Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Dean! Hey!”

He's maybe ten feet from his car when Tessa yells for him, with the fast click of her heels catching up behind. God dammit, it's been such a long fucking day already.

“Dean, wait up!”

“Yeah.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. Shit.“Yeah, I hear you.” She's right there when he finally turns around, looking sorry enough but not, you know, going away or anything.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just really need your help! Can you cover the rest of my shift?” It's a little chilly out tonight, yeah, but she could've tossed her coat on instead of standing there shivering and looking pathetic. She totally did it on purpose.

“Seriously? Jesus, Tess, you know how early I had to get up this morning?”

“I know, but no one else can stay! Look, it's... my stupid brother got arrested; not for anything big, but Mom's freaking out. I have to go get her.” And now he can see that it's not just the chilly air getting to her; Tessa is twitchy with nervousness. Damn.

He's already walking back towards the club when he answers her. “Yeah, alright. I've got you covered.” At least it's only a few more hours until closing, and fuck if he's sticking around for any clean-up afterward.

“You're the best!” Tessa's flying hug makes him stumble a few steps, grabbing her waist to keep them both up and holding a little tighter than is strictly necessary. Yeah, he's a saint alright. “I owe you big time,” she says. “Oh! Hey, you might even thank me; I've got a group that called ahead. It's a bachelorette party, your favorite!”

Just because he's good at something doesn't make it his favorite. He is good at them, though; those single girls always go a little wild when their friends are getting married. Wild and loose with the tips. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh, her name's Anna Milton and one of the bridesmaids set it up. Meg something. Oh! And it's a combo bachelor 'slash' bachelorette deal.” Wow, people still do the air quote thing? Huh. “She said that the guy is kind of a loner... well, friendless pathetic geek is what she really said but that sounded kinda mean. She sounded like she really wanted to embarrass the guy, Charles or something, asking about lap dances and stuff.”

Well, that's a little different. They get plenty of mixed parties at the club - the co-ed strippers thing is still unique enough to draw people in - but this is the first he's ever heard of an engaged couple coming in together. 'Charles' must be one open minded geek.

They go in the side door, so it's not too noisy when they get back in the club, but Tessa still has to raise her voice to be heard. “You should keep an eye on him! You don't want some stupid fight to cut into your tips or anything.” Dean just nods and tosses her coat out while he hangs his own up. Sounds like a fun night, looking after the interpersonal relationships of drunk people.

“Thanks again!” And there's hug number two; he could get used to that. “I owe you!”

“You do. You should take me to dinner, I swear I'll order cheap.” He gives her a wink and gets an eye roll in return. Not a good sign. Oh shit, wait. “Hey!” She's nearly out the door when he catches her, hand at her elbow. “You need anything, call, alright? I know you've got my number, I put it in your phone myself.” He gets a kiss on the cheek along with the thank you for that one before she's gone. Tessa's got a thing for mixed signals.

“Okay then.” The changing room mirror shows him some terminally limp hair, and he runs his fingers through it quickly before heading out front. Bad hair is no waiter's friend. “I'm getting puked on tonight, I can feel it.”

*****

The Heads or Tails Exotic Dance Club isn't a bad place to work, really. The people are good, the customers aren't always disgusting, and nobody's fucked with Dean's car yet when he's had to leave it overnight. Smart people.

Ellen is a pretty great boss, keeping the good dancers happy and turfing the ones who try to sell a little ass on the side. She tries to keep the place as clean as a strip joint can be. Dance club, dance club, right. Last time he called it a strip joint, she'd smacked him on the back of the head like a little kid. That shit had hurt and Dean wasn't so surprised about her being a bouncer at her own bar after that.

She's really good about Dean's situation, too. Working two jobs means sometimes he just doesn't have it in him to play nice with the customers, so she finds him other stuff to do. Like helping the dancers get ready, which is fun, or cleaning the bathrooms, which is disgusting, but thankfully mindless. Some nights she even lets him split a shift and take off early. Kinda like how tonight was supposed to be.

He's behind the bar when the party arrives, fixing up some girly drinks for the college chicks at table five and keeping one eye on Billy up on stage who is currently holding his cowboy hat hands-free. Billy's got skills.

There's maybe eight people in the group, a few looking a little drunk already, and they're all crowding around one girl in the middle. That must be the lucky lady. Or her husband to be is the lucky one because wow, she's pretty fucking gorgeous. She's got that otherworldly waif deal going on, with really pale skin and bright red hair and even as he's walking over, Dean can tell that her eyes are huge and sad. God, he's such a sucker for eyes like that.

“Hey there! Ladies, guys, welcome to Heads or Tails. I'm Dean, I'll be getting you drunk and poor tonight.” The red-head is smiling at him, warm and soft, but one of the other women cuts in front of her. This one's blond, pretty in a punk pixie sort of way.

“I talked to some girl named Tessy on the phone, she's supposed to be our waitress.” Huh, Ms. Pixie Cut seems a little brittle tonight.

“You're Meg, right? Tessa had a... thing, so she's gone for the night. Told me all about you, though, no worries. We've got some tables together up near the stage for you guys. I'll be right over.” He motions them towards their seats and takes a second to deliver the college girls' drinks while they get settled.

The party is actually seven total: five girls and two guys mostly chatting happily when he gets back to them. “So! This is a little unique, actually. I've never seen a his and hers bachelor party in here before. Who's the happy couple?” He gets a few eye rolls for that, mostly from Meg and an older black guy who seems to take 'unimpressed' to an art form. So he hasn't got the group quite figured out yet. Some people like the chatty waiter thing, some don't.

“It's just the happy girl tonight, Bubbles. Romeo pussied out.” This is from a dark haired woman at his elbow, all pouty mouth and sarcastic eyebrows.

“Ruby!” The read-head smacks her arm in that 'you're crazy but I love you' way and smiles up at Dean. Oh yeah, those are drowning eyes alright. “Sorry. Um... I'm Anna, the 'happy girl'. My fiancé couldn't make it.”

He shakes the hand she's holding out, surprised at her callused skin. “Nice to meet you Anna. Was he scared of the man ass or what? We get that sometimes.”

“Oh no. I mean I don't think so. He's a writer.” The unimpressed guy snorts at this and Anna gives him a quieting look before she goes on. “He writes science fiction stuff.” She's looking at Dean again and he shrugs. He reads, but not that kind of stuff, mostly biographies and some true crime as a guilty pleasure. Anna continues. “He had some big idea and said he had to work on it right now. It's a writer thing, I guess. He might show up later, though.”

Dean thinks she doesn't look so sure of that, which is too bad. If it were him, this 'idea' would have to be pretty spectacular to make him skip out on his own bachelor party. Not to mention his own potentially drunk and horny girlfriend. “I'll make sure he finds you guys if he does, I promise. What can I get for everybody in the mean time?”

*****

He's back behind the bar getting their second round when the fiancé finally does show up. The night's been slowish and he's been talking with Anna's party when he has a spare minute. He toned down the Friendly Waiter thing and they all seem open enough now.

So far he's learned that Anna is a university student and an artist working with metals, which explains the rough skin. She likes David Bowie. Jessica, the girl-next-door blond, is Anna's high-school friend and one of her bridesmaids. Sarah, the Maid-of-Honor, has the prettiest smile and can chug a beer like a friggin' trucker. Meg and Ruby like to order Screaming Orgasms and dance with each other, which would be hot if it weren't so damn obvious. Uriel the Unimpressed is a dick with a really weird name, and apparently he's some kind of artist too. So is Al, the creepy older dude with a funny accent and nails like fucking knives, and Dean will have to get Ellen to intervene if that bastard grabs his ass again. He's not allowed to intervene for himself anymore since that one guy threatened to sue. Christ, you break one nose and people throw a fit.

He also learns that the wedding is sort of a rush job (as in, within the month, and Dean didn't know that was even possible) since Anna's grandmother is in 'poor health' and they don't want her to miss it. That one was kind of a conversational backfire.

So he's at the bar restocking the limes when he sees the guy come in. He's not bad, looking a little rumpled in a suit and trench coat, but still hot in a librarian sort of way. He's peering through the crowd like he's looking for someone and Dean figures oh hey, maybe he's looking for someone.

“Evenin'!” The guy turns to Dean as he makes his way over, a little startled. As Dean gets closer, he sees that 'not bad' may have been an understatement. The bead-head and lush looking mouth are sexy enough, but man, the eyes. There's no way this guy is Anna's boyfriend; the world isn't cruel enough to hold two people with eyes that pretty and then have them be with each other. “Are you... Charles? With Anna's group?” Please say no. He's not wearing a ring, but men generally don't before the big day, and Dean is tired but not that tired.

The guy tilts his head. It's a weird movement, kind of deliberate, like he had to think about it. His voice is low enough that Dean has to lean in to hear it. “Castiel. Ingalls. But yes, I'm with Anna. It's from the Bible. An angel.” Dean hadn't actually asked, but he guesses that 'Castiel' probably gets a lot of funny looks over his name. No wonder Tessa hadn't remembered it right. Shit, the world is cruel after all.

“Cool. I'm Dean, from the James.” Oh, funny. Christ. “They're over near the front there. What can I bring you?”

Castiel just shrugs and looks to where Dean's thumb is pointing, eyes flicking quickly past the half-naked dancer on stage (Nancy, shaking her fine rear end to Foxy Lady). “A beer will be fine. Please.” He's looking at Dean again, and his eyes are stupidly blue. God, so not fair. “Thank you. Whatever you have on tap.”

Maybe he's foreign or something, with the way he seems to be hand-picking his words but still not getting the order quite right. No real accent to speak of, though. Maybe he's high. That's a writer thing, right?

Dean makes it back to the bar before Castiel manages to thread his way to the table, so he's got a great view of the loving reunion. Anna is on her feet and has her arms wrapped around Castiel's chest, squeezing tight enough that the guy looks a little winded from it. His arms are much gentler around her, careful but familiar. Dean shakes off the little ache that gives him; he hasn't been able to hold someone like that in a long time.

When Anna pulls back, Dean can see her mouth form the words 'you made it'. Her grin is painfully bright, but Castiel's answering smile is like a transformation. People talk about a smile reaching the eyes a lot, sure, but this guy's smile is like a face full of joy. It's all mouth and eyes and crinkled skin, cheeks and even a little gum, and Dean's never liked gummy smiles before. There is a kiss, of course, but it lands on Castiel's cheek instead of his lips and Dean figures Anna must be one of those Good Girls he keeps hearing about.

God, they're fucking gorgeous together, and clearly happy despite Castiel's late arrival. Dean wants to be happy for them, these perfect strangers, but it's only natural to be wondering where his angel-eyed other half is, God dammit. As he's walking the next round of drinks over, he concedes that he might possibly be a little jealous.

“Two Sex on the Beaches for the ladies.” The glasses clink down in front of Meg and Ruby, who are doing something with cherries that he's not going to ask about no matter how curious he might be. “A Tequila Paralyzer for Al.” This one is put down on Dean's side of the table and pushed over, keeping his ass a safe distance away. “And a Whatever Beer for the new guy.” Dean tosses out a new coaster and sets the last drink down, and if he's waiting for a little acknowledgment he's not going to get it. Castiel and Anna are deep in conversation, something about a studio, and neither of them look up.

*****

Dean tries to keep his distance after that. The enduring love at their table is putting him in a down mood that would make his brother proud and he doesn't want it to cut into his tips. That plan is working pretty well, he's telling himself, when half the group shows up at the bar. Ha.

“Bubbles!” It's Ruby, of course, with Sarah and Anna on either side and Castiel standing, looking at a bar stool like he isn't quite sure what it's for. Yeah, so he's probably high since he sure can't be that drunk on, what, three beers? Unless he's been stealing sips from his girlfriend. “Bubbles, we need shots!” She's got two arms slung around the other girls and a grin like a proud parent. “Lots of shots.”

Castiel finally sits down beside Anna, looking more relaxed now that he's left his trench and suit coat back at the table. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and Dean lets his gaze linger on narrow wrists and long fingers. Castiel is watching him when he looks up, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together. Shit, caught.

“Shots! We can do that.” Dean tries to turn his nervous wince into false excitement, smiling broadly at the girls. Anna, thankfully, is looking warm and toasted under Ruby's arm and hasn't noticed a thing. “We have the technology!”

Sarah giggles, she must be a fan of 70s TV. Or shitty jokes. “We want tequila!” Of course they do.

Dean is setting four shot glasses in a row when Castiel speaks. “Three. I'm fine, thank you.” Yeah, Dean can see where this is gonna go.

Ruby takes her cue perfectly, leaning past Anna to point a finger at Castiel. “Hey! I'm buying, we're celebrating, and Anna already let you out of the lap dance! You owe me and you want shots.” One red fingernail pokes the middle of his forehead, but Castiel just rocks back with the little push and then straight again. Like a weeble-wobble or something. “Cas, man, if you say no again, I will be forced to make you stuff dollar bills down the crack of some girl's ass. With your teeth.”

Wow, that's a little crass with his future wife sitting right there between them. Anna apparently agrees because she's blushing to match her hair and not really looking at anyone.

“If you insist. I'll do one shot.”

“There's no such thing as one shot! You'll do four.”

“Two.” Castiel has one hell of a poker face. Or Cas, and Dean's glad the poor guy has a decent nickname. It could've been something unfortunate like... Casty.

“Fine! Two, and one dollar bill in an ass.”

There's hesitation in those eyes now, poker face or not. “Agreed.” Smart man, he must know where to pick his battles.

“That's our boy, four tequilas!” Ruby slaps Cas on the shoulder before wrapping her arm around Anna again and giving her a squeeze. “Aren't you proud, Annie? Maybe we can get his tie off next!”

Dean has a distracting moment with that idea and nearly misses the look that passes between Anna and Cas. It's one of those non-verbal things that really close couples do (or him and Sam, but let's not think about that right now or right ever). She says 'you don't have to' with a raise of her eyebrows and he says 'I want to make you happy' with a smile and 'you're happy when your friends are happy' with a small shrug.

Dean fills the shot glasses with a level of concentration usually reserved for important tests. Possibly jealous, a little.

Shockingly, Ruby doesn't push for body shots. She just salts up her own wrist, tosses the shot back, and sucks on her lime slice with an air of satisfaction. The other three follow, although Dean misses the two girls in favor of watching Castiel's pink tongue slide thick over his own wrist.

People usually try to be sexy with it, that's sort of the point, but his lick is fast and precise. Efficient. It's strangely hotter than it should be, and Dean is still staring when he's done and pulling the lime away from his wet mouth. The feel of his own tongue wetting his lips registers before Dean can stop himself and when he looks up from Castiel's mouth, blue eyes are watching him. More than watching, focusing on Dean like they had on the bar stool, like Cas doesn't know quite what to do with Dean but is very close to figuring it out.

Jesus. Dean pulls away and glances at Anna again. She's just finishing and shaking her head from the sour citrus taste, eyes squeezed shut. He looks back at Cas and does the guy have no sense of self preservation? He's still staring. His almost-wife is sitting right next to him and he's indulging in eye sex with the bartender.

Dean gets it, he does. He's seen enough ring-shaped tan lines to know how easy it is for people to stray. He's even been fooled now and then, ended up with a husband-inflicted black eye that one time, so he gets it. But God dammit, he's not a cheater and he's not going to play along when someone else wants to be.

That train of thought is enough to dampen the tight pull of arousal in his belly and Dean fills up the shot glasses with their next round before turning away. Thankfully, another customer is in dire need of a beer and he doesn't have to watch the next round of wrist licking. Less thankfully, there is no more group when he gets back to them, just Castiel sitting with his hands crossed flat on the bar. He would look prim if not for the slight lean to the left he's developed.

“You lose the ladies or did they lose you?”

Castiel is very still, watching him with that precise head tilt again. “Sarah found some more dollar bills.”

Dean can see them now, Sarah and Ruby waving money at the latest dancer (Ash now, who uses decent music but had to be mugged with a haircut before Ellen let him on stage) with Anna laughing behind them. “Yeah, those don't last long around here. Want another?” Dean gestures with a shot glass.

“No, please.” Emphasis on the 'please', and Dean can't stop his short laugh at that. “I would very much appreciate a glass of water, though.”

“Easy enough.” He does look a little flushed. Dean passes the glass along, icy cold, and not even thinking 'engaged engaged engaged' can keep him from watching the harsh bob of Castiel's throat on each long swallow. The man is panting lightly when he's done, savoring it with his eyes shut, half the glass empty and a few stray drops trailing down his chin. That wide tongue sneaks out to chase them and Dean's going to need a safe topic of conversation right fucking now.

“So... uh... not much time left, huh?” Swing and a miss. “I mean the wedding's pretty soon. You guys all... prepared and stuff?” He barely even knows what he's asking, wedding prep being something he's had to worry about never. As far as he knows, the guy's duty is to show up, dress nice, and not act like a dick at any point.

“Not really, no.” There's a small half-smile added to the head tilt now, and Cas is running his fingers up and down the condensation on the water glass. Dean honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not. “The amount of preparations to be made yet is... daunting.”

Daunting. Who says daunting any more? Other than Sam, who says daunting any more? “I guess I wouldn't know. It's all pretty terrifying from this side.”

The grunt and nod of agreement for that is surprising. For one thing, Cas doesn't seem like a grunter. The 'terrifying' agreement should probably be less shocking, though, considering the smoky looks he's been giving Dean. “We shouldn't be here much longer, really. We'll all be useless tomorrow. It's 'envelope licking day', I believe. And something about... seating arrangements.”

Dean shudders. “Fun. Don't forget to take more water. I was the designated licker for my brother's Valentine's cards once and believe me, tongue hydration is important.” Fuck, stop saying tongue. “Uh... for school, you know. Where everyone was supposed to get cards so no one felt left out?” Fuck, stop saying anything.

“Yes, I remember.” Dean's pretty sure Cas is laughing at him now on the inside. He can see it in his eyebrows. But it's hard to feel insulted when all he wants to do is grin back.

“Look, when you're ready to go, if you guys need a cab or anything, let me know. I can call one of the good companies.” He can see Anna at their table with her head on her arms, possibly sleeping. That was fast. Three of the other girls are dancing with, holy God, Al. “Pretty sure no one over there is in a driving state, and I know you aren't.”

He looks surprised, Dean's got the feeling that he gets a lot easier to read once he's had a few drinks. “That's probably right. I very much appreciate the offer, if you would.”

Dean is leaning with one arm on the bar and he's pretty sure the tilt of his body is saying 'You should come home with me'. He would stop, but Cas will be gone soon enough and he's tired of trying and failing to control himself. “Course! All part of the job.”

There's a moment where Cas seems to look inward, forehead in a puzzled bunch again. It's quick, but when he comes back he seems distant. “I suppose it is. You're very good at your job.” Why does that feel like an insult? “Please send someone over to let us know when the taxi arrives.”

Then he's gone, and Dean is left with a puzzled frown of his own. Did the guy just realize they'd been flirting, or what? Way to take it out on the innocent bartender, if so.

When they leave the club a half hour later, Dean isn't sure he's sad to see them go. And if Dean has a quick jerk-off in the shower later while thinking about narrow wrists and a strange, hot gaze? Well, there's no point in having a dick if you can't fantasize about people you'll never meet again.

*****

Sunday dawns bright and crisp in Lawrence, birds chirping, breeze carrying the scent of spring flowers, probably even the aroma of freshly baked bread. Dean crawls out of bed around noon and misses all this entirely. Sam's already gone by then, probably not hitting on whichever pretty girl he's studying with now, the idiot. But he left Dean some coffee and two apple cinnamon muffins, so he can't be entirely pathetic.

It's just past one when he pulls up outside the club, ready to put a few extra hours in before they open. Ellen lets him do some of the bookkeeping on the weekends when he's free. Just the basic adding and subtracting and 'we're low on glitter and olives' inventory work.

His key is already jiggling in the lock when he realizes that one of the empty cars in the parking lot isn't so empty. Looks like a responsible bus-taking drinker, back to pick up their car from the night before. Their sad and rusty car. Oh God, it's a hatchback too. There should be laws against that kind of thing. The driver must be having troubles, though; the hood is open and Dean can see a figure staring down into the engine, shoulders slumped.

Dean goes back to key jiggling, hoping he can get inside before they spot him. It's rude, but he's busy and he's helped enough people with their rides in his off-time. His 'helpful car guy' quota is filled, thanks.

“Fucking open, you sticky bastard.” There's just no give and Dean sighs, smacking his hand on the door in frustration. “Fine. Fine.” Looks like the universe doesn't agree with him about the quota thing.

The person by the car spots him as Dean is heading over, giving him a friendly wave and... oh. Oh come on, seriously?

“You're Dean, the bartender.” Castiel's not smiling, exactly, but still friendly. He looks good, more relaxed in jeans and a few layers of shirts instead of a rumpled suit.

“Uh huh!” Dean tries not to look like he jerked off to the guy last night. “Cas... right? With the bachelor party?” Seriously though, he'd painted the shower door, it was great. “Uh... unless you prefer Castiel.”

“Cas. Please.” He looks down again, like he's searching for a Push To Fix button. “My car seems to be out of gas. I know I had half of a tank last night. I don't know what's wrong with it.”

“Oh, man, there are a lot of things wrong with it.” Dean is laughing as he leans with one arm above the window. Cas just looks bemused. “Could've been siphoned. It sucks, but we've had that before.”

“I suppose that's a possibility.” Cas comes around to the driver's side and Dean has to step back to let him get in. Keeping the door open, he leans over to rifle through his glove box, looking for something. Huh, he actually keeps his manual in there. “Do you know cars?”

Does he know cars, ha. “Oh shit yeah, I'm a mechanic. That's my baby down the street there.” Dean leans down and points so Cas' eyes can follow the length of his arm towards the Impala. Cas is leaning out a little to look and Dean finds himself close enough to ruffle his hair with a breath. He stands up again quickly. “Let me take a look.”

Castiel nods and raises his voice as Dean walks around the front of the car. “You're a mechanic and a bartender. At the same time?”

Dean laughs. “No, usually one after the other! I tried both but nobody liked my Screwdrivers.” If that gets a laugh or not, Dean doesn't know. Bending over the engine, he sees the problem right away. Looks like Cas is boned.

“Can you see anything?”

“Jesus!” The bang of Dean's head against the raised hood is sharp and loud. “Ow!” Christ, it's like the guy appeared out of nowhere beside him, he didn't even make a sound! Dean scowls and rubs at the top of his head. “Christ, man, wear a bell.”

Castiel has a hand raised towards Dean's head, but it lowers as soon as they make eye contact. “I'm sorry. Anna says I should walk louder. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Your ride's fucked though, sorry.” Dean points with the hand that isn't currently soothing his head. “See there? It's trouble with your fuel injection system.” Castiel has a polite look of incomprehension, like Dean gets when Sam starts talking about old, dead, smart guys. “Fuel injection? It pumps fuel from the tank to the engine. It... this isn't really your thing, is it?”

Castiel has the grace to look a little ashamed. “No, it's not at all my thing. I changed a tire once.” His eyes meet Dean's again, and for a second they sparkle with humor. “It was invigorating.”

“Uh huh.” Dean quirks a smile and slams the hood shut. “I'm sure it was a highlight. You're gonna have to have this towed somewhere. I can give you Bobby's number if you want.” He grabs a pen out of his jacket pocket. “That's my boss at the repair shop, Bobby Singer, he's a good guy. Y'know, reputable.”

“That's very kind, but no thank you. Raphael has been my family's mechanic for many years now. I'll contact him on Monday. Will it be alright if I stay parked here until then?” The car squeaks a little as Cas settles lightly against the hood, arms loosely crossed.

Dean doesn't join him; you don't put your ass on another man's car unless you're explicitly invited. Even if it's a pile of junk. “Should be fine, I'll let Ellen know what's up. She's the owner of the club,” Dean says when Castiel lifts an eyebrow in question.

“Thank you. And thank you for diagnosing the problem for me, you didn't have to take the time.”

“Sure, no problem. Um.” Dean knows he shouldn't ask, knows it will only end in bad places, but his mouth keeps moving and he's not really sorry for it. “Do you want a ride? In my car. Unless somebody else is picking you up.” Castiel is looking surprised again and Dean wonders if no one ever helps the guy out or something.

“Aren't you occupied here? You seemed like you'd just arrived.”

Oh, right. “Eh. I was just gonna do some extra inventory stuff. It'll keep. How far away are you?”

“Half an hour, or so. If that's alright, I'd be glad to take the ride. Thank you.”

*****

It's a fairly quiet drive, over-all, as they head up to a part of town mostly full of university students and rental houses. Dean's been around the area, picking Sam up from all his Sociable College Boy stuff.

They talk, of course, but it's a little awkward and full of uncomfortable silences. Dean keeps getting the feeling that they're both looking at each other when the other is turned away. He puts a tape in early on to distract them. Zeppelin, of course. Always start with Zeppelin, that way you know where a person stands. Castiel's fingers tap in rhythm and Dean warms up to him a little more.

They start with cars.

“You should really have somebody give that thing a tune up, the engine looked pretty sad in general. Hear my baby purr? That's how a car should sound.”

“It's very nice, yes. I wasn't really looking when I got in, what is it?”

“What... oh that hurts me, right down deep. It's a Chevy, dude. 1967 Impala.” Dean lovingly runs his hand over the dashboard until he hears a strange noise beside him. “What?” He's pretty sure Cas just laughed, the way he's staring fixedly out the window with his lips pressed tight.

“I said nothing.”

“Seriously, what? Don't hide from me, I'm tenacious, like a pit bull.”

“Nothing, truly. It's just...” He trails off.

“Pit bull.”

“Yes, I see. It just reminds me of another word, Impala.”

“Uh huh?”

Cas blushes, looking down at his hands. “Ampallang?”

There is silence in the car for a moment. A long moment.

“Did you just call my car a dick piercing? You- That's- I have no words. None.” He hears Cas give another one of those coughing laughs, obviously trying to hold it in. Dean is smirking as he gently pats the steering wheel. “Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're a nice girl.”

After that, they talk jobs.

“So writing, huh? That any fun?”

Castiel looks puzzled for a second. “Oh, you must have been talking to Anna last night. It has its moments. It's not the most lucrative employment, though. I suppose she told you about the other, she seems fascinated with it.”

“Other? Nope. Are you a- you have two jobs, like me?” Fuck, Dean had almost asked if Cas was a 'two-timer' like him.

“Yes.” He seems embarrassed, fingers twining together in his lap. “I read for audio books.”

“Like books on tape?” Huh, different. “Cool, I've had a few of those. Nothin' wrong with that.”

“No, of course. I tend to be taken less seriously, though, when people find out. It's mostly suspense and horror novels that I work with. I'm told I can sound very frightening.”

Dean can believe it, his voice is already low and a little gravely. The sort of voice you can feel down deep in your belly. All whiskey and sex. He wraps his hands around the wheel and squeezes once, hard.

The next topic, fittingly, is the wedding.

“So how'd the envelope-licking go? Or is that still on the way?”

“Still on the way, yes. I'll remember your advice about the water.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, well. Don't take any of my advice too seriously. I know shit all about weddings.”

“I find I'm getting a crash course in them.” Castiel is watching the tree line move by outside the window, distracted. “I was honestly not aware of how many decisions would need to be made.”

“Not that I've never been called a sexist dick before, but doesn't the wife usually handle that?”

“I think so, yes. But Anna is quite busy with a project as well. She requested my help with the 'legwork', as she called it. It's difficult to refuse her.”

“Ha, I bet. It's the eyes, isn't it? She pulls out the pretty puppy eyes?” Dean winces inwardly, it's never a good idea to call a girl pretty when you're stuck in an enclosed space with her boyfriend.

Castiel does look a little baffled, but seems to let it pass. “She's always known how to get her way with me. With everyone, really, as there seems to be more than enough work to go around.”

“Yeah? What's on your plate?”

“Mm, many things.” He raises a hand, extending a finger for each item. Damn, his fingers are long. “Cake tasting, clothing rental, some pick-ups and deliveries. Much of the reception planning. It's... difficult, within such a short time frame. I don't think Anna is fond of some of the compromises she's had to make.”

Yeah, Dean's sure that brides and compromises are the definition of oil and water. “I bet. Any big problems so far?” Shit, he just keeps asking these minefield questions. Hey guy I can't stop looking at, any troubles in your marriage-to-be? Fuck.

“Nothing insurmountable. Although, there is something I could ask you about.”

Uh oh. “Oh yeah?”

“There was a message before I left this morning. The people who agreed to serve liquor at the reception have canceled. I thought...” He pauses, unsure. “In your profession, I thought you might be able to give me the name of someone who could help me on short notice.”

Yeah, Dean could give him the name of someone alright. Shit shit shit. He needs the money, they always need the money, but God. He should shut up right now, say 'Sorry, can't help you', drop the guy off and never think about it again. About him again.

Course, there's a lot of things he should do.

“Funny enough, me and my brother Sam do party bar-tending on the side. We've, uh, we've never had complaints. You think two people can handle it?”

Castiel is turned to face him, looking intrigued. “I think so, yes. It's a smaller gathering. Your brother is a waiter, too?”

“Nah, he's at the university. Pre-Law. But he's done it plenty over the summers, and whenever we do a job like this. He's good. I can give you some references.”

“Oh, no, I wasn't... I was only curious. Is he going into the law school here? I've heard it's a well-respected one.”

“Yeah, yeah he is, after this year. He's a fuckin' genius, top in some of his classes.” Dean knows he sounds like someone's mom when he talks about Sam, but c'mon, he's going to be a lawyer. “He's gonna blow 'em out of the water.”

Cas' warm smile mirrors Dean's own. “I believe it. We're close, take a left here. I'm four blocks in. Number 1220.”

“Sure.” The drive seems shorter than he thought and Dean can't deny his disappointment.

He takes the turn, glancing at the houses as they pass by. “So you like it around here?”

“I have no objections. It can get noisy in the evenings but I do most of my work, my writing, in the later hours, so it doesn't bother me.”

“What about Anna?”

Cas frowns, considering the question. “Oh. She doesn't live in this neighborhood. There's an apartment she rents closer to the campus. The university gives space to art students for their work so she prefers to be near by in case of sudden inspiration.”

It's a little weird that she doesn't live here with Cas but Dean's not overly surprised. He's known a few artists in his time, some Biblically, and the only trait common to all of them is an almost unhealthy obsession with their work. “Me and Sam checked some places out when we were apartment hunting. We, uh, live together,” he says, answering the questioning look Cas gives him. “It's cheaper. Plus, who knows what kind of shit he'd get up to if he lived on campus, y'know?” There was a point to this little story, Dean's sure of it. “So, expensive places up there, huh?”

“Yes. Inheritances are a mixed blessing, but she can afford a fairly large space. She seems very happy there.”

Which probably means that Cas is the one who gets to pack up and move after the wedding. Odd that he hasn't yet, but then maybe Anna really is the 'good girl' that Dean pegged her as last night and she decided to wait. Probably a good idea on Cas' side, too, considering his parents named him after a friggin' angel. Dean bets they have opinions on living together before marriage.

“I suppose I should get the references you mentioned, though. To reassure Anna,” Cas says, cutting into Dean's thoughts. His eyes are elusive as they flick away from Dean and back again. “Would you like to give me your phone number so I can call you with the details?”

How about that? It's the easiest time he's ever had with a phone number, giving or receiving, and he can't do a good God damn thing with it. “Sure. Here, pass me your phone and I'll put all the details in.”

“I don't have one.” He's digging in a shirt pocket, pulling out a pencil and what looks like a well used notebook. “I'm ready.”

Huh? “Huh?”

Castiel glances at him, pencil poised above paper. “I don't have a cellular phone. It's... I find it invasive.” His shrug is practiced, like he's had this conversation before.

“Huh. Alright. This one?” Dean nods at the house he's nearing, dark green trim on butter yellow siding. Castiel nods and Dean pulls up along the sidewalk. “Pass it here.” He pulls the notebook from Cas' fingers, which grab for it half a second too late.

“What...?”

The pen he takes from the dashboard scratches dryly as he scrawls his name and number sideways across the page. Filling the available space. He shrugs as he hands it back. “Faster.”

“So I see.” The door thunks as Cas pushes it open. He stops with one foot on the sidewalk outside and seems to pause in contemplation. From this angle, Dean can just see his bottom lip tuck in under his teeth. “Would you... like to come in? I have coffee. Or whatever else you'd prefer. As my thanks.”

He pulls in a deep, centering breath. He could do it; nothing has to happen. He's perfectly capable of a friendly chat with someone he finds attractive. Hell, he's practically here in a professional capacity. But Anna's pretty face flashes through his mind, along with the squeezing hug she'd given her fiancé at the club. And under that, deep under, it's memories of Cassie, and useless apologies.

“No, I'm heading back. Still got work to do.” He looks away from the quick slump of Castiel's shoulder and rubs his thumbs against the wheel.

“Of course.” Cas' voice has that distant touch again and Dean tries not to feel bad about it. He's not the engaged one here. As he lifts himself out of the Impala, Cas bends down again to address Dean. “I appreciate the ride. I'll call you with the details after I've spoken with Anna.”

“Sure, my pleasure. I'll talk to you later, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean”

Dean waits until the other man is safely inside the house before he pulls away.

*****

It's dusk when Dean gets home that day, the front door of the apartment inches from closing when he catches it. He can just see Sam through the kitchen doorway, slumped and snoring on the table with his pen dangerously close to a nostril. Dean has a little debate with his inner jerk before he swings the door wide and slams it with enough force to knock a set of keys off the wall.

“Gnufng!” And there goes the pen, skittering across the floor, followed by about a dozen papers and half a bag of candies. “The fuck!” Sam is wide eyed with shock, both hands planted flat to lift himself off the table.

“Hey, Sammy!” Deans shit-eating grin could light up half the town. “I'm home.”

Sam's eyes slide shut, and his whole body slides forward again to lay splayed on the table. “You're such a dick.”

“Watch your mouth, I brought you food.” The brown paper bag is set by Sam's head, the tantalizing scent of something Italian and pasta-y filling the room. “You should be thanking me!”

Sam salutes him with one raised middle finger. “Thank you.”

Dean smirks as he turns away to pull down dishes for them.

The chair catches on the floor as Sam straightens up, twisting his spine in a long stretch. “Ellen keep you late? I figured you'd be back an hour or two ago.”

“Nah.” Dean dumps half a lasagna onto his plate and a whole baked spaghetti with meat sauce on to Sam's. “I got in late. May have got us a job though!”

He explains while they eat together at the table. Dad always made them eat supper together after Mom died. Even when he couldn't be there, he'd made sure they promised to do at least this together as a family.

The conversation seems pretty innocent to him, but afterwards Sam speaks up over the sound of Dean filling the dishwasher. “So. This Cas guy sounds interesting.”

The clinking of glass on plastic pauses. “I guess.” Dean casts a wary glance at his brother, who is leaning against the fridge, one eyebrow raised.

“That why your late?”

“What? No, I-” Dean is standing straight now, spine full of indignation. Okay, so maybe he should expect the person he's spent the past 20-odd years with to be able to read him. But he should also expect the same person to know him. He sighs. “Nothing happened. Nothing's going to happen. Except for a nice check and maybe we buy a new couch. One that's not full of ass grooves.”

“You like the ass grooves.”

“Yeah.”

“I wasn't accusing you of anything.” Sam's giving him that Sam-look, all brotherly and understanding. “You're just pretty clearly into the guy. It's a bad idea.” God, he hates that look.

It's always been that look, ever since Dean was nineteen and balls deep in some Starbucks waiter named Mark. Sam had been fifteen and fucking mortified when he walked in on that. The little shit was supposed to be at Astronaut Camp or something that day. Once the eye-gouging and screaming (“Augh! God Dean, you promised to use the sock thing if you had somebody in here!”) had passed, Sam had been full of those looks of supportive understanding. He'd even kept trying to have serious discussions about it until Dean held him down fully clothed in the shower and made him promise to never use the word 'rectal' again.

“You think we shouldn't take the job?” Dean knows Sam can hear everything that's under that, the 'you think I can't handle it?' and 'you think we don't need this?'.

“No, that's not-” Sam huffs in exasperation. If he had his brother's mouth, he'd be cursing right now. “Of course we should, it's fine. Just... be careful.”

“Yeah, I'll wear my safety goggles.” The dishes clatter inside as Dean slams the washer shut. “Grab me a beer if you think the fridge can stay up without your support.”

“Dean...” Sam's voice sounds accusing and apologetic at the same time as Dean walks away.

The couch squeaks when he drops himself on to it. He can hear the fridge slam shut in the kitchen and then Sam is sitting down beside him, holding out a beer like a white flag. Acceptable. The TV clicks on, cheers filling the small room.

“Look, hockey. It's better than talking.”

It's hard to tell without looking, but he's pretty sure Sam just flipped him off again. A long gulp of beer hides his smile.

*****

It's Thursday morning, a little less than a week later, when Cas finally calls them about the job.

Dean's filling the dishwasher again, and why the fuck is this always his chore, when the ringing from the living room is cut short. He stops to listen.

“-ean?... Sure, who's calling?... Oh! The wedding, right?.... Yeah, that's me... uh, no, no classes until noon today... yeah, Pre-Law, English major right now. I take it Dean talked about me?... uh, he did? Genius? Reall-”

“Hey Cas.” A hand shoves against Sam's head, keeping him back from the phone Dean just snatched away. “How's it going?”

Sam smacks at his hand, complaining about something (“What the hell is in my hair? Is this ketchup?”), but Dean's not paying much attention. Sam complains about a lot of shit. One more thing won't hurt, so Dean hands him the dirty coffee mug he'd carried out and nods his head towards the kitchen.

Cas is answering, rough voice sounding amused. “Good, thank you. I'm surprised to find anyone home. It was nice to speak with Sam, however briefly.”

Dean laughs. “That's the best way to talk to him. Briefly.” A pillow bounces off his head, thrown by Sam before he leaves. He sets it on an arm of the couch and settles against it, Sam's distant voice (“Oh come on, you didn't rinse any of this.”) barely registering. “Anyway, Bobby's shop is closed on Thursdays, personal reasons and shit. I'd ask but I'm afraid he'd tell me. I go in sometimes still but... uh.” Where the hell did he learn to babble? “What's up?”

“I'd like to know if you're still interested in working at the wedding. I'm sorry I didn't phone earlier; the short notice must be an inconvenience.”

“Nah, it's a weekend deal, right? We are definitely interested, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“Good, I'm glad. Yes, it's planned for a Saturday, two weeks from now. At a local community hall.”

The phone is cradled awkwardly against his shoulder as Dean writes on the nearest bit of paper. Sam can always recopy his notes later if he he needs them pristine.

“Saturday... okay. Address?” Dean scribbles down the answer. “Yeah, that'll work. Y'know, I'm still pretty amazed that a wedding can be pulled off that fast.”

“As will I be. The effort needed seems to be growing exponentially.” Cas sounds tired, resigned frustration leaking through on that last word.

“I bet. Hey, how's your car, though? That looked like an easy fix, at least.”

“I wish it was. Raphael tells me it will be several weeks before he can finish the repairs.”

“Weeks?” Confusion morphs quickly into suspicion. “Dude, no. It's a one-day job, if that. How much is he charging you?”

“One day? But... The bill is for eleven hundred. With labor.”

“Shit!” Dean can't help a snort of shocked laughter. “Fuck, I'm sorry. But I saw the problem. It's just one part you need, a little hose, he should have piles of them. Christ, I could've done it in the parking lot in half an hour if I had one.”

“Oh.” It sounds so subdued, like Dean just told him the Easter Bunny was really just Grandma and Wal-Mart chocolate.

“Yeah. I think your family mechanic is a scamming dick. Sorry. I should've explained the problem better back at the club.”

“No. It's not your responsibility.” Cas' exhausted sigh drags through the phone and Dean feels like shit on behalf of all mechanics everywhere. “I suppose I considered him a family friend. I thought that would be good enough.”

“Look, how about I call Bobby, and we get your car towed over to our garage. This Raphael guy won't give you any trouble if he's really been cheating your family for however long now. Hell, if we send Bobby over there in person you might even get some money back.” Dean's boss, other boss, can really put the fear of God into people. It's the mustache.

The sound of an indrawn breath is all Dean hears as Cas pauses for a moment, considering. “Alright. But I can call Mr. Singer on my own if you'll give me the number.”

“It'll take less explaining if I call him myself. Trust me.” That, and Bobby would probably spend half the time calling Cas a dumb-ass. The guy doesn't deserve that.

“Please, then. When do you think I could have my car back?”

“Mm, Saturday maybe? Don't hold me to that, though, we're pretty busy right now.” He could probably get the rest of the crew to push Cas' car up the list, though; it's a small job. “You need it for something important?”

“Well, need is relative, but I have needed it for about a week now.” Sarcasm, now. The time crunch must really be getting to him. “It's doubly hard to get anything done without a vehicle.”

“Nobody helping you out? Your friends at the club seemed uh, friendly. Mostly.”

Dean shifts on the couch arm and catches Sam standing in the doorway, watching him. He mouths 'What?' at him and gets an incredulous look in reply.

“Somewhat, yes. They're busy too, of course. But I'm meeting some very interesting people on the bus.”

“Ha. Interesting defined as deeply dist-” There's a ripped piece of paper waving in his face, attached to Sam's hand, which is attached to Sam's arm, which is attached to Sam's bitch-face. The paper reads 'ENGAGED' in big block letters. “-turbing?”

Dean grabs for the paper but misses, so he doesn't catch the first part of Cas' words. “-ed Ethan who likes prolonged hugging and telling strangers about his flashlight collection. You wouldn't define that as interesting?”

“I'd define that as 'take a cab from now on'. So, uh...” If this were a regular business-buddy conversation, now would be the time when the awkward goodbyes start happening. “So what's next on your list?”

“I have an appointment today to try cake flavors at a place called 'Tart'. I'd assumed it was a question of choosing between chocolate and vanilla, but apparently it's more involved.”

“I know that place! Downtown, right? They do these awesome little cream-filled cinnamon things, they're so fucking good, like if sex was a pastry.” Dean breaks off as he grabs for the paper that's flapping in his face again. It still reads 'ENGAGED' but now 'TO BE MARRIED' has been added underneath. “You gotta try one.” He walks to the kitchen, going the long way around to avoid his brother's silent frame.

“I- I will. Definitely.”

“Cool. Look, I'm heading downtown sometime to get groceries.” Sam, the nosy bastard, followed him and is standing in the door again, face stormy. Dean ignores him. “I could give you a lift, it's not really out of the way.”

“Really? That is, yes. I'd like that. It's at two, will that work for you?”

“Sure, two works.” The fucking paper is back again, crinkling in Sam's grip. Now it reads 'ENGAGED, TO BE MARRIED, AT A WEDDING'. Dean's ready this time, though, and rips most of it away from his brother. It crumples satisfyingly in his fist. “I'll pick you up at half past one.”

“I'll be waiting. Goodbye, Dean”

“Yeah, see you then.”

The phone clicks in his ear and he hands it over to Sam. May as well got this over with.

“Gonna give him a lift to a cake tasting thing. You need anything from the store?”

“Jesus, Dean, are you kidding? You haven't gone grocery shopping since we moved in.” The phone slams down on the counter. Hopefully Sam will remember to hang it up before it runs out of juice.

“Well, we're out of milk! And bacon. And you only buy cookies with raisins in them so maybe I thought I should start.”

“Dean-”

“Sam.”

Sam stops to take a composing breath.“It's practically a date.”

“It is so not! It's a ride for Christ sake. Afavor.” It's hard to avoid Sam's earnest gaze, but Dean's had a lot of practice.

“You're going to go eat cake with him, Dean. That's like foreplay to you.”

“No it's- shut up. I'm not, anyway. I'm just dropping him off. And maybe picking us up some dessert, you ungrateful bastard.”

Sam's arms are raised in surrender. “Alright, fine.” He opens his mouth to say more, but nothing comes out.

Dean drops his eyes again, watching his own fingers smooth the crumpled paper in his hand. “You know I'm not gonna let anything happen.”

“Yeah.” Sam's voice is quiet. “I know. That's not...” When he doesn't go on, Dean looks up, waiting. They catch eyes and Sam shrugs uncomfortably before reaching past him to grab something off the fridge. “Here.” Oh, grocery list. Right.

“...Thanks.” Dean cocks a thumb over his shoulder while he scans the list. “I'm gonna go get ready. Oh and gross, I am not buying asparagus.”

They're ten minutes late getting to the bakery, thanks mostly to a minor accident involving a bus. It didn't look too serious, but all the rubber-neckers really slowed them down. It was alright. He learned that Cas has pretty good taste in music, other than his thing for Madonna, and that he has a scar on his chin from diving out of the way of a truck when he was twelve.

The woman who greets them at 'Tart' looks a little sour (Ha.) but goes to fetch her boss anyway, leaving them alone. Dean bee-lines for the counter.

“Check it out!” He presses both hands on the glass like a little boy. “The cinnamon things are still here. I gotta get some when she comes back. You want one?”

“You've thoroughly convinced me that I do, yes.” Cas is standing beside him, looking a little tense with his arms unmoving at his sides. The small smile he gives Dean is warm, though. “Dean... If you have the time, you're welcome to join me here. I have a feeling that this is something you'd enjoy.”

The mental math is pretty easy, cake with Cas versus shopping by himself. Plus, he doesn't want to be rude or anything. “I can totally make the time.” What he says next is more of a reminder to behave himself than a genuine question. “So Anna didn't want to pick her own cake?”

Cas relaxes a little after that, slipping his hands into his pockets and meeting Dean's eyes again. He seems to go for a lot of eye contact. “She already chose the cake itself. But I know what flavors she prefers so she asked me to handle this part. She is very fond of... delegating.”

They share a laugh as the sour woman comes back. The person Cas has an appointment with will be right with them, they're told. Dean takes the chance to buy half-a-dozen pastries, mostly the cinnamon things. They're sort of like stumpy éclairs. He orders two more for Cas.

The desserts are being laid delicately into two green boxes when he feels a light touch at his shoulder. Cas is standing close again (seriously, he needs a bell) with his fingers pressed against Dean's jacket arm, seeking his attention. Dean sees a woman behind him, waiting. Cas speaks: “We'll be in the back when you're done. Take your time.”

Dean just nods, mouth stubbornly dry as Cas presses once and pulls his fingers away in a slow drag against leather. His eyes stay fixed to Cas' back as they exit until he senses another set of eyes on him. The woman behind the counter is watching him with a small frown, then looking at the door Cas and the other woman just left through. Dean thinks 'go fuck yourself' while he pulls out his wallet, movements angry. He was just looking.

When he's done paying he follows the route Cas took, pastry boxes (complete with girly pink ribbons) secure in two hands. You have to be careful with stuff this good.

Voices carry from down the pale yellow hall. “-ense of smell as a child. Cranial damage from an accident at a baseball game, I believe.”

“Oh how awful, imagine how much they would miss out on in life!” That must be the woman that Cas followed and Dean can't help agreeing with her. He pities whatever poor bastard Cas is anecdoting about.

Dean rounds the corner and finds Cas and the woman sitting at a small table with several delicate looking plates arranged between them. The rest of the room looks like how Dean imagines the inside of a wedding cake would. Off-white and terrifying.

“Oh, hello Mr... ?” The woman holds her hand out to Dean as he sits down.

“Winchester. Dean.” He nods his head towards Cas while they shake hands. “I'm the chauffeur.”

Her name is Allison, she tells them, the Head Baker. It looks like this whole process is fairly hands-off, she's just listing some of the cake names and pointing out the labels with each piece, then leaving them alone to do the actual tasting. There's a bell to ring when they're done; how's that for handy?

Dean shifts forward in his chair when she's gone, getting in to the standard crumb-catching position. “That's cool, that they leave you alone. No hovering.”

“I believe she doesn't want to influence the decision.” Castiel has moved to the edge of his seat as well, mirroring Dean, and Dean wonders which of them looks more out-of-place. They share a somewhat embarrassed smile. “Where shall we start?”

You always start with vanilla, Dean explains. That's one of the main rules of food, along with 'everything tastes better on a pizza' and 'if it blends, you can make a drink out of it'. With that important bit of education shared, they get down to business. The vanilla tastes pretty good but it's also vanilla, so they move on through the more exciting stuff.

Chocolate fudge, chocolate mint, carrot, spice, apple pecan, and the way Cas eats is starting to drive Dean a little nuts by the time they reach tangy lemon. Each forkful is tiny, half of what Dean is taking and Dean is being conservative. And he takes for-fucking-ever, too, like he's savoring a hundred dollar glass of wine with each new flavor. He even has his head tipped and his eyes closed. And then, because God hates Dean, he gets a little smear of buttercream icing on his lower lip and licks it away slowly with his eyes still closed. Dean stares, pants tight and fork frozen partway to his mouth. He's looking so closely at the movement of Cas' lower lip that Cas' voice doesn't register for a second.

“Anna isn't fond of lemon.” Cas pushes what's left of the bright yellow slice towards Dean, licking at his bottom lip again even though it's thoroughly clean. His voice goes lower, a little husky.c“You can have all of that one if you like.”

A wave of guilt overtakes him. He shouldn't be encouraging this thing that's going on between them. Christ, he shouldn't have even stayed in the first place, stumpy éclairs or no. It doesn't matter if Cas is aware of what he's offering or not (and he must have some clue), Dean has a choice here, too.

He's just always been a natural flirt and it gets him into trouble sometimes with people he really doesn't want to be hitting on. But that's the thing here, Dean really wants to flirt with Cas. It's effortlessly easy to the point where he's almost not conscious of doing it. Plus, the guy is hot and interesting and kind of hilarious. Great, really, except for the whole thing where he's getting married and not opposed to making passes at people who aren't his wife. Serious passes, too, probably. Cas doesn't seem like the teasing type.

“Thanks.” Needing a distraction from the depressing turn his thoughts are taking, he shoves what's left of the lemon cake into his mouth whole.

Maybe not the best idea, though. Cas is staring at him with his eyebrows raised, gazing with interest at his stupid chipmunk mouth like it's not juvenile and disgusting. “Impressive.”

Dean flushes with embarrassment and his next words are muffled and kind of crumby. “What's next?”

“Strawberry and... peanut butter pumpkin.”

The last swallow of lemon cake goes down hard. They could really use some drinks here. “Peanut what now?”

“Peanut butter pumpkin. I take it you've never tried it either?”

“I didn't even know it was a thing you could try. Give it here.” He takes about a third of the oddly colored slice on his fork and... “Oh wow. Wow.” He's talking rudely around the bite, yeah, but manners are for lesser cakes than this. “Are you trying this yet?” It's like... well, it's like pumpkin and peanut butter but there's something about the combination. Something good. “Mmm, oh man.”

Cas is sitting with his fork half-raised and his mouth half open, watching. Dean shoves him with an elbow and motions with his own empty fork, signaling Cas to try it already while Dean goes in for another bite. Fuck being conservative.

Cas turns away as he chews his first bite, flushed face towards the plate in front of him. “Yes,” he says when he's finished. “It makes a strong argument.”

“I gotta get Sammy to come here for my birthday.” The last bite is calling to him, all 'eat me, they probably have more somewhere'. He resists. “So which one is the lucky winner? You know where my vote goes. Uh... not that I get a vote.”

“I believe I'll side with you.” Castiel settles back into the chair, turning as much as he can towards Dean. “It's not the most usual of choices, but I think many of the guests would appreciate it.”

“Nothin' wrong with unusual.” Dean finds himself shifting back too, copying the tilt of Castiel's body. They lock eyes for another long moment and Dean remembers his 'not encouraging this' plan from a few minutes ago. Oh, that's going well. Maybe if he can remind Cas as well. “Will Anna like it?”

Cas smiles to himself, setting his fork down and picking up the last bite with his fingers. “I think she would prefer the chocolate mint.” His smile lifts on one side now as he looks at Dean. “But she left this up to me and... I like this one.” The last bite of the pumpkin cake looks somehow better when it's held in Cas' long fingers, and pretty much sinful when he pushes it into his mouth. Motherfucker, he even sucks on his fingertips a little as he pulls them out. He's got to know what he's doing, right?

Dean rings the bell before Cas has a chance to reconsider his choice, or try any more damn cake.

*****

It's all details after that, so Dean takes to wandering around the front sales area while Cas finishes up. He buys some more pastries, this time the lemon tarts (their actual specialty, who would've thought) and it's a good thing Cas comes out after that because he was seriously considering the little square cherry things. His wallet can't take this kind of abuse.

They're half-way back to Cas' place, having a perfectly friendly argument about stew versus chili (Stew always wins, for the record), when suddenly they're having a fucking moment out of nowhere.

Cas is talking with his hands, something Dean could watch a lot more of, sketching out a vertical line in the air. “My mother made her chili so thick that a spoon would stand straight in it.” Now his hand makes a cupping shape, and Dean imagines all the different, interesting places it could cup against. “I did try turning a bowl of it upside-down once, to test, but gravity was a greater force than I'd expected.”

Dean is laughing, head tossed back. “Oh Jesus, what'd she do?”

The amused smile on Cas' face turns wistful. “Oh, that, technically that was just her recipe, not actually...” He seems to gather himself, hands turned suddenly mute in his lap. “She had passed on by that point.”

Oh, Christ. There is a long, silent moment. Dean has no idea what to do in these situations, not from either side. He knows how empty 'I'm sorry' is. It looks like his tendency to over-share with Cas is going to continue, though, judging by what comes out of his mouth next.

“Mine too. My Mom, I mean, she's...” Oh yeah, this so much better than an 'I'm sorry'. “I was pretty young, though, so... ” He's watching his own hands turn on the steering wheel; avoiding Cas' face.

“That wouldn't lessen your pain.”

“It's fine. I... uh, didn't mean to steal your thunder there. Sorry.” His glance is supposed to be quick, apologetic, but Cas is staring back at him with sad focus. It's quite the attention grabber.

“It doesn't need to be fine.” His voice is confused, like he doesn't know that they're not supposed to keep talking about this. “I'm not fine. It's doubtful I ever will be.”

“Yeah, well, I am.” Well shit, they're halfway into this conversation, may as well get it over with. “So we can't park in the middle of a girl moment here, gotta get to the end. How 'bout your father?”

Cas looks taken aback, but recovers quickly and follows Dean's lead. “I don't know, he left when I was a child. My mother told me he had passed, but I have my suspicions. Yours?” Maybe that's why Cas keeps talking about this stuff. His dad was never around to tell him that you don't.

“Dead. Fire.”

Cas blinks at the bluntness. “That's... horrifying.”

“Yeah. It was kind of inevitable, he was a firefighter. Went in for someone and... uh... they didn't make it back out. Had to happen sometime.”

“How long ago was this?”

“About five years. He got to see Sammy graduate, that was-” Motherfucker, he hadn't meant to keep talking there. With his head turned away, Dean can see himself in the car window, eyes suspiciously bright. He swallows a harsh breath.

“Dean?” The question is low, and so open you could just pour yourself right in.

Dean stabs his finger at the stereo, filling the car with a heavy drum beat. “Moment's over.”

Castiel's fingers touch lightly at his wrist before he can pull his hand back. “Dean.”

“Seriously, dude.” He's probably rougher than he should be when he yanks his wrist away. And he knows his eyes are harder than Cas deserves. “Moment's over.”

Cas' own hands are mute in his lap again, tangled with each other. “I understand. I have a question. Unrelated.”

Crap, he'll need a fucking calculator to figure out how many times he's going to feel like a dickhead around Cas. “Shoot.”

“If my car won't be ready by the weekend, would you be interested in further chauffeuring?”

Oh yeah, ask right in the middle of a self-inflicted guilt trip.

“I'd pay, of course. For your gas and time. And don't feel obliged, please. This has been quite a bit more enjoyable. Preferable, rather, to taking the bus.” He's actually babbling; it'd be entertaining under other circumstances.

“Cas, man. Stop. I'll do it.” He had just been about 30 seconds and a shoulder pat away from getting misty-eyed in front of the guy, and then he'd acted like it was Cas' fault. Of course he says yes.

Cas takes a deep breath, and nods. “Alright. This Saturday? I assume you're occupied at the club in the evening, but during the day?”

Bobby could use him, but if he works Sunday instead of Saturday, that should be just as good. Bobby's an old friend, he knows enough to trust Dean to work on his own. “That'll work. What's on the plate?”

A whole bunch of shit, it turns out. It takes the rest of the trip to Cas' house for him to list it all and to explain just what 'charmeuse' is. It takes about half the trip back to the apartment for Dean to come down from what he has to assume is a sugar high and wonder just what the hell he thinks he's doing.

And to realize that he forgot the damn groceries.

Fuck.

*****

So Sam had been pissed. About the groceries, yeah, but mostly about what he called the 'second date'. Dean is proud of the restraint he'd shown in not punching his brother in the neck. It was a close call.

The thought of calling Cas and canceling did cross his mind. Hell, he'd even gotten as far as dialing all but the last number and sitting there, deliberating. But then he could practically feel his vagina growing so he'd smacked himself in the forehead with the phone and gone out for a hamburger instead. It would have been a real asshole move, anyway, to cancel on Cas when he was depending on him like that.

So here they are on a late Saturday morning, driving around and talking about clothes and flowers. It's pretty much the gayest Dean has ever felt and that includes the cake tasting and the time he dressed up as a hooker for Halloween, make-up and fishnets included.

The first stop is at the tailors.

Dean has a mild panic attack at the thought of watching some guy run his hands up Castiel's inseam, but it turns out they're just there to pick up some suits that needed last minute adjustments. The wedding came up fast enough that everyone agreed to forget about tuxedos in favor of the less fancy clothing they already own.

That could be a problem. “Shit, Cas, I never even thought to ask.” They're standing around the counter, waiting for the tailor to come back with everything. “Sam and I were gonna wear our standard outfit for this kind of stuff. Black tux, white shirt, that whole thing. I... uh... I don't actually own anything between douchey sport coat and tux right now.”

“I hadn't thought about what you'd be wearing either.” Cas doesn't seem too concerned. He actually seems pretty distracted, his eyes moving over Dean like... Oh. Like he's imagining Dean in a tux and out of a tux all at once. His focus is on Dean's chest almost like a physical touch, and when Dean pulls in a heavy breath, Cas' lips twitch and part in response.

“Maybe. Maybe Sam has something. That'll fit.” When Dean speaks, Cas' eyes flick up to meet his with that same blatant intensity. Dean can feel himself start to flush. “Or. Maybe this tailor guy can... y'know, hook me up.”

Cas looks away, thank God, to the man coming back with several garment bags over his shoulder. “Your tuxedo should be fine. I'm sure you look very,” Cas pauses, like he's trying to fit a new word in somewhere, “... professional in one.”

“Oh yeah.” Dean takes the bags from the tailor, anything to keep his hands and mind busy, and heads for the door. “That's the word for it.”

*****

They stop for a quick lunch at a drive-through after that, though they go in instead of driving through because absolutely nobody gets pickle stains on his baby's upholstery, not even him. Dean grabs a burger and fries and Cas gets a freaking salad and some chicken wrap thing that's still swimming in cream sauce so Dean doesn't know what the point of that was anyway.

“Are you fucking kidding? Take some of my fries. No, just take 'em, I can't watch this.” Dean shakes about a third of his fry order onto Cas' wrapper and sets the little ketchup cup between them.

Cas accepts them with a silent grace that's a little out of place, given the setting, and searches the greasy air for something to talk about. “Why do you have two jobs? Or three, I suppose,” he says finally, face a picture of open curiosity. He's such a weird mix of young and old, like a little kid and a grandpa stuffed into one body and, wow, that's a disturbing-ass thought.

“Well, uh, why do you?” Oh, 'you first', good comeback.

Cas takes it just fine, though, his expression unchanging. “Money. And for the change of scenery.”

“Right. So when your writing hand starts cramping you go strain your voice?”

“Basically, yes. Although I do type my work, despite what my lack of a cell phone may have implied.” His tone is gently teasing, and Dean can see that spark of humor in his eyes again.

“Ha, sorry. It's money for me, too. Sam, his whole law school thing, it's gonna be stupidly expensive. It already is, really.”

“You're putting him through school?”

It had been Dad's plan: get Sammy through law school. He was the only one in the family with a dream that big and they were gonna see it through, no matter what. Fuck, Sam and Dad had had some screamers over what the family gave up for that dream, too. The boys rarely argue over it now that Dad's gone. Instead, Sam buries his guilt in textbooks and Dean buries any spark of resentment he has (doesn't fucking have, doesn't) in his baby's engine.

“Yeah, we both are. He's doing what he can, he's no slacker.” Cas nods at this, showing his understanding.

“You said he was quite smart. What about scholarships?”

“Oh yeah, he got a few of those. And hopefully more when he actually starts with the law school part of law school. How fucked up is that, by the way? You gotta go to school so you can go to school so you can go to school. Like one of those snakes eating itself.” He points a half-eaten french fry at Cas, sketching a circle shape in the air.

“An Ouroboros.”

“Yeah. Anyway, we can't depend on the scholarship thing. It'd be great but it's not for sure, you know?”

“Yes. You anticipate, but you don't assume.”

That pulls a laugh out of Dean as he finishes off his burger. “Affirmative.”

“What will you do when Sam finishes his schooling?”

“I dunno, you'd have to ask Sam. Something about interns, I think, but I usually stop listening by then.”

“I mean you, personally.”

“Oh.” The 'what are you going to do with your life' question. Damn, people usually know him for a month or two before they ask that one. “I'm good, really. Nothing wrong with being a mechanic.”

“No, there isn't. You'll continue with that?”

Funny, it's like Cas actually means it when he agrees that 'mechanic' is a fine occupation. Most people are just being what they think of as 'nice'. Maybe that's why, once again, Dean keeps sharing. “Probably. But... I might, I was thinking I might go for EMT training. Sometime.”

“There are evening classes available for that, aren't there?”

“Yeah, but like I said, law school is expensive. Besides... “ Dean is contemplating that table top. He always feels kind of funny talking about this. Wary. Like if he starts planning then, guaranteed, it'll never happen. That's why he never told his Dad about this idea, either. “Besides, I figure I should go all the way.”

He snaps his eyes up to Cas' at the innuendo, wondering if he missed it. The quirk of a dark eyebrow shows that no, he probably didn't.

“That is, if I was going to do it.” Dammit. “Take the training. If I go in for the training, I should just keep going to the Paramedic level. It'd suck to have someone who was hurt and not be able to help them just because I was a lazy ass who didn't take all the courses.”

“Paramedic certification is very involved, then? You wouldn't be able to do this until after your brother graduates.”

“Yeah, it'd take a few years. So, after Sam.” Dean gestures wide with one arm, a bad pantomime for 'the future'. “Sometime.”

“It's a very worthy goal.”

Cas is looking at him like he's the most fascinating thing in the room, which is possible considering it's a fast-food joint. Still really disconcerting though, to be the focus of that. It makes Dean feel fake, somehow. Like a war hero who never set foot in a battle. “It's just a job. You gonna finish those?” He points at the few fries left on Cas' tray, subject successfully changed.

*****

The next stop, God help them, is the florist; some kind of artsy place with a bunch of huge-ass vases and sculptures. It looks way too expensive for a last minute wedding, but apparently Zach, the owner, is a friend of Anna's and was willing to help out. It takes one look at Dean's twitchy hands for Zach to make him go sit in a corner table with a cup of coffee, a really crunchy cookie, and a warning to not touch anything.

Dean waves Cas away when he tries to come to his rescue, though. The old guy is probably right; Dean can practically hear the sound of breaking glass when he looks around this place.

Cas and Zach are talking on the other side of the store, far enough that Dean can hear the low rumble of Cas' voice but not his actual words. Zach's expansive hand gestures and pompous posture give the impression that he's trying to convince Cas of something and Cas doesn't look too pleased about it. He seems to be holding his own, though, chin up and shoulders back.

They're occupied, and Dean is bored and caffeinated, so he lets himself spend long moments watching the clench and pull of Cas' jaw, and the way his neck twitches when it looks like Zach is being particularly irritating. He looks like a stern school teacher and Dean is drifting on the edge of a fantasy involving detentions and rough shoves against a blackboard when his eyes flicker to the side and catch Zach watching him. He nods his head towards Dean and says something to Cas, who turns to look as well.

Dean tenses for another heated staring contest but then Cas is frowning darkly and turning back to Zach, motions sharp. Dean wonders if it's guilt getting to him or if Zach said something. Or both, maybe.

But there's no time to wonder. It looks like Cas is done here as he points a few more things out on whatever they're looking at and then turns his back on Zach, a clear dismissal. He gathers Dean up with a nod on the way by and doesn't speak until they're back in the car, pulling away.

“I do not like him.”

Dean wants to ask why, but he's not sure he'll like the answer. If he was Zach, watching some stranger eye-hump his friend's fiancé, he'd probably be a dick about it too.

*****

The rest of the afternoon goes quickly. It's mostly picking up decorations and tablecloths and other things with names Dean will never remember. The trunk of the Impala is stuffed by the time they get back to Cas' house, and Dean makes a silent promise to her that she'll get something better next time. Crossbows or snowboards or something; anything without lace.

They unload most of it in the garage, everything going on or under a table that has a bunch of half-made bows or something sitting on one end. Dean doesn't look too closely. He's setting the last box on the table when Cas' hand lands on top of it, fingers curled half an inch from his own.

“Dean.”

He's standing close at Dean's side, too close with the garage door wide open to the fucking world. Near enough for Dean to feel the warm brush of air with his words. Dean nods. He doesn't trust himself to answer.

“I want to thank you again for your help.” His voice is pitched too quiet for the space, meant only for Dean, and Dean closes his eyes for a long moment before turning his head to look. This close, and with the height difference between them, Cas has to look up to see Dean properly and the way it doubles his intensity is fucking mind-blowing. Dean nods again, mute.

He's sure Cas means to speak again, the way he opens his mouth and takes a breath, but then Dean's own lips part automatically at that sight and Cas stops whatever he was going to say and... leans.

And you know what? Fuck it. It's not on his shoulders to keep Cas from doing this. It's not his job to look after the tainted souls of the fucking world. He's not a preacher. He's just... he's just a guy, and Cas' eyes are closed with the dark smudge of eyelashes looking so delicate against his skin, more vulnerable than they ever look on a woman. And if this is all Dean's gonna get, all he ever gets, then fuck it. Just...

It's a bright movement from the corner of his eye that stops Dean in mid-lean, something red, and his heart rate doubles from its already fast beat as an alarm in his head screams 'Anna, Anna, Anna!'. But it's not. It's some other woman walking by outside, way on the other side of the street, and her hair isn't even red, that's just a floppy hat on her head. But it's enough. Dean takes a fast step back from the table.

“Sam!”

Cas opens his eyes at Dean's outburst, head pulling back in confusion. He follows Dean's gaze outside to where the woman in the hat is just passing out of sight. He looks back at Dean, a question clear in his eyes and puzzled hurt layered underneath it.

“I should call Sam.”

“You should?” Cas' head is tilted once again as he studies Dean's face, looking for an answer.

“Yeah. Uh. I gotta get going, so I should see if he needs me to pick anything up on the way back.” Right, yes. Dean shouldn't even be making excuses here, a simple 'No, bad fiancé!' should do it, but Cas' perplexed look is pulling the words out of him again. “I should get supper or something anyway, gotta see what he wants.”

Cas is staring back outside to where the woman disappeared, a frown line working its way between his eyebrows. “I see.”

It's a lie, but Dean takes it and runs. He manages to put a Friendly Waiter smile on his face as he hurries around to the car door, climbing in before Cas makes it around to that side. He shuts the door on him, like a total asshole, and rolls the window down.

“So I'll see you. Y'know, at the wedding.” He puts a slight emphasis on 'wedding', willing Cas to get it. To understand that he wants to stay, so fucking bad, but he can't. “Gimme a call if you have any questions about the job. I'll, uh, I'll get Bobby to call you when your car is ready.”

The growl of the Impala's engine fills the garage, but Cas doesn't flinch at the noise. He just looks at him, that frown line digging deeper into his skin. His arms are straight at his sides and he's so still it's like he's a statue. Like he's going to stay right there until the end of days unless... unless someone moves him, touches him...

Christ. Dean has to get the fuck away from here, now.

“Bye, Cas.”

*****

Most of that night he spends getting drunk with the customers and flirting with a pretty, middle-aged woman who keeps inviting him back to her place. He's about one Purple Nurple away from from saying yes when Ellen grabs him by the collar, throws him in a cab, and lets him know that if he ever gets this wasted at work again she'll convince him to do a striptease on camera. And then she'll fire him.

*****

Sam finally corners Dean a few days later.

“You wanna talk about it.”

He's on the couch, nursing a Coke (shut up, Ellen), and watching stuff explode on TV. This is right in the middle of the short amount of time he has between supper and work at the club, so Sam's already in dangerous territory.

“I'm good, thanks.” He keeps his eyes on the screen.

“I'm not asking, Dean. You've been bitching around here for days and you keep finding me, standing around for a minute, and then walking away.” The couch dips when Sam sits beside him, one standard cushion length away. “You want to talk about it.”

“Nothing to talk about.” Nice, an exploding fireworks factory. Bet that makes a hell of a noise.

“Dean.”

“Jesus.”

There's a long pause of blissful silence.

“Did you and Cas...”

“What.” He turns his head finally, leaning it against the back of the couch to give his brother a hard look. “Fuck?”

Sam gives a long-suffering sigh. Very long. “Did you?”

“No.” He turns back. It's a boat now, on TV, disintegrating over the surface of a lake.

“So, then what-”

“I was gonna.”

Sam stays quiet, but Dean can feel his eyes on him.

“I was gonna do it.” He brings his thumb and finger together to show Sam how close it had been, but that's not even right. “Wasn't close, it was past close. I was ready to offer up the back seat of the car if he couldn't find his house keys fast enough or something. I really wanted to.”

He turns his head again and decides to just stay there, facing Sam. He's gonna strain his neck otherwise. Sam's face is scrunched up, but he asked so he's just gonna have to suffer through listening to his big brother talk about sex.

Sam unscrunches after a second. “Okay, but you didn't.”

“So? I didn't leave because I wanted to, I thought I saw- Doesn't even matter what I thought. I did it. Even if nothing happened, I still did it.” He couldn't even control the next word if he wanted to. “Again.”

Sam's sigh is resigned this time, and Dean feels tension in the air, like even that is waiting to see if Sam will go on. Yeah, here it comes. “You know Cassie wasn't your fault.”

“No, Sam, I don't know that. You just say it.” They might have had this argument a few times before.

“You didn't know she was still-”

“Yeah, I did.”

“No.” Sam is speaking deliberately, like he's talking to a kid or trying to control himself. “You thought they were broken up.”

“They were. But I knew they didn't mean it. I fucking knew it and I-” He sits forward, hands rubbing at his face. His stubble itches. “Maybe God's just fucking with me, huh? Cassie, Cas. Great girl, except oops, she still loves her ex. Great guy, except oops, fuck you Dean.”

The cola bottle makes a satisfying bang when he sets it hard on the table, so he does it again, and then once more for good measure. Sam takes it away from him, spoilsport.

“It wouldn't have worked anyway, if he wasn't taken, right Sammy?” He can trust his brother to be the voice of logic here. Mount Rational. “Once a cheater, blah blah blah, better off?”

“Maybe... you should talk to him.”

Well damn, that's not part of the script. Sam is looking at the drink in his hand (Dean's drink, thank you), face pensive. Dean turns towards him, pulling one leg up onto the couch, because he has got to hear this. “What?”

“What?” Sam's shrug looks defensive, and he's still staring at the bottle. “Maybe you should call him. Maybe he's not so gung-ho about getting married.”

“Gung-ho.”

A strip of paper flutters to the floor as Sam picks at the red label. “Yeah.”

“So, just so I understand, you're saying I should call him, and what, try to break up his fucking marriage? Or just offer up a quickie.”

“No.” The bottle clinks one more time as Sam puts it down to twist around and face his brother. “I'm saying maybe he doesn't want to be getting married. You say he's great, so maybe he's not being an asshole cheater here. Maybe... what if he genuinely wants out?”

Christ, but Sam picks the worst times to be on his side. “He doesn't.” Dean chops a hand between them when Sam starts to answer, cutting him off. “You didn't see them, Sammy. He had this smile like- I swear, every time we talk your girl-speak rubs off on me. It was like he was being lit up from the inside.”

Sam doesn't laugh, but his sad smile has a little twist to it. He'd totally be making fun of Dean if he could, right now. “Okay, so how about this? He wants to get in your pants, and yes I will be bleaching my mouth later, but he does, so he's at least bi. Or entirely gay. What if this is his last ditch effort at some so-called normal life? A wife, kids, two point five cars thing?”

That's... possible, but whatever. “I can't... I'm not gonna just fuck over two people on the off chance that one of them is making a bad decision. And Jesus, Sam, what happened to your big emo sympathy pains? You don't give a shit about Anna here? Somebody should!”

“Honestly? No, I don't. I don't know her, Dean, I know you. I want you to be happy.”

Oh, that's it. Dean can take a lot of shit, but not that. Not those big puppy dog eyes staring at him like he's a lost fucking lamb. He sneers, leaning in at his brother, aggressive. “Really? Really? And you think this'll do it? Oh yeah, you know me.”

“Oh fuck off with that alpha male bullshit.” Sam leans away from him, crossing his big ape arms over his chest. “I know you so well that I'm not even going to bother being surprised by this. Dean Winchester martyrs himself up again! Do you think you could maybe, just once, do something for you?”

“For m-! Oh, sorry, I didn't realize we were having this fucking argument, too. I forgot about poor Sam who has to have people give a shit about him!”

“Don't fucking make this about me, Dean. You never do anything for yourself, like you're some noble knight on a mission. It's bullshit!”

“Bullshit? It's our fucking life, Sam! It's- it's- it's how it is!” Dean doesn't know when he got to his feet, but he's on them now.

Sam is still sitting down, even slouching further into the couch. He almost never stands up to Dean when they fight any more, literally or figuratively. “I never asked you for anything.” Even his voice is slouched now, collapsed in. “You or Dad. You just sat down together one day and decided this is how it's gonna be.”

God it's hard to yell at someone when they refuse to yell back. “He wanted what you wanted, man. I've told you, you wanna quit, that's fine. Feel free.”

“Free. Yeah.” Their eyes meet and jerk away in the space of a second, enough to see that neither of them want to keep on with this fight. “You know I don't want to quit.”

Dean wonders about that sometimes.“Yeah, well. Good thing. Those ambulances can't chase themselves.” The pause is long, giving them both time to decompress a little. “So... I'm gonna head for work. You, uh, need anything?”

“From a strip club? No, I think we're good on thongs.”

“Liar. I know you ladies can never have enough fancy under-panties.”

The exchange is tense, and pretty pathetic, but it's the only way they know how to apologize.

*****

“Hey.”

Sam's voice catches him, calling out just as he's heading out the door. In the living room, he can see Sam leaning over the back of the couch, looking for his attention. He seems unsure, like whatever he's got to say isn't going to be well received. Must not be about underwear, then. Dean waits, wary.

“Talk to him.”

Oh. Dean nods, but turns away to the hall, not wanting to lie directly to his brother's face. “I'll think about it.”

He doesn't, of course. Not that he and Cas don't talk over the following weeks, but their few phone conversations are short and kind of stilted. Strictly business. It's two weeks before he answers the phone and hears anything other than distant politeness from Cas, the day before the wedding.

*****

“Dean, I need your help.”

The voice on the other end of the phone is direct but anxious. That kind of tone always sets Dean's tension up a notch, probably because it reminds him of his dad. Plus, it's eight o'clock in the Goddamn morning and Dean's only on his first cup of coffee, so it takes him a second to realize whose voice it is.

“What- Cas? What's wrong?” Oh shit, what's wrong? He's on his feet and already searching for his coat while different scenarios run through his mind. Cas is hurt, he's stuck, he's kidnapped or something. His house burned down. Zombie apocalypse. Anna left him (and the little spark of hope at that thought can go fuck itself). “Castiel?”

“I'm sorry to call you, I know you don't-”

Dean cuts him off forcefully. “Cas, what? Are you okay?”

“What? Yes... oh. Oh, I'm sorry.” There are all sorts of noises in the background, thumps and crackles. It's not exactly reassuring. “I worried you. I'm fine, but I have a problem.”

“Yeah, I figured that much out.” Dean leans up against the kitchen counter. Hopefully it's safe to relax again for a minute.

“It's the hall where we planned the reception. They've had a flood. Faulty plumbing.”

That's almost a relief, considering the other things he'd been thinking. “Oh! Well shit, that sucks. Plan?”

“Yes. If I can get everything set up in time, we can have it here, at my house. But I need all the help I can get my hands on to make that happen.”

“This is the part where you want me to do physical labor, right?”

“Yes, if it's at all possible. I wouldn't ask if I didn't truly need you. And Sam, if he's able. You'll be paid, of course.”

“He's got classes. And I've got work. But, uh, I can give you a hand later, or skip out early maybe.”

“Oh, thank you.” The naked relief in Cas' voice is warming. “Whenever you can make it. I should go now, though. I have to call the florist next.”

“No problem. Hey, don't take any shit from him, okay?”

Cas' shocked huff of laughter stays with Dean until lunchtime.

*****

When he makes it to Cas' house that afternoon (Bobby let him off early with a promise to help paint his eavestroughs some time), the first impression he gets is that it's been hit by the world's most specific tornado.

A pile of those chairs that fit together sits on one side of the lawn, and what looks like a cloud of poofy red fabric is on the other. A wooden lattice arch is standing near the red stuff, a crinkled blue tarp underneath it, along with a bunch of paint supplies. The garage is open and bustling with activity. Dean waves at a few of the people he recognizes.

Two buff guys, maybe twins, are carrying a big folding table in through the front door. One of them spots him and yells something into the house and Dean's pretty sure he just heard the word 'stripper'.

Huh.

He brought most of their bar tending supplies with him, figuring it would be a good idea to have it here for a quick set-up tomorrow. He's emptying the trunk when Cas comes out to greet him.

“Dean! Michael told me you were here, but I didn't quite understand him at first.”

Cas seems pretty frazzled as he walks up, a wild look in his eyes and his hair even messier than usual. Really, it's a good look on him. Hard to resist.

“Yeah, I heard. I'm a stripper now? I know I said I'd help out, but c'mon man.”

Cas' mouth twitches into a smile, and he actually ducks his head and looks bashful.“Ruby's to blame for that. I sent her home, though, so I think that's the only story she managed to spread.”

“Sent her home? Wow. Guess I better respect your authority, huh?” He can feel the wink coming and manages to turn it into a squint just in time; good thing it's sunny out. “Where do you want me?”

Cas doesn't even try to hide his smile at that one as he picks up some of the bar tending supplies and leads Dean inside.

It's gonna be a long afternoon.

*****

Dean's right about that, but not for the reason he'd expected since he barely sees Cas at all for the next few hours.

The first part of the afternoon is spent setting up the backyard with Luke and Michael, the buff twins from earlier. They're Cas' cousins and also the creepiest pair of brothers on the planet. If he hadn't heard one of them yelling before, he would have wondered if they were mute at first. Mute and possibly psychotic since they both kept looking at him like they couldn't decide on what to do; pet him, fuck him, or wear his skin like a raincoat. Creepy.

Michael finally says something about an hour in, asking Dean if he really is a stripper. He looks faintly disappointed at the answer and doesn't talk to Dean again, preferring to whisper with his brother in whatever twin-speak they have.

Dean heaves a sigh of relief when they finish up and get out of the way for Jessica and her armload of table cloths.

Cas' home is bright, he notices, as he goes in search of its owner. He hadn't taken much in when Cas led him through it earlier, though that was the first time he'd been in the house proper. It's not huge, but big enough, with wide spaces and high ceilings that make it feel grander than it is. Off-white seems to be the main color, terrifying for a messy eater like Dean but good for a wedding reception. There are lots of earthy additions, though, and big autumn-colored rugs that his toes would sink into if he wasn't wearing shoes.

One whole wall of the living room is taken up by built-in bookshelves, full to the point that it would make Sam cream in his shorts. Dean is just starting to read some of the spines (Italian dictionary, Bible, Aztec something something, Bible, German Bible, what the hell kind of sci-fi is he writing?) when Cas finds him.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns his back to the shelves, feeling a little like he was caught sneaking through Cas' medicine cabinet. “Hey! Um, hey. That's a lot of Bibles you have there. Research?” Maybe he writes that really involved, pretentious kind of sci-fi, with its own languages and religions. Like that series Sam tried to get Dean to read once, about the giant, killer sand worms. Not enough giant, killer sand worms in Dean's opinion.

Cas is smiling gently, looking past Dean to the books behind him. “Yes. And entertainment, of a sort.”

“Oh yeah. We did a lot of living out of motel rooms when I was a kid.” Dean waves a hand, dismissing whatever questions that might bring up. Ancient history. “Gideons was always good for a laugh when there was nothing on TV.”

Cas' eyes are on him now. It's weird how he can look at you like he's not hearing anything else in the room, even when there's nothing else to hear. “I take it you're not a traditionally religious man, then?”

“God, no. I mean, no. I'm... it's... “ Hard to explain, is what it is. Dean doesn't believe in God, but he's not sure that that means he doesn't believe in something. Sam said that makes him Agnostic, but personally, he thinks he's got more antagonistic than Agnostic in him. It's hard to explain to someone how you think God has something to prove to you. They tend to get pissy.

“It's alright. I've heard it said that to know a man's faith is to know half the man. I shouldn't have asked something so personal.” He does look apologetic, but also a little disappointed.

Dean shrugs in discomfort. “It's fine, it's just hard to explain.” He nods his head at the wall to his back. “You?”

“It's... very personal for me as well. And somewhat involved, I'm sure you can guess. Ask me again after tomorrow, if you're still interested.”

Yeah, right. If Dean has his way, he'll never see Castiel again after tomorrow. He shoves down the wave of regret at the thought. “Sure. So what do you want me to do next?”

“Did you see that archway out front?”

Cas leads him into the kitchen while they talk, pouring a glass of water as he tells him about the lattice arch a neighbor graciously let them borrow so long as they promised to paint it. Dean would laugh over how that's less gracious and more opportunistic, but he's too busy staring at the biggest, shiniest double oven he's ever seen.

“Jesus Christ!” He interrupts Cas in mid-sentence, staring up in wonder. “Do you have an extra family of five living here or something? Look at the size of that thing.”

Color fills Castiel's cheeks as he looks between Dean and the oven. “It's... an indulgence, I know. You remember I spoke of my mother?” Dean nods, tearing his eyes away from the behemoth. You look at a man when he's talking about his dead mother. “She was an excellent cook and I took quite well to it myself. It's relaxing, sometimes, to create something and know it's going to be good.”

Oh God.

“You cook?”

Cas gives him an odd look, understandable since that's what he just said. “Yes. I had considered making the cake for tomorrow, but that's really more about the decorating than the actual cake.”

Oh God.

“You bake?”

“...Yes.” Cas is looking at him like he's speaking another language now, head tipped to one side. “I don't have much time for it now, but during the holidays. Christmas, Thanksgiving.”

God in fucking Heaven. Thanksgiving. That means pumpkin pie and apple crisp and all those warm, spicy, homey scents filling up the huge spaces here. Dean closes his eyes against a sudden, unstoppable, and almost hallucinatory fantasy.

He can see himself on one of those soft rugs, with the tickle and scrape of fibers against his back. It's Cas above him, naked and glowing in the candlelight (Jesus, he's imagining candlelight), mouth wide and panting. Cas, wrapped in his legs so he can feel the thrust of hips under his heels. Cas, inside him, shaking and straining and everything is dark and sweaty and warm, stupidly fucking warm.

“Dean?”

Cas' hand is on his arm, warm.

“What? Sorry, I...” His voice is hoarse, and he's not even sure what he's going to come up with to cover this. “I... remembered I might have left the oven on back at the apartment.” It's only the most pathetic excuse known to man. “I'm gonna leave Sam a quick message to check it when he gets home. The lattice thing is next, right? You want it painted?”

It takes Cas a moment to catch up to the run-away conversation, blinking hard. “Yes. The archway. The paint supplies are with it. I should be able to come out and help you shortly.”

Dean moves out from under Cas' hand, fumbling for his cell phone. “That's alright, you've probably got lots to do in here.” Cas is looking at the hand he still has raised in the air, and then at Dean with what looks almost, but not quite, like suspicion. “I've got experience painting furniture, shouldn't be a problem.”

Hopefully that's enough to give Dean some time alone, because right now? He's in trouble. If Cas makes any kind of move on him, anything, Dean is done. Forget the however-many people around, forget whatever moral high ground he's trying to claim here. Right this second, if Cas wanted it, he would lay himself out over the nearest flat surface and damn well beg for it.

That weird look still hasn't cleared from Cas' eyes by the time Dean makes it outside, undialed phone pressed to his ear.

*****

Painting the lattice takes longer than Dean figured, but at least he's alone, and the work itself is calming. It helps him not think for a while, the repetitive stroke of the brush like a form of meditation. Not that he thinks of it in such filthy hippie terms.

The sun is just starting to set when he finishes, standing back to admire the freshly painted white wood. Around him, the neighborhood is surprisingly quiet. Well, quiet until he's almost to Cas' front door, juggling cans and dirty brushes while trying not to get paint on anything. The door forces him to jump back as it swings open, fast and wide. “Gah!” He barely catches a brush, holding on to the bristle end, paint oozing between his fingers. Gross.

It's Uriel on the other side, looking shocked for a second before reverting to his standard 'I know what you're doing and I don't like it' face. “Oh. The bartender.”

“Yeah, little help?” Dean shifts awkwardly, trying not to lose anything else while Uriel stands there, blocking the way.

“Why didn't you just take that through the garage? The laundry room is right there.”

“I didn't go for the grand tour. Seriously, just a can?”

Uriel's mouth twists in distaste, but he looks like he's ready to relent when Dean hears a voice and movement behind him. Cas peers out from around his shoulder.

“Dean! What- here, let me help you.” Cas slides past as Uriel takes a wide turn, keeping himself clear of any possible mess. Dean gratefully lets Cas take the brush gumming itself to his hand, and a few other bits that are close to falling.

“Thanks! Where do you want it all?” They move past the larger man in the doorway, though Cas stops to say his goodbyes and thanks for Uriel's work on the centerpieces. Ha, centerpieces; at least Dean got the manly lifting and painting jobs. He grins wide and waves three available fingers as the door closes on Uriel. The house seems eerily silent after that, like they're the only ones here. The painting must have taken longer than he thought. Not good.

“There's a sink in the laundry room, just down the hall here.” Cas leads him into the narrow room, the scents of paint and fabric softener mixing oddly. “I'll go get you something to dry your hands.”

Dean rinses out the paint supplies as he waits for Cas to come back, watching the ribbons of white disappear down the drain. There is a mirror above the sink, but he avoids looking at it. Cas returns quickly, setting a pile of worn looking towels at his elbow.

“It's quiet, now.” The paint under his nails is being stubborn.

Cas leans up against the counter next to him, hands wrapped around the edge. “Everyone left. There were enough of us that the work went quickly.”

“Nice of them to come.”

“Yes. I'm grateful.”

His hands are as clean as they're going to get, so he twists the taps off. The mood goes strange and hushed when the water stops, like a library. Or someone holding their breath.

“Everything get done?”

“Mostly. Some of them will have a little time in the morning to come back and finish up.”

He can feel Cas' eyes on him as he dries his hands. “Good.” A few small smears of paint mark the towels now, he must have missed a little. “Sorry.” He gives Cas an apologetic look but Cas shrugs, unconcerned, and points out the empty laundry bin behind him. He moves away to toss them in, talking as he turns back to Cas. “Me and Sam might be able to come by if y-”

The mouth suddenly pressed against his own is hot and shocking, making him gasp in surprise. Cas doesn't fuck around, either, taking advantage of the gasp to shove his tongue in against Dean's. Cas' forward momentum makes them stumble back, and Dean clutches at his hips to keep upright. Cas groans his approval, hands grasping at Dean's face in response.

Dean is kissing back, of course he's kissing back, it's fantastic. The tumbling desperation is the hottest thing he can remember right now, and his hands jerk tight at Cas' hips, pulling them together. The crash of it makes Dean's cock twitch heavy in his pants and he can't help holding Cas in place while he grinds hard against him.

Cas makes the best noise at that, a grunting whine pushed into Dean's mouth. One of his hands pushes through Dean's hair, fisting into it at the back of his head. The prickling yank pulls another gasp out of Dean and Cas shoves his tongue in harder.

Dean may have to rethink his definition of tongue-fucking at this point, it's never been at this level before. It's completely filthy how Cas is rocking their tongues together, holding Dean's face tight against his. It's even better for the fact that he did not expect Cas to be like this.

Dean yanks his mouth away for as long as it takes to wrap his arms around Cas' waist and heave him up onto the counter behind them, pressing in close between his legs. Then they're kissing again, not as rough, but faster and wetter. The sucking noises made every time they change angles are downright obscene.

Dean drags his hands up Cas' sides, feeling the cloth of his shirt bunch and wrinkle before he has both palms pressed just under his arms. He curls his fingers in and drags his nails back down, hard enough that it won't tickle and Cas likes that. Oh yeah, he really likes that, the way his whole body arches with it, chest and hips shoving at Dean. The way he tears his mouth away and throws his head back with a grating moan.

Dean takes advantage, nipping at his chin and licking along the long stretch of neck. Cas has been working all day and the salt on his skin tastes dirty in the best possible way. Dean works his way over to the curved joining of neck and shoulder, sucking at it hard.

Cas is making low, sighing noises now, one hand still in Dean's hair, and the other clawing at his shoulder. He gasps. “Dean! Dean... don't...”

Dean nods, pulling away to move back up Cas' throat, but apparently Cas isn't done.

“... don't stop, God, Dean, please...”

Dean shuts his eyes tight, leaning his forehead on Cas' shoulder. That's not what he expected Cas to say. What he'd expected, what he'd stopped sucking at Cas' skin for, was 'Don't leave a mark'. Don't leave any evidence for people to see tomorrow.

He pulls one hand away from Cas' side and smacks it hard against the counter.

Cas startles, leaning back. “Dean? What... Why did you stop?” The fingers in his hair loosen and start making gentle, soothing motions. It feels as good as anything in the past few minutes has.

Dean jerks away, falling back to the wall behind him, breathing hard. “Fuck. I can't, I'm sorry, I can't.”

He could though, the way Cas looks with his flushed, shining mouth, sex-drugged eyes and wild hair. One pale hip is showing under his bunched up shirt.

But wounded confusion replaces the lust in Cas' eyes as he sees Dean backed up against the far wall. Dean can almost see his brain picking up speed and searching for words. “Why not?”

“I just...” Dean looks down as Cas slides off the counter and pulls his shirt down. “I can't do this. I'm sorry.”

“Dean...” He expects the frustration that's in Cas' voice, but not the gentle pleading. God he wishes it was just the frustration. “I know- I'm not blind, I know you're very conflicted about this, though I don't-”

“I'm not conflicted, Jesus.” Except for the part where he's still not sure he's going to be leaving this house tonight. Hell, or this room. “I'm just horny.” He lifts his head again, giving Cas a hard look. “Horny and stupid and fucking weak, but you're better than this.”

Cas' voice is flat. “Better.”

“Yes! We're both fucking better than this. Or we should be. I know I haven't known you that long but... you'd regret this, man. I know you would.” Dean is pleading, needs Cas to understand that he's not being cruel here, despite the epic cockteasing.

But Cas is looking more closed off and confused by the second.

Dean barrels on. “And you've got fucking stacks of Bibles and whatever other morality handbooks out there!” He waves a hand at the door. “You have to know how wrong this is!”

Cas isn't even looking at Dean any more, his eyes fixed to a point on the wall past Dean's shoulder, voice still bluntly empty. “Wrong.”

“Yeah. Wrong.” Dean's voice softens as he tries to catch the other man's eyes. “Jesus, Cas, I can't even tell you how much I want... you drive me fucking crazy... and you know it wouldn't be just this one time!” Dean pauses, trying to collect himself. Cas finally looks at him again and his eyes are bright and hard as Dean continues. “Just... think about what your friends would say. Fuck, think about what Anna would say.”

Castiel flinches back like Dean threatened to hit him. “My-” He tenses, arms stiff at his sides. “I think you should leave.” There's nothing but cold anger there, now, and it's like Dean's not getting through to him at all.

“Cas, don't. We can still talk, I only-”

“Please leave my house.” His words are slow and deliberate, harsh with authority. “Now.”

Dean can feel an echoing anger growing in his own chest. If Cas doesn't even want to fucking try to discuss anything, if he wants to stand there all stiff and pretend that stopping this is somehow a bad thing, like it's Dean's fault he's getting married when Dean is the only one talking sense here? Fucking fine, then.

“Okay. Alright.” Dean straightens his own clothes in short, angry motions. He can't decide if he completely fucked everything up here or if it's been this screwed up since the beginning. “I'm going.”

Cas doesn't answer, just follows him out when he leaves the laundry room. Even his steps sound harsh and empty.

When he's outside the front door, Dean turns back to see Cas standing in the doorway, gripping the handle. “Look...” Cas' jaw goes tight and Dean raises a hand to keep from getting the door slammed in his face. “Not... I just want to know if you want me here tomorrow. For the bar tending.”

“I don't have a whole lot of choice, Dean. If you believe you can act professionally, then yes.”

Well that's just mean.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and smiles thinly. Two can play at 'cold bastard' here. “I think I can handle it.”

Cas looks away, like maybe he feels bad about something. Good. “Someone will be here to let you in when the time comes. Goodnight.”

Yeah, what's so fucking good about it?

He turns away before the door closes, walking to the car. His pocket buzzes before he's to the curb and he pulls out his phone, checking the screen. Right, of course. The phone makes a little trilling noise as he flips it open, bringing it to his ear with a heavy sigh.

“Hey Sam. Uh huh. I'll be home in half an hour and no, I don't want to fucking talk about it.”

*****

Dean's never been more grateful for his brother than he is the next day. Okay, maybe that time with the pickle and the Heimlich maneuver, but the point is, Sam rocks.

He hadn't pushed things last night when Dean insisted that, yes, he really didn't want to talk. It was nice, for a change, to be able to brood in peace. And the next day, it's Sam who irons their suits, Sam who calls ahead to double check the time they should be at the reception, Sam who packs up the last of what they need that evening. And, most importantly, it's Sam who lets Dean kick his ass at Mario Kart all afternoon. It's very cathartic. The classics always are.

So Dean's feeling, if not better, then at least okay when they head out the door before supper time. Apparently the wedding party will be doing some fancy dinner thing after the ceremony while people get everything ready at Cas', so the reception itself won't start until seven. They still need time to set up, though, so Dean aims to arrive around six. Or, Sam tells Dean to aim for around six. Whatever.

Jessica answers the door when they get there, looking excellently slinky in a sleeveless gold dress. She stares up at Sam (who Dean did not shove ahead of him to ring the doorbell, totally).

“Hi! Um. Hi. I'm Sam. And Dean. We're the bartenders?” Aww, Sammy likes her. His sentences always get all choppy when he likes someone. It's cute.

And apparently mutual, going by the blush on Jessica's cheeks. “Hi, it's nice to meet you. I mean, I met Dean, but it's nice to meet you.” Her eyes dart over to Dean. “Not that it wasn't nice to meet you, too! And again. Hello.”

Dean nods at her. “Hiya. Aren't you supposed to be not here? Nice dress, by the way.” He holds in a grunt as Sam kicks him in the leg. Bastard.

“Oh, thanks.” She's looking back up at Sam now, like she never stopped. “I volunteered to make sure everything gets done here. Plus they went to a seafood place and I get... rashy... when I... eat shellfish.” Her eyes widen and her whole sentence slows down near the end there, especially around the 'rashy' part. Dean can sympathize; sometimes you just can't stop talking, even when you know what horrible things are about to come out of your mouth.

Of course, Sam's too charmed to notice. “Oh that sucks. I get sick sometimes when I drink too much milk.”

They're both smiling at each other now, taking up most of the doorway. Dean smacks a hand to his brother's shoulder as he squeezes past. “Yeah, he's a nightmare when he gets gassy.” He grins wide at Jessica, who is clearly holding back a laugh. He can practically hear Sam fuming behind him as he makes his way to the kitchen.

They spend the next while counting bottles and cleaning glasses, making sure the champagne is ready to go for that first toast. They have a high table (a fancy, collapsible deal) set up on the deck out back, stocked with all they need for the most common drink requests. They have plenty of stuff for other drinks, but they'll have to come back to the kitchen to do those orders. People start arriving slowly but steadily, most of them milling around in the house for a bit and dropping off their gifts before going outside.

Sam is doing the small talk thing with one of them, something about the university, when Jessica bursts in looking excited. “They're almost here! Are you guys ready? Everybody gets a glass of champagne first, right?”

Dean feels his stomach drop while Sam answers her. Shit, Cas is almost here. Mister And Misses Ingalls. Or Ingalls-Milton, whatever they go with. Super. He sighs as Jessica leaves, moving up close to Sam. “Hey... uh... I'm gonna go check the car, make sure we didn't leave anything there.”

Sam's not fooled, but he gives Dean a sympathetic look and nods his head. “Sure. We're good here until we have to take all the champagne out. Take your time.”

*****

They had gotten here early, but still had that table to unload, so Jessica had been nice enough to let them park in the garage. Dean sits in the Impala there, windows down, listening to the sounds of people inside and feeling generally pathetic. Moping in his car because he doesn't want to see some guy he likes; might as well box up his dick and put it in one of those self-storage garages right now.

He turns sideways in the car, tossing a leg over the seat and leaning his head out the window. The door from the garage to the house is open, but so far no one's come this way.

Christ. What is wrong with him that he keeps falling for these people he can't have? That he shouldn't even want any way? There are lots of other men and women out there, and he's lucky enough to like it both ways, so he pretty much gets his pick. Like Pamela, a waitress at the strip club; she's nice and she's shown plenty of interest in him. But no, it's gotta be the unattainable ones. Maybe Sam's right. Not that he wants what he can't have, but that because he can't have something, that means it's okay to want it. Safe. Easy.

But fuck, this doesn't feel anything like easy.

The sound of vehicles pulling up outside freezes his thoughts for the moment. Freezes everything, really, before his heart jumps and starts beating double time when he hears the slamming of car doors.

He gives it another ten minutes, distracting himself by trying to remember all the words to 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. During the second run through of the 'mama mia' part, he can here an explosion of cheers from out back. The wedding party must have just made their grand entrance.

Shit.

It takes a minute to crawl out of the car and straighten his clothes, then he's inside and getting busy in the kitchen, trying to ignore the happy cheering outside. Sam must be out there, too, delivering the first glasses, so Dean takes up where it looks like he left off.

He's filling up a second tray of glasses when Sam comes in, looking... weird.

“You're back! Good. Come outside for a minute, there's something I want to show you.”

Dean frowns, accidentally spilling champagne onto one of the trays while he wonders what Sam wants. “Shit. What?”

Sam is still acting oddly. He looks like he does when he's trying to tell a joke and is afraid he'll laugh before he gets to the punchline. “Just come on, you'll like it, I promise.”

“What? I'm a little busy here. Take that other tray out.” Like Dean's going to like one damn thing he sees out there.

“Dean, come on!” Sam grabs him by the elbow now, and the corners of his mouth are actually fucking twitching.

“Fuck! What, Sam?” He doesn't give a damn how girly it sounds, he is not in the mood for this shit.

Sam looks a little stunned by his reaction, but the shock fades to contrition quickly. “Look, I'm sorry, I know you're upset, and I'm not trying to mess with you. Please just trust me for the next thirty seconds of your life and Come. Out. Side.”

Fine, whatever. He's gonna have to go out there at some point anyway. At least everyone will be distracted right now. He gives Sam a 'this better not be stupid' look and follows him out the back door.

It's beautiful out there. The wedding has a red and gold theme, and the setting sun makes everything glow. Little Christmas lights are strung around the yard, over the tables and through the archway he painted yesterday. A bunch of people are lined up to greet the bride and groom, and he can see Anna at the far end of the line, glowing in the dusky light. The part of his brain that's always thinking about sex pipes up with 'mmm, redhead, slinky dress' but the rest of him just kind of aches.

Sam is standing beside him, looking expectant. Apparently this is the world's cruelest game of I Spy.

He huffs a breath, getting ready to tell Sam where he can stick his games (hint: sun doesn't shine there), when Anna steps forward into someone's hug and...

“Who the hell is that?”

Dean's voice is too loud; the people closest to them turn to give him dirty looks, but he only has eyes for the man standing beside Anna. The short, bearded, nervous looking man in a blue suit. The man who's greeting people alongside her and just put his hand on her ass.

What the fuck?

Sam is full-on grinning now, practically bouncing on his toes. “That is Mister and Misses Chuck Shurley, just married.”

Dean's face won't work right. He can't make it stop twitching. His brain feels about the same way, trying to find some kind of purchase in whatever the fuck is going on here.

“And, according to the three people I asked to be sure,” Sam grabs Dean's chin in one big mitt, pushing his mouth closed before turning his head to the left a few inches, “that is Castiel Ingalls, Anna's half brother from her mother's first marriage.” He sounds triumphant and he probably looks annoyingly smug, but Dean wouldn't know.

Because it's Cas, standing off to the side, head bent in conversation with one of the reception guests. He looks fantastic, with his hair kinda wavy and sleek, wearing a black suit coat and what looks like a matching blue shirt and tie. Dean has to concentrate on how good he looks because his brain is still processing and can't pay attention to its higher functions at the moment.

Jesus Christ, Cas is Anna's brother!

Dean stares between the two, Anna then Cas then Anna then Cas. Anna catches him, seems to giggle a little at the sight of him with Sam's hand clamped to his chin. She waves. Dean waves back, numb.

Sam moves his hand to Dean's shoulder and steers him back into the kitchen. He sags against the island counter, staring at Sam.

“What the fuck?”

“Dude, I don't even know, I only had to ask one question to figure it out. It's barely even a thing to figure!” Sam is staring at him incredulously, arms spread in question.

“But... he...” C'mon, brain. Work! “He picked the cake flavor!” Dean remembers the conversation he'd walked in on then, the one about the person with no sense of taste. Oh. Maybe not just an anecdote then.

Sam shrugs. “I don't know. I'm not the one who's been dating him for a friggin' month.”

Suddenly there are about a billion questions running through Dean's brain. All the 'But what about's and 'Then why's running together into one giant question mark he can almost feel blinking above his head. A hundred little snippets of conversation are coming back to him, seen from a slightly different angle, and it's all completely overwhelming until one memory stops him cold.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit, Sam!”

“What?” Sam looks like he's expecting another bout of brotherly stupidity.

Dean is reliving the last conversation he had with Cas. Words like 'morals' and 'wrong' and 'Bible' ringing like gongs in his head. “Oh God, he thinks I'm some kind of closet case, homophobic, cock teasing asshole!”

“Wh...” Sam's brain skips merrily past the 'cock teasing' part, stuttering only slightly. “Why would he think you're homophobic?”

“Uh, last night...” Dean rubs a hand along the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“I thought you said nothing happened last night.”

“It didn't! Mostly. He kissed me.”

“And?”

“And what, you want me to describe his tongue? Ow!” Dean winces from the whack Sam gives his arm. “We kissed. I freaked out. He kicked me out. Possibly because I said some stupid shit that would sound even stupider from his side.”

Teetering between horror, sympathy, and outright laughter, Sam compromises with horrified laughter and big puppy eyes. “I seriously don't even know how this can be real life. It's like you should be Ben Stiller and he should be Renee Zellweger.”

“Fuck you, I'm at least twice as hot as Ben Stiller.” Dean smacks him back on principal, but he can feel a smile working its way out. This whole situation sucks, and he feels ten different kinds of idiotic, but it's just so... so inconceivable that he has to laugh. The ballooning relief, and the hope that Cas isn't completely untouchable, doesn't hurt either. It's almost like he lost a lung and only just got it back; there's more air in the world now.
“I'll take your word on that. So!” Sam's raised hand makes Dean flinch, but he only slaps it on Dean's shoulder and squeezes. “You should go talk to him.”

Right. Except, what's he supposed to say? Sorry, thought you were banging your sister? This whole month has been a lie but hey, wanna fuck? “I don't know.”

“You don't know? Are you kidding?” Sam gets a hand on his other shoulder and leans down to look him straight in the eye. “If I have to watch you wander around like a lovesick prom queen for one more day, I will stab myself. Okay? I'll go get him right now if you won't.”

“Okay! Okay.” Dean knocks both of Sam's hands away and holds his own up placatingly. “I'll do it. Just... when the time's right. I have to plan ahead here, he's not gonna want to talk to me.”

Sam points a finger at him and gives him a serious look, eyes intense. “You swear?”

“I swear. And hey, 'prom queen'? There's no call for that.”

Sam laughs as he picks up a tray of drinks, heading outside. “Yeah there was. But because I'm a good person, I wont say anything else for the next month. After that, all bets are off. I'm going to make fun of you for the rest of existence for this.”

*****

'The right time' comes surprisingly fast.

By luck (or Sam), Dean is the one who delivers the toasting champagne to the main table. It's not like he can say anything in front of all these people, but Dean still tries to catch Cas' eye as he sets the glass in front of him, needing to make some kind of connection now that he knows the truth. Cas barely looks at him, eyes moving up and back down at lightning speed, lips forming a soundless thank you. It's not encouraging.

He moves on, though, because despite the context, he had promised to be professional. It still takes him an uncomfortable minute to get away from the main table when Ed and Harry (Chuck's joint best men and best friends from the Internet) refuse to let him go. They flew in from LA and apparently they have a movie script that has the perfect part for Dean. They get as far as 'like Barbarella, but underwater' before Dean can escape and flee for his life.

Soon, the official introductions and first toasts are over, leaving a lull in activity. Dean's okay with that; it gives him time to think for a minute and make some plan of attack.

Or not, because Sam just loomed up out of fucking nowhere and is bodily shoving him into the house.

“Sam, what the hell?”

Sam is talking fast, and still shoving him through the house until they're at the base of the stairs. “They're using a guest bedroom as a coat room, he just took some jackets up, no one else is up there. Go.”

“But-” Dean has to hop up the first step to avoid falling on his face.

“Go.”

“I-” Step number two. Sam is fucking strong when he's pushy.

“Go, or I carry you.”

Dean stops talking, since it's not doing any good. Sam goes to push him again and he leaps up another two stairs, then turns and walks up the rest, sending a dirty look over his shoulder. Sasquatch bastard. He hears shuffling movement behind a door to his right. That has to be Cas. He shoves down the sick, hopeful twist in his belly before taking a deep breath, checking his hair, and opening the door.

Cas is facing away from him, arranging the pile of coats on the bed into some form of order. Or trying to, anyway. One pile keeps sliding over as he works on the one next to it. Dean clears his throat, and the polite smile on Cas' face falls as he turns and sees who's interrupting him.

“Dean.” It's that same flat voice again, with a hint of wariness underneath.

“Hey! Um.” He approaches Cas, stopping a few feet away, unsure. He'd prayed to anyone or anything that would listen that he wouldn't fuck this up, but face to face, whatever he planned to say flies out of his head. “I need to talk to you.”

Cas turns partly away from him, fiddling with the coats again. “I don't think that's wise.”

“Just for a second.” Dean lifts a hand, pleading.

“I don't think so. This...” Cas sets his eyes on the carpet for a long second before he seems to come to a decision. “Your problems are your own. I'm sorry, Dean.” Then he's moving, taking quick steps past and heading for the door.

Dean grabs at him, desperate, catching him around the elbow. “Don't! There is no problem, I-”

Cas speaks over him, voice tight and arm rigid where Dean holds him. “If you have have something to discuss with me about this evening, we can speak about it downstairs. If not, please excuse me.”

“No.” Dean's voice is firm; he has to get through to him. “This is all just a misunderstanding. Stay and-”

Dean can't hide his surprise when Cas tears his arm out of Dean's grip, mouth in an angry twist. “Do you have any idea how aggravating you are?” He walks away, thankfully not towards the door, and then paces back, hands fisted at his sides. “I assure you, I misunderstand nothing.”

He's close now, pushing into Dean's space and glaring up at him. It would be sexy if not for... hell, nothing, it is sexy. And unexpectedly intimidating. “I've spent enough of my life on people who don't know how to accept themselves. I don't care if you want to apologize, or discuss things, or if you came up here thinking, I don't know why, that we might have sex, I-”

He stops for a scant moment, not long enough, gaze moving over Dean like he's looking for guidance. His voice is softer when looks up again, but his eyes are hard. “You are... beautiful and warm and... there's clearly a great deal of love in you. But if you want to waste your youth hating yourself, then that's your choice. My choice is to not live that way. Not anymore. Now, will you let me be?”

Even now, with a giant neon sign screaming 'Here's your chance, dumbass!', it takes Dean a second to find himself. Those were a lot of words Cas just threw at him. Important words. “No, I won't, I-”

He can see Cas gathering himself up for more harsh words, hand raising in an angry gesture, so he raises his voice, talking fast. “I thought you were marrying your sister!”

The words land like a bomb of silence between them.

Cas' face does a complicated thing where it's trying to be five faces at once. His hand hangs in the small space between them, forgotten. “... What?”

Dean speaks slowly, making sure he's understood. “I thought you were Anna's fiancé, not her brother.”

Cas' face still hasn't decided what it wants to be yet. “Don't... why...”

It's taking a chance, but Dean covers Cas' raised hand with both his own, thumb rubbing at his knuckles. “I know I've been acting weird. Really weird. But I swear, that's why. That first night, at the bar? They said Anna's fiancé might show and then there you were and you guys were hugging and... she kissed you. I assumed things.”

“I remember. My cheek. She kissed my cheek.” Cas is bemused, and Dean's getting used to that head tilt he's doing. In time, he thinks he might be able to judge Cas' mood based entirely on the angle of his head.

“I thought she was being ladylike or something.” Dean has to smile at how Cas eyebrows raise at that. Because it looks funny, yes, but also because he can feel the tension starting to leech out of the room.

“But what about-” Questions are gathering up behind Cas' eyes.

Dean cuts him off before they can come out, squeezing his hand once and then letting go. “I don't know, I'm asking all the same questions here. But we can figure that stuff out later. Right now, I need- all that shit I said last night, it wasn't- I thought-” Suddenly, telling someone you thought they were a cheating dickhead doesn't seem like a well thought out plan.

Cas straightens up, full of sudden understanding. “You thought we were committing adultery.”

“Yes!” Dean smiles widely, the surge of relief making his words trip over each other. “Yes. I'm not some self-hating gay guy stuck in a closet. Or bi guy, whatever, doesn't matter. The point is, I'm not. Hell, Bobby sets me up with men! Big, scary men. I think one was a lumberjack. Like, an actual lumberjack.”

Cas makes a quiet noise at that. It could be a laugh. It's the best sound Dean's ever heard, but the pleasure fades as Cas' face goes somber again.

“Dean...” Cas takes a slow breath. “This is good news. Strange, yet good. But... there are things I would've made clear if this had progressed like a normal relationship.”

That doesn't sound good at all. “Like what?”

“I'm not... interested in the short term. The purely physical. I want you.” He stops here, gaze moving over Dean's body like it had in the tailors. Caressing. “That's no question. But I want something more serious than that. Something greater. This... I usually mention this very early in a possible relationship but you were so... changing. I could never tell if you really wanted to pursue this or not.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, looking contemplative. “You lose a lot of 'possibles' with that speech, don't you?”

Cas laughs again, though it's a little darker this time, more self-deprecating. “Yes. They don't often share my commitment.”

Dean doesn't speak for a long moment. It's really way too soon to be saying what he's thinking about saying. But then, not saying shit is what got him here in the first place. He takes a steadying breath and uncrosses his arms, laying his hands lightly on Cas' shoulders. “Cas, look.” May as well go for broke, here. “The last time I felt like this about someone, I asked her to marry me six months later. How's that work for serious?”

Cas' head draws back in amazement, eyebrows up. “Oh!”

“Yeah.” Dean lowers his head, memories swirling. “I mean, it didn't happen. She wasn't as into me as I was into her, or she was into someone else more, but- whatever, doesn't matter. I just want you to-”

The feel of fingers stops Dean short, and he looks up as Cas wraps gentle hands around his wrists. Cas' voice is quiet. “It matters.” The light squeeze and compassion in his eyes make Dean swallow down some heavy emotion. “Thank you.” It's simple, and it's everything Dean needs to hear right now.

“So...” Dean is rubbing his thumbs against' Cas' shoulders, tracing the bone underneath. He gives Cas a questioning smile. “We're good?”

Cas is smiling back, open and warm. “It seems so.” His eyes glance down just a few inches and Dean wets his lips in response. He's still staring at Dean's mouth when he speaks, eyes bright with focus. “I know I didn't ask the last time, maybe if I had we would have known about your misconception earlier, but... can I kiss you?”

That's quite possibly the dumbest question Dean's ever heard. He's nodding his head before it's even finished. “God, yes.”

Cas leans forward, angling his head. Dean closes his eyes at the last second, inhaling sharply and catching a quick scent of something sweetly spicy before every sense he has takes a backseat to 'touch'. The press of lips to his is gentle, just light pressure at first. Cas' lips are dry and soft, pliable as Dean starts moving his own mouth against them. It's short, but it's the sweetest kiss Dean can remember. Granted, his memory might be unreliable right now.

They pull apart, not far, and Dean takes the moment to twist his wrists away and take Cas' hands, pulling them forward to settle low on his neck. Cas takes the hint, slipping one hand further around to cup the back of his head. Their mouths come together again, and then again; short, teasing kisses with only the barest press of tongues.

He brushes a hand down Cas' body, slipping it inside his open jacket and around, palm rubbing slow circles against his back. Cas presses closer to him, both hands behind his neck now, fingers scratching wonderfully at the nape of his neck.

Everything gets a little faster when they press together, a little dirtier. Dean pushes past Cas' lips, licking at his mouth. Then Cas sucks on his tongue and Dean's body goes from 'this is really nice' to 'sex, now' in about a nanosecond. He groans gutturally and starts tugging at the back of Cas' shirt, trying to pull it up. He needs skin under his fingers right fucking now.

“Dean.” Cas pulls his mouth away, so Dean just kisses at whatever is closest. An ear, it turns out. “Dean, stop.”

He would, but the shirt is finally free and his hands are on bare flesh now, the skin of Cas' lower back smooth and enticing.

“Dean.” Cas digs a hand into his hair and pulls Dean away, fixing him with a look. “I am not going to have sex in the coat room at my sister's wedding.”

Dean grins, as dirty as he can. “You started it. And the bed's right there.”

Cas is shaking his head ruefully as he fishes Dean's hand out from behind him. “I did. But I'm still not having sex in the coat room at my sister's wedding. And definitely not on the coats.” He sighs with regret. “There are things I have to get back to downstairs.”

“Yeah, and so do you, Dean. Unless you want to give me your half of the paycheck.” The voice comes from behind them, irritatingly nosy.

Dean twists his head back to check the doorway and, yep, there's Sam. He turns back and leans his head against Cas' shoulder, groaning in frustration. “Cas, meet my asshole brother Sam. Asshole, Cas.”

“Nice. And we met on the phone, remember?” Sam rolls his eyes at him before smiling at Cas. “Hi. Congratulations on not being a cheating bastard.”

Cas disentangles himself from Dean before nodding his head solemnly at Sam. “Thank you. I apologize for keeping your brother so long.”

It's vindictively satisfying to see Sam shift in discomfort, awkward and guilty at the apology. Dean's pretty sure Cas is just playing with him, though. He has a good sense of humor when you know where to look for it. He suppresses a noise of disappointment as Cas tucks his shirt back in and straightens his tie. “This is your house, you know. You don't have to listen to him just because he's huge and does the sad-eyes.”

“Granted, but I do have a busy evening still. And so do you.” Cas waits for Sam to move out of the doorway before he leaves the guest room, looking back to give Dean a quiet smile. “We'll talk later.”

They'll make sounds with their mouths later, if Dean has anything to do with it, but he's not sure it could be defined as 'talking'. Dean waits until he can hear Cas walking down the stairs before he shoves Sam hard in the shoulder, whispering roughly.

“I can't believe you cock blocked me!”

“Locks, Dean! Doors have locks!”

*****

Dean's not useful for anything after that, beyond staring at Cas and laughing at Sam's irritation. Oh sure, he pours drinks, but Sam has to fix way too many mistakes and suffer the indignity of getting vodka poured on his shoe twice. Dean's surprised his brother hasn't developed a noticeable twitch by the time the speeches are through. Not that Dean pays much attention to any speech besides Cas'.

It's the usual stuff, 'I love my sister', 'heartwarming childhood tale', 'you're a good man, Chuck, but hurt her and they'll never find the body'. Of course all this is said more Cas-like, but the basic ideas are always the same. Dean watches mostly to enjoy the sight of Cas with his hair kind of mussed, knowing how it got that way. He gives him a wink when Cas glances his way and tries not to grin at the quick stutter in the speech.

Dean is uncapping a few beers later on, after the first dances, when Sam elbows him sharply in the side. “Here comes your sex toy.” Dean gives him a confused and slightly disgusted look before checking out whatever he's pointing at. He was expecting Cas, because Sam is a total perv, no matter how much he denies it, but what he gets is almost as good.

“Hey! The cake!”

Jessica and Meg are carrying it out. It's kind of square and not that big, with gold ribbons on top that are probably edible, but not something you'd really want to eat. Pretty cool looking, still. Dean has no idea where they hid it, because it definitely wasn't in the kitchen. He's not sure he could have resisted if it had been.

He licks his lips unconsciously. “You think there'll be any leftovers?'

“You can't have their cake. Jesus, Dean!”

“What? I was only wondering.”

He's still disappointed when the whole thing disappears after the cutting, and apparently not hiding it well since Sam gives him a teasing pout when he catches Dean eying the empty platter. Ass.

But then there's Cas walking up like a hero out of the mists, carrying two full plates and with two forks sticking out of his pocket. He only has enough time to drop off the cake and give Dean a quick smile and a 'you're welcome' before he has to go again, something about more official dances. Sam makes a pouty face at him again, and narrowly avoids a fork to the thigh. Dean seriously considers keeping both pieces for himself - it's just as peanuty pumpkiny fantastic as he remembers - but sometimes family means sacrifice. Sam pronounces the cake 'okay' and nearly gets a fork to the leg again.

*****

The end of the night comes up fast. There's dancing and toasts and more dancing and then all of a sudden it's Anna and Chuck's big Last Dance before they go. Apparently they're spending the night in a fancy hotel room and coming back tomorrow to open the gifts that are spread out like a pastel, ribbony lake in Cas' living room.

They do a little thank-you speech after the dance; Anna cries and Chuck kisses her, and huh, they're really a cute couple. They also stop by to personally thank Sam and Dean. This turns out to be one of the highlights of the night because Sam loses his fucking mind when he gets a close look at Chuck and flips out like a twelve year old girl. Chuck, when he's beardless, is also known as Carver Edlund, author of the Black Expanse series, and “Oh my God, the best writer ever!” according to Sam. Dean does his best to pretend that he's never met his brother before in his life, and gives Anna and Chuck an awkward 'can't take him anywhere' smile when Sam runs off to find something for Chuck to sign.

At least Dean will have something to throw back at Sam next month, when the epic teasing begins.

Chuck is pretty eager to leave the party after that. Not that Dean can blame him; 6 plus foot of fanboy bearing down on you would make anyone want to flee the area. So he and Anna get out while they can, and then there's nothing left but the clean-up.

Well, it's clean-up for Sam. For Dean it's mostly watching Cas bend and flex while moving chairs and then, when Cas disappears into the house, it's thinking about him bending and flexing. Sam lasts about ten minutes before he drops the box he's moving (“Dude! Glass!) and gives Dean an exasperated look.

“Oh my God, just go!”

Dean blinks and looks down at the bottle he's measuring. It looks strangely like the three before that and, okay, he's really not getting anything done here. “Uh... sorry.”

“No, really, go. You're making more work than you're doing, I'll finish this and pick you up in the morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Please. Besides... uh.” A light blush fills Sam's cheeks. “I told Jessica I could probably give her a ride home.”

Oh really? Looks like Sammy's been busier than he thought. “Nice!” He pokes Sam hard in the chest. “No sex in the car, remember! I don't want to be dealing with your mysterious stains.”

“You're disgusting.”

“Totally!” Dean drags his brother down by the ears and lays a noisy, embarrassing kiss on his cheek. Excitement and anticipation might be making him a little goofy. “But you love me anyway. Have fun!”

He passes by Sarah on his way in, who must have seen that because she's giggling like a schoolgirl, and his last sight before going inside is Sam wiping at his cheek, shaking his head in disgust. Ha.

*****

Cas isn't anywhere downstairs, forcing Dean to ask the only familiar person he can see down here.

Uriel smiles knowingly. “Why, are you ready for your 'grand tour' now?”

Dean sighs. The shit he does for... uh... close, personal relationships. “I just need to talk to him.”

“Mmhm.” Uriel is already turning away dismissively, full of smug sureness. “He's upstairs. I'll make sure no one 'disturbs' you.”

Hey, that was less like pulling teeth than Dean had feared, maybe the guy is less of a bastard than he thought. He hurries up the stairs but stops partway down the hallway, suddenly uncertain. Cas hadn't technically invited him to stay tonight. 'We'll talk later' could mean all sorts of things, up to and including just talking at a later date. Shit. Well, it's not like he could come on stronger than he already has tonight, so what the hell.

There's an open door further down the hall, which turns out to be Cas' bedroom. Cas may be in there, but Dean's not sure yet, because he's having another 'shiny oven' moment with the awe-inspiring, gigantic bed sitting against the opposite wall. It's huge, with a heavy looking frame of dark wood, and it has to be a King, wider than it is long. Dean's brain makes noises that have no relation to human language.

“Dean?”

Oh look, Cas is here, standing by the closet in his shirt sleeves. “Hi... uh... nice bed?”

Cas glances at it, biting his lower lip. “Another indulgence. It's ridiculous, I know.”

“Oh, no. No, no. You should-” Dean moves around the bed to stand beside him, still staring in wonder. “You should indulge as often as humanly possible.”

Cas nods his head. “Tempting. I'm sorry if you were looking for me downstairs, I was just hanging my jacket up.”

“Damn, I was sort of planning on doing that myself.” It takes Dean's bed-addled brain a second to hear what he just said and he twitches a look to Cas. “Uh. Not planning. More considering? I'm not making any assumptions here.”

Cas gives him a small, straightforward smile. “Would you like to spend the night with me?”

There could be countless funny little answers to that ('Duh', 'Is water wet?' 'How 'bout the next year.') but Dean can only think of one answer that's good enough. “Yes.”

Cas is turning out to be a huge tease, though, as a frown crosses his face and he moves towards the door. “I should help them finish up downstairs, though, first.”

Dean takes him by the elbow, the same way he had earlier, and pulls him back around. “They're your friends, I think they got it. Stay?”

Cas stands close as he comes to a decision, putting a hand flat to Dean's chest. “Yes.”

Cas goes for the door again and Dean barely has a chance to be confused before he hears the click of the lock. Clever man. Cas stops with his hand on the door, looking back at Dean. He almost looks demure with the way his head is turned to look over his shoulder. Dean's pulse picks up speed and, without any input from him, his legs carry him over, turning Cas around and crowding him against the door.

They kiss, and Dean wraps his hands over Cas' shoulders, kneading at them while they take time exploring each other's mouths. Cas works at undoing the buttons of Dean's jacket and when he's done, Dean stays as firmly attached to Cas' mouth as he can while he drops his jacket on the floor, leaving it where it falls.

When his arms are free again, he wraps his hands around the back of Cas' neck, fingers laced together. They pull apart finally, Cas gasping for breath and Dean not much better. “Sorry. I know you said you'd be right back, but I couldn't wait.” Dean grins, lopsided, and offers up his chest to Cas' narrow fingers as they undo his vest.

“That was probably wise, you have a large number of layers to take off.” Cas is intent on his work, fingers deft and gaze focused.

“Whatever, you like it.” Dean cards his fingers through soft hair as Cas finishes, reluctantly letting go to let Cas push the next layer off him. He feels fingers tickling at his throat, a tug, and then Cas is staring in bewilderment at the clip-on bow tie in his hand. Cas looks at Dean, and Dean looks at Cas, and they both look at the tie again before Dean takes it away and drops it on the rest of his clothes on the floor. “Not a word.”

Cas bites at his bottom lip, holding in a smile.“Never.”

“Give me your hands.” Cas obliges him as he opens the other man's shirt cuffs. He brings one hand to his lips when he's done, mouthing at the narrow wrist that's fascinated him since they first met. Teeth drag over the pale skin and Cas shudders, pushing closer to him.

Cas is breathless when he speaks. “The bed is right there behind you, you know.”

Dean laughs. “Smartass. Come on, then.” He wraps the end of Cas' long tie in his fist and walks backward, giving Cas no choice but to follow him.

When they reach the bed, Cas wraps his own hand just above Dean's around the tie. “This is not a leash.”

Dean contemplates their joint grip. “Kinda looks like one. How 'bout this.” He tugs once, pulling Cas a few inches closer. “Speak.” Cas opens his mouth but Dean goes on, leaning back. “No, wait.” He tugs harder this time, pulling Cas flush against him as he holds them up from the bed. Teeth bared, he lifts his face close to Cas. “Heel.”

Cas honest-to-God growls and mashes his mouth against Dean's, kissing him hard. He must like a little manhandling. His fingers are clumsier now as they open Dean's shirt and he's grinding his whole body against Dean's in a rolling wave. The drag of cloth against cloth feels fantastic and he can feel the hardness of Cas' cock moving against his own. Dean groans, shifting his legs apart.

“Take it off.” Cas speaks low and gruff, and Dean makes a questioning noise against his lips. Cas answers between the wet presses of his mouth. “My tie. Take it off.”

Dean doesn't need to be asked twice, loosening the knot and pulling the narrow strip of fabric through Cas' collar in one slow slither. He drops it on the bed and leans back on his elbows, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you wanna move up the bed a little more or are we gonna do this here?”

Cas leans forward to bite at his chin. “I'm not stopping you.”

“True.” Dean pushes him away to give himself some room before he undresses down to his pants and turns around, crawling onto the bed quickly. There's no elegant way to do this, especially on a bed this size, so he figures fast is the next best choice. He flips over when he gets there, leaning back against the pillows and giving Cas a smug look. “Coming?”

Cas just laughs and shakes his head before he kicks off his own shoes and socks and follows, crawling towards Dean, eyes never leaving him. And no, it's not elegant but fuck is it ever hot. Dean licks his lips in anticipation as Cas crawls over his body, knees straddling his thighs. Cas stops before he's close enough to kiss and slides one hand over Dean's chest, fingers wide and pressing. He leans down and presses his mouth to Dean's stomach. The muscles there jump in pleasure as Cas sucks and bites his way up.

“Oh fuck...” Dean's eyes roll back and he arches up as Cas reaches a nipple, teeth gentle but definitely there. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

“You like that?” Cas asks, and Dean thinks it's just dirty talk before he catches the look in Cas' eyes. He's really asking, and Dean remembers how new they are to each other despite how easy this has been so far.

“Oh, yeah. That whole- mm!” Dean moans behind his lips as Cas sucks hard at one nipple, fingers finally finding their way up to tease the other. “That whole area is good, yeah.” Dean lays his fingers over the ones pinching at his nipple, showing Cas the harder pressure that he likes. “You?”

Cas pulls away with another wet slurp, eyes glazed with want as he looks up Dean's body. “I'm not as enthusiastic as you, but I like it enough.” He lowers his head again, teeth getting bolder as they tug at Dean's sensitized skin. Dean's hips jerk up, trying to find something, anything to press against.

It takes Dean a second to gather his thoughts. “So what are you enthusiastic about?”

Cas replaces his mouth with his hand, both thumbs now rubbing firm circles over Dean's nipples. The sensations travel straight to his dick and he's so hard it hurts. He growls as Cas sits up and contemplates the question, weight trapping Dean's thighs.

“My hands, I think. I have very sensitive fingers.” He seems a little hesitant, despite the direct answer, so Dean distracts him by reaching out to undo his shirt buttons. “Or... or my neck. I like that as well.”

“Cool.” Dean grabs the two open sides of his shirt and pulls him down, clamping his mouth to the pulse point under Cas' jaw and sucking hard. Cas lets out a pained sounding groan as his hips stutter and grind against Dean's. Ohh yeah, that was a good move. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, hands pulling his shirt loose and shoving it up to drag his nails lightly over Cas' back. He adds a little teeth to the equation and then Cas' hips are finding a real rhythm, his cloth-covered hardness finding that perfect spot to ride alongside Dean's own cock. Dean shoves up in time with every breathy grunt Cas gives, hard and aching and then he's suddenly close, actually fucking close to coming from a little grinding foreplay. It's embarrassing, really.

He drags his hands down to Cas' hips, trying to still the movement.“Okay, okay, we gotta- fuck! Gotta move this along, or I'm gonna come in my pants.”

Cas' thrusting movements come to a stop and he lifts himself reluctantly, shrugging off his shirt. It sticks to the sweat beading at his back. “We could have washed them.” He smiles at Dean's huff of laughter. “But if you insist. Where, exactly, are we moving this along to?”

“Uh.” Dean rests his hands at Cas' hips, thumbing the sharp bones there. “You know. I'm willing if you are. Oh, wait.” Dean squeezes his eyes shut with a wince. “But I don't have any stuff. Condoms or anything. I wasn't really expecting... uh, you.”

“I'm very willing, and what we need is in the table on the right.” Dean relaxes with Cas' reassurances, palms caressing up his sides. Cas sucks in a shuddering breath before he lifts himself away, knee-walking to the side of the bed and stretching over to the drawer to get everything. Goddamn, this is one huge bed, it's like everything is five feet away from everything else.

Dean follows, flipping himself over and pulling himself along Cas' outstretched body; feet, calves, thighs, hips and then he's pulling Cas up against him, both on their knees. He wraps his arms around Cas, one snaking under his arm to rest a palm against his opposite shoulder, the other slipping low and filthy, the heel of his hand dragging down over Cas' cock.

Cas groans long and rough, dropping a tube and a small foil pack forgotten between his knees. “Dean!”

Dean moves Cas' head aside with his own and nips at the skin under his ear. “Yeah, I've got you. Wanna fuck me?”

Cas' whole body jumps at that, and his head falls back against Dean's shoulder. “Please.”

It's fast work after that to get Cas flat on the bed, pants open and off. Dean moves back up his body, hands trailing and tickling over hairy thighs, before stopping over his groin. “Nice.” He eyes the tented boxer shorts. The purple, silk boxer shorts. Cas gives him a dirty look that morphs into a dirtier groan as Dean leans down and mouths the head of his cock through the damp material. His hips jerk up and Dean squeezes his thighs hard to keep him still.

“Just a sec.” Dean peels Cas' underwear off quickly before kicking off his own pants and shorts. The foil packet tears open easy and then he's rolling the condom down over Cas' cock, giving it a few firm strokes when he'd done. It's hot and firm in his hand and Cas is gasping in relief at the touch. God, it's going to feel great.

Naked, he straddles Cas' hips. He doesn't have long to admire the long contours of the body underneath him or feel the hot, hard line pressing up against his ass before Cas' hand finds his cock. His head tips back as he groans in pleasure. “Oh yeah...”

It's almost torturous how slowly Cas touches him at first, fist twisting around the head, spreading slick pre-come. Dean tries to thrust up into his hand, but Cas just follows the movements, his other hand low on Dean's side, nails teasing.

Dean grabs the little tube sitting beside them, emptying a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He keeps his eyes on Cas as he leans back, one hand on Cas' leg to steady himself and the other pressing two wet fingers against his ass.

Cas is panting in lust as his gaze moves from Dean's cock to his face to the arm disappearing behind him, but Dean waits until they lock eyes again before he presses his fingers inside. It's a quick, stretching burn that makes his body tense up and pushes a harsh cry from his lips. Cas' answering groan sounds almost as tense as his fist tightens over Dean's cock.

Dean is breathing fast, the combined pleasure of Cas' hand and his own fingers driving him to push in harder and thrust up against Cas' grip. Cas is staring up at him, open mouthed, completely overtaken with the sight of Dean fingering himself open. Dean can feel the lift of Cas hips, the insistent jut of his cock as it rides the hot space behind Dean's balls.

It doesn't take long to get himself ready, or as ready as he needs to be. It'll hurt some, sure, but he knows it's going to be good after that. The switch from pain to pleasure is almost his favorite part. Cas' hands at his waist stop him as he lifts to reposition himself. “That can't have been long enough.” Cas sounds fantastic, his voice rough and low and unbelievably fuckable.

“I'm good, I'm good.” Dean swallows hard as he reaches behind himself, moving the head of Cas cock into position. “I promise.” He lets his other hand cover Cas' on his waist, warm and reassuring. Then it's just a deep breath and a shift down and-

Shit, fuck, yes!

-and then Cas is inside him. Oh it's good, the burn, the fullness. He's pulling in loud breaths as he tries to relax, needing more.

Cas digs his nails in at Dean's sides with one long, gruff moan. His hips stutter up, and Dean leans forward, holding himself up with a hand on the bed and one against Cas' chest. “Gimme a second, it's good, it's really good, just a second.”

Cas is nodding, staring up at him wide-eyed. “Yes, Dean, please, please.” There's shuddering desperation in Cas' voice and Dean can feel the pounding heartbeat under his hand.

Dean pushes down a few more inches, grunting, fingers digging into the covers. Jesus, Cas is still begging him in that broken gravel voice and that's all Dean needs to keep going, to take him all the way in. It's too fucking much for a second, the long stretch of it is blinding him, has him tossing his head back, stopping his lungs.

Everything goes still except for the tremors of their bodies and Cas' nearly silent whimpers. Then, like a man coming up for air, Dean gasps a breath and the world starts moving again.

Still catching his breath, Dean starts rocking up and down in small movements that barely lift him away from Cas at all. Cas' hands are all over him now, clutching at his hips, running up his chest and sliding over his neck, his jaw, his mouth, like they can't keep still. Dean shifts himself back to an upright position, shuddering at the change of angle, and grabs one of Cas' hands to pull it to his mouth. He licks at Cas' palm, as wet as he can, sucks at Cas' fingers as he rocks himself up further, faster.

Cas is giving short little grunting moans with every breath now, eyes dark and almost sightless as he slides his fingers into Dean's mouth, matching the rhythm below. When he decides it's wet enough, Dean pushes Cas' hand down and wraps it around his cock. “C'mon, c'mon, touch me, just like this.”

Cas moves his hand at the speed Dean sets, spit-slick palm sliding gloriously. He's up on one elbow now, watching Dean move on top of him.

Dean sets a fast pace. Not that he wants this over quickly, it's just... he waited a long time for this and now that he has it, he's taking. He can feel it when Cas puts his heels into the bed and really starts to thrust up into him, the hard thud of their flesh meeting making his whole body shake. The rougher motion pushes him further in Cas' fist and it's perfect, fucked from behind and grinding into Cas' hand in front.

He leans forward again, trying to give Cas more space to move in, and that's just fucking right. The angle is exactly what he needs to get Cas' cock hitting the right spot on every thrust. He lays his forehead against Cas' chest, sweat-damp hair sticking, and begs with no idea what he's even saying.

“Dean, I can't- this angle- you have to-” Cas is breathless, he can barely get the words out. “Dean, touch yourself for me.” Dean hadn't even realized that Cas' hand was gone from his cock. He's right, though; he can't get a proper grip they way they're lying. Dean leans more of his weight on Cas' chest, cheek pressed against his shoulder, and slides an arm between them, gripping himself tight.

It's actually better this way. Cas can get both arms around him and really fucking give it to him, grinding against that sweet spot. Dean is close in no time, shaking and biting into Cas' shoulder, stroking his cock with rough abandon.

“Cas, Jesus fuck, Cas!”

And then, holy hell, Cas has him by the hair and is pulling, lifting him up. “Let me see it, I want to see it.” God, it's like stars bursting behind his eyes and Dean barely has the presence of mind to get his free arm against the bed and shove up. Cas stares down at where their bodies join, still thrusting hard into him as he watches Dean's hand fly over his own flushed cock.

Dean cries out roughly, making Cas tighten the grip in his hair and that's it, that does it. Dean feels his balls twitch and tighten and then a blazing, wild rush and he's coming all over his hand and Cas' stomach. He's quaking and gasping, shoving himself down hard on Cas' cock, trying to milk every sensation he can out of this.

The world spins and he's on his back, still shaking with the aftershocks. Cas is above him, somehow still inside him, hitching Dean's legs up around his own hips and moving deep inside him. Cas is just gone, shoving Dean against the bed, hands clamped to his hips. He's whimpering harshly with every breath, lips forming Dean's name.

Dean spreads his arms wide on the bed and just takes it, every push making his aching cock twitch in response. He wraps his legs up higher around Cas, changing the angle, and Cas cries out. Then Cas is on him, leaning down chest to chest, forcing Dean's legs wider as he shoves his hands under Dean's shoulders, grasping them from behind. Dean can feel the sticky drag of his own come as Castiel's stomach slides against his. He almost wishes he hadn't come, because this position would have done it for sure, maybe even without help. Cas is over him, all around him, sweating and moaning and holding him tightly, rutting into him, totally lost, and Dean wishes he could be there with him.

He doesn't have long to wish, though, as Cas' arms suddenly become a vice around his shoulders. He can feel Cas' mouth wide and gasping against his throat as he comes. He's deep, cock pressed in as far as he can go, tilting Dean's ass right off the bed with less thrusting and more just a grinding flex of hips.

When it's over, Cas slumps against him, body going loose and boneless. Dean lets his legs flop down on the bed. Things are quiet for a moment as they bask in the afterglow, the slow evening-out of their panting breaths the only sound.

Eventually Dean musters up the energy to drag a hand in and pet slow strokes down Cas' spine. “Hey... right there with you, but we're gonna be shellacked together if you stay there much longer.” He keeps his voice low, trying to sustain the quiet atmosphere as long as possible.

Cas stirs, lifting his head. God, he looks - and Dean will deny thinking this with his dying breath - but he looks adorable. Wide eyes full of a confused haze, face flushed pink, and his hair totally beyond repair, just a pile of fluffy brown going in every possible direction. Dean can't suppress a goofy smile.

“Oh.” Cas seems to remember where he is finally, lifting himself up on all fours and pulling out of Dean with a shiver. “Sorry.”

He starts moving down the bed, moving away for some stupid reason, before Dean stops him with a look. “Where the hell are you going?”

Cas tilts his head, questioning. “I...” On all fours like that, he looks disturbingly like a puppy.

“We're not done with the after part, yet. Get your surprisingly strong ass back here.”

Cas laughs quietly, moving back up to lie at Dean's side, face and shoulder on his chest. Dean can feel the damp touch of a softened cock on his thigh and it's not as gross as he usually finds that. It's... nice, really. Intimate. He wraps an arm around Cas' shoulder, loose and relaxed.

Cas lays a hand on his chest, fingers toying with his chest hair. “Surprisingly strong? You will be alright, won't you?”

Dean buries a laugh in Cas' hair. “Yeah. I like it when I can feel it the next day. Nice move with the hair pulling, by the way.”

The hand on his chest pauses for a moment as Cas clears his throat. “Well... you enjoyed the biting, so I... extrapolated.”

“Mm, yeah, talk dirty to me.” Dean can feel Cas shaking his head, hair tickling his chin. He smiles to himself and tugs Cas closer. “So, I can stay, right?”

There's no hesitation or tension at all in Cas' smaller frame, just sleepy acceptance.“Of course.”

Of course. Dean likes the sound of that.

The last thing he's conscious of, after they clean up and crawl under the rumpled covers, is the gentle press of Cas' lips to his forehead. He goes to sleep with a smile on his face.

*****

Dean wakes up the next morning with that special brand of confusion that comes with strange beds in unfamiliar rooms. He's on his side, with and arm curled around the warm body in front of him, and then it all comes back to him. He makes a croaky noise of surprise, warming with pleasure at the memories.

Cas shifts with the noise, turning on his back. He blinks his eyes open slowly and squints at Dean. “Hello.” His voice is rough with sleep.

“G'morning.” Dean lifts himself up on one elbow.

Cas is still blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Morning.”

Dean laughs. “Takes you a little while to get up to speed in the mornings, huh?” He has about two seconds to notice Cas' wandering hand before he feels a sharp pinch on his ass cheek. “Ow! Oh, that's it.” Grinning, he holds Cas down by the shoulders and lays a deep kiss on him.

They're both making identical grimaces when he pulls back. Yeah, morning breath, not good. “Geh... okay, lets come back to that. You don't have a spare toothbrush, do you?”

Cas nods up at him. “Several. Dental hygiene is important.”

Dean lies back on the bed, snuggling down into his pillow with his hands behind his head. “Yes it is. So... “ He stops for a cracking yawn. “What do you write, anyway?”

Cas shifts closer to him, head nuzzling against his upper arm. “Theology textbooks and essays on spirituality. And a cookbook, once.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Heavy stuff. Well, not the cookbook, I guess.”

“It was quite stout as well. I know many recipes.”

Heaving a theatrical sigh, Dean smacks Cas lightly on the back of the head. “You really are a smartass, y-” He interrupts himself, turning an ear to the door. “Is that...” Then he's sure; it's the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Fast. “I think somebody's-”

There's a knock at the door, more of a light scraping, really, and a voice stage-whispering from the other side. “Cas... Cas... Castiel!” It's hard to tell, but Dean thinks it's female. He looks over at Cas, who seems just as confused as he is.

“Cas, wake up!”

Cas blinks, taken aback, and calls out. “Anna?”

The door opens, and Dean clutches the blanket over his chest, feeling a little ridiculous. He sees a shock of red hair and hears a gasp and then Anna is right in the room, closing the door softly behind her. Dean stares at her open-mouthed. What the fuck?

“Anna, what... “Cas looks like he doesn't even know how to finish that sentence, brow furrowed in astonishment.

“What are you doing!” Anna is staring at them both in horror, hand covering her mouth as her voice raises on the last word. She looks back towards the door, distressed.

Cas is up on his elbows now, starting to look worried as well. And a little irritated. “I thought it would be fairly apparent. Anna, what is going on?”

She's glaring at them now; well, mostly at Cas. “I can't believe you'd do this, you know better! And you!” She turns to Dean, pointing a finger at him. He sinks back against the headboard, wondering how scared he should be of the crazy newlywed. “Shame on you!”

He'd be insulted if he knew what the fuck he was catching hell for. She doesn't even look embarrassed to be in the same room as her naked brother and the naked guy her naked brother fucked last night. It's really weirding Dean out.

“Anna, please. Can you just explain-”

“His boyfriend's right downstairs! Looking for him!”

Wait, what?

Dean's mouth hangs open for a moment, processing. “My what? I don't-” He turns to Cas, suddenly serious. “I don't have a boyfriend, I swear. Or a girlfriend.”

Cas nods and turns back to his sister, raising his eyebrows and waiting for an answer.

“He... yes you do, he was your partner at the reception!”

Oh for Christ's sake, again? Dean winces, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, that's my brother.”

“But you...” She tilts her head to the side, bewildered, and Dean is acutely reminded of her brother. He wishes he'd caught that bit of family resemblance back at the bachelor party. “Sarah saw you kissing!”

“Uh. Yeah, but...” That's technically true, yes. “I was just messing with him. Really. Brother.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas bury himself back under the blankets. Dean doesn't blame him a bit; he wishes he could hide too.

“Oh.” Anna's voice is small and embarrassed. “Oh! Oh God, I'm so sorry! I'll go. And tell him you'll be down... um, soon?” With another distressed wince, she's out the door like a shot, face nearly as red as her hair.

Dean slumps back on the bed with a sigh. He feels for her, he really does. He's been in her shoes fairly recently, but it's hard to be empathetic at stupid o'clock on the morning. And what the hell is Sam doing here any way? It can't be past eight. Or, oh wow, ten thirty according to the alarm clock. Oops.

He turns to say that they really should get up, and that's when he notices the sound coming from the lump of blankets that is Cas' side of the bed. It's kind of a snorty whimper, accompanied by a strange wriggling of the blankets. Dean grabs a handful of the cover and pulls it away.

And yeah, the little bastard is laughing, breathy giggles that he's trying to hind behind his hands. As soon as he sees Dean's face, he looses it completely, coughing up loud bursts of laughter, the kind that makes tears spring up in your eyes. He clamps both hands to his mouth again in an effort to stop it, but that only makes it worse. His eyes are shining with it.

“Oh, you think this is amusing?” Dean glowers at him.

Cas shakes his head but he's laughing even harder at that, curling towards Dean and burying his face in his chest while he gasps for air.

Dean wraps an arm around him. “It's not that funny!” He breaks up on the last word though, laughing into his pillow. He can't help it, he's not sure anyone could with Cas, who he's never seen more than snicker, laughing like a loon in their arms.

Cas pulls away soon, wiping at his eyes and laying back against the bed. “Oh, oh, I'm sorry, Dean.” Another chuckle takes him. “I am. I just... I think I've seen this movie, and it was quite bad.”

Dean doesn't have an answer right away, because Cas is smiling up at him and he remembers that smile. It's the same one he saw that first night, the one Cas gave Anna that had him convinced they were the love of each other's lives. Except it's even better this time, gums and all. It's his.

Dean smiles back. “I'm still prettier than Ben Stiller, though, right?”