‘cause you’re dating Sam doesn’t mean you can be a shit to me and he’ll allow it. Bros before—well, before boyfriends. And you know what, Cas? Just ‘cause you’ve managed to slip into our lives again after who knows how long, and Sam doesn’t remember you, doesn’t mean I forgot who you are.” Dean shuts the TV and stands to go to the kitchen for a snack. Castiel is ruining his lounging mood.

Castiel stands and follows Dean into the kitchen, his arms still crossed. “What are you talking about? I’ve never met either of you before. I would remember someone as unwelcoming as you. And Sam and I would have been dating much sooner if that were the case.”

“Gross.” Dean rummages through his cupboards and finds a bowl of cereal.

Froot Loops are good at any age, that’s just common sense.  He takes out a bowl and starts filling it when he notices the silence. One look at Castiel tells Dean a few things; Castiel likes cereal, Castiel likes Froot Loops, more precisely, and Dean can use this to his advantage. The probing about that summer will have to wait. “Did you want some?”

Castiel’s tongue darts out quickly, but his eyes are piercing and angry when he meets Dean’s gaze.

Castiel doesn’t want to fall for this. He needs to wait for Sam to return; they’re supposed to dine together. “Is that just a question now or an actual offer?”

“If you’re going to be bitchy about it never—”

“I want some,” Castiel cuts in.

Dean tips his head, watching Castiel intently. “Aren’t you forgetting something?"

“Please?” Castiel says, pulling one of the kitchen chairs out.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Dean continues pouring the rings into his bowl. He’s completely and utterly aware that there’s only enough in the box for one portion; he was saving it for a day when he would be too lazy to drive around in search of pie.

The last colourful piece falls into his bowl and he shakes the box, feigning sadness. “Sorry, Cas, guess there’s not enough for two.”

Castiel rips the box out of Dean’s grasp and peers inside, looking unnecessarily horrified. “You knew.”

“Why would I do that?” Dean replies, bringing his bowl with him to the counter to fill it with milk. You can’t be too careful with Mr. bitchy, snippy, trench coat guy almost turning purple now.

“Because you’re a horrible person,” Castiel says matter-of-factly, then, “and nothing like Sam Winchester.”

That hurts, Dean has to admit. But well, that only makes the next part of his plan that much more appealing. “S’that right?”

We’ll see who’s a horrible person.

Dean grabs a seat across from Castiel, slowly scooping up a mouthful and purposely chewing it with indecent humming sounds and closed eyes. Castiel looks about ready to implode, but doesn’t tear his eyes away. Power to him – the masochist.

Castiel’s fists ball up on the table, and Dean purposely spills some milk so he has to wipe it with his fingers and suck those instead. Castiel opens his mouth to complain or whine – or maybe play a pre-recorded self-destruct message, who knows – but keys in the doorway distract him.

“Sam!” Castiel leaps from his seat, flipping Dean’s bowl onto his lap accidentally on purpose as he goes to greet his boyfriend.

Dean curses under his breath, but thankfully he didn’t have much cereal or milk left for it to be that big of a deal. Dean scoffs. He pushed Castiel’s buttons hard enough for him to retaliate in such a pre-school way; it makes him giddy for all the wrong reasons. It’s the little things in life you have to be grateful for, really.

“Hey Cas,” Sam says when he has to catch an armful of grown man with little warning.

The wind is knocked out of Sam when legs come up and wrap around him, Castiel kissing him like they haven’t seen each other in years. Sam can’t really complain about this welcome home ambush, what with the amount of grinding and whimpers Castiel is offering him.

“Missed you,” Castiel says, breathless.

Dean drops his bowl and spoon in the sink with a clang, not bothering to rat out Castiel like he could (because he’s better than that twerp), and just waves at Sam instead on his way upstairs.

Sam looks at Castiel, and Castiel shrugs a shoulder in response, unwinding himself from around his boyfriend. “Maybe he’s tired and wants to sleep early?”

“It’s only six, Cas,” Sam answers, huffing out a laugh.

Castiel bats his eyes, and Sam chuckles ruffling his hair. Dean sees all that from the top of the stairs and very nearly gags. How in the hell could Sam believe that fake angel act when Castiel is so obviously a demon with a crooked halo over his head? He’s either blinded by lust (which—yuck) or he’s not as smart as Dean thought he was.




Dean goes off on a tangent, that he does with no one else but Sam, about how awful Castiel is. Sam listens, silently, his arms crossed, but more amused than anything else.

“What do you see in that guy? Honestly, even if he is sorta good looking, he’s a tool. He’s rude, stubborn, smart, but in an annoying let-me-shove-it-in-your face kind of way, and he seems clingy. I saw how he practically strangled you when you got back the other day. And even if I forget all that, he’s a freakin’ dude! What happened to your obsession with blond chicks? That was the only thing we seemed to have in common, and now we don’t even have that anymore. Are you even my baby brother? Where’s geeky, predictable Sammy?”

Sam can’t help but shake his head and laugh it off; Dean is overreacting. It’s almost like he’s jealous of the attention Castiel is getting. And, rather than attempting to convince Dean in a lawyer-like fashion, which would require a lot of time anyhow since Castiel is such a great person, Sam just shrugs and goes into the kitchen for a snack.

Dean shouts across their home to Sam: “See! You can’t even think of any good things about him!”




Castiel isn’t much better than Dean, surprisingly.

Castiel’s head is leaning against Sam’s shoulder, his fingers toying with Sam’s longer ones when he asks him the same thing. “How can you support spending so much time with your impatient, rude, vulgar brother?”

It almost doesn’t sound like the Castiel Sam knows. It’s amusing. Castiel is always striving to take the high road, and keeping his cool no matter who pushes his buttons. But it seems Dean found a way to get past his unshakable patience. Castiel’s grip tightens around Sam’s fingers to get him to answer, but Sam just kisses Castiel’s temple.

No point in giving in to their childish gossip about each other. Sam loves them both, and they’ll have to find a way to reach some sort of understanding. As unlikely as that seems for the moment, Sam hopes it will be possible one day.




There’s the little boy again, but Sam is inside this time. Their mother is throwing him up in the air, playing with him to his heart’s content. That means Dean is off the hook when it comes to his supervising duties.

Dean lets his eyes drift over to the boy silently watching him at the fence. His eyes are surreal, unnatural. And Dean’s always wanted a closer look but would never allow himself to be pulled from Sam’s side. But now—now—he can enjoy it. There is investigation and questioning to be done. If his neighbour is an alien from another planet, he needs to find out before anyone else.

Dean lets his bike fall on a patch of grass and walks slowly up to the fence. This is the closest he’s ever been to the neighbour, to those sparkling blue crystals. They’re almost too nice to look at.

The boy smiles and blinks slowly, with the sole purpose of drawing Dean closer and making him drop away his apprehension. Dean is thinking too hard. Castiel is making his mind run laps around everything. Why does he already know his name is Castiel? The boy hasn’t said a word. That in itself doesn’t make any sense.

“Hi, Dean.” Castiel beams, resting his arms on the fence below his chin. “Won’t you be my friend?”

“Okay,” Dean answers before he can even think about it.

This isn’t how it all went. This isn’t what happened between them, so what is all this?

Dean climbs up to the fence, peering at Castiel who is still happily barring his teeth. Castiel leans in, eyes wide and curious, pressing his pink lips to the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Okay,” Castiel replies as well, moving away and bouncing off to his home. He turns before stepping inside and says, “See you tomorrow, Dean.”

Dean’s still up on the fence, confused and damp in the spot where Castiel’s lips touched skin, when his mother carries Sam out with him on her hip.

“Can you watch him for a while, Dean?” She asks softly, pointing to lemons and a pitcher of water on the counter she needs to tend to.

“Okay, mom,” Dean says, jumping down from the fence quickly. He picks up his bike and sits on it, looking over at Sam’s too-long hair, and his wide grin. This makes sense, this is normal. Castiel doesn’t belong in the picture.


Years have passed with Castiel in and out of Dean’s life, still smiling at him like he means the world, still stealing glances. And whenever Sam isn’t around, he holds Dean’s hand, pulls him into a dark corner and kisses him deeply. Dean doesn’t understand how at thirteen years old he already feels like he’s married, so he avoids thinking about it or asking.

And when Dean drops out of high school, Castiel is still by his side, petting his hair, consoling him, whispering into his ear when he can’t find peace of mind. Something isn’t right, something doesn’t fit. And then Castiel wraps the blanket around them and mutters ‘I love you’ as the lights go out, and Dean jerks upright in bed.


Dean looks around his bedroom; he can hear Sam snoring through the wall, but their home is otherwise empty. It was just a dream, nothing else, nothing more. He laughs softly before lying back down in bed for the rest of his sleep.


Figures he would have a dream like this about someone he can’t stand.




Something needs to be done if Sam ever wants to breathe easy when (if ever) Dean and Castiel have to be in the same place at the same time. Hopefully, they can find enough of their humanity not to rip each other’s throats out in public (that also includes the metaphorical way). That’s all Sam could ever wish for.

One day, when they are astonishingly in each other’s proximity, due to Sam of course, all they do is glare, and tsk at each other when they think Sam is at a safe distance. Maybe they could be civil after all. When Sam returns and Dean is rushing upstairs to his room, Castiel leans in and murmurs that Dean gives him paroxysmal attacks.

Sam laughs for so long Dean suspects it’s the end of the world and rushes back downstairs. Castiel grins, but doesn’t look at the older Winchester when he demands to partake of this amazing and, most likely, brainy joke.

It flows so smoothly between them that Sam wonders if he really needs to bother with his plan after all. Well, maybe as a precaution he should still try it out.




Sam spends the next few weeks staying longer at the library with Jess than he needs to. Dean and Castiel have to learn to get along, and if the only way for them to do that is by being forced together, then that’s what Sam will do.

Sam doesn’t want to have to sneak Castiel up to his room all the time, and he doesn’t want Castiel to feel like he has to tread carefully around Dean either. It should be comfortable; Sam intends to keep Castiel in his life for a long time – romantically linked or not.

The first time Sam comes back late, Castiel is grinning and Dean is storming up to his room and slamming the door. Sam spends an awful evening trying to coax Dean out of his room with burgers and fries, finally having to resort to apple pie to get him out.

The next time, Dean is the one grinning, and Castiel rushes into Sam’s arms for a desperate hug, as though he’s just been through WWII. Once Dean grumbles, Castiel pulls away and gives Sam a quick but messy kiss—including lip smacking sounds—and rushes out of the Winchester household smirking.

Somehow, Sam has a feeling things worsen once he gets back home because he always seems to arrive at the climax of their childish spats.

All of the following occasions don’t go much better than that, and Sam is fed up of playing the mediator to their quarrels. It’s almost like they’re fighting for Sam’s attention…No that couldn’t be right, they aren’t kids—

“Assbutt!” Castiel shouts as Sam is (once again) just arriving from the library.

—Okay, maybe they are.


Mission Make Dean and Castiel Get Along


Eventually, Sam can’t see them on separate days anymore because of schoolwork. If he intends to graduate this century, he has to see them (brace yourself) in the same place, at the same time. Just thinking about it is giving Sam a rash.

Small steps, Sam decides.

This leads them to supper together at a local restaurant, nothing fancy, but not a fast food chain either. They’re settled in with Castiel’s fingers laced with Sam’s underneath the table and Dean making a point of not having eye contact with Castiel. Everything seems to set them off lately.

Their food arrives—burger, steak, salad—and peace is still hanging on by a thread. Then Dean takes one of his huge, jaw-breaking bites into his burger and hums loudly (and a bit obnoxiously), and Castiel drops his fork on his plate with a clatter of metal on glass. He dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not looking at Dean, but not bothering to look at Sam either.

“I’m done,” Castiel says firmly, moving away when Sam tries to shift closer and grab Castiel’s hand.

“What do you mean? You only ate one bite,” Sam asks, brow furrowing.

Dean smirks, crunching on fries and looking far too pleased. “Maybe he’s on a diet.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Castiel says flatly, turning the words into a warning for both Winchesters to stop bothering him right this fucking instance.

“I thought you were starving. Isn’t that what you said—”

“How can I eat with an unabashed beast at our table, Sam?” Castiel interjects.

Sam’s eyes widen, and he looks away when Castiel’s face hardens to stone. Dean is still smiling, the prick, humming louder just to further infuriate Castiel. Castiel slaps a bill down on the table and announces ‘I will be outside’ without allowing Sam time to react.




Sam can’t remember the last time he’s been on a ride with Dean, and he doesn’t think Castiel has ever been on one—considering how his eyes glitter like diamonds when Sam hands him a map of the park. Dean’s first concern is to buy cotton candy, which Sam approves of, and Castiel seems to enjoy the sticky mess after careful deliberation, too.

They’re waiting in line with Dean in front of them—laughing at the screaming girls on the roller coaster—and when Dean turns to nudge Sam, he notices Sam’s fingers are laced with Castiel’s. Dean makes a weird grunting, rumbling sound and his smile fades instantly. Disgust is what it turns into, Sam is ashamed to admit, but it’s the same expression Castiel has whenever Dean eats like a monster.

Castiel smirks, leaning up to kiss Sam on the cheek and pet his hair softly. Dean pretends to gag and turns away, crossing his arms, much like Castiel had in the restaurant. Castiel presses another soft kiss to Sam’s cheek, and Dean reacts with another gagging sound, so Castiel does it again, provoking Dean’s same infantile reaction. Each time it’s the same; Castiel kisses Sam, Dean gags. Again. And again. It goes on until someone in line asks if Dean is actually sick, and Sam is glared at by parents who don’t approve of homosexual PDAs.

Can these two little boys not cooperate for Sam’s sake?




When all else fails—which it has—alcohol is surely the source to rely on for relationships that are in dire need of help. Dean likes drinking, and Castiel likes drinking (and dancing, oddly) so a club is the best of both worlds. And as an added bonus, Dean could hook up with a girl and be happy for the rest of the week (or longer if Dean grows the fuck up).

Sam is just beginning to enjoy the loose, extra-tactile Castiel rutting against him when he sees Jess from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even known she’d be here or he would have introduced her to Dean and Castiel when they first arrived.

Then she’s covering her mouth, pushing through the club, and rushing towards the bathrooms in the back with no one chasing after her. Some friends she has. Sam tells Castiel that he has to go check on his friend, and Castiel just nods, continuing to sway along with the music. Dean can just ask Castiel if he wants to know where Sam has escaped to.

Dean is leaning his back against the bar, a good foot or two away from Castiel who is still surrounded by sweaty, pulsing bodies. Dean’s never been apt at dancing, never liked it either (most likely because of his lack of skill), but when young men and women start crowding around an oblivious Castiel, Dean has no choice but to intervene and act as a bodyguard in Sam’s place. If Castiel weren’t Sam’s boyfriend though, Dean would definitely let the wolves have him.

Castiel mumbles or hums something, and Dean is not keen on leaning in to listen to his brother’s boyfriend’s drunken ramblings, so he quickly nods in acknowledgment and keeps Castiel steady with a hand on his shoulder.

Not listening proves to be the wrong idea.

Dean is on the receiving end of the new-and-improved touchy Castiel, clinging to his waist, his arms, his shoulders, and getting remarkably closer by the second. Girls that would have, otherwise, offered Dean their number slowly creep away when they see this.

Cockblocked by his brother’s douchebag boyfriend, fantastic.

Dean tries to gently pry the fingers away, and, when that doesn’t work, he tilts Castiel’s head up so their gazes meet and he glares hard enough to induce blindness. Castiel just needs to recognize that Dean isn’t that lumberjack Sam and then he’ll stop, right?

Castiel’s eyes have to – obviously – be closed. His fingers start to edge under Dean’s shirt, but Dean squirms away, pulling the hands out almost to the point of inflicting pain (ahem). Castiel lurches, holding his stomach, and it doesn’t look like he’s faking it. Not a good sign.

Dean squeezes through the piles of humid, writhing bodies, and practically drags Castiel by his wrist. If Castiel’s going to throw up, he’s not going to do it on the dance-floor where he can accidentally barf on someone’s shoe and end up having to pay them afterward. Not that Dean cares, but Sam would probably never let Dean hear the end of it if he let it happen.

They make it to the bathroom and Castiel pushes Dean aside and lunges for the bathroom stall. Castiel manages to shut the door securely in spite of his current state. It’s quiet in the men’s room until there’s an odd splashing sound that Dean assumes is the contents of Castiel’s stomach. It stops, and then there’s just silence again. Dean leans against the stall, listening hard for sound and still not picking up anything.

“You okay in there?” Dean asks, turning to hear the response better. No answer. “Do you need help?” Still nothing.

Dean bangs on the door, repeating his question, and suddenly (finally) Castiel appears. His eyes aren’t open enough to see, and he trips over his pants barely pulled all the way up his hips, catching himself on the door.

Dean is thankful for Castiel having tucked his junk away at least, preventing Dean from further scarring. Just have to appreciate the little things.

Castiel takes a shaky step forward and trips over the cuff of his pant leg, falling against Dean—who was trying to keep him from doing just that—and they both tumble to the ground in a pile of awkward limbs and pure agony.

Dean winces as he rubs the back of his head, Castiel leans forward at the same time, and their lips touch. It’s brief, chaste, but it goes on long enough that Dean is already feeling stomach curling, lung-puncturing guilt about it. Castiel rolls off of Dean and promptly falls asleep.

On the bright side, only one of them would have to remember this.

But why does it have to be Dean?




If someone would have told Sam that forcing two people who hate each other to spend time together didn’t actually resolve conflicts in real life, he wouldn’t have bothered. But, of all things, for the result to genuinely make things worse is astounding.

They seemed almost ‘okay’ with each other before the group outings started, and the bar seems to have been the final straw. Dean won’t explain why - after Sam left to help Jess out - he dropped Castiel off at their place and locked him in Sam’s room. Any time Sam tries to broach the topic, Dean growls and calls Castiel a ‘douchenozzle of epic proportions’. It would be disconcerting if Castiel had the same reaction, but he doesn’t seem to understand Dean’s increased irritation either.

Sam’s graduation paper is due in a few weeks now, which means even less time with family and friends and more time spent nosing around dusty library books. Jess is the only person he really gets to see often anymore because their thesis topics are so similar, and they can use it to give each other tips on what sources to use.

Sam makes time for Castiel, of course, but it usually involves Castiel coming over to watch Sam study while Dean is downstairs watching TV. And perhaps a few teasing kisses between chapters.

Castiel isn’t able to hang around as much as he used to, which Dean is glad for in a way because it means less spats, but it’s also kind of sad how it makes Dean miss being able to argue and compete for Sam’s attention—even if Castiel is still a tool.

That’s one more hobby to cross off.




Dean has his ‘good brother’ moments. And inviting Castiel over - his phone number was written on a post-it in Sam’s room - as a surprise for an insomniac baby brother is part of that. He just knows Sam will be delighted by Dean trying to make peace and being able to spend some quality time with the people who matter after a long day of brain usage. Dean’s even going to try and whip up something half healthy for his floppy haired brother to enjoy eating.

Everything was going well; Castiel agreed to put their differences aside in order for the evening to go along smoothly, Dean found some vegetables in the fridge to make into a (tasteless) salad for them, and the meatloaf in the oven smelled like it would be done right on time.

But, as surprises are usually a secret, sometimes the parties involved don’t have their Spidey senses correctly attuned, and they inadvertently mess up the plans.

Dean’s phone vibrates on the kitchen table and when he flips it open, he doesn’t like what he sees.


Eat without me. I have to stay in the library for a while. Not allowed to take this book out. – Sam




Sam is in the library, but he’s not using any books he hasn’t already photocopied. Jess asked him to join her for supper, and, Sam not wanting to deal with more drama at his home, decided he would go. Telling Dean that Sam prefers to be stress-free with Jess rather than face his brother and boyfriend bickering again would only bring on a whole other kind of problem. One that Sam isn’t sure he’s ready to face yet.

Jess is sweet, funny, beautiful and so incredibly witty. Not to say that he loves her like he does Castiel – he’s his best friend and they practically share a brain sometimes, which is freaky – but he can just be when he’s around her. He doesn’t have to worry about what to do, who he might make jealous, when he can fit her into his life, because she already fits – just right.

And sometimes it terrifies Sam that he can see her this way, that they could be dating right now and Dean would have no plausible objection, but he isn’t the only one who seems to be distancing himself lately. He and Castiel have been like two ships slowly reeling in their anchors, ready to go on their separate journeys – or at least, that’s how Sam’s been feeling. Castiel is hard to read most of the time.




The first thing that comes to mind is Castiel; Dean has to tell him about the cancellation so he doesn’t come all the way here just to be disappointed. He scrolls to ‘call history’ and dials the only unknown number in the list. Castiel picks up on the first ring, which is freaky in a few ways, but now isn’t the time to be distracted by odd details.

“Hey Cas, sorry but Sam just said he won’t be able to make it. Said he needs to use a book and he can’t bring it out of school,” Dean says, tone softer than it’s ever been when speaking to Castiel. Maybe, in a way, he feels responsible for dashing Castiel’s hope of seeing Sam after weeks of hardly any contact.

“Oh.” Castiel sighs and Dean hears a car engine in the background. “I see.”

Dean notices how different Castiel sounds as well. “Are you already here or something?”

“About a minute from your home, yes, but I can turn ba—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I have too much food to eat alone now,” Dean cuts in. But honestly, what is he thinking?

Eating with Castiel—alone? They both know how supremely terrible that went last time; Dean never could eat cereal again without having an irrational fear of it being flipped onto his lap. And perhaps Castiel doesn’t want to spend a couple of hours with the ‘lesser’ of the two Winchesters.

“All right, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “I’m in front of your home.”

“Okay, see you.” Dean hangs up.

This is going to be uncomfortable. There’s no point in denying that.

Dean leaves the door open so he doesn’t have to deal with an awkward greeting, and busies himself with setting up two places at the table. Castiel slips inside and, in a few strides, reaches the kitchen and greets Dean - anyway.

“Good evening, Dean,” Castiel says, putting a hand out.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says, putting forks down on either side of the table, “you know me well enough to not do that. Just take a seat.”

Castiel’s hand falls stiffly to his side, and he pulls out a chair and sits, both hands politely under the table. Dean looks over and Castiel smiles a tight little thing that makes Dean’s mouth hurt. Dean wasn’t expecting a Stepford wife when Castiel said he’d be on his best behaviour.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean suggests, walking over to the oven to pull out the meatloaf, “it’s just me. You can be an ass if you want, man.”

Dealing with a guy who’s stubborn and cranky is much more appealing than a guy who’s trying too hard to keep everything peachy. Dean never thought he’d purposely ask Castiel to be a douche.

“I gave you my word, Dean,” Castiel explains, solemnly. “I will not retract what I’ve said.”

There’s the stubborn part at least. Dean chuckles slightly, and slices two pieces of meatloaf, putting some on their plates. “Whatever you say.” He opens the fridge and takes out ketchup and the bowl of salad, putting it in between their plates.

“You want something to drink?” Dean bends down in the fridge looking for something sensible to offer. “We have orange juice, filtered water, milk…” Sam would never drink this- “Beer -”

“Beer would be suitable,” Castiel says from behind Dean. When exactly Castiel had time to stand, and how he got there so silently will remain mysteries until the end of time.

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean folds in half, his chest heaving. “Don’t do that! Take this.” Dean presses the cold bottle roughly against Castiel’s chest to make some space between them.

Castiel returns to his seat and sits down, waiting for Dean so they can eat together.

“Here.” Dean twists off the cap of Castiel’s beer. “Eat now.” He sits down and twists off his own. “Hope you like it.”

“I’m certain I will. Smells delectable,” Castiel says, with a realer smile this time. One that makes Dean choke on his first sip of beer; he’s not used to Castiel being so…nice.

It’s weird as all fuck. Maybe that’s why Castiel is doing it—some kind of reverse psychology bullshit.

Dean eyes the salad skeptically; it’s for Sam, but if Castiel is anything like his nerdy brother, he probably eats the crap, too. For some reason, Castiel’s not taking any though, focusing on the meatloaf instead.

“You can take some salad, Cas,” Dean says, dipping his meatloaf in ketchup. “I don’t eat that stuff that much.”

“Neither do I,” Castiel says seriously, following Dean’s lead and dipping a piece of meat in ketchup.

Well that’s unexpected. Beer, check. Not as into greenery as Sammy, check. They have a lot more in common than Dean thought.

The rest of the meal goes by quietly, but quickly. They both use beer and bread to fill the void of the salad they refuse to eat, and then Dean cleans up their dirty dishes. Castiel is standing immediately, rushing his own things over to the sink.

And, hey, since Sam isn’t around to help with drying, Castiel will have to fill the position temporarily.

Before Dean has a chance to explain that, Castiel is taking the slippery plate from Dean’s grasp and running a dry cloth over it, more meticulous than he needs to be for such an easy task. Dean shakes his head, his lips curling in a smile, and he continues to pass Castiel the rest after he’s rinsed them.

Dean takes the cloth from Castiel. “Want to watch something? I’ll let you choose this time.”

“I’m not sure what’s on at this hour,” Castiel replies, furrowing his brow. “But thank you.”

Castiel sits on the sofa, leaving plenty of room for Dean to sit next to him. Castiel waits for Dean to get comfortable, and then hands Dean the remote control. Way too nice, but whatever. Flicking through channels, Dean sees all his favourites: porn, Dr. Sexy MD and Antique Roadshow.

Dean clicks on the playboy channel accidentally – truly it is a mistake. Why won’t anyone believe him? – and then fumbles to find where Dr. Sexy MD is before it gets even more awkward than it’s been all night.

“I sometimes watch pornography when I come across it,” Castiel says, as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. “Though, I watch it for a different type of entertainment. The acting is so amateur that I find myself laughing.”

Dean smirks; no denying that. He puts on his favourite show and turns to see Castiel’s reaction. Castiel’s face lights up, and he leans into the back of the couch, looking more relaxed than Dean’s ever seen him. Maybe it’s all an act, maybe he’s still playing the good little boy (or the psychological attack), but it’s a good look.

“You don’t mind watching this?” Dean says, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“I thoroughly enjoy this program,” Castiel answers without hesitation. Dean can see the smile spreading across Castiel’s face without the tightness it had earlier.

Well, damn, if that isn’t another thing in common.

Whether it’s because of the carbs and meat or because of the six-pack of beer they finished together, Dean and Castiel both pass out on the sofa with the television on. When Sam finally returns, Castiel’s head is leaning on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s head is propped against the back of the sofa while they both snore softly.

One of the many Star Wars films is flashing on the screen, and Sam can’t help but soak in the perfection of this moment. The two people who he’s been struggling to make get along for weeks just naturally found out how to fix everything, and realized that they would be happier sharing interests rather than squabbling.

Then Sam notices the empty beer bottles on the floor.

Or, they just drank until they could stand each other.

Sam pulls out his cellphone and snaps a picture, the flash startling them both from their sleep. Castiel is more awake first, and he moves away from Dean on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. Dean just yawns and stretches, not even aware of where Castiel had just been sleeping. He smiles at Sam who’s standing with his hands on his hips.

“Hey, you’re back,” Dean announces, voice rough from sleep and alcohol.

“I am. Enjoyed your sleep?” Sam replies, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Dean raises a brow at the curious look he’s getting. “Yeah.”

Castiel stretches slowly like a cat, and he looks so adorable that Sam can’t help but want to scoop him up and carry him to bed. He won’t do it, but he does help him stand from the couch and walk him to the front door. Sam doesn’t close the door all the way, but enough that Dean won’t complain or gag if he passes by.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your evening, Cas,” Sam says quietly, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple.

There’s definitely guilt swimming through Sam at the thought of passing up being with these two fools in favour of a quiet dinner with Jess, but maybe his being there would have stopped them from bonding.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says honestly, “I ate and watched television with Dean. It was surprisingly pleasant.”

“Are you already trying to replace me?” Sam teases, pulling Castiel closer to him.

“Of course not, Sam.” Castiel wraps his arms around Sam, nuzzling his neck.

“Good.” Sam leans down, dragging Castiel in for a gentle brush of lips. Castiel tastes like beer mostly, but his lips are so warm and soft that Sam can’t stop at that one kiss. He pulls Castiel closer, pressing his lips hard enough for Castiel to understand the urgency for something deeper.

Dean stands drowsily, nearly knocking over the bottles like bowling pins as he passes by with the intention to tease Sam about showing off his boyfriend to the neighbourhood. But once he reaches the front door, seeing the way Castiel is clinging to Sam, and the intensity with which Sam is kissing Castiel, he decides not to. Instead he goes upstairs, doesn’t shower, pulls his clothes off, and falls into bed.

Something about what Dean just saw is making his insides feel strange and like they aren’t in their rightful places. It’s not a good feeling. It’s probably all the beer he chugged – that must be it.




Castiel is smiling, his eyes crinkling with the effort of it, and he’s sitting next to Dean on the couch, leaning into Dean’s personal space. Against his will, Dean’s fingers comb through the hair at Castiel’s nape, and the blue-eyed man hums softly, his breath puffing against Dean’s lips. Then Castiel is on Dean’s lap, pushing him against the sofa, whimpering with each roll of his hips.

Dean grabs Castiel’s hair and snaps his head back until Dean can have a pale, virginal patch of skin to defile. His tongue swirls over the skin right below Castiel’s earlobe and he sucks, biting down when he feels Castiel’s hips buck and stutter with each flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth.

“Dean. Dean, yes.”

Castiel moans louder, both hands on Dean’s shoulders to keep himself steady, and Dean continues his torturous trail, lapping his tongue over Castiel’s Adam’s apple and across his prominent collarbone.

“I want you,” Dean says against the reddened skin beneath his lips. And that’s it; Castiel cries out.


It’s striking enough that Dean wakes in a sweat on the floor of his room, the sheets tangled between his legs and his boxer shorts soiled beyond repair.

What the fuck is happening?


Attempting for a second time to surprise Sam, Castiel passes by with pie he’d baked himself during the afternoon. Sam smiles, but he doesn’t look as content as Castiel hoped he would. Castiel thought that perhaps a change from the usual healthy diet would be more welcomed, but it seems he was wrong.

“Is it not good?” Castiel asks, watching Sam eat with much less enthusiasm than Castiel had imagined.

“It’s great, Cas.” Sam smiles, putting his fork down. “I’m just not a big sweets guy. Dean though, he loves pie. It’s his favourite thing ever.”

Dean is walking down the steps, but when he hears ‘pie’ he runs down the rest of the way to find out if he heard correctly. “Did I hear you say pie, Sammy?”

“Yeah.” Sam points at Castiel fondly. “He baked some cherry pie today.” Sam glances at Castiel who is watching Dean intently. “Can Dean try your pie, Cas?”

“Of course.” Castiel cuts a piece and puts it on a dish for Dean. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“You bet I will.” Dean practically steals the plate out of Castiel’s hands and sits down. He notices that he doesn’t have a fork, so he takes Sam’s and digs in. Dean stops after the first bite and starts shaking, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh—” Dean scoops another bite into his mouth. “Oh. Oh my,” he takes three more large bites, his fingers still trembling. “Cas, oh my god. I could kiss you! This is—freakin’ incredible.”

Castiel looks away, face as stern as always, but his cheeks are flushed, and it makes Sam laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“I’m glad you like it,” Castiel utters in reply.

“I love it,” Dean corrects. “Why aren’t you studying cooking instead of whatever you’re taking? You’d be amazing at it.”

Sam nods his approval. “I’ve told him before, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“I will consider it if ever I decide on a career change,” Castiel says, smiling at Sam, then at Dean.

Sam goes to the washroom, leaving his half-eaten piece of pie behind, and Dean has no doubt that Sam won’t finish it, so he pulls it to his side of the table. Castiel observes this silently, and takes a seat near Dean.

“I feel as though Sam is behaving differently lately,” Castiel says in a low voice. “Have I done something to upset him? Has he told you anything?”




Sam locks himself in the washroom, muttering a string of curses. He’d been out with Jess last night, studying of course, and she bought him a single piece of cherry pie – nothing to write home about – and somehow it made his world fall apart.

But today, Castiel’s baked an entire pie, with all of his heart probably – because that’s just how the guy works – and Sam can’t even pretend it made him feel half as good. And everything about that is despicable because Sam is dating Castiel, who is way too good for him in every way that counts, but he wants to be around immature, potty-mouthed Jess who doesn’t bother trying to be more than she can.

Sam doesn’t deserve to enjoy Castiel’s heartfelt gesture. Dean can eat all of it if he wants.




Dean’s mouth is too full to answer properly, “He just doesn’t like sweets, Cas. No big deal.”

Castiel nods slowly, and watches Sam reappear in the kitchen. Sam laughs at the sight of Dean stuffing his mouth with Sam’s leftover piece, and smiles at Castiel. Even Dean sees that it’s a little forced. Maybe the pie made him sick.

Castiel wipes down his trench coat and leans over to kiss Sam on the cheek. “I’ll leave you to yourstudies now, Sam. See you soon.”

Both Winchesters watch as Castiel slips out the door without saying another word.




Dean is holding an entire pie in both palms, walking toward Castiel with a grin that spans at least coast to coast. He mouths the words ‘thank you’ and dips his right hand into the pie tray, bringing the mouthful of cherry sauce and crust to his lips.

Castiel just watches him, a small smile on his face, suddenly kneeling down on the floor in front of Dean with his hands on his knees. Dean looks down at Castiel with pie smeared around his lips, the red from the cherry sauce making them even more tempting than usual. Castiel leans up a bit on his knees, stretching up to touch Dean, but he’s too tall, out of reach. Dean gets the message and bends over slightly, just enough for Castiel’s fingertips to trace the sticky mess on Dean’s bottom lip.

Castiel is on his back the next moment, Dean kissing him so hard he can taste morsels of cherry on his tongue but, more importantly, he can taste the current of arousal flowing out of Dean. Dean moans, swirling his tongue across Castiel’s parted, sticky lips, sharing the flavour of everything, including Dean’s growing need for intimacy.

The pie is flipped over on the floor next to them when Dean decides to pick Castiel up and carry him across the room, going as far as they can get while he insists on kissing Castiel with his eyes closed. They make it to the kitchen table, and there are pies all around Castiel, as though he’s on display with the things he resembles—or the things Dean enjoys most.

Dean kisses Castiel, knocking all the trays away to make space for him to cover Castiel like an undeterrable barrier of flesh. He rubs against Castiel shamelessly, mouth less and less sticky but more swollen from the increasingly rough kisses.

“I want you,” Castiel whispers, and Dean pulls back, grinning down at the disheveled mess of dark hair and puffy lips at his mercy.

“I won’t tell Sam if you don’t,” Dean says in Castiel’s ear, nibbling his earlobe.


Castiel sits up in bed, panting, covered in a sickeningly cold sheen of sweat. But of course his dick doesn’t understand that having weird sex dreams about your boyfriend’s brother isn’t the best time to be standing at attention.

He reaches over on his nightstand and, without worrying about the time, sends a text message to Sam.


I miss spending time with you.

When can we have some quality time?





Sam invites Castiel over on a Saturday, hoping that Dean will go out to a bar and pick up a chick, so Sam can - indeed - have some quality time with his boyfriend. It turns out Dean is covering someone else’s shift during the evening, so Sam takes it as a sign to go ahead with his plan.

Castiel arrives in his usual attire: beige coat, crooked tie, white dress shirt and dark slacks. The only thing that even remotely tells Sam it’s a weekend is that Castiel is wearing black running shoes rather than dress shoes.

Sam helps Castiel out of his coat, and tells him to take off his shoes and to wait upstairs. Sam hangs the coat up near the front door and puts the shoes below it. He pulls off his t-shirt and throws it in the laundry bin on his way to his room. Sam doesn’t like to toot his own horn, but enough girls have melted when he’s taken off his shirt that – maybe – it could send the message across to Castiel, too.

And maybe moving things along with Castiel can remind Sam why exactly he’s dating the genius, blue-eyed man instead of Jess.

Castiel is flipping through a law book when Sam closes the bedroom door behind him quietly. He stalks toward Castiel, hoping he’ll figure out everything there is to understand in the few seconds it takes Sam to cross the room.

Castiel’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away. He puts the book back in its place and stands. Sam cups Castiel’s face with both hands, running his thumb over the sharp cheekbones that have made him harder than plywood. Castiel’s eyes fall shut and his lips part, so Sam lifts him and wraps Castiel’s arms around his neck. They land on the bed a bit more bumpily than Sam intended, but the effect is good enough, knocking the breath out of Castiel – or maybe that’s just Sam’s weight.

Sam presses down against Castiel, hands fisted in the dark locks to keep Castiel’s mouth exactly how it is and right where he wants it. Castiel’s whimper is muffled, but it does something twisty to Sam’s gut and his hips buck, making the bed springs squeak dangerously.

So Sam’s definitely still attracted to Castiel at least.

And maybe Sam’s bed isn’t made for two men their size, but he could always buy a new one if they break it.

Castiel gets with the program and unbuttons his dress shirt, Sam tugging it out from where it’s tucked between their hips. They don’t even bother moving it from underneath Castiel’s weight before continuing to rub skin against skin, reconnecting their lips like it will physically harm them if they aren’t kissing again.

Sam rolls his hips roughly, their clothed erections bumping and throbbing. Castiel’s chest tightens at the thought of how far they’re going, how much further they could be going. They’ve never done more than kiss up until now, and it’s frightening how quickly things are moving. Sam can feel Castiel’s heart banging like it wants to puncture Castiel’s chest, so he moves away slightly.

“Am I going too fast? Is this okay?” Sam says, voice a stark contrast to the earlier thrusting. Please don’t tell me to stop, not yet. I can’t deal with my feelings if you don’t let this happen, Cas.

Castiel wishes for once in his saintly little life that Sam wouldn’t worry. If he didn’t care so much, could just let things follow their own path, Castiel wouldn’t be tempted to think, re-think, overthink and obsess over why his body is aching not with need but inexplicable doubt.

“I’m fine. This is fine. Let’s continue,” Castiel says firmly. There’s no way that mindless sex dream about Dean is going to ruin his chances of being happy with Sam for as long as they can be.

Sam is frozen, struck by how pathetic he is, how cowardly he must be if he can’t tell his best friend that he’s falling for someone else. That he’d rather just manhandle Castiel and pray that things fix themselves, when he knows they will only worsen, makes no sense - none whatsoever. And Sam can’t do that, not to Castiel. He means so much, and is such a big part of Sam’s life. He can’t do this. He can’t—

When Sam makes no move to resume their making out, Castiel helps him along by unbuckling his belt, sidling a hand in to cup him through his briefs. Sam gasps, his head tipping forward until his lips are back where they were—pressed against Castiel’s. Castiel grips tighter, distracting Sam from questioning, distracting himself from the doubt breeding at the back of his mind.

Castiel is pushing Sam’s jeans over his ass when the door swings open. Dean’s eyes could not be any wider, even if he were in the Asian cartoon porn he loves so much.

No one is sure of what happens next, except perhaps Dean, but even he seems to be working on auto-pilot.

“Goddammit Sammy! You couldn’t lock your door or something!” Dean shouts, his gaze almost burning them up with its intensity. “You know it’s only seven at night, right? You couldn’t do this when I was asleep? And why not go to your fucking boyfriend’s house while you’re at it!” Dean’s nostrils flare, and he slams the door as he leaves, all but barrelling down the stairs and back out the front door—which he also slams.

Sam sucks in a shaky breath, turning back to Castiel. They’re definitely alone now, but who could enjoy their first time together after getting scolded like that? (Not that he’s really enjoying it.) Castiel’s hand was still awkwardly down Sam’s pants the entire time Dean ranted, and he removes it now, shifting until he can crawl out from below Sam’s frame.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quietly. I’m sorry I’m trying to make things work when I know what I’m meant to do. But I can’t hurt you; I don’t want to lose my best friend.

Castiel tries to smile reassuringly, but he can’t help but fail, not when he’s relieved they were interrupted. He buttons up his shirt and smoothes out the creases before turning back to kiss Sam on the cheek.

“Perhaps we’ll have better luck next time,” Castiel replies. If there is a next time.

And with that Castiel is out the door as well, leaving Sam with enough confusion to sift through for years.




Dean is back before midnight, but won’t make eye contact, won’t acknowledge Sam’s presence, won’t discuss with Sam what just happened, and definitely won’t admit that he overreacted. It’s a long, infuriating, silent night for the both of them after Sam gives up trying to be civil with Dean.

Sam can feel something is going on, though, and he will get to the bottom of it. Eventually. After he deals with his own problems, that is.



Sometimes your body decides for you


Dean wakes to multiple problems. The first, and most obvious, being a headache from his consumption of alcohol the night before. The next is, well, also obvious: he feels like a complete asshole for cockblocking Sam like that. And the third, which he is hoping will go away on its own, is the raging boner in his boxer shorts.

If he wants to be able to deal with Sam properly, his morning wood is going to have to jump to the top of his mental list.

Dean sneaks out of his room and into the bathroom. It’s certainly not as comfortable, and Dean isn’t shallow enough to want to see his own reflection when he comes, but it’s easier to hide and clean up the mess if he’s jacking off over the toilet bowl.

So he starts.

Then he stops.

This kind of thing works better with visuals, but Dean was too tired to think of that when he left his room, so now all he has to use is his imagination. It’ll have to be enough; there are other items he needs to get to on his list.

Dean looks down at his cock; it’s red at the tip, droplets of pre-come falling into the water of the toilet. He closes his eyes and strokes languidly, imagining a mouth—anyone’s will do—around the head, sucking and licking, slurping even, coaxing more of the opaque liquid from the slit. Dean moans when the person slides more of the length down their throat, practically trying to choke on it, gagging with each thrust that Dean provides through their parted lips. Dean knows distantly that he’s thrusting into the circle of his palm, but the images are working so well it feels like the wet heat of a mouth.

Dean’s eyes clench tight, and he visualizes pushing the person’s hair out of the way, grabbing a handful of it and thrusting deeper down their throat. The hair is soft and shiny, dark. It’s messy, and that only makes it better because Dean doesn’t have to worry about ruining the mood by being too enthusiastic. He groans with the thought of them pulling back, a trail of saliva hanging from their inviting lips. Those perfect, pink, swollen lips. Dean traces over them, the person looking up into his eyes, tongue darting out to touch the tip of Dean’s cock. Dean gasps; the blue is devastating. It wrenches something from deep inside Dean and he thrusts once more, watching those eyes flutter as he coats the pale skin with strings of white.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, licking his soiled skin.

Dean’s eyes snap open. Holy fuck, what did he just do? Did he just jerk off to the thought of blowing his load on Castiel’s face? While Dean’s still awake? It must be the end of the world soon.

Dean closes the toilet lid when he sees all the remnants landed safely within bounds, and hops in the shower, not bothering to touch the dial for hot water.




Sam is eating breakfast when Dean comes down to join him. Sam puts the newspaper down, hoping Dean is in a better mood today, so they can fix whatever it is that broke yesterday. Dean smiles tightly, swinging the fridge open for some orange juice.

“M’sorry,” Dean mumbles mostly to the juice container. Sorry I just shot my load on your boyfriend’s face in my head, too.

“What was that?” Sam smirks, keeping his eyes on the tensing of Dean’s shoulders.

Dean shakes his head and sighs, throwing the door closed. “I’m sorry, bitch. Okay? I didn’t mean to cramp your style.”

“I forgive you, jerk.” Sam keeps smirking, pushing the plate of muffins closer to Dean as a peace offering.

“So, we’re cool?” Dean says, biting into a chocolate chip muffin. And god damn is it ever orgasmic. “Where did you get these, Sammy? They’re freakin’ awesome.”

“Cas made them for us—well—for you. As an apology.” Sam picks up his newspaper, smiling to himself. “And yeah, we’re cool, so you should enjoy them.” Sam’s glad he doesn’t have to feel bad about not eating this time since it’s for Dean.

Dean grumbles, but doesn’t stop chewing, not wanting the bliss to ever go away. What couldn’t Castiel make? Hopefully, he won’t dream about Castiel feeding him muffins later.

“Let ‘im know I forgive his dumb ass,” Dean says, already on his second muffin.




“He said he was sorry, and he forgives us. Oh, and that he loved the muffins,” Sam says, smiling against the receiver.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Castiel says flatly. “How are things?”

“Busy. Actually, pretty hectic to be honest. I’ve still got a few dozen pages to write, and I have no idea how to tackle them.” Sam sighs, rolling onto his back in bed. “You? I never hear anything about your classes.” Or about whether or not we’re still doing okay.

“I switched from sociology to theology, so I’ve nothing to report for now,” Castiel replies matter-of-factly.

“S’that so? That’s cool. Well-” Sam clears his throat and sits up. “-I have to continue my paper. Text me?”

“I will,” Castiel says, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. It’s become harder to speak to Sam lately. “Good luck, Sam.”

“Thanks,” Sam answers, “bye, Cas.”

Something about the conversation feels too final. It doesn’t sit well with Castiel.




Castiel and Sam begin their texting frenzy. When one is busy, that’s when the other sends or answers a message. Each time Castiel finishes class or lunch, the reply he gets from Sam is ‘sorry, I have to stay in the library’. With Jess is the part Sam never writes out, but they both know she’s stuck to him like glue. On the other hand, when Sam finally has time to see Castiel, it’s late in the evening, and Castiel doesn’t have the energy to drive over or to receive company.

They can’t get the timing right for some reason.

Sam loves Castiel, really, but he knows now – absolutely – that they’re drifting apart. And it hurts, not because of their romantic liaison, but because Castiel is his best friend, and he’s never had one of those until now. He just wishes he could figure out a time when they could see each other, and try to mend the rift.

Castiel takes matters into his own hands, missing Sam just as much as Sam misses him. It doesn’t matter how exhausted he is from studying five different religions, he is going to invite Sam to his place so they can be comfortable and have privacy for once. They’re going to try again – one last time.




Things progress seemingly in snapshots.


Sam was at the door. Then he was being led to Castiel’s bedroom. Castiel was stripping off his very casual clothes, and helping Sam to take off his own. Then Castiel was on his knees, unbuckling Sam’s belt.

And now Sam is standing in Castiel’s room, dazed, disconnected from what’s happening, and trying to understand why this feels so…wrong. It’s not like how he imagined it months ago, not how it should still be. There’s just no passion behind Castiel’s movements, and Sam’s not even completely in the moment, so what the hell are they doing? Can’t they just go back to being friends?

Sam helps Castiel stand up, and picks up his shirt on the floor. “I can’t do this, Cas.”

Castiel’s mouth opens in protest, but Sam just pets his cheek and adds, “I’m gonna go, you look exhausted. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Sam puts his clothes on and doesn’t turn back, not wanting to see the expression on Castiel’s face. He won’t be able to leave if he does.




Sam texts as soon as he gets home, explaining how things were moving too fast and it startled him. But Castiel doesn’t answer that one. Sam sends another the next day, asking how things are, and Castiel ignores that one as well. It’s days later and Sam has sent apologies in at least ten formats, and even in different languages, but Castiel still hasn’t replied to any of them.

Sam feels like a royal piece of shit. They should have been talking about their estrangement a long time ago.




“Where’s your lover-boy been? He doesn’t still think I’m mad, does he?” Dean says, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge.

Sam taps the edge of his textbook with a pencil and, without glancing up, answers, “I think we’re going through a rough patch.” Sam sighs, and Dean twists the top of his beer open, taking a swig.

“You want a beer?” Dean says, back against the fridge.

“Nah. I think I’m gonna go see Jess. I’m having problems with my paper again,” Sam says, snapping his book shut and stuffing it into his bag. “Be back later.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, peering at Sam as he crosses the room and goes through the front door. “Huh.”

If Dean was dating someone—which he wouldn’t because that’s a sure fire way to end up in headacheville—he wouldn’t go hang out with other people if they were in a rough patch. He’d try his best to resolve the issues first. Dean gets that Sam needs to work on his graduation paper, but doesn’t Castiel’s feelings matter? The guy hasn’t been around for at least a week, and that should definitely bother Sam more than it currently is.

Without thinking, Dean invites Castiel over for supper. Maybe the gesture would let Castiel know he’s welcome in the Winchester household again—in case Sam wasn’t clear about that.

Castiel is at the door before Dean even has time to finish ordering the pizza, and he lets Castiel in pointing to the couch. Castiel looks around, for Sam obviously, but sits down when he doesn’t see him around. Dean puts his cellphone down on the coffee table and sits next to Castiel.

“Yeah, he’s not here.” Dean rubs at the nape of his neck. “I just wanted to let you know everything was cool between us. And that, you know, you can hang out here whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel smiles, handing Dean a DVD. “I thought it might be something that would interest you. You can watch it whenever you like.”

Dean stares at the cover for a moment then chuckles. “Zack and Miri make a porno? I remember wanting to see this when it came out, but Sammy wouldn’t go with me.” He glances over at Castiel. “So it’s good?”

“I thought it was very entertaining.” Castiel wrings his fingers together. “But you should know there is no actual porn in the movie.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean scoffs, putting it down and standing. “You want a beer while we wait for the pizza?”

“I’d love one.” Castiel leans back in the sofa, trying to calm his nerves. Alcohol should do the trick.




When the pizza arrives, they’ve finished their beers and they’re beyond starving. Dean pays for it and shoves Castiel aside when he tries to give Dean money for his half.

“Put your money away, Cas,” Dean says, handing Castiel the pizza box. “You made a freakin’ pie for us.” Dean’s mouth waters just thinking about it. “And those muffins were-” Orgasmic. “-anyway, you don’t owe me anything. We’re even now.”




The whole pizza is gone before they finish their third beers. Dean pops in the DVD Castiel brought, and sits back, nursing a new beer. There’s another six-pack in the fridge just waiting for them if this movie turns out to be shitty. Not that Dean doubts Castiel’s taste in movies…okay, maybe a little.

After thirty minutes, it turns out Castiel was right—it is entertaining. It’s so crass and so unlike Castiel that it’s almost shocking to Dean at first. He offers Castiel another beer, as a sign of gratitude, and he accepts. Sure enough, they go through the six-pack, and Dean has become relaxed and inquisitive.

“You really don’t remember meeting me and Sam when we were neighbours?” Dean slurs, laughing at another of Seth Rogen’s one-liners in the movie.

“I sincerely do not,” Castiel answers, sounding way too sober to be fair. But he nearly tips over when he tries to touch Dean’s shoulder, so all is well. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It was a long time ago.”

Dean takes another gulp of beer, using it to force his mind to forget that very explicit, very wrong morning wood mishap. He keeps his eyes focused on the screen to avoid asking Castiel about more personal things.

Castiel’s eyes drift from the screen to Dean so easily he can’t keep track of it himself. One second Castiel’s enjoying another nonsensical scene, and the next he’s noticing how Dean’s lips wrap around the neck of the bottle, and how Dean’s freckles seem brighter the drunker he gets.

Dean gets up to make some popcorn, and asks something, but Castiel’s vision is starting to blur, so he just nods. Dean un-pauses the movie and puts the popcorn on his lap. He catches Castiel frowning from the corner of his eye, and sighs while eventually moving closer.

Castiel’s head is lolling with the amount of alcohol coursing through him, the popcorn doing nothing to suppress the effects. He ends up falling asleep before the end of the film. Dean figures there’s no point waking him until the morning, so he gets a blanket from the cupboard and throws it over him. Castiel hums and shifts closer to Dean, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder again.

If anyone asks why he does what he does, Dean will blame it on pizza and beer and the movie.

He presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead and brushes stray strands away softly. More gentle with Castiel than he’s ever been with a woman. Castiel whimpers, pressing closer, tilting his head up with his eyes still closed. And Dean is holding Castiel’s chin, bringing him closer, taking in the warmth of Castiel’s breath against his mouth and it’s making him…hungry. Castiel’s lips part, and Dean licks his own in response, just about ready to kiss Castiel—

“I’m back, Dean,” Sam says, pushing his keys in his pocket. “Cas?”

Castiel rubs his eyes, but is still more or less asleep. They agree to let him stay the night.

(And Dean doesn’t have a ‘happy ending’ because all he can see when he closes his eyes is the way Castiel’s face looks when he sleeps.)


My once upon a time is different


Castiel is running towards his backyard, sliding the glass door open, and scurrying over to the fence. There’s a family that lives next door. They haven’t been there long, but Castiel has seen them driving their children to a nearby school. Whether they’re boys or girls, Castiel wants to meet them. There hasn’t been anyone his age in the neighbourhood in what feels like forever.

When Castiel sees them, both definitely boys, his eyes widen. One of them is young, too young for Castiel to play with, but the other boy looks just the right age. The older of them has sandy blond hair and can already ride a bike without needing training wheels; he looks so cool. Castiel wants to befriend him before school starts again so he can show off to his classmates.

The next day, Castiel returns to the fence, and the boy is there again, watching his brother intently. Castiel waves, and gets his attention almost immediately, but the boy pretends not to see Castiel. Castiel huffs and leans over further, trying to climb the stupid wooden fence, but he’s too short. He pushes onto the tips of his feet, but only manages to get his arm stuck between the wood panels. He pulls, and ends up scraping off the skin of his forearm, letting out a small yelp of pain.

The boy looks at that sound. He drops his bike quickly and rushes over to the fence, peering into Castiel’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” The boy asks, sounding more worried than Castiel’s mother ever would.

“I’m okay,” Castiel replies, feeling pathetic that his future-best-friend has to see him looking so lame.

“Let me see,” the boy says, stretching out his hand over the fence. He seems so tall up-close like this.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, defensive. “I just scratched the skin off my elbow.”

“Show me,” the boy demands, “you’re making me break my promise to my mom right now.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but the neighbour does the same. “Fine!” Castiel tries to bend his arm over the fence, but the boy just climbs it instead to get a closer look.

“You’re bleeding,” the neighbour says accusingly, “that’s not fine!”

“It doesn’t hurt!” Castiel retorts. “I’ve been through worse than this!”

The boy sighs, and his eyes soften. He takes a step down from the fence. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault, isn’t it?” His green eyes look away guiltily, and it makes Castiel’s stomach hurt.

“No,” Castiel says firmly. “It’s my fault because I’m too short.”

“You’re not short,” the boy says, “you just aren’t as tall as me.”

“Honey, why aren’t you watching Sam? And don’t climb the fence, you’ll hurt yourself,” a pretty blonde woman says from inside the boy’s home. Their mother seems nice, caring. He must have learned it from her.

Castiel flees from the fence, and rushes inside his home.

The next day, things are different. The boy is serious, interested only in keeping his eyes on his brother and nothing else. It makes Castiel feel lonelier than he has in a long time; he thought he finally had someone to talk to at least. The neighbour won’t even answer anymore.

Is it something he did? Did the boy get in trouble for talking to Castiel?

The boy continues to ignore him, but Castiel doesn’t give up.




One day, Castiel’s mother comes home to find him spying on the neighbour kids –again –and she is absolutely furious. She drags Castiel back inside by the collar and tells him that the Winchester family is vile, and to never associate with them. He doesn’t know what any of that means, but he knows it can’t be true. They are good people. They have to be. Their mother looks like an angel. Castiel promises not to go to the fence again because he doesn’t want his mother to be angry anymore. She says that if he does, there will be serious consequences.

A week passes, and Castiel keeps his promise, but he watches them from his bedroom window instead. This way he can see for himself if they are bad people, even though deep down Castiel already knows the answer.

Then, his mother returns early from her job one day. Castiel is so busy staring at the neighbour’s bright smile – murmuring to himself that he wants to impress him if he can – that he doesn’t hear his mother sneak into his bedroom.

“Castiel!” She says, her voice startling him from that dream world. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

Castiel watches her come closer, her makeup running down her cheeks, her shoulders hunched. Something is wrong. She walks so quickly over to Castiel that he flinches, expecting to be hit, but she brings him in for a tight hug instead. Castiel leans into the warmth, giving some of his own.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, stroking fingers through his dark hair. “Mommy’s been so mean to you, hasn’t she?”

“No,” Castiel says, trying to make her feel better.

“So you trust mommy? You think she’s right about the neighbours?” She says, and her hands are clutching at Castiel so tightly he’s afraid of what will happen if he tells her what he really thinks. Maybe she would crumble apart. Maybe she would hit Castiel. Maybe she would start crying.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers in reply. And it hurts more than he thought it would, almost more than what she says next.

“You need to keep away from them, Castiel,” his mother says softly. Castiel pulls back a bit, but she drags him closer, nuzzling into his hair. “Please tell me you understand.”

“I understand, mommy,” Castiel whispers, craving this warmth and fearing it all at once. What has happened to her? She’s not acting like her usual self, and it’s worrying Castiel.

“Daddy is going to take you to a better school. A private school,” she says, still petting his hair. “You’ll be able to be with children almost as smart as you, honey.”

Castiel’s eyes are bulging. “We’re moving away?”

His mother shushes him, rocking him slowly. “Yes.” Her voice cracks. “But mommy—mommy is going to stay behind. Daddy is going to take good care of you, don’t worry.”

“Why? I don’t understand—”

“You said you trust me,” she says, her words muffled in Castiel’s hair, her body shaking around him.

Castiel knows she’s crying even though he’s never seen it before. “I trust you, mommy.”

“You’re such a good boy, Castiel. Promise me you’ll stay a good boy for your father,” she says, brushing hair away from Castiel’s forehead, placing a kiss so soft he barely feels it.

“I promise,” Castiel mutters, squeezing her as tightly to him as he can.




On moving day, Castiel’s mother accompanies him on the ride to the new city. Dad is driving the moving truck, and she is driving her car, holding his hand as soon as they begin to drive away. Castiel hears a boy shouting, and he knows exactly who it is without looking. But promises are things Castiel keeps no matter what, so he ignores him.

Dean! My name’s Dean! And my brother’s name is Sam!

They could have been good friends, probably.

Castiel doesn’t see his mother again once she leaves him at the new home. The next time he does is at her funeral, five years later. His father explains that she had cancer, and if he wasn’t already crying, the image in his mind of her devastation that day would have been enough to break his spirit.

She really must have loved Castiel more than she showed him if she insisted on dying alone rather than making her youngest watch her suffer. The Winchesters were just an excuse, a cover, an outlet for her anger. She may have even liked them deep down. But greedily wanted all of Castiel’s attention to herself before she had to send her youngest away. The last of the Novak children.

All those years later


It’s the anniversary of his mother’s death, and Castiel’s father leaves him a message asking if he can do a bit of cleaning in his childhood home. It’s not exactly what Castiel had planned for today, but he accepts, not wanting to upset his father.

While going through his old room, Castiel finds a dusty box in the back of the closet in his old room. ‘To my boy’ is written across the cover of it, and something about that makes his chest burn. It hadn’t been there the previous years he’d visited this house. He removes the lid carefully, and nearly falls over when he sees what’s inside.

There’s a letter from his mother with pictures of her hidden underneath.


Dear Castiel,

I’m writing this from our home while you and your father sleep.

I’m sorry if I seem really mean, but I’ve only tried to protect you.

I know how sensitive you are, but don’t think that I do these things to purposely hurt you.

I love you so very much, Castiel.

And I know how alone you must have felt once your siblings left for college.

I just didn’t want you to get attached to anyone else, because I knew eventually I’d have to let you go.


The Winchester family is wonderful and would definitely be the right people for you to be close to.

I only wanted to spare you the pain when you’d eventually move. That is the truth.

 If I could, I would tell them to find you and watch over you once I’m gone because I can tell that they would.


I know how your father can be sometimes, but he does love you. Please listen to him and become the rocket scientist that you are.


I’m sorry if I made the wrong decision, darling. Please forgive me.

And if you find the Winchesters again, don’t let them go.

Especially Dean. He seemed so broken up when he heard we were moving.


I’ll always love you with all my heart, even when I’m in Heaven.

With love,

your mommy.



Castiel can’t stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks. His mother was such a strong woman, so serious and hard-working. He can barely reconcile this intimate letter, these soft words with that person he knew. Why couldn’t she have just let him take care of her? Why couldn’t she have let him stay with her and cherish those final moments?

After reading it for the third time, seated on the floor with his legs crossed, Castiel smiles. He always had a feeling deep down that she’d liked the neighbours. And whether it’s because she nudged him from Heaven or because he felt the pull of connection, familiarity, he’s found the Winchesters again. But for his mother to approve of his friendship with them means more than anything.

Sam couldn’t have remembered meeting Castiel, but Dean can. He does. And, that it’s taken this letter for Castiel to remember someone so significant is embarrassing. Castiel had wanted so badly to be liked by the boy he admired next door. Dean. He wanted Dean to like him. And, all the way past the bullshit, and the insecurity, and anything else, he can still sense that longing is there. Even after all those years, now more than ever, he wants Dean to like him, to have him.

But what happens when you’re dating your soul-mate’s brother?


Castiel will say nothing because Sam is perfect in his own way, and he’s the one who walked into Castiel’s life first—not Dean. That Dean may have been his first love is of no importance anymore, not when over a decade has passed since that time. Not when Sam is Castiel’s best friend, and he seems to be hanging on to him by a thread.




Castiel wakes up happier than he has in years. His first thought is Sam. How can he make Sam understand that he wants their relationship to work? Maybe visiting Sam briefly in the library, pulling him aside and telling him directly would be the best way.

(And of course taking a few reconciliatory kisses at the same time.)




Sam is in his usual spot with Jess, which makes it easier for Castiel to find him.

Castiel swings a plastic bag with a book Sam’s been dying to read as he sneaks over to the table. Jess is smiling, and it’s contagious in the way that it makes Sam and Castiel smile, too. Then Sam is leaning closer, and Castiel’s smile fades because he knows what’s going to happen but he can’t believe he has to witness it. Jess leans the rest of the way and kisses him softly. It’s very brief, but it’s intimate in ways that aren’t fair. Sam is reaching for her hand, and Jess is shifting closer to mold against his shape. She fits there perfectly. It doesn’t stop Castiel from fuming though, does it?

Before Castiel can come to terms with his anger and find a safe way to calm it, he’s taking the book out and throwing it at Sam’s table. It lands on the pile of unstapled papers, most likely Sam’s graduation essay, and the sheets scatter around the table like leaves in autumn. Castiel storms out of the library noisily, not caring if he’ll be banned from returning any time soon.

Not caring that he’s proud to not be the one that cut their remaining thread.




Sam returns from school later than usual, and Dean notices right away that he looks awful. His shoulders are sagging and he’s holding the papers in his hand so tightly that they’re crumpling. He plops down on the couch next to Dean, letting his bag drop on the floor like dead weight.

“What’s up with you?” Dean asks, muting the TV and turning to look at Sam.

“I think Cas is going to break up with me.” Sam shakes his head, sighing loudly. “He caught me kissing Jess in the library today.”

“He—you—what?” Dean says, beyond incredulous. “You’re joking me, right? I mean, this is you. You don’t do that kind of shit. How could you cheat on Cas?”

“It just happened. I don’t know. It just felt right at the time. I didn’t feel like I was cheating,” Sam explains, leaning forward into his hands with his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Did you apologize yet? ‘Cause you better have, Sammy,” Dean says, clipped and aggressive.

“I didn’t. And it’s none of your business anyway.” Sam stands, picking up his bag. “I’ll call him later.” When I can figure out the right thing to say.

“None of my business? Really? He’s your best friend, and you used to bring him over three times a week or more. He’s practically family. And now it’s none of my business?” Dean scoffs, turning the volume back up. “That’s an awesome way to treat him.”

Sam tries to explain that he’s confused right now, but Dean just keeps saying ‘whatever Sammy’. Eventually Dean shuts the TV and goes to bed, not bothering to tell Sam anything when he does.

Dean has his blanket over his head when Sam opens the door to check on him. It doesn’t make sense. Why would this bother Dean so much? Did they really get that close in the past few weeks Sam’s been busy with schoolwork?

Sam gets ready for bed but, before then, he sends Castiel a text message apologizing. And, just in case Castiel deletes it without reading it, Sam calls him and leaves a long, explanatory message about how he knows Castiel feels the change in their relationship, and that they should still stay friends, but he likes Jess a lot more than he planned to. Sam really hopes he won’t lose his best friend over that mistake.

Not that he thinks kissing Jess was a mistake, it was just wrong to do anything like that before talking through the break-up with Castiel first.

And what was up with Dean? He sounded like Sam had taken his pie from him, and then threw it out when Sam realized he didn’t like sweets…

Sam sits up in bed abruptly. That’s it. That has to be it.


Dean is falling for Castiel, and he doesn’t even know it yet. But does Castiel feel the same way about Dean? Sam regrets not having noticed this sooner. 




Castiel calls Sam in the morning, knowing his schedule by heart.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel says, his voice thick with sleep. “I received your messages.”

“I’m really sorry you had to see that,” Sam replies, “I wanted to talk to you about it bu—”

“It’s all right. I know you didn’t do it out of spite,” Castiel interjects. “You’re a good man. And I love you as a best friend. But I thought about it last night, and I think I understand why you fell for Jess. We were never really in love, were we?”

“Maybe at first,” Sam tries, but even he thinks it’s probably wrong. “So, you’re okay? Do you want me to come over? I have time before class.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, Sam.” Castiel huffs, chuckling a bit. “Just so long as we can be friends.”

“I’d really like that,” Sam says, smiling. “And I promise we’ll hang out soon. Okay, Cas?”

“Thank you,” Castiel replies. “See you soon.”

Castiel feels lighter than air, like the things that were weighing him down have been untied at long last.

Being with Sam was simple because they were both nurturing and easy to get along with. But sometimes people need some spice, a challenge, in their life to truly feel alive. And Dean is like Tabasco sauce, all sharp edges and hidden flavours that it takes the truly skilled to find. Castiel never thought he’d prefer the hard road over the easy one.


Operation Finding Out If Castiel Likes Dean Back


For the next week, Sam spends all his precious free time planning with Jess how to match up the (possible) lovebirds. If, in fact, Castiel likes Dean as much as Dean –obviously –likes Castiel, then they could perhaps come to terms with it and accept it. Sam knows Dean would never try to take Castiel from him if he didn’t have full-blown permission, and now that he knows Sam likes Jess, Castiel is the only one left to worry about.

And besides the obvious, if this worked out Sam could keep his best friend and his brother both close to him for the rest of his life. It’s a win-win situation.




Sam invites them to a nice enough club –which Jess chose –and prays that they will show up at all. Sure, Sam has made peace with Castiel, but it doesn’t mean he wants to hang out with Jess yet. Dean, as well, might still be angry at Sam for the break-up, even if he explained that it’s all cool now. So, just to make sure they don’t throw a wrench in his plan, he texts them with ‘all drinks are on me’. Sam’s going to be a lawyer soon; he can afford it.

Castiel arrives five minutes later, having nothing to do with the text considering he lives at least half an hour away from the club. Dean on the other hand, texts back ‘seriously?’, and then a second later ‘Is Cas already there?

Sam laughs, and shows Jess as he replies to it. At least Dean isn’t being subtle with his interest.

Jess and Castiel get along well enough that Castiel’s already mostly tipsy by the time Dean is shoving through the growing crowd of people. All the pawns are in place, so now starts the fun.

Dean gets to the bar and greets Sam with a pat on the back, and Jess leans in to peck Dean on the cheek. Sam hands Dean the first of many mixed drinks, and Jess does the same with Castiel. Conversation flows smoothly, at least between everyone who isn’t Dean and Castiel. They haven’t said anything besides hi to each other.

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s back when he nearly falls off his bar stool, and then hands him another rum and coke. He switches places with Jess when Dean looks away for a moment, and Sam orders some shots for Castiel.

“So, Sam didn’t tell me how handsome his older brother was,” Jess whispers in Dean’s ear.

“Can’t say I blame him. He needs all the help he can get.” Dean snickers, taking another sip from his glass.

Jess leans in, draping herself purposely close to see if Castiel will react next to Sam. Castiel clears his throat, and Dean stands, moving away from Jess. They’re almost in sync. Sam can’t believe how painfully obvious they both are when they don’t have their usual head about them. He hands Castiel the shots and tells him to share them with Dean. Castiel nods, taking the tray shakily in his grasp, and smiling at Jess as she passes him to get to Sam.

Sam and Jess move further away to have some privacy, but also to see how things will progress if Castiel and Dean end up more or less alone.

Castiel hands Dean the first from the row of shots and they knock it back easily. Dean has the advantage of having been late, but Castiel isn’t going to let that stop him from keeping up as long as possible. The next shot is a bit tougher, but it brings them close enough that their shoulders brush. Dean’s head is spinning, having nothing to do with the alcohol. The third shot nearly doesn’t go down for Castiel—laughing so hard it bubbles up his nose—because Dean spilt his mostly down his shirt, when he was too busy staring at Castiel licking his wrist. The fourth shot is nothing more than water at this point. They’re staring at each other with an intensity that makes Sam and Jess decide to stop watching them.

Castiel is swaying to the music, backing as close as he can to Dean, trying to give him the hint. Dean grabs him by the hips and grinds so hard Castiel nearly moans. Castiel tips his head back, leaning it on Dean’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean’s fingers trail down Castiel’s sides, breath hot against Castiel’s neck.

Castiel hums softly, pressing harder against Dean at his back, and that’s all Dean can take. Dean spins Castiel, pulling him into a kiss so fast it makes them both feel faint. Ever since that night when Castiel fell asleep on his shoulder, Dean’s been thinking about doing this, and now he finally can.

Castiel gasps when Dean nibbles over his lips, scraping his nails down Castiel’s back, dragging Castiel impossibly closer. Dean feels Castiel hardening against him and it makes him pull away abruptly. This is Sammy’s best friend, his ex-boyfriend. There’s so much wrong about what’s happening.

“I don’t think I can do this, Cas,” Dean says gently, panting in Castiel’s neck. “What about Sam?”

“What about Sam? We’re much better as friends, Dean,” Castiel says firmly, running his hand down Dean’s arm. “We never went further than kissing.”

Dean closes his eyes, his mind travelling down a road of all the things he would do to Castiel given the opportunity. Maybe finding out you’re falling for your brother’s best friend while drunk isn’t the best way.

Dean’s stomach is doing acrobatics, and his vision is blurring, but Castiel can’t know any of that. All Castiel knows is that Dean isn’t saying anything, and isn’t looking at him anymore. Silence speaks louder than words. Castiel assumes it must be too hard for Dean to accept him since Sam is his baby brother, and he moves away from Dean, slipping outside for air.

Dean follows after Castiel as quickly as his legs will take him, and the cold air is a shock that makes him practically feel sober. Castiel is standing near the door, arms crossed and close to his chest. He looks like he’s freezing. Dean stands next to Castiel and puts his jacket over his shoulders. Dean Winchester is stronger than a little glacial wind.

“What do you think of the kid who used to ignore you?” Dean says, smiling nervously at Castiel. He doesn’t add because now I don’t think he could ignore you even if he desperately wanted to. That’s way too sappy, even for a drunk person.

“I still feel the same.” Castiel bumps Dean with his shoulder, thinking about the letter his mom left for him. “You’re still as interesting and warm as you were.” Castiel steals a kiss this time, gripping Dean’s waist hard enough to leave marks. On purpose.

Castiel pulls away and hands Dean his jacket when his taxi arrives. “I put my number in the pocket.”

Dean nods, dumbfounded by Castiel’s smoothness, and feeling more sexually frustrated than he’s been in his life.




Dean: Did u get home in one piece?


Castiel: I’m fine, Dean. Did you?


Dean: Yep. Getting ready 4 bed now.


Castiel: So am I. What do you sleep in?


Dean: Boxers. U?


Castiel: Nothing.


Dean: You’re joking, right?


Castiel: I’ve consumed too much to search for suitable sleepwear.


Dean: So ur naked. Right now

Dean: U don’t even have briefs on?


Castiel: I couldn’t find anything.

Castiel: What do your boxers look like?


Dean: They’re just white.

Dean: Dude, if any1 should be turned on it’s me


Castiel: Who said I was?


Dean: Ur not? :(


Castiel: It was a poor attempt at humour.


Dean: oh. :)

Dean: so are we sexting right now?


Castiel: Is that what this is referred to as?


Dean: R u touching urself?


Castiel: Yes.

Castiel: Why?


Dean: Then yes we’re sexting.

Dean: What r u touching?


Castiel: My stomach.

Castiel: Is that not the right place?


Dean: There’s no right place, Cas.

Dean: Wherever u want is okay


Castiel: But I’m meant to touch my genitalia, correct?


Dean: How do u sound so science-y, srsly

Dean: I’d say ‘I have my hand on my cock’


5 minutes pass


Dean: Cas? Did u fall asleep?


Castiel: I was imagining what you said.

Castiel: And I got very aroused.

Castiel: I needed a moment to calm down. My apologies.


Dean: S’that so? ;)

Dean: How ‘bout if I’m stroking now, thinking about how much I’d like u to watch.

Dean: Would u like me to put on a show 4 u?


Castiel: Very much, Dean.

Castiel: How soon can we meet?


Dean: LOL

Dean: Maybe we should go on a date first, Cas

Dean: Where do u like to hang out?


Castiel: So you’re not coming over tonight, I presume?

Castiel: I enjoy spending time in bookstores and pet shops.


Dean: I’ll let u know when our date is

Dean: Go 2 sleep, Cas

Dean: G’night


Castiel: Sleep well, Dean




Dean would be jealous of the puppies getting all his date’s attention if Castiel didn’t seem like he is right at home with them. The way Castiel’s melting over every single furry –and not so furry—creature in the shop would be Dean’s downfall if he wasn’t already so into Castiel. Head over heels even one could say. It just wouldn’t be Dean saying it.

Castiel’s stomach grumbles loud enough that some of the bunnies start hiding, so Dean drags him away from his animal kingdom and into a nearby restaurant. They could always visit his family again some other time.

Dean hands Castiel a menu, and their fingers brush, making Dean clear his throat and Castiel’s cheeks flush. They haven’t really touched since that night—and that involved inhuman amounts of free alcohol. Castiel closes his menu when he’s done choosing, and grips the sleeves of his coat.

“Does it worry you to be seen holding my hand in public?” Castiel says, keeping his eyes down.

Dean looks up, raising a brow questioningly. “Where is this coming from?”

“I’m simply recalling how you would react when I held Sam’s hand or kissed him,” Castiel says, looking away nervously.

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. That’s true. There was a time like that not long ago. It feels so distant now. And they’ve only been dating for a week. Go figure.

In all honesty, Dean can’t seem to mind any of those things, even though it used to weird him out how much PDA Sam did with Castiel. Dean gets it now. He was annoyed because he wanted to be that person making Castiel’s eyes sparkle, making his skin flush. Sam was getting all of Castiel’s admiration and Dean wanted it. He wanted those touches and kisses. And how sad is it that it took Sam’s poorly planned club outing for it to happen?

The saddest part though?

If Cas asked Dean to do anything right now, he would probably say yes. Things ranging from wearing matching t-shirts to stripping down and having sex on this table before their meal even arrives. Any of it, all of it. Dean can’t imagine refusing Castiel anything, and because of that, Castiel will never be allowed to find out. The power it could grant him…Oh god.

“You can keep holding my hand,” Dean says, reaching across the table for Castiel’s fingers. “Even while eating if that’s what you want, Cas.” Apparently, his dick turns into a vagina whenever Castiel is around.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel squeezes Dean’s fingers gently. He smiles, relieved, his eyes shining just for Dean, and brighter than Dean’s ever seen.

And Dean’s done. He’s lost forever. Castiel wins. And there’s no returning from this hell, is there? Not that Dean really wants to. The vagina can stay for a while longer.




Luckily, Castiel isn’t one of those people who actually holds your hand the entire meal because Dean’s steak is pretty fuckin’ delicious and it requires two hands to cut. Besides, Castiel is enjoying his lasagna possibly even more than Dean is his artery-clogging slab of meat. When Dean’s done, he doesn’t even need to ask and Castiel is shoving a forkful of cheesy pasta into Dean’s mouth.

It’s important that they are the same in the ways that matter most: food, entertainment and sex (hopefully).

Dean drives Castiel back to his home, and they sit in the car for a while, not talking, not thinking, just enjoying. It’s been a good day for both of them, and they don’t want to ruin it by saying or doing something stupid at the end of it. Castiel takes off his seatbelt and kisses Dean gently, the fingers of Castiel’s right hand rubbing through Dean’s stubble. It’s so innocent, it makes a dark part of Dean want to break Castiel wide open and see all the filth deep below his skin.

That’s definitely not a first date thing. And not a normal reaction either.

Castiel pulls away, his lashes fluttering. “Would you like to come in?”

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. But - no. No, no. Not a good idea at all.

Castiel mentioned something about having an exam in the morning, and Dean knows –knows the monster in him so sickeningly well –that it’ll end in a lot of (see: all) clothing being removed, Castiel being sore and tired, and most likely holding a grudge for having failed his exam.

“I don’t want to cut into your study time, Cas,” Dean says, grinning. “We’ll have plenty of time to see each other after your exam.” He winks, feeling especially playful around Castiel.

“I’ll hold you to that,” is Castiel’s rumbling reply.

It leaves Dean with a painfully large bulge in his pants as he watches Castiel hop out of the Impala and strut around it like he knows he’s sex-on-legs. Perhaps he does at this point.

(And when did one of the Einstein Twins get promoted to sex-on-legs in Dean’s head?)




Dean decides he needs Sam’s full approval before moving as quickly as he (and Castiel) wants to. Evidently, Sam didn’t learn his lesson–from when he was practically bare assed and rutting against Castiel like some sex-deprived freak–because his door is still unlocked, and this time Jess is in his lap, her tongue so far down his throat you’d think she was trying to taste the walls of his stomach.

That sounds fuckin’ disgusting, but that’s exactly how Dean feels, so it should be.

At least Dean knows the answer to that question he meant to ask. Now, to wash his eyes out with bleach, and ‘sext’ some more with Castiel to get those vomit-worthy images out of his head.


Dean: What r u wearing?





Sam escapes to Jess’s dorm with the same enthusiasm Dean has when he calls Castiel over for some much anticipated alone-together time.

Dean isn’t a fool. He likes his prey to utterly swoon before he devours them. Dean cooks another simple but filling meal for them and Castiel brings pie. The only tension in the room is from the knowledge that they can, and will, be having sex in not too much longer. It’s a good type of tension, though.

Castiel brought another DVD over so they watch it—or pretend to because they’re both buzzing with excitement and arousal—and before the credits even start rolling they’re fumbling up the stairs with their lips attached, and every part of them connected like magnets.

Once in Dean’s bed, Castiel pulls Dean on top of him, kissing down his face, licking his jaw, and nipping the skin there when he feels the bulge in Dean’s pants. Castiel is moaning loud enough that you’d think Dean is already pushing inside him—which really is too hot for words. But Dean needs to try.

“Have you ever been with a man?” Dean asks, breathless. Castiel squirms underneath him for some semblance of purchase; there are still too many layers between them.

“No, but I think I would enjoy it most with you,” Castiel replies, voice just as uneven. He huffs when Dean pulls away to look at the mussed, dark hair and those eyes he’s been keeping in his mind for years.

Dean’s been with a fair amount of people. Okay, he’s been with a shitload. He lost count back when he dropped out of high school to take care of Sam. And certainly Dean is happy to be at the top of Castiel’s throne, the one that Castiel is willing to bend over for, but maybe Dean’s not ready to cross that line. Castiel’s virginity should be treasured just a bit longer so Dean can feel like he made it special for him, and show him how it all works.

Castiel’s eyes narrow in impatience and Dean can’t help but laugh. The guy is so freakin’ adorable; it’s a mystery he didn’t fall for him sooner. Oh yeah, Castiel was with Sam. Dean probably shouldn’t be thinking about Sam with Castiel humping his leg. Surprisingly, Dean feels no guilt when Castiel’s fingers start fiddling with Dean’s belt and popping his jean buttons open either.

Dean catches Castiel’s wrist gently and stills him. “How ‘bout you join me in the shower?” Dean winks in – what he hopes is –a seductive way. Castiel shoves Dean from on top of him, standing and dragging Dean by his – well, Dean is the one holding on to Castiel’s wrist, so how does that work?

Castiel pulls his sweater over his head, and Dean will not make his diva wait longer than he already has. The bathroom door clicks shut behind them, and Castiel refuses to keep his hands away from the parts of Dean’s body that will make cleaning up unpleasant later. Don’t ask.

Dean turns the knobs, hoping the temperature is half-decent, but Castiel doesn’t give him a chance to check because he’s already pulling him under the spray of water. Thankfully, it isn’t scorching hot. Close, but not quite. Dean peels out of Castiel’s tight hold and bends over to fix the water. Castiel growls and crowds in close (well, closer), hands curling into Dean’s hips, his cock sliding up the cleft of Dean’s ass.


Okay. Time out.


Dean didn’t mean ‘hey Cas, want to fuck me in the shower?’, he meant ‘hey Cas, I’ll make you come in the shower so we won’t have to worry about stains later’. But maybe he should have told him that beforehand.

“Time out,” Dean pants, Castiel’s cock rubbing slickly against his entrance. Dean’s not going to survive being in a relationship with Castiel, is he?

For his part, Castiel does manage to slow down. “What- is it- Dean?” He all but snarls, though.

Dean shifts, facing Castiel, his back pressed painfully into the soap tray. “Calm down,” Dean tries, having a sinking feeling he’s going to end up very hard and alone in this shower soon.

“I. Am. Calm,” Castiel grits out. “If I were not, you would have remained bent over and I would be thrusting into you.”

“Okay…” Dean says, oddly turned on by the thought of Castiel being rough like that. “Okay, Cas. C’mere.”

Castiel’s palm presses flat on the tiles next to Dean’s head, his other arm coming around Dean’s waist and forcing their bodies to touch at every wet inch. Dean lets out a shuddering breath when Castiel’s cock bumps against his thigh. Speaking of which—

Dean’s mouth goes dry. How could that thing fit inside Castiel’s pants? Forget pants, how could it fit inside Dean?

Castiel’s hips stop rocking, and he smoothes his hand over Dean’s ass. Dean’s breath catches in his throat and, really, how is this fair? Castiel is supposed to be the virgin between them. Dean’s gaze moves (reluctantly) away from Castiel’s swollen, thick cock, dripping between them and up to those blues he dreams about. Castiel is frowning, impatience running thin, and Dean is going to fix that. He’s going to make Castiel come apart, too.

Dean’s hand wraps around Castiel’s cock and he jerks once, tentatively. Castiel hisses, his head hidden between Dean’s neck and shoulder. Dean waits a few moments, too long apparently, so Castiel sinks his teeth in. Hard. Dean winces, and starts stroking, the water and pre-come making it sound completely obscene. Castiel arches his back, tongue lapping over Dean’s collarbone, making Dean stroke faster.

“Dean- Dean. I’ve been- ah- dreaming about this.” Castiel moans encouragingly, and Dean’s cock throbs with the sound. Castiel’s hand squeezing his ass isn’t helping either. If he shoots his load without even being touched once, what would happen to his reputation? Not that he needs one anymore.

Oh, fuck it.

“Me too, Cas,” Dean admits, tugging faster on Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s whimpering and babbling starts, a mess of adjectives and praise and DeanDeanDean - Dean I’m close. And then Castiel’s spilling between them, Dean’s hand wrapped in strings of white and the rest painting their stomachs.

Dean’s out of breath more than Castiel is, his fingers tingling where they’re still wrapped around Castiel’s cock. Castiel cups Dean’s face with both hands, tongue plunging in with everything Dean would ever need to know – past, present and future. Dean’s seen their wedding pictures already, and their son riding a tricycle for Christ’s sake.

Something is terribly wrong with Dean’s brain, isn’t it? A mystical brain tumour or—

“It is my turn, Dean,” Castiel says matter-of-factly.

Dean swallows, still breathing too hard considering he was the one giving and not receiving the hand-job. Castiel grips Dean’s length firmly, eyes locked on Dean’s forest greens for approval.

“P-please, yes,” Dean stutters out, perpetually turned on by this side of Castiel.

Castiel’s lips part and Dean focuses on that when Castiel starts stroking earnestly. Otherwise, it’s going to take exactly sixty-seconds before Dean comes his brains out. Castiel’s fingers are long, tightly wound and rough. Dean’s knees shake, his chest already aching to let his orgasm free. Castiel mutters something, and Dean is careful not to listen because Castiel’s specific brand of sex-talk could make him blind them both.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut when Castiel’s fingers twist, his thumb rubbing across the slit of Dean’s cock. Close, too close. Castiel growls and Dean’s knees give way again, Castiel catching him with his other arm. Dean forces his eyes open, and Castiel hasn’t stopped watching him. It makes Dean’s skin burn with want.

God, Dean’s never wanted to be fucked by a dude so badly in his life.

Castiel squeezes at the head of Dean’s cock, glancing down at his handiwork. And Dean loses it. Between the hunger on Castiel’s features when he sees Dean’s cock, the small, needy whimper Castiel makes when pre-come squeezes past his fist, and the look of utter admiration Castiel has when he drags his eyes back up, Dean is lost.

Even Dean’s hair hurts from the force of his orgasm when it breaks free, coating Castiel’s elegant digits and the top of Dean’s thigh. At least the water is washing it away before Dean can consider feeling bad for the mess.

It’s moments, or minutes even, later and Dean’s shaking so hard that Castiel is pinning him with one arm, the other still stroking Dean through the climax of his life.

Castiel does most of the washing up, Dean is ashamed to say. His body was so unprepared for—for Castiel. Castiel’s smile stays the entire time he lathers them in soap and scrubs the come down the drain. Dean watches him with a tight feeling in his chest he hopes isn’t life-threatening. Dean intends to repay Castiel for all this, ten-fold.

Dean finds Castiel some clothes to sleep in and they snuggle up in his bed. It should be weird. Dean’s never shared his bed with anyone with the intention of seeing them again. It’s never been a man either. And it definitely wasn’t ever one of Sam’s exes or friends. Castiel peers up at him with a lazy smile, his dark hair tickling Dean’s nose. But it’s still not weird somehow.




Sam returns later that night, and finds them cuddled up in Dean’s bed, snoring softly. Sam takes another picture, but they don’t stir this time. Sam creeps back out of the room and smiles at the shot he just took; it can go with the other. And maybe if Dean asks really nicely, Sam can print them both out for him to stick into a scrapbook.



The End