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isolavirtuosa · 11 months ago

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That River in Egypt 1-7 of 21

[fanfiction] Dean / Cass

canon divergent AU from 15x19, Dean being Dean

- 1 -

“Mistakes were made,” I mumbled into the warm back of the stranger I was naked in bed with. I knew as soon as I opened my eyes that my head was gonna explode, so I decided not moving was the best option.

The warm body shifted.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” I hummed, hand running down an impressively toned tummy, enjoying the feel of soft skin over hard muscle.

My partner let out a contented sigh, and I found my hand moving lower.

Fingers moved through coarse hair before idly stroking.

“Dean,” she breathed out, but there was something not quite right.

I started stroking with more intent, feeling her thicken. My breath started escaping in heated pants.

“Dean,” she moaned, and there was definitely something not right.

My eyes started to flutter open, pain shooting through my head.

The familiar feel of memory foam under me, the dark lighting of the bunker...

My hand slowed.

I would never bring a stranger here.

I would never bring a...

I let go, skittering out of bed like a frightened child.

“W-who...” I started to stammer, but I already knew the answer.

Women didn’t usually have low, gravelly voices.

Or dicks, for that matter.

Cass sat up, looking at me with a weird mix of confusion and arousal.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I blurted out, continuing to back away from the bed until I hit the wall.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice coming out almost like a growl with how rough it was.

“Uh… you know, uh…” I trailed off, before squeaking out, “why are you in my bed?”

Cass frowned. “Do you not remember last night?”

“Not really, no.”

His frown deepened. “Dean.”

I stared at him helplessly, feeling his disappointment in me like it was a physical thing.

“You assured me-” he started to say, then shut his mouth and looked away, clenching his jaw.

Oh, fuck, what had Drunk Dean done? Because Hungover Dean had a headache and a pissed off naked angel in his bed with no idea how any of this had come to be.

That wasn’t entirely true.

I was trying to tell myself that there was a reasonable (a.k.a. non-sexual) explanation for all this, but…

There were flashes.

There were also a number of used condoms tied off in the trash can.

Jesus Christ.

“We didn’t…” I tried.

“We did,” he replied flatly.

“Okay, but we didn’t…”

“We had sex, Dean.”

“Okay, but… why?”

Cass threw the covers aside and got out of bed, gathering up his clothes from the floor.

He was pissed.

Also, he was very naked.

Not that I was noticing how fantastic his ass looked as he bent over to grab his shirt.

The guy was in great shape; who wouldn’t want to look like that? That’s all I was doing, experiencing a little body envy and all that. The burgers and the booze hadn’t been kind to my waistline lately, but Cass could put away anything and still look amazing.

You know, amazing in an objective kind of way.

In the blink of an eye, Cass was fully clothed, and I finally realized that I’d been naked the whole time, too, which had been fine when we were both naked, but now that it was just me, it seemed kind of awkward.

I subtly rested my hands in front of my junk.

Couldn’t really hide the love handles.

Not that Cass would notice. Or care.

Except that we apparently had sex last night, and regret seemed to be the opposite of why he was pissed.

Cass was attracted to me.

Cass thought I was fuckable, love handles and all.

It was kind of a nice thought, besides that fact that it was terrifying and something we just needed to not bring up ever again.

Because this was definitely not going to happen again.

I’d been drunk, and I was always flirty when I was drunk, and one thing had led to another, but-

“I’m leaving, Dean.”

I was startled out of my denials by reality. “What?”

“I do not stay where I’m not wanted.”

“You’re wanted!” I blurted out, then immediately backtracked. “Sam-”

“Dean,” he said, and oh boy, was he disappointed in me.

“No, look man, I didn’t…” I trailed off, having no idea where I was going. “Let me get dressed and uh take a few Advil, and then, you know, we can… talk?” I suggested, trying not to cringe too hard at the word.

“If you can fit me into your busy schedule,” he said coldly.

“It ain’t like that,” I complained.

“I didn’t mean to inconvenience you,” he continued, relentless.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to get my shit together. Then I realized I’d left the family jewels on display.

“I’ve had it in my mouth, Dean,” Cass said, sounding very unimpressed.

I blinked at him slowly.

He shot a look towards my crotch area before letting his eyes drag back up my body to meet mine. He raised an eyebrow, still frowning.

I had one of those flashes, and it involved Cass’s mouth stretching wide and blue eyes staring up at me, and that just wasn’t something that I should be thinking about. Ever. It wasn’t hot. It absolutely wasn’t. Fuck. Change the subject. “Did you like it?” I blurted out, and then wanted to kick myself.

He squinted at me like I was an idiot. “Yes.”

“Oh, uh…” I trailed off. “Did I?”

“Yes,” he said, exasperated, because yeah, okay, who wouldn’t like a mouth on their dick? A mouth’s a mouth and all that.

Something occurred to me.

“So did I…” I hesitated. “What did I… do?”

There was that squint again. “You ejaculated.”

I sputtered at that word picture. “No, uh, no, I mean… to, ya know, pay you back.”

“No money was exchanged.”

I was pretty sure he was fucking with me now. “I’m asking if I…” I trailed off, making a vague blow job gesture near my mouth.

“No, you did not sing karaoke.”

“Castiel.”

“Are you asking for a… ‘play-by-play’ of our sexual encounter?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure, that’s one way a puttin’ it.”

Cass sighed loudly. “I performed fellatio on you. I found it enjoyable. You enjoyed it to the point of ejaculation. Then you proceeded to ‘jerk’ me ‘off’. We both found it satisfactory.”

“Oh,” I said. ‘Satisfactory’ wasn’t very high praise. Then again, repaying a blow job with a hand job didn’t seem very… gentlemanly. “I didn’t…”

Cass waited for me to continue.

“I mean, that’s it?” I asked, rubbing my hand along my jaw. I’d thought it was kind of sore, but that was probably my overactive imagination, trying to create boogeyman where there were none.

“No.”

Now it was my turn to wait for Cass to continue.

He did not.

“Ya gonna keep me in suspense here?”

“Do you really not remember?” he asked with a frown.

“I uh….”

He stared harder. “Sam? The nachos?”

“What the hell does Sam have to do with it?!” I asked nervously.

“We had fallen asleep, and then Sam dropped the plate of nachos in the kitchen,” Cass explained, which explained nothing.

Except…

The crash startling me awake.

Cass laughing as I suggested stealing Sam’s nachos.

Sam yelling at us groggily, friggin’ lightweight that he was.

Then…

Oh…

No, that couldn’t be….

“After we absconded with the bag of tortilla chips and consumed a large amount, we resumed love-making and performed mutual fellatio on each other.”

“You could just say ‘sixty-nine’.”

“Sixty-nine.”

“See? Much better.”

Cass’s squint seemed to intensify.

Kinda reminded me of his o-face.

Oh, fuck, there were visuals. Lots and lots of visuals.

Cass sighed loudly. “Dean. Get dressed and take your Advil.”

I bit my lip, very confused about how I was feeling but definitely worried that Cass was going to leave mad and never come back again. “So you’re just gonna leave,” I said, and it came out sounding more like an accusation than the plea it actually was.

“Yes, Dean, goodbye.”

I had my mouth open, ready to stop him, but he was already gone.

“Sonuva bitch,” I muttered, starting to hunt around for some clothes to put on before it all seemed like too much effort and I just threw on the dead-guy robe. “Fucking Cass,” I muttered, but suddenly that took on whole new connotations. With visuals.

Nope, nope, nope.

I found a bottle of pain relievers and dumped some in my hand, swallowing them dry before tossing the bottle back on the floor. I dragged myself to the kitchen, found I had no desire to continue moving, and flopped down at the kitchen table.

“You’re an asshole, you know,” Sam grumbled as he came lumbering in.

I tensed. What did Sam know?

“Corrupting Cass like that,” he continued, opening the fridge but then groaning as the light met his eyes.

Oh, Jesus, he knew. He knew, and he was gonna-

“He doesn’t even eat food, so clearly he took my chips for you,” he complained, grabbing the juice and quickly closing the door.

“Who says Cass took your chips?” I asked, feeling like I was on more even footing now.

“The flap of his wings while I was cleaning up the floor.”

“Coulda been a bird.”

“Really, Dean? A bird? In the bunker?”

“Crazier shit has happened,” I said with a shrug.

“Not cool,” Sam grumbled, clunking a cup on the counter.

“He was probably just trying to help you,” I said, going for another tactic. “I mean, eating nachos at 3 a.m., man? Think of your girlish figure.”

“Not cool,” Sam repeated, then ended up spilling half his juice on the counter in a failed attempt to pour it in the cup.

I snorted, but that made my head hurt more.

“Where is he anyway?” Sam asked, wiping the counter with a sponge. “Figured he’d be just as miserable as us this morning after that liquor store he drank.”

Oh, yeah. How this whole damn mess got started.

“So you wanna say that I’m ‘corrupting’ Cass, when you’re the one who got a friggin’ angel drunk.”

“I didn’t think he would take me literally-”

“He takes everything literally, Sam!”

Sam had been sipping his juice slowly like it pained him to swallow, but he took the cup from his lips, looking thoughtful. “Okay, fair enough,” he agreed. “I shouldn’t have carelessly suggested that Cass drink a liquor store.”

“You’re damn right ya shouldn’t of.”

“You seemed to enjoy it.”

Goddamn it, did he know?

“You better send Cass out to buy more Tostitos,” he added.

I mean, all three of us had been drunk off our asses. Some grateful richy rich couple had lavished us with bottles of champagne after we rescued them from the monster of the week, and apparently it really did get you drunk fast, even when you may have previously believed you were no longer capable of getting drunk…

Anyway it was a nice kinda drunk where we were all laughing over anything and everything, and then Sammy said he was going to bed, so Cass said… something about watching… cat videos? On YouTube? So we went to my room and…

Blue eyes staring up at me, mouth stretched wide, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Sam was giving me a weird look.

“Cass’ll get right on those nachos,” I said smoothly. Nothing to see here.

Sam looked at me for a long moment, then shrugged and took his cup to the sink.

He didn’t know. How could he know? If he knew, there’s no way he would play it this cool.

We were safe.

We’d gotten away with it.

Everything could go back to normal.

- 2 -

Cass didn’t come back to the bunker for almost two weeks.

Not that this was anything new; he was always pulling a disappearing act. Though apparently he was texting Sam.

He just wasn’t texting me.

So it was perfectly justifiable that I jumped out of my skin when he appeared beside my recliner in the Dean Cave.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, making my name sound like a curse.

“Hello yourself,” I complained, trying to play it cool like I hadn’t just leapt from my seat and made an unseemly shriek.

“Were you not expecting me?” he asked, sounding a little too sassy for my liking.

“You haven’t been here for weeks!”

“Since we had sex?” he suggested, the sass just sassing up to whole new levels.

“Cass!” I protested, eyes darting around the room nervously even though I knew Sam was out with Eileen.

“I’m sorry, are we still not talking about it?” he asked.

He was definitely not sorry.

“I mean, ya don’t hafta go announcing it,” I complained.

The little shit actually cupped his hands around his mouth and boomed, “we had sex!”

“You’re being an asshole.”

“I feel like that’s my prerogative.”

“Okay, Bobby Brown,” I muttered. “Live your life.”

“Dean,” he said, and it came out long-suffering.

I finally dared to look him in the eye, and that was a mistake.

He looked weary, and I was the one who put that expression on his face.

“I missed you,” I blurted out.

His eyes softened. “I missed you, too.”

“So can we just go back to normal?”

His expression darkened again. “‘Normal’,” he repeated like it was a dirty word.

“What the hell’s wrong with normal?” I shot back.

“I’m not going to pretend that nothing happened.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to.”

“That’s exactly what you’re asking.”

“I’m not…” I tried, and gave up. “Fine, maybe I am. But what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with how things were?”

He just stared at me, all frowny and disappointed.

I knew that I was messing this up, I just didn’t know how to not mess it up. “Cass,” I said, giving him what was probably an incredibly pathetic look.

He scowled at me, then looked away. “It meant something to me.”

Oh, shit, oh, shit, he was gonna leave. I had to say something, something not stupid or offensive, or he was going to leave and not come back.

I was maybe starting to panic a little.

Or a lot.

“Dean.”

And I had maybe been sitting there not saying anything for a while. My eyes snapped to Cass’s.

He cupped my cheek with his hand and then he leaned in.

Oh shit was he gonna…?

He pressed his lips to my forehead.

That felt… nice.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out.

He gave me a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?” I asked, squinting at him. “Pretty sure I’m the asshole here.”

“Probably,” he agreed, a little sparkle in his eyes. At least we were back to joking. “But I should have… it was wrong of me not to speak to you all this time.”

“Oh.”

He ran his thumb down my cheek before pulling his hand away.

His hand was kinda big. Solid. Comforting.

Not that I wanted to follow after it.

“I was hurt, but… I understand,” he finally said, and he looked guilty now. “The things you said when you were intoxicated were simply ‘the alcohol talking’, and I should not have taken… advantage of you.”

What the hell had I said to him that made him think I wanted to have sex? With him? Multiple times?

And yet as much as I wanted to claim that I didn’t remember anything, okay, that was actually a complete lie.

Dean Winchester didn’t get blackout drunk. And I’d had plenty of time over the last couple of weeks to think about that night.

About how I’d thrown myself at Cass.

I want you, I’d whispered into his ear when all we’d been doing was watching stupid animal videos on YouTube.

There was no spark, no cause, no reason at all, just me being drunk and horny.

And Cass, drunk as he was, had tried to stop it.

Cass, with his feelings.

Cass, who was completely unused to being drunk, being out of control, had pushed against my chest, said something along the lines of, I don’t want this if you don’t feel the same, and then…

Well there was no use dwelling on it, right?

Yeah, Cass, yeah, me, too…

Lying to an angel. I was going to hell.

Again.

‘Lying’.

Nope, nope, nope, we just needed to forget this whole thing and move on.

“Look, man, it’s cool,” I informed him magnanimously.

His gaze narrowed.

“I got an extra brew,” I said, reaching into the cooler next to the couch and pulling it out. “The Untouchables is on,” I added, gesturing towards the TV which I’d been watching before Cass had shown up. “Movie night?”

Cass didn’t answer for what seemed to me like an uncomfortably long period of time.

The bottle started to sweat in my hand as I continued to hold it out to him.

“Dean, do you understand that I want you sexually?” he finally asked.

I tried to come up with something clever to say, came up blank, and I was pretty sure my face was beet red. “Yeeessss?”

He breathed out a loud sigh. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“…nooo…?”

“So sitting next to you, watching a movie together will not make you uncomfortable?”

Now that one I could answer. “Of course not, Cass. You’re my best friend, and ain’t nothin’ gonna change that, okay?”

He looked like he was having some kind of war inside of himself, but he finally took the bottle from my outstretched hand. “You’re my best friend, too.”

And everything went back to normal.

- 3 -

“How the hell does this keep happening?” I groaned incredulous.

Cass growled something unintelligible into my back, his arms wrapped tightly around my middle.

Thing was, I knew exactly how it happened.

You’re not drunk, Dean?

I ain’t drunk, Cass.

You seem vaguely inebriated. I do not wish to have sex without full consent.

Then use your mojo to sober me up, Jesus.

And I had continued to do with my hand exactly what I’d been doing previously, sober as a judge.

“Go back to sleep,” Cass mumbled, kissing the back of my neck.

It gave me goosebumps.

Fuck.

“Gotta pee,” I said, shoving out of his hold and throwing my feet over the side of the bed.

Naked again.

I grabbed my robe and made my exit as quickly as possibly, slamming the door behind me in my haste.

Goddammit, how had this happened again?

We’d been watching The Golden Girls for chrissakes. And yeah, I’d had more than my fair share of that bottle of bourbon, but Cass? Really? I mean, was my right hand not sufficient? I needed a dude to jerk me off? Was I that friggin’ lonely?

No, that wasn’t what was going on.

I wasn’t going to think about what was going on.

Instead, I peed.

Then I realized that I’d left Cass in a panic.

After I had promised him…

He was going to be so mad at me.

He was going to leave.

He was absolutely going to leave.

I was running down the hall before I could really think about it. “Cass!” I called as I threw the door open again.

He was sitting on my bed, fully clothed now, trench coat and all, and looking just about as pissed as I expected.

“Hey, there, buddy,” I said, not knowing what to say now that I was actually here.

“Hey, pal,” he replied, dripping with sarcasm.

“Look…” I tried.

“I think you’ve made yourself quite clear, Dean.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Cass, c’mon, man…”

“Fool me once, shame on you,” he said, shaking his head. “Fool me twice, and I am the one who is shamed.”

“It’s not like that.”

“What is it like then, Dean?”

“I dunno, man,” was all I could come up with.

“I see,” Cass said, standing up brusquely.

He was gonna go and he was never gonna come back.

My hand was gripping his shoulder tight before I’d even told myself to move. “Don’t go,” I said, which might have come out a little like begging.

Cass didn’t soften at all. In fact, his eyes turned hard as steel. “Have you been having sexual relations with me so I won’t leave?”

“What, no,” I said incredulously, my hand still gripping him tight and trying to save myself from perdition. “Why would you think… I’m not… I don’t think I’m… am I…?”

“I don’t know, Dean, are you?” he asked, unrelenting.

“No,” I decided. Sleeping with Cass so he wouldn’t leave? That was a little extreme.

So why was I sleeping with him then…?

Look, that wasn’t important. What was important was smoothing things over and making sure this never, ever happened again.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You did.”

I stopped mid-speech and swallowed. “Yeah, but-”

“I can barely look at you,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as his eyes flicked away from mine.

Oh, shit.

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry,” I whined pathetically. How could I make him understand?

I didn’t even understand.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, brushing my hand away and moving past me.

All I could think of was that stupid fight, why does that something always seem to be you?, Cass walking out of the bunker while I just sat there. Stood there? Leaned there.

What did any of that matter?

“Don’t go!” I blurted out. Again.

Cass sighed loudly but stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

“I dunno what’s up with me, okay?” I tried to explain, stepping closer to him. “I dunno why we keep ending up in bed together, but what I do know is that you’re important to me. I can’t… I need you, Cass. I need you.”

“That all sounds rather selfish to me,” Cass ground out, not looking at me.

And that punched me in the gut, because as much as I acted like a selfish douchebag, in reality I…

I held back the sob that seemed to come out of nowhere. “I hate how I treat you,” I whispered. “It’s fucked up,” I tried to explain, my voice cracking. I took a breath, trying to push it all back down.

Cass’s head tilted in profile, still not quite looking back at me. “I understand, Dean. It’s because I allow you to treat me this way.”

A tear escaped its way down my face. I quickly rubbed it away, not wanting to deal with it. With what it meant.

“I’m indulgent with you,” he continued, “in a way that no one else in your life is.”

I caught the sleeve of his trenchcoat, clutching the material between my fingers.

“I think you need it, but you don’t know how to accept it,” he said. “Love, compassion, sincerity. These things, they all… ‘rub you’ the ‘wrong way’. You reject them even while you’re reaching out for them, longing for them.”

I tasted blood, realizing I’d bitten my lip so hard it was bleeding.

Cass turned around, his eyes finally meeting mine. “And I’ll let you do it every time,” he said sadly, thumbing over my lip and healing the cut, “because I love you, Dean.”

I wanted to tell him to stop. That he deserved better. He wasn’t stuck with me, he could let go and move on and I kissed him instead.

And instead of telling me to fuck off, Cass used all that angelic strength of his to lift me off the fucking floor and take me back to bed.

- 3 -

I’d figured out the problem.

“We’re in the Dean Cave,” Cass observed from his chair next to mine.

“Yes,” I agreed, not looking away from the TV.

“We always watch Dr. Sexy in your room,” he pointed out.

“Sometimes it’s good to change things up.”

Cass seemed to accept that at face value. He stopped bugging me about it, anyway.

And here we were, a couple of dudes sharing some pizza and some beers, watching TV, and not having sex. As two dudes usually did.

See, it was obvious now.

No one else ever came into my bedroom. Sure, Sam stuck his nose in if I was sleeping late or if I was playing my records too loud for his delicate womanly ears, but he never actually came in. We didn’t hang out in there. A bedroom was a man’s sacred space. It was a space for a man and the person he was about to have sex with. Er, woman. The woman he was about to have sex with. Well, when talking about me personally. Other dudes might have sex with men. I had sex with women. And okay, yeah, the two (do we go by days or number of orgasms because then it was five) times with Cass. But that was because he was in my sacred space when he shouldn’t be.

Sacred space was not a euphemism.

Anyway, problem solved, everything was back to normal.

“This episode is less plausible than usual,” Cass commented.

“Really? Are you a medical professional now?”

“I don’t need to be to know that no hospital would allow a surgeon to operate on his own brother when he has a potential head injury from being in the car accident with said brother which caused him to need surgery.”

“Just don’t think about it,” I said, waving off his very boring criticism. “Look at the sexy doctors and enjoy.”

“The plot is distracting me from the sexiness,” he complained.

“Oh my god, you’re the guy who watches porn for the plot,” I groaned.

“I always find the plot difficult to follow,” Cass said, turning his squint on me. “The leaps of logic that the characters make rarely follow an understandable path.”

“I think the path is ‘we wanna bang and any flimsy excuse will do’.”

“I still find it most perplexing.”

“Dude,” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t help my grin. “You’re supposed to get off to it, not write essays about it.”

“I’m just trying to understand…” he started, then trailed off, his expression going completely confused. “Why is Dr. Sexy taking his shirt off in the middle of an operation?”

“Don’t question it, just enjoy,” I assured him. I sure was.

“You realize that the admiration you feel for Dr. Sexy is actually lust, right?” Cass asked, staring at me hard.

“What, no,” I protested, though for some reason I still couldn’t quite remove my eyes from those pectorals.

“I think you would find a sense of peace if you just admitted it,” Cass said with a shrug.

“What’re you, the closet police?” I grumbled.

“Are you in a closet?” he shot back.

“Shaddup,” I muttered, sinking deeper into my chair.

He did so.

I tried not to think about it and instead focused on all the important action happening on the television. All the hospital monitors were beeping and alarming and basically going nuts, so Dr. Sexy was about to do Something Drastic to save his brother.

Fuck, he was hot with no shirt on, body sheened in sweat as he dared to do the operation that everyone said was impossible.

“I have a crush on Dr. Sexy,” I muttered.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Cass said, smiling at me warmly before turning his eyes back to the TV. “Dr. Wang is more my type.”

That jolted me upright. “You have a type?” I asked incredulously.

He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “I suppose it is more a turn of phrase. People I am attracted to certainly vary with their physical and mental characteristics.”

“But you’re into Dr. Wang?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows at him.

“She is… assertive and driven, yet has a vulnerable side that she tries to keep hidden which I find… endearing,” he decided with a nod.

“And she’s got nice tits.”

Cass sighed loudly.

“Are they not nice?” I asked.

“They’re lovely,” he assented. “I just wish you wouldn’t boil people down to their physical attributes.”

“She’s a character on a TV show, man…”

“So you don’t do the same thing to the waitress at the diner? The clerk at the gas station? The ‘damsel in distress’?”

“We’re talking about how you wanna bone Dr. Wang, not fighting the patriarchy or whatever,” I complained.

“Sorry, dude,” he muttered sarcastically. “She’s so hot, I desire frequent intercourse with her.”

“Don’t be lame,” I protested.

“My legs are fully functional.”

I threw a pillow at him.

Cass just glowered as it bounced off his head.

I snorted.

“At least I don’t want to ‘bang’ that imbecile shirtless doctor in cowboy boots.”

“He’s a brain surgeon!”

“A terrible one,” Cass muttered. “He always disregards appropriate scrubbing procedures, he speaks to other doctors about his patients in defiance of HIPAA, he has sexual relations with interns in closets-”

“Maybe you’re just jealous.”

He huffed out an annoyed sound.

I waggled my eyebrows at him.

His glare got very… sexy.

I swallowed.

Whatever, sometimes I found dudes attractive. It didn’t have to mean anything.

In fact, the fact that Cass was very attractive didn’t mean anything at all.

“Dean,” he growled at me, and it sounded like a warning.

It was now undeniable that I was getting hard.

Which made no sense and was stupid.

Why did Cass now equal sex to my brain? Well, no, not my brain. The other brain.

God fucking dammit.

“Dean?” he repeated, but it was softer now, a question.

“Do you like guys and girls?” I asked, because who the fuck knows.

He hesitated before answering. “You mean sexually?” he finally clarified.

I just nodded my head. Me and words weren’t friends right about then.

“I don’t really consider genitalia a concern, so I suppose the simplest answer to your question would be ‘yes’.”

“Oh,” I said. I nodded. Then I shook my head. “But you’re an angel.”

“…and…?”

“Isn’t that a, ya know, a big sin and all that?”

“Dean, God was similarly unconcerned with gender,” Cass said. “And also, Chuck is an asshole.”

“Oh,” I said. It took a minute. “And hell yeah he is. Fuck that guy.”

Cass sighed, giving me a fond look. “It’s okay, Dean.”

I didn’t ask what was okay. We didn’t need to talk about this anymore, or how it pertained to me.

Instead I reached over and tugged on Cass’s sleeve.

He studied my face.

I pulled a little more insistently, and he immediately gave in, moving towards me. I looked up at him, standing over my recliner, and tugged again until he leaned down and I could rest my hand against his stubbly cheek.

Cass’s eyes stared into mine, asking a question.

I guided his mouth to mine, making sure he didn’t have to ask twice.

Cass seemed very into it, until he wasn’t, pulling back abruptly. “Sam…”

Why in the hell was he saying my brother’s name while kissing me-

Oh, right.

Sam was still up, nerding in the map room, and was known to stick his nose in the Dean Cave when he was bored.

“Meet me in my room,” I decided, giving him one last thorough tonguing to make sure he didn’t make any detours.

“Okay,” he agreed, sounding kinda breathless, his stare a little glassy.

I grinned, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV. “See you in five.”

Cass appeared in my room in exactly five minutes, and proceeded to take me apart.

The next day we had sex in the Impala.

The day after, we had sex in the cheap motel we were staying in while Sam was out interviewing witnesses.

Apparently, my bedroom wasn’t the problem.

- 4 -

“I need to get laid,” I decided.

Sam gave me a funny look over the shopping cart he was pushing around Walmart.

“Sorry, Donna Martin, are you still waiting for marriage to lose your V-card?” I asked, tossing the jumbo box of condoms into the cart.

“Really, a 90210 reference?”

“If the skirt fits,” I said with a shrug.

Sam sighed loudly. “I’m just wondering why you need to get laid so bad when apparently you’ve already gone through like thirty condoms since we were here last month.”

“What, are you keeping tabs on how many rubbers I go through now? Things with Eileen that bad that you gotta live vicariously through me?”

“Whatever, dude,” Sam scoffed at me.

I threw in another box of condoms just to be an ass. And also Cass and I were probably gonna use them. I mean, we could use them separately. Like independently. With chicks. I had taught Cass all about safe not-involving-angel-blades sex, and he was ready to take those lessons out into the wild.

So Cass would have sex with women. Or dudes. Whatever, I didn’t judge. And I would have sex with women. And we could go through two large boxes of condoms. And annoy Sam by buying even more condoms next time we were shopping. This was a win-win.

“I see you got the cherry-flavored ones,” Cass murmured from where he was suddenly lurking behind me.

I didn’t jump out of my skin due to years of practice and turned very slowly to face him, glad that Sam was already in the next aisle. “Wha?” I asked intelligently.

“I prefer them to the non-flavored ones,” he explained with a nod of approval.

“But you don’t… taste things?” I tried.

“Yes, but I like the way they feel in my mouth.”

“…oh,” I said, trying not to have sexual thoughts in the middle of a Walmart.

“I’d like to try different flavors, too, though,” he mused.

“Uh-huh.”

Cass squinted at me. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” I squeaked. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s in the hair-care aisle, trying to decide on a hair mask,” Cass said, his eyes glowing as he searched for and located my brother.

That was kinda hot, too.

Fuck.

What was wrong with my brain?

Cass was not hot.

Well, no, okay, fine, objectively he was an attractive dude. If you were into dudes.

Which I wasn’t.

Except, you know when I was.

Fine, I was into Dr. Sexy.

Patrick Swayze.

Gunner Lawless.

This list was getting long but I couldn’t leave out…

Harrison Ford.

But who wasn’t? Every dude had a man crush. It was a thing.

Does every dude fuck their best friend?

Suck his cherry-flavored dick?

I needed to get laid. That was what this was.

“We’re going out tonight!” I declared to Cass.

He shrugged disinterestedly in response.

So a few hours later we were parked at a bar, drinking beers and scoping the room.

“The chick in the low-cut top is definitely checking you out,” I informed Cass.

He glanced towards her, which made her blush and look away. He turned back to me with that same disinterested look he’d gotten when I’d suggested this whole thing. “That’s nice,” he deadpanned at me.

“Dude, c’mon, have you seen that rack?” I complained. Cass got all the good attention and he didn’t even appreciate it.

“I’m more interested in your rack,” he said, taking a bored pull from his beer.

“I don’t have-” I started to sputter and stopped myself. Now was not the time, because a woman in a very short skirt had just walked into the bar, looking like she was on the prowl. “Okay, things just got interesting.”

Cass rolled his eyes. “Can I go home yet?”

“Whaddya mean, go home?”

“I mean that I have no intention of watching you shamelessly flirt with that young woman,” he informed me.

“Uh, dude, that’s why we’re here,” I protested.

“It’s why you’re here,” he corrected me. “I just came along to enjoy our date.”

“I’m sorry, our what now?”

“Our date,” he repeated, not explaining at all.

“We came here to pick up women,” I tried explaining.

“No, you ditched Sam, took me to dinner, then took me to a bar for a ‘nightcap’,” he told me, and actually that was a fairly accurate description of our night.

So there hadn’t been a lot flirting with the ladies. It was still early, and there just hadn’t been that many women of interest in the bar, so Cass and I had been talking, playing darts, and doing other best friend stuff.

It seemed like a date, but that was just ‘cause… uh, the women, right, there were no women to flirt with, so we were flirting with each- I mean so we were hanging out with each other like usual. And yeah I took him to a diner first, ‘cause bar food was crap, and yeah I paid, because I always paid because Cass didn’t have any money. And I stole some of his fries off of his plate and he did that eye flash thing to try and get me to stop, but it kinda turned me on and we played footsie under the table, but it was all very platonic, non-gay footsie.

You knew it was non-gay, ‘cause here we were now, ready to pick up some women.

Well, I was ready.

Cass could do whatever he wanted.

So I told him so.

He stared at me for a long moment. When he finally spoke, he seemed tired. “So you would like me to have intercourse with a woman?”

“Or a dude, whatever, I don’t judge.”

I could actually feel his eye roll.

“Fine,” he said.

I had been opening my mouth to argue, but now I was just confused. “…fine…?”

“Yes, fine,” he said, pushing out of his seat. “That woman earlier seemed prepared to mate with me.”

“Jesus Christ, Cass, don’t call it mating…”

“I will call it whatever I want to call it,” he said, picking his drink up off the bar and sauntering away like he was some smooth, attractive dude who was good at picking up chicks.

This was fucking ridiculous.

Cass flashed those baby blues at the chick in the low-cut top, and all the sudden she was inviting him to sit next to her, and they were talking easily, and she kept leaning forward to give him a nice view, and he was looking, I could goddamn see him looking, and I was…

...proud…?

Nope, that definitely wasn’t what I was feeling.

I was pretty sure I was seething.

Well, two could play at this game.

Except instead of getting out of my seat and going to flirt on my own, all I could do was watch Cass and this nameless chick.

Why was she touching his arm?

Why was he laughing?

Was he really going to go home with her?

It irritated me.

Obviously because Cass was getting lucky and I wasn’t.

Cass could fuck whoever he wanted.

It was fine, I didn’t care.

In fact, after one more beer, no make that a shot, I was going to get up and flirt with Short Skirt.

“Dean,” a voice growled in my ear.

“Huh?” I said, my reaction time weirdly slow.

“Get in the car.”

“But uh, whattabout your date?” I asked, definitely not being jealous.

“You are my date,” he reminded me.

“This isn’t a date,” I protested lamely.

“Get in the car,” he repeated. “I’m tired of these stupid games and I will have you now.”

“Oh,” I said, not relieved at all. “So we’re gonna…” I trailed off, then just mimed a blow job.

“Yes,” he said, irritated and frustrated and exasperated and all the -ed’s.

“Awesome,” I said, slapping some cash down on the bar to cover our tab.

Then I went out to the car and let Cass have his way with me in the backseat.

- 5 -

I woke up warm and safe, which as usual, sent me into a panic.

“Gotta… coffee,” I decided, trying to disentangle myself from Cass’s octopus hold. I’d gotten a foot on the ground even though there was still an arm around my chest, but suddenly I was being yanked back into bed.

“It’s not time to get up,” a voice growled in my ear.

Fuck, Cass had a very sexy morning voice. “You don’t gotta sleep,” I complained, trying to squirm away from him.

“I find that resting with you gives me a feeling of ‘recharging’,” he hummed, worming his way back into my arms and resting his cheek against my chest.

Why did we just fit together like this? “Coffee,” I protested.

“Later,” he assured me, pressing a sleepy kiss into my skin.

“This is non-consensual cuddling,” I muttered. How had I gotten trapped here? Every morning I ran out on Cass, and every morning he let me… which wasn’t as shitty as it sounded. I mean, it’s not like I kicked him out of bed. I just left.

Not as shitty as it sounded.

Anyway, Cass was forcing cuddles on me which was actually pretty shitty, except that he was so warm and huggy and I was asleep.

I woke up irritated, my arms reaching for the warmth.

“I have to go,” Cass apologized, kissing my forehead and easily pulling out of my grip on his arm.

I didn’t whine.

“Heaven ‘shit’,” he explained, and I knew he was quoting me.

“It can wait,” I muttered, still reaching for him.

“I’m afraid it can’t,” he said, giving me a soft smile. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“What, in a few weeks?” I complained, starting to feel more awake.

“I hope not,” he assured me.

I frowned up at him.

He leaned in, kissing my eyelid.

Jesus, when did we start doing shit like this, and when did I start liking it?

“I love you,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I’ll see you soon.”

My face felt very warm as he disappeared. I tried to settle back into sleep, but the bed that had felt so comfortable a couple of minutes ago just felt empty now.

I decided to finally get my damn coffee, a glance at my alarm clock telling me that it was a lot later than I expected.

Sam caught my scent on the way to the kitchen and followed me in.

“You gonna sleep the day away?” he tried to joke.

Why did he have his serious face on?

Oh, shit, did he know?

Did he know?

He didn’t know.

Did he?

Sam leaned against the counter, all fake casual. “So Cass carried you in from the garage last night.”

How the hell did he know that? We’d been at the bar pretty late, then we’d been in the parking lot for… a while.

Dean, do you think you can come again?

Cass was a persistent guy, I’d give him that. Singularly dedicated.

Anyway, I was exhausted and I fell asleep afterwards, and Cass was a friggin’ angel and all, so it was really no big deal if he… wait, he literally carried me inside? Fireman’s carry or princess style?

I definitely wasn’t going to ask Sam, and he was starting to look at me funny.

Deflect, deflect!

“Jealous?” I shot back.

Wait, what?

No, that wasn’t…

“Of what?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Ya know, of the uh fun times me an’ Cass had,” I said, and dammit, NO. I was losing control of the situation. Need to get things back on track. “Pickin’ up ladies.”

“Cass picked up ladies?” he asked flatly.

“Kinda,” I said. We’d sort of had it out between round one and round two, and it turned out that the chick with the nice rack had definitely been interested, and he had to politely turn her down because he was only interested in me.

Which was weird, but whatever. Kinda nice. Mostly weird.

Cass was a weird guy.

Sam let out a very loud sigh. “Dean.”

“What?” I complained, cradling my coffee cup in front of me defensively.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Shit, he knew. Why did he always know?

He couldn’t possibly know.

“Doing what?” I asked, leveling him with a hard stare and daring him to say it.

“The drinking, Dean,” he said, exasperated.

“Huh?”

Sam’s frown deepened. ��You’re turning into Dad.”

“Wow, Sammy, really?” I asked incredulously.

“You were so drunk last night you let Cass drive Baby and carry you to your bed bridal-style.”

Well, that answered that question.

“Dude, I wasn’t drunk,” I shot back, annoyed.

Sam did not appear to believe me.

“I was in a sex coma,” I explained.

“A sex… coma…”

“An inexperienced young lady such as yourself wouldn’t understand, but when you-”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you were drunk.”

“Um, yeah it does, because Cass won’t even have sex with me if I’m drunk, so-” I screeched to a halt.

“Why would you want to…” Sam trailed off, his brow creased in concentration.

Abort, abort.

How did I get out of this one?

“Cass won’t let me have sex. With ladies. When I’m drunk. Because consent,” was the genius explanation I came up with it.

Sammy still looked like he was doing quadratic equations in his head. Then his eyes widened.

Nope, nope, nope. “That’s why I need boxes of condoms. To have sex with all the ladies. When you’re not drunk you can, you know, go for round two. Or three. With chicks. In their vaginas.”

“Stop talking, Dean.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Sam sank into the chair across from me at the table. “You and Cass…”

“No,” I said very assuredly.

Sam groaned, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t wrap my mind around this.”

“There’s nothing to wrap around,” I said firmly. Certainly not my thighs around Cass’s waist. Which had been happening a lot lately and I didn’t really know how to feel about that, but now was certainly not the time to unpack all that.

Sam breathed in deeply and let it out slowly.

I suddenly felt… shame? Or that Sam was ashamed of me? Was that what this was? Well, Sammy had always been ashamed of me, just more for the non-politically correctness and the alcohol and the gambling, less the sexuality thing.

He seemed to read my mind, sitting up straight and quickly sputtering out, “hey, you know I’m weirded out that it’s Cass, not ‘cause Cass is a dude, right?”

“I uh…” I trailed off, not sure how to respond.

“I mean, I know he’s been in love with you forever and all, but I always thought it was unrequited?”

“Hey, no reason to bring up the L-word,” I said, feeling supremely uncomfortable. “Unless we’re talking Jenny Schecter,” I attempted to joke, but it was starting to feel harder to breathe for some reason.

Sam’s eyes went all puppy dog. “I’m sorry, I’m being an ass. I’m really happy you told me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” I said, looking around the room at anywhere but that sympathetic face.

“Okay,” he agreed in that pacifying way of his that meant he didn’t believe me at all. “Just know you can always talk to me? About anything?”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” I said, standing up and taking my mug to the sink. I washed it and then put it in the dish rack to dry.

Sam was still sitting at the table, wagging his little puppy dog tail at me.

I got out of there as fast as I could.

- 6 -

“Is it truly worth being upset over?” Cass mused, stroking his fingers through my hair.

I was sitting on the floor between Cass’s open legs while he sat on the couch. It was weirdly comfortable, especially with the hair stroking and all.

Also, it was easier to talk when I didn’t have to look into his eyes.

“I’m not upset,” I explained. “I’m… whatever, it shouldn’t have come out of my mouth.”

“Well I’m glad that he knows,” he said, nudging my cheek with his knee.

“He doesn’t know anything,” I growled. “He thinks that we’re fucking.”

“We are fucking, Dean.”

“No, but like he thinks that we’re a couple.”

“We are a couple, Dean.”

“What?” I asked incredulously. “We are not a couple.”

“Oh.”

I was definitely not going to turn around to see what kind of look was on his face.

Which was a mistake, because it was probably smug as fuck.

“So why are we sitting like this?” he asked, that smarminess leaking through every syllable.

“Whaddya mean, why are we sitting like this?”

“I thought physical proximity paired with intimate touches was something only shared by couples.”

“This is hardly intimate,” I tried to protest.

Cass took his touch away.

I swallowed down a whine. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction.

“Something wrong, Dean?”

“Shaddup,” I muttered.

He scraped his fingers through my scalp again, giving my whole body a pleasant tingle, and then he was tugging gently, guiding the back of my head to rest on his thigh.

Dammit, I was looking right into his eyes.

“Shall I do this for Sam?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at me. The strokes of his fingers had gotten slower, more deliberate. “As an expression of our friendship, since apparently this form of touch is completely platonic.”

I glared at him. “Don’t be a smartass.”

“Then stop telling me that we’re not on a date, that we are not in a relationship, that you don’t feel the same way about me…”

I looked away from him.

His fingers paused, resting in my hair. He tapped my chin with his free hand.

I let my eyes meet his again, but it was under protest. “Why do you gotta make such a big deal about everything?”

“Because it’s a big deal to me,” he said, and I could see the hurt crinkling around his eyes.

“Cass,” I sighed, not wanting to deal with All This.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, looking vulnerable.

I assumed that he meant the whole hair-stroking thing, but he could have been talking about anything from drinking the last of the coffee without brewing a new pot, to his recent habit of picking me up off the ground because he was too impatient to wait for me to walk to the bed.

Anyway, the answer was mostly the same.

I shook my head.

A little smile tugged at the corner of Cass’s mouth, but he didn’t look happy.

I was just the worst piece of shit sometimes.

I sat up, turning to face him better. “Let’s go for a drive or something.”

Cass’s head tilted to the side, his expression that of a perpetually confused angel.

“We can maybe swing by the movies, see what’s playing?” I suggested, waiting for understanding to dawn.

It took a little longer than I hoped, but when it did, Cass’s smile seemed to light up his face. “I’d like that,” he agreed, not even mentioning the D-word.

I decided to change since we were going out, so I upgraded my holy jeans for slightly less-holy jeans, and tugged on a clean t-shirt.

“You look nice,” Cass said as we walked to the garage.

He just said it so casually that it made me tongue-tied. “Thanks,” was all I could manage to get out.

I wasn’t going to return the compliment. Not that Cass didn’t look nice, because he kind of looked amazing out of the trenchcoat and into his own jeans and t-shirt, but there was absolutely no reason to tell another dude how ‘nice’ he looked, even if he…

“You look good,” I murmured into Cass’s ear before strapping on my seatbelt and keeping my eyes laser-focused in front of me.

Cass seemed pleased, and we could all just leave it at that.

I let him pick the movie, which was probably a mistake, because of course he picked a chick flick no matter how much I tried to teach him the ways of having good taste in movies. But it was kind of a weird chick flick with a surprising amount of action, and it was more about mothers and daughters than about romance, which wasn’t anything I could relate to, but it was kinda interesting despite the theater being mostly empty.

Cass and I got the last row to ourselves, so it didn’t feel so weird to keep my arm over the back of his seat, or to share my coke with him even though it only had one straw.

No one was watching us.

No one cared.

Cass was watching the credits with the same delighted expression he’d had plastered on his face through the entire movie.

I leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

His smiled widened.

As we walked back towards the lobby to toss our trash, I let the back of my hand brush against his.

It was the stupid movie’s fault.

“I really enjoyed it,” Cass said cheerfully, pushing the empty popcorn cup into the trash.

“It didn’t suck like I thought it would,” I agreed.

“You could just say that you liked it.”

I sighed, holding the door open for him. “I liked it,” I admitted with a roll of my eyes.

“See?” Cass said, looking pleased.

“Whatever,” I muttered. I pulled my keys from my pocket and unlocked Baby.

“It is not ‘whatever’, Dean, it is ‘yes, Castiel, you’re right’,” he said, doing an impression of me that was really just his regular voice and a frown.

“Ha,” I replied, sliding into the front seat.

“I know you,” he continued to complain as he sat down next to me, strapping on his seat belt. “I know the things you don’t allow yourself to like.”

“Thanks, Carl Jung, but I’d rather get laid than psychoanalyzed on a date,” I grumbled.

Oh.

Cass didn’t say anything, but I could see that damn smirk out of the corner of my eye.

Couldn’t take the d-word back now, just had to make sure it didn’t happen again.

It wasn’t going to happen again.

It absolutely, positively wasn’t going to happen again.

- 7 -

Sam had found us a case, so we were all sitting in the library, reading ancient tomes about friggin’ centaurs.

“I mean, they’re basically talking horses,” I complained. “Do we really gotta take out Mr. Ed?”

“Three people are dead, Dean,” Sam informed me in his bitchiest tone.

“Yeah, three dude-bro assholes,” I pointed out.

“Perhaps we can find a way to take them back to Thessaly,” Cass suggested.

“See,” I said, gesturing to Sam.

He just rolled his eyes at me, before burying his nose in his book again.

He’d kinda been doing that all night.

It was the first time the three of us were all together since my diarrhea of the mouth the other day, and I couldn’t help but wonder…

Cass caught me looking at Sam anxiously, and he nudged my foot with his under the table.

I’d taught him that move. I did it to him when he was in his head about something.

He mouthed something at me.

I frowned.

‘He doesn’t care,’ he mouthed more slowly.

‘How do you know?’ I prayed at him.

‘We talked,’ he mouthed, like that was supposed to give me any comfort.

“What, so you two are conspiring behind my back now?” I growled.

Sam looked up from his book, shooting a nervous glance between me and Cass.

“Why are you such a dramatic queen?” Cass asked.

Sam guffawed at that.

“It’s ‘drama’ queen,” I groaned.

“That, too,” Cass agreed.

Sam guffawed more loudly.

I did not like this.

I did not like this at all.

I slammed my book shut and stood up rapidly.

“Dean.”

Cass’s voice was soothing, like he was talking to a frightened animal.

Abort.

A strong hand caught my arm as I rounded the table.

“I apologize, my teasing was inappropriate,” Cass offered. “Stay.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, took one look at Cass, and shut it again.

Interesting…

But I was still in fight-or-flight, and Cass was really friggin’ strong, no matter how hard I nonchalantly tried to escape his grip.

“Dean, the case…” Sam finally put in lamely.

“I think you two nerds got it covered.”

“Yes, but we enjoy your company,” Cass said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah? This ball of sunshine?” I asked.

“I certainly wouldn’t call you that,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “That would be… hot and unpleasant.”

I wanted to make a dirty joke, but I was keenly aware that Sammy was sitting right there.

Which was stupid.

Because I loved making dirty jokes in front of Sam, since he either laughed along with me or was a complete priss and got all put out, which was equally hilarious.

So why couldn’t I…?

“I’m not gay,” I blurted out.

The matching looks of sympathy I received for that verbal diarrhea only served to set me more on edge.

I started backing away. “I’m not,” I insisted.

“No one said that you were,” Cass said gently.

I turned to glare at Sam. “He says it with his eyes.”

“What?” he bristled at me. “Dude, I never-”

“I read ya loud and clear,” I said, glaring harder.

“Dean, it’s Sam,” Cass said, sounding exasperated.

I looked at him, ready to go off, but those damn eyes batted up at me, and then I was turning into a pathetic ball of mush. “Yeah, it’s Sam,” I said in a much more broken tone than I intended.

And Cass got it immediately, giving me the most puppy dog eyes of all puppy dog eyes. “Dean, he doesn’t think any less of you.”

I scoffed at that.

“Is that what you think?” Sam cut in, giving Cass a run for his money on who had the most pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“Whatever, man,” I muttered. “‘Overcompensating’. That’s the word, right? Dean, the giant fairy?”

And Sam looked guilty, proving my point exactly.

I moved to leave.

“I’m an ass,” Sam declared.

“Yeah, well,” I agreed.

“I didn’t… I’m an ass,” he reasserted. “I know we joke around and stuff, but I shouldn’t… there’s just some things you don’t say, and I get that now.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, not sure of how much more of this kumbayah bullshit I could take. “I don’t care.”

Sam and Cass exchanged long-suffering looks.

I narrowed my eyes at them, but Cass was using his angelic strength to tug me into the chair next to him.

“Look, if I had known that you really were-” Sam tried to say.

“I really was what?” I asked, my voice dropping about an octave to Threat Threat Abort Abort.

Samuel did not get the message.

“You know, that you’re-”

I glanced at Cass. “Did you just kick him under the table?”

“No,” he deadpanned at me.

I felt myself start to smile.

“I’m glad that you’re enjoying my pain,” Sam muttered, his face all scrunched up.

It was less about Sam and more about Cass, but he didn’t need to know that. Because yes, kicking people was always funny.

I kind of wanted to kiss Cass, but that would be weird.

“Can you just not make a big deal out of everything?” I settled on.

“How am I-”

“We don’t have to have a Winchester hug-it-out moment over me and Cass fucking, okay?”

“It’s not about-”

“I’m bi, okay? Not gay.”

Sam looked relieved. “Okay.”

“Cass and I don’t do gay stuff,” I explained.

“…what…?” Sam asked, looking panicked again.

Cass sighed loudly.

I ignored them both, flipping open a book.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re gonna hafta explain that one,” Sam complained.

“Do you want the sordid details of our sex life?” I asked, not looking up because I really didn’t want to look at either one of them at the moment.

“God, no,” he said, “but… I mean, you’re two dudes, so…”

“We don’t do butt stuff,” I explained succinctly. That should cover it.

“Um, I’m really going to regret asking this, but um… what do you do then? To have uh non-gay sex?”

“We do dick stuff,” I said, because duh, obviously.

I couldn’t see his face, but I could still feel the contortions he was putting it through before he finally said, “so uh, no, wait, sorry, um… what?”

I had really failed Sammy on sex education, which was kind of embarrassing, but more on his part, because honestly, I’d educated him plenty and he’d just covered his ears and did his best not to listen.

“We do stuff like you do with a chick,” I explained. “Just, there’s two dicks instead of a chick.”

“But the two dicks together are not… gay…?” Sam tried to reason out.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“It says here that centaurs do not handle their wine very well,” Cass put in.

“So you want us to party with them?” I asked, happy to move away from my conversation with Sam and back to the supernatural.

“Well, it could perhaps serve as a distraction,” he reasoned.

Sam still looked like he was having a coronary, but everything was back on track.

#isola that river in egypt #dean&cass #fanfiction #dean being dean

1 note · View note

imagineteller1 · 2 years ago

Text

This is all I could think of in the brownie scene and then he actually said it and I squealed. Dean being hard headed as always because he doesn’t realize his worth 💔 Thank you for another amazing chapter!

Never Say Goodbye - Part 10

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

AN: Bear in mind, season 2 aired/took place circa 2006, so references like iPods are going to be dated lol.

Word Count: 5,500 Warnings: M-rated chapter ahead—18+ only! Angst, smut, fluff, and feels. Oh yeah, and kidnapping.

Part 10: Worthy

In the months after John Winchester’s death, Sam and Dean spent even more time on the road than before. Hunting down the demon, as well as trying to find the Colt.

You helped them the best you could with research on their various cases. However, now that you had been promoted to Library Curator at the museum, you had even more access to scholarly research and ancient texts, but even less time on your hands.

If you were honest (and you weren’t), it was getting harder to balance your real job and Sam and Dean’s requests. But you knew if you said so, Dean would never ask you for help again. At the end of the day, it kept you connected to them. And you liked helping out.

The next time the brothers came home marked a few months shy of two years since you’d met Dean. When they were a day’s drive away, he called you to ask you something he’d never asked before…

He wanted to take you out to dinner.

You had cooked for him before. He had cooked for you. You two had ordered in and gone to grab dinner with Sam in tow. But in almost two years, you and Dean had never gone on an actual dinner date, getting dressed up, just the two of you.

Needless to say, you were very excited…but you also had no idea what to wear.

Dean had seen you in the professional blouses, slacks, and skirts you wore for work. He’d seen you in ratty old college shirts and yoga pants while slurping ramen noodles from a plastic cup. He’d also seen you in nothing but one of his old buttoned-down shirts, and then, in nothing at all.

But he’d never seen you dressed to kill. That wasn’t to say you couldn’t pull it off, because you most certainly could. It had just…been a while.

So you dove into the shadowy recesses of your closet and searched for something you knew he hadn’t seen before. And you might’ve gone to the mall and bought a couple new pieces of lingerie, just in case the night went really well.

You were grateful Dean gave you a full day’s notice. It gave you the time to mentally prepare, but you still had to call him again to verify a few things.

“Okay, but where are we going?” you asked. “Casual dressy or dressy, dressy?”

Dean chuckled. “I have no idea what that means.”

He sounded tired to you, but the playful note in his voice still made you smile.

“It means just tell me where we’re going,” you said with a laugh.

“Nope,” he refused. “But here’s what I can do for you. I’ll be leaving the leather jacket at home this time.”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Okay. That’s something, at least. Man, you really are the worst with these little guessing games.”

“I think you mean the best,” he joked. “Remember, I’ll be there by seven tomorrow.”

You let out an annoyed huff. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He was still laughing when you hung up on him. You now had a plan though.

The next day was a Friday. You were able to get off work right at five, but that still only gave you two hours to shower and fix yourself up. Not nearly enough time, you lamented, but you made it work.

Your dad, blessedly, was working late again. So you had the house to yourself as you played your music loudly and danced to the beat while you finished up your makeup.

Then around seven, a knock sounded at the front door. Wow, he’s actually on time.

You swallowed a small swell of nerves in your throat. Stop being silly, you told yourself. And you were careful in your heels on your way down the stairs. You checked yourself real quick in the mirror, just to make sure your hair and everything else was in place. Then you looked into the door’s peephole.

With a smile, you unlocked and opened the door. Dean was there to greet you with a familiar grin, and then his eyes went wide at the sight of you. You crossed your arms and leaned on the door frame.

“We’re all stocked up on Girl Scout cookies, thanks,” you teased. Dean’s grin kicked up into a smirk.

“I’m not here to sell you anything, sweetheart,” he said. His hot gaze took you in—from your softly curled hair to your dark red lipstick, to the black suede dress that clung to your every curve and fell to mid-thigh, and finally down to your scarlet red heels. Then his eyes traveled all the way back up to yours.

“But I’ll bet you could get me to sell my soul with just those heels,” he said.

Your brain stuttered to a halt. You couldn’t help but blush at the flirtatious depths in his voice, overlayed with a fine layer of charm. It didn’t take much for Dean to turn it on, but when he did, you could guess how many panty-dropping one liners he’d had in his arsenal before he met you.

And he’d cleaned up nicely himself. True to his word, he’d forgone his typical leather jacket (though you were fond of it) for a solid black jacket. He’d paired it with a charcoal gray button-down and some dark wash jeans. (You suspected that Sam had given some pointers for this ensemble.)

His familiar pendant still hung from his neck though, along with his mom’s ring on his right hand. He was still Dean, but he looked good enough to eat.

His smirk deepened, and you realized he’d likely heard that thought.

Damn it.

You hadn’t seen him in a long time, so you forgot you’d have to pull your thoughts back from the soul bond sometimes. Right now though, it was all you could do to stop from dragging him into the house and kissing him senseless.

Dean shook you out of your thoughts when his hands found the curve of your waist. You looked up at him, holding onto the edges of his jacket.

“Sam’s not joining us for dinner?” you asked innocently, while knowing full well he wasn’t. Dean leaned down to brush his lips against your cheek, down to your neck where he caught the pleasant, sexy scent of your perfume. He felt you shudder a bit at the sensation of his lips across your skin.

“Nope. It’s adults only tonight,” he said. Pressed against him as you were, you felt the reverberation of his voice in your chest. It was a very pleasant sensation that pooled warmth in your lower belly, and down between your legs.

Dean came back to your lips, letting his ghost over yours. He didn’t want to ruin that pretty red lipstick (but he also really, really did).

You played into it; your smile brushed against his lips while your fingers dragged down his chest. “Then, maybe you should take me…”

You shifted on your feet, letting your thigh graze between his legs. You felt his fingers dig into the small of your back, and you reached back to grab his hand and unwrap his arms from your body.

“…To this mystery restaurant,” you said. “‘Cause I’m really freakin’ hungry.”

You flashed him a smile and slipped between him and the front door. You tossed him your house keys so he could lock it. As you walked down the driveway toward the Impala, you felt his disbelief, a lance of annoyance, but also his amusement. And a hot flare of desire while he watched you walk away from him.

You crossed your arms again and leaned against the passenger door of the Impala while you waited for Dean. He locked the front door and returned to the Impala while pointing a finger at you.

“You play too much,” he said. Your smile deepened.

As it turned out, he didn’t take you to the most expensive restaurant in town, or just to the local diner either. It was a nice Columbian steakhouse that ended up being the perfect place for both of you: a cozy atmosphere with Latin music, a historically Columbian-owned restaurant, and an interesting culture of food for you to enjoy—and a series of revolving smoked meats for Dean.

You noticed though, that while your boyfriend was enthusiastic about the food, he still seemed off somehow. His smiles didn’t always meet his eyes, and while he looked great, he also looked tired. He didn’t have 100% of his usual swagger going on, and that was enough cause for concern. From what Sam had told you, Dean had been doing better in working through their father’s death.

“Dean.” You laid a hand on his knee while he put yet another cheese bun into his mouth. You earned his attention regardless. “You okay? You seem…I don’t know. Tired.”

He shook his head and thankfully answered after he swallowed. “Nah, just a long drive. What, you’re not having fun?”

You smiled. “No, I am. I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

Dean smiled back. “I’m good, baby.”

But you could tell he was hiding something—from the bond, and from you. You frowned at him.

“Dean, we’ve been over this,” you said in a quiet, but firm voice. “You don’t have to lie to me. Whatever it is, I can handle it. You can trust me.”

After a moment, Dean’s pleasant expression faded. A more genuine, rueful smile overtook his features. He took your hand from his knee and pressed it to his lips. He looked down for a few seconds, just thinking, and you gave him the time he needed to do it.

He appreciated that about you. Though you were a curious person by nature, and stubborn about it, in moments like this you never rushed him. You gave him room to breathe.

“Do you know what a djinn is?” he asked.

You blinked at him in curiosity. That wasn’t at all what you’d expected him to say.

“Yeah. I mean, djinn, genies—they’re all over Middle Eastern mythology,” you said, and with a more teasing smile, “And not just in Aladdin.”

Dean inclined his head. “Very good, Professor.”

“I’m guessing they’re real too?” you asked.

“Yeah, nasty sombitches,” he confirmed. He explained that with just one touch, a djinn could propel you into a fantasy of your own making. A dream world, where you can have the life you’ve always dreamed of—at the price of getting your blood sucked dry in the real world.

You grimaced. “Ech. Sounds like a party.”

“Yeah, it’s freakin’ Disneyland,” Dean quipped.

“I’m assuming you and Sam ran into a djinn?” you said.

Dean nodded. His gaze fell away from you as his thoughts drifted back to that world. That place where his family was more or less whole. Where his mom was still alive, and his family had never been sucked into hunting. Where Dean had met you while on a road trip with his dad and married you a year later. Where his little brother had become a lawyer and Dean a firefighter.

His father had died too soon in that world too, but it hadn’t been a gruesome, lonely death caused by a demon. The only real obstacle in that perfect world had been that he’d drifted away from his little brother. They didn’t have a great relationship in that world, but it wasn’t anything that they couldn’t overcome with a few beers and a couple of heart-to-hearts in the Impala.

But it hadn’t been real.

Dean explained all of this to you over dessert, and you listened with rapt attention. You felt all the emotions he couldn’t readily express.

“I saw what my life could’ve been like,” he admitted. “And I wanted it, more than anything.”

“But this is what’s real, and you chose it,” you said. “That’s what matters.”

Dean didn’t look convinced. You were grateful that he shared this with you, but you could also tell that this had been plaguing his mind. You also didn’t want him to have to wallow in it anymore. What you wanted was to help perk him up, or distract him somehow…

So when he dipped his spoon into the large chocolate brownie in front of him, you parried his spoon with yours and stole his scoop. He looked up at you with raised, incredulous brows.

“What just happened here?” he asked.

You shrugged, smiling as you licked your spoon clean. Dean’s lips pressed together, but in the name of keeping the night pleasant, he decided to let it go.

Once again, he delved into the brownie. And once again, you took his piece with your own spoon, even taking a bit of vanilla ice cream with it.

“This is really good,” you said, humming in delight. “You should try some.”

Dean quirked his head at you. He didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused.

“I’m tryin’,” he wryly replied. With a purposeful hand, he wielded his spoon and took a nice corner piece. Sure enough, your spoon came in to intercept him. But his left hand closed around your wrist. His gaze flicked up to yours.

“You’re playin’ with fire here, sweetheart,” he warned. You went for your glass of wine with your free hand and took a sip.

“Am I?” you asked. “I thought we agreed to share.”

He leaned in close, until there were mere inches between your faces. “I don’t share food.”

You took his challenge for what it was, and you leaned in until your lips were nearly brushing his.

“Fine,” you said. Then you sat back and sipped at your wine again. You seemed to have no further interest in dessert, so Dean nodded to himself and raised the corner piece of brownie to his lips.

Only to have you snatch his spoon from his hand and take the bite yourself. You washed it down with some water this time. While Dean sat back in shock, you offered him a smile.

“This’s a great place. We should definitely come back here,” you said.

For a moment, all Dean could do was stare at his damn-near empty plate. When he gathered himself, he looked over at you and smiled dangerously.

“Yeah, we should,” he agreed.

You finished your wine while Dean paid for the meal. He wouldn’t accept your money even though you offered to pay half. He asked you out, so he should pay, he reasoned. (He also ordered an extra brownie to-go.)

Anticipation ran down your spine the longer it took to get back to the car. You could feel his silent simmer, but also his patience. You knew he wasn’t going to let you get away with teasing him, but you also knew he was waiting for the right moment. Most likely when you two had some real privacy.

But before you could open the passenger side door of the Impala, Dean’s hand stopped you. You let him maneuver you around and press you against the door, and you held onto his jacket for balance. You grinned when he bent down and claimed your lips with his own, demanding, sensuous, and greedy.

You clung to his arms as he basically devoured you in the restaurant’s parking lot. His hands were hot on your hips, then kneading your butt, pulling you flush against him as your fingers curled into his hair.

You hadn’t taken Dean for a PDA kind of guy; he was very private about who knew you were together. But then again, it wasn’t too often that you two went out in public, considering this was the first proper date you and Dean had ever been on.

“You’re in so much trouble,” he said against your lips, but the effect was kind of lost when you could feel his amusement and searing desire. You giggled against him.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I can deal with that.”

He pinched your butt, making you yelp and tighten your hand in his hair on reflex. He groaned into your mouth.

“Take me home,” you said. Dean nodded, but he was reluctant to let go of you. Eventually he withdrew his hands and opened the passenger side door for you.

First, you smoothed down his jacket and wiped away some of the lipstick from his mouth and chin with your thumb. His charming, full-watt Dean grin was back, and it warmed you up from the inside out.

That night, in your bed, you and Dean made up for months of separation. You were starved for his touch, and Dean realized that with no small measure of guilt.

He tried to focus on being here with you, but in the back of his mind, he still felt like he was somehow taking something from you when he made love to you. Like that hit and run you once accused him of.

This is what Dad warned me about, he couldn’t help but think.

You both laid on your bed together afterwards, dewy with sweat and a hand on your chest to calm your racing heart. But as great as it had been for you, you knew that Dean was distracted again.

The moment you heard him think about his father, it brought you back to that day in the hospital.

“I’m sorry I told you not to go after her a few years ago,” John had said.

But why? You sat up against the headboard, bringing the sheets up to cover yourself. Meanwhile, Dean was coming back from freshening up in the bathroom. He then started tinkering with your iPod and speaker on your nightstand. But he frowned while scrolling through most of the songs.

Ugh. Avril Lavigne. Really? You heard him think to himself. A smile threatened to curve your lips as he continued to grumble at your playlist. But eventually he settled on “Going to California” by Led Zeppelin. That was neutral ground you could both agree on.

“Dean,” you found yourself saying, before you could think about it. He joined you back in bed, sitting beside you.

“When I was fourteen, I remember it snowed the day of my mom’s funeral,” you continued. “I was standing there in the cemetery when it started. I was…well, a wreck. I looked up at the flurries, and I heard something.”

It’s not fair!

“I didn’t realize it then, but I think I was hearing you for the first time.” You looked over at Dean, and he met your gaze.

“Sam and I were carted off to Bobby’s a few times when we were kids,” he admitted. “It’s possible.”

You gathered your courage, and you asked the question you had been holding onto for almost a year.

“Did you ever…hear me? Before last year.”

Dean sensed that this was a leading question. You already knew something, or at least thought you did. He sighed.

You sat up straighter and faced him.

“Talk to me,” you implored. Dean hesitated, but after a moment, he answered.

“It was around seven…eight years ago now. I was working a case with my dad near your school. That university.”

You thought back, and it must’ve been when you were getting your bachelor’s degree. Dean explained that he was about twenty-three, making you twenty at the time. And he started to feel you, hear you. It freaked him the hell out.

“A killer dog nearly took my head off because…anyway, the point is, I figured out what it was,” he said.

“But you left,” you said, both hurt and angry. “Why the hell didn’t you reach out to me?”

“My dad told me something,” Dean said. “He said I shouldn’t bring you into my life if I couldn’t hang up my gun. You know what…he was right.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. “How can you say that?”

“Look at what’s happening,” he said. “I’m on the road with Sam tryin’ to hunt this demon, pulling you away from your job with research, dragging you out in the middle of the night because I’m on death’s door. It’s enough!”

You didn’t like the sharpness in his tone, or the stubborn look in his eyes. That was another thing you’d learned about Dean. When he got an idea of something in his head, a conviction, he wasn’t going to let it go in a hurry.

Too frustrated to remain in bed, Dean got up and started dressing. You watched him put on his underwear and jeans in disbelief. But you stole his gray dress shirt before he could put it on. He wasn’t about to leave you like this.

So you put on the shirt yourself and stood in his way.

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he told you.

“Who says?” you challenged. “We’re doing what works for us.”

“That’s my point. It’s not working. And it’s not fair to you.”

“When have I ever asked for fair?” You wanted to know. You had never complained, never asked anything of him except for two things: to keep in touch with you, and not to lie to you.

“This WiFi connection goes both ways, remember?” he countered. “You can try hiding it all you want, but you hate this long-distance crap. Pretty soon you’re gonna start hating me…and shit. I wouldn’t blame you.”

You didn’t know what to make of that resigned look on his face, but it struck at your heart.

You hefted a sharp sigh. “Didn’t you say that this was just temporary? That after you and Sam killed the Yellow Eyed demon, then you could come home?”

“It took Dad our whole lives just to track Yellow Eyes down,” Dean said. “Then it killed him.”

So he was saying this could take his whole life too. Part of you knew that, but you didn’t want to accept the reality that you could be living half a life with him forever.

You didn’t realize it then, but Dean took your silence as a sign.

“Look, I get it,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not like we can just…cut the cord here. But I’d understand if you don’t want to keep doing this.”

For a moment, you stared at him uncomprehendingly. But if he’d just taken half a second to look at your face—to read the truth in your roiling emotions, he wouldn’t have kept running his mouth.

“Truth his, you deserve better than what I got to give,” he said. His hand raised to card through his hair, an anxious gesture. You knew in the way his eyes shifted away.

A tremor of disbelief and dismay coursed through you.

What he had to give.

A man who'd first offered his protection while barely even knowing you. Who comforted you when you needed him, and celebrated your achievements instead of belittling them. Who believed in you when you told him about working yourself up at the museum. Who empowered you to hold your ground, and speak up for yourself.

A man who'd rather be alone than keep hurting you.

“Baby,” you tried, grasping his arm. Still, he didn’t quite meet your gaze.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said.

You pushed him back with both hands on his bare chest when he tried to get around you. “Stop!”

He said your name in a sharp warning. You shook your head stubbornly.

“Do you want me out of your life?” you asked. “Is that really what you want?”

Dean finally looked down at you, his mouth pressed in a firm line, his brows crunched over his eyes…but he couldn’t answer you.

“Then stop it!” you said. “Just fucking stop it. I’m tired of hearing you think that you’re not good enough.”

Dean’s expression slackened.

“Stop lying to yourself,” you said sternly. “I don’t care what you think I want. Whatever ‘together’ means for us is what we’re going to do. Because you are worth it.”

That was your conviction. He'd been fighting for his family his entire life. And now for you, in a way. So the least you could do was fight for him.

“Yeah, it’s really fucking hard right now. On both of us,” you said with a nod. “But if you think I’m going to let go just because of that, then you don’t know me at all yet, Dean.”

Your frown solidified into a look of determination.

“But goddamn it, you’re gonna learn.”

His mouth fell open a bit, and his soft surprise gave way to shock when you rocked forward, taking his face between your hands. He accepted your hard kiss, the uncharacteristic way you demanded from him, claimed his lips and his tongue, and the frustrated pace of removing each other’s clothes again.

For once, you took control and pushed Dean down to the bed. He let you do it too. It was an electrifying turn on—to have your hands be firm instead of gentle, but still purposeful in how you touched him.

And you did. You straddled his lap, and between fierce kisses, you mapped out his body with your hands. He held you by your hips, but you soon pushed him down onto the bed. With wet, nipping kisses, you burned a path from his neck, down his chest and sternum, down the defined “V” between his hips.

His breathing deepened the further you went, because Christ had it been a long time since anyone but himself had touched him. He supposed you weren’t the only one starving.

Your lips grazed and nipped the inside of his thigh, getting ever closer to where you knew he wanted you. His hand raised to tangle in your hair, but you moved his hand away and trapped it onto the bed. Your challenging gaze met his, and Dean raised his brows.

No touching, unless I say so, you said through the bond. A smirk raised the corner of his lips.

Yes, ma’am, he replied, making you smile. You then renewed your attention to the task at hand. You settled between his legs lowered down, where the object of your focus was standing perfectly at attention. You let your lips graze his dick. Careful touches, and really, a bit teasing. Dean sucked in a breath when your hands joined your lips, just soft caresses along its length, underneath, over its sensitive head. It was both exactly what he wanted and nowhere near enough.

His hand fisted into the pillow behind his head and the comforter underneath him. Your name fell from his lips—both a prayer and a plea. He felt the shape of your smile in a kiss, pressed against his thigh.

I’ve got you, baby, you said. Finally, your lips descended on him and you took as much of his dick as you could into your mouth. Something between a moan and a grunt fell from Dean’s lips as you worked him over, with your hands joining your warm, wet mouth. He itched to touch you, but you were relentless and held his wrist down onto the bed.

With his free hand, he grabbed onto the headboard as his back arched involuntarily, but there was nowhere to go. You had him trapped, and he was exactly where he wanted to be.

But just when he felt that crest of pleasure nearing and thought he was going to see black on the edges of his vision, you let him go with a soft pop. You leaned your arms on his raised knees and wiped your mouth. You looked down at his incredulous face with a mischievous little smile.

Dean made a sound of both shock and frustration as he tried to catch his breath. His head hit the pillow while his hand went to his wildly beating heart.

“Well, that’s just rude,” he uttered. When he was able to speak, that is. You stifled a laugh and moved up to cover that hand on his chest with yours. He flinched, but you were able to offer apologetic kisses. He reluctantly accepted them.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you whispered against his lips. You took his hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of his palm, then brought it to your cheek. Despite the playful, annoyed suspicion in his eyes, he stroked your cheek with affection. He saw your game, and he begrudgingly admired it—and you.

Smiling, you sat back on his bare thighs and brought both of his hands to your body, grazing down your neck to cup your breasts. You sighed as his thumbs brushed over your pert nipples and kneaded the soft flesh.

“Is this for me, or for you?” he teased. You shot him a playful glare. For that, you lowered his hands further down your body and guided his hand to the very wet folds between your legs.

“I’m letting you touch me now,” was your cheeky reply.

Dean smirked, but he sat up and obliged, gathering your wetness with his fingers and stroking your clit with deliberate movements. You shuddered a breath as he slipped a long finger inside you, followed closely by another. All the while, his thumb drew wet circles around your sensitive clit and brought you to the edge of your release.

From that very first night together so long ago, he’d been learning how to play you like a five-string guitar. Tonight was no different, and despite how you’d edged him earlier, he had no qualms about making you come all over his hand.

Your fingers delved into his hair, and you mentally praised him while you caught your breath, resting your forehead on his shoulder. He held you to him as you shook. But after a few moments, he leaned back to look into your eyes.

Through your connection, you felt his playfulness grow and you just knew he was about to say something smartass. But right now, you were still in control. So you stopped his smart mouth with yours and claimed his lips with another deep kiss.

You slipped a hand between your bodies, and this time you took a firmer hold of his dick. It was still a bit wet from your earlier treatment, and you stroked him a few times. His grateful moans sounded in your ear as he gripped your arms tight. You closed your eyes for a second, inwardly preparing yourself, before you sheathed him inside you. You both breathed hard as you adjusted and settled on top of him.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair. “Fuck, baby—”

You nodded, soothing down his back. “I know. Damn, you feel so good.”

You pushed him back down again so you could find the right angle that would serve both of you. Then you started to move over him. Dean dropped his head hard against the bed. To help him out, you gave him something to grab onto and guided his hand to your hip. He squeezed the flesh there, hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises later, you were sure. But the brief pain was a good motivator—it let you know when he was close to his breaking point.

You reached down with your fingers to further part your folds and rub hot circles around your already sensitive clit again. You felt a flutter in your lower belly as that familiar, inexplicable thread of energy within you stuttered; the part of your soul that recognized its equal, its match. The bond hummed and grew hot and pulsing.

Finally, its warmth washed over you.

You gasped and grabbed ahold of Dean’s arms as you almost got lightheaded at the feeling. Dean was going through the same tumble of sensations as he uttered a strangled sound, spilling inside you.

But he had good reflexes; he steadied you, with his arms wrapping around your frame and holding you to him. He eased you over back onto the bed, and then slid out of you.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. The frenzy of your earlier argument had fueled what just happened, but now that tension had dissolved into a hard-won peace.

When he was able to move, Dean reached out to hold the side of your face. He tucked a loose, sweaty strand of hair behind your ear. Your smile for him was soft. You sensed he was thinking, searching for what he wanted to say. So again, you waited, slipping a discarded blanket over your naked body.

“Okay, I think I hear you,” Dean said. “I love you, you know that?”

Your smile grew. He’d repeated the words you confessed to him when he was in the hospital all those months ago. And it was the first time he’d said what he felt for you.

You held a hand by your ear. “What was that?”

Dean’s lips raised into a smirk, but his eyes were soft. He slid an arm underneath you to pull you against his side.

“I love you,” he said, “so damn much.”

“I love you too,” you replied, but not without some exasperation. All this craziness, just to finally get on the same page. You grabbed his face with one hand and squeezed his cheeks. “That's my point.”

You made a sound of frustration before you released him. Dean laughed a bit, closing his eyes. You enjoyed his more carefree smile as you rested against his chest.

This man, you thought, is damn lucky he’s adorable.

He cut into your thoughts dryly, Pretty sure that’s my line, sweetheart.

You rolled your eyes.

At least we made it through our first real fight, you said. In spectacular fashion, I might add.

Yeah, but you played dirty, said Dean.

You just smiled.

The next morning, you and Dean woke up after your dad had presumably left for work. You were grateful. It spared you from the awkwardness of a “morning after” in your father’s presence.

I really need to get my own place.

So you made coffee while Dean made some toast and eggs for breakfast. But he got a call just as he was plating the eggs.

“Yeah, Bobby,” he answered. The more your uncle spoke, the more serious Dean’s expression got. You sensed a flare of his panic and you turned to him in concern. The plate in his hand hit the table with a clatter.

“Where?” Dean said. His tone was sharp and worried. “I’m comin’ now.”

Dean ended the call and abandoned the food to grab his jacket. He explained before you could ask the predictable question.

“Sam went missing this morning on a coffee run,” Dean said. “When Bobby got to the diner to check on him, the whole place had been cleared out, except for the bodies of the brunch crowd.”

You gasped and raised a hand to your mouth in shock. “What happened to Sam?”

Dean’s face became grim and angry as he grabbed his wallet and keys.

“Bobby found sulfur all over the place. He thinks Yellow Eyes took him,” he said. “…I’ve gotta go.”

It was late fall, so you grabbed a coat from the rack and your purse. “I’m going with you.”

Dean halted at the doorway, and that stopped you short behind him. He turned around and gave you a firm look.

“No you’re not, damn it!” he said. “You’re staying here.”

“Are you kidding me?” you said. “The last time you faced this thing, it almost killed you!”

“You’ve got a job, remember?” he pointed out. You shook your head.

“It’s Saturday. I don’t have to be back to work until Monday, upon which I’ll take a couple of sick days if I need to.” Your words were both a warning and a promise. “Just let me help you find Sam. I’m handy with research. You know I can help!”

Dean didn’t like it. He had half a mind to keep arguing with you, but he really didn’t have time for this. He made a sound of aggravation and rubbed a hand over his face.

He then levied a finger at you. “You’re staying in the car. When we get there, you don’t argue with me. You do as I say, got it?”

You nodded. Normally you would take issue with being ordered by your boyfriend, but in the world of dark and evil things, you would follow Dean’s lead.

So you hid a triumphant smile as you locked up your house, then followed him to the Impala.

AN: Whew! Well, then lol. The reader finally gave Dean a piece of her mind (among other things). How'd you like their first date? 😉

Dean definitely gives me Joey vibes from Friends when it comes to sharing food. 😂

But as the chapter title implies, we also dug in a bit on how Dean sees himself vs. how his soulmate sees him.

So a lot of drama this time, but ending on another good ol' cliffhanger. AKA: Where the hell is Sam?

Next up, some action! Heading into 2.21: All Hell Breaks Loose (Pt. 1).

**To start at the beginning: PART 1

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#Dean being Dean

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