Title: Show Me
Author: pagiel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Ep 5.02
Warnings: The rating says it all
Word Count: 5993
Summary: Dean didn't know what he was getting into when he agreed to help Cas.


Zeppelin blasted in the foreground, but even the rocking guitar of Jimmy Page was outmatched by the deafening presence of the angel riding shotgun. After their usual found-God-yet banter and a run-down of the hunt Dean was heading for at suicidal speed, Castiel just sat there wordlessly and stared at him.

Dean couldn't focus on anything but the itch of Castiel's gaze on his skin. He was ready to snap.

"You want to yell at me to stop staring. I am annoying you," Castiel pointed out. He tipped his head, shading his observation with puzzlement, as if he could not comprehend how looking at someone for minutes on end would constitute an annoyance.

He'd had enough. "Yes, yes you are!" he agreed forcefully, making a desperate effort to pin his attention to the road. Dean was going to crash his baby if this disturbance didn't stop.

"Why does my attention bother you?" Castiel asked with a little frown.

"You're an angel," Dean said as a sweeping explanation. "And the mind reading isn't earning you points."

"There are points?"

The literalness that was Cas grated on his last nerve. And just as that last nerve was about to break in two, Dean reminded himself that Cas had more than earned his patience, what with dying for him and all. "Never mind. It's not your fault. I'm just on edge."

He'd been on edge since Sam left. The whole Sam-leaving thing had been agreed to by both brothers, and Dean had figured that maybe out of sight, out of mind would apply. But nope, now he just worried about Sam from afar, and no goddamn way would he be the first to pick up the phone.

On top of Sam, there was the big A-word Dean absolutely refused to think about. This hunt was Dean's chance to take his mind off all his unsolvable problems.

As a peace offering and a way to get Cas to look at something else, Dean decided to teach him to play I Spy, though there wasn't much to spy while they passed through Vermont except trees, trees and more trees. "How about we—"

He was interrupted by the insistent ringtone of his cell.

"Just a sec." As he flipped the phone open, he brutally suppressed the expectation that it would be Sam. A dozen questions like where are you and what are you doing and are you okay queued in his mind. "Hello?"

"Bobby says you're following up a lead in Lebanon." The voice was brusque and female; it was Ellen.

"Yeah, Lebanon, New Hampshire. Why?"

"Jo and I are already here," she answered.

"Yeah?" Dean fought away the spike of anger he always felt when an inferior hunter took one of his cases. And this was supposed to be his A-word break, damn it. "You want me to—"

"We've got this one under control, honey," she assured him in a tone that brooked no argument. "How about you take the day off and relax. Maybe you could give Sam a call."

The mention of Sam immediately put Dean's back up like an angry cat. "Listen, no offense, but you and Jo aren't the most skilled hunters around," he put bluntly. "I'm going to lend a hand."

"No, you aren't," Ellen insisted just as bluntly. "No offense to you, boy, but you and your brother are powder kegs when you're off on your own. You're reckless, you're distracted, you're a disaster waiting to happen. So call your brother, and if I catch a whiff of you in this town, you'll get a whupping you won't soon forget."

The call ended with a click.

Furious, Dean tossed his cell phone into the back seat and yelled, "Damn it! What am I supposed to do now? We're ten minutes out from Lebanon."

His jaw twitched at the aggravating fact that Ellen had a point, damn her. She could handle the hunt easily; it was just a standard spirit tossing objects and threatening violence. That was why Dean wanted to gank it. It was supposed to be like old times, with the big minus of Sam, which he refused to think about.

A long silence followed.

"I'm not calling him," he declared, scowling.

"Okay," said Castiel.

"What, you're not going to get on my case?" He glanced at Cas suspiciously.

Castiel was not looking at Dean anymore. His head was bowed despondently, the hands in his lap clutching at the fabric of his trench coat.

Flashes of their journey replayed in his head. Now that he thought about it, Cas had been staring at him more intently than usual. It was like he wanted to speak but couldn't muster the courage. "Got something on your mind?" Dean asked mildly. He directed his head at the road, but his eyes darted back to Cas.

"It is nothing of importance," Castiel informed him. He lifted his head and sat up straight again, as if to demonstrate that he was fine.

"Bullshit." Waving a hand, he said, "Look at us, Cas. We're in the middle of nowhere, on our way to a hunt that'll probably be over by the time we get there. We've got downtime for once, so spill."

"It is merely a personal matter. You have enough to worry about."

Yeah, that was the damn problem. If Dean had to choose between thinking about Sam, mulling over the A-word, or talking out whatever was bothering Cas, he would take door number three. "Lay it on me. Now," he ordered.

Castiel sighed in resignation. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. ""I am having difficulty adjusting to life on Earth. Many people find my demeanor irritating. Their irritation causes them to behave...unhelpfully."

"Yeah, the Spock act isn't so entertaining in reality," he said bitingly, not over his bad mood just because he acknowledged it. But in truth he was bothered that others found Cas annoying, because they didn't like Cas despite his weirdness as Dean did. "What, someone took offense at your lack of social skills and tried to rough you up?"

Castiel's eyes went shifty.

Dean figured he'd hit close to the mark.

An image came to mind of Castiel in a bar fight, just standing there as some tough guy swung a chair at him. He could picture the look of horror on Tough Guy's face as the chair splintered and Castiel didn't move an inch, or even blink.

Grinning, Dean asked, "Let me guess, some yokel had a thing against scruffy tax accountants with spooky eyes. Did Billy Bob break his fist on your jaw?"

"Do you understand what would happen if the angels of the Host were to catch me?" Castiel snapped. "If I cannot operate without causing a disturbance, I am likely to be killed, again. I would like to avoid repeating the experience."

The grin swept off Dean's face, because yeah, he could relate to that. He didn't like the thought of anything bad happening to Cas. They were friends, so it was Dean's job to look out for him, and it bugged him that their relationship usually worked out the other way. "Tell me how I can help," he insisted.

Castiel seemed startled by the question. "You wish to help me?"

Dean, annoyed again, rolled his eyes. For all his mind reading, Cas still didn't get it. "Of course! We're friends, right? You got your ass blown up for me, and you saved me from Zachariah's fucking stomach cancer, so let me do you a good turn for once."

"You do not owe me anything. I made my own choices," he insisted with a spark of wounded pride.

"Yeah, you did, but when you do so much good for someone, they're bound to like you, even if you're an alien robot. That's lesson one on humanity." He shot Cas a forceful look intended to convey that he was serious about the friendship thing and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"As for lesson two, I figure you'd stop pissing people off if you quit acting like a stiff, self-righteous prick."

"Is this how 'friends' speak to each other?" Castiel asked, a note of warning in his tone.

Dean met his challenge by replying, "Yeah, sometimes it is, when it needs to be said." He didn't have too much experience with friendship, but he was pretty sure he was right on this one. "You need to loosen up. What do angels do for fun?" He grinned and wagged his eyebrows.

Castiel deadpanned, "We smite."

That wiped the grin off Dean's face. "Hate to break it to you, but smiting won't help you fit in on Earth, except maybe in prison."

Lebanon was just ahead, and the sun was setting.

Dean figured Lebanon was as good a place as any to bunk for the night, assuming Ellen never found out about it, so he swerved to the exit ramp. Since he couldn't advise Cas to exact heavenly justice for R&R, he searched for other options. "Maybe you should try having fun like a human; you know, when in Rome...?"

"We are not in Rome. Should I take us there?"

"No!" Dean heaved a loud sigh. "I mean that you're a cosmic tourist, so you should get down and dirty in the local culture. You should have fun human-style."

Castiel frowned at Dean, but not in a no sort of way. Instead he seemed perplexed, like he couldn't imagine what humans did for fun. "You also enjoy smiting," he pronounced slowly.

Dean fought back an eyeroll. "Yeah, but I'm not a normal person." When he thought about it, he was almost as much a social misfit as Cas. Maybe he wasn't the best person to give advice about this. On the other hand, he was the only person to give advice about this, because poor Cas didn't know anyone saner than him.

"Humans have three fun things to do," he explained distractedly as he searched for a motel. His eyes alit on a sign. As he pulled in to the lot, he continued, "We eat awesome food, get drunk, and get laid. Preferably all of the above."

Castiel's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly before snapping into a firm line. He swallowed hard.

Dean was no angel psychologist, but he would guess that it wasn't food or booze that caused Cas's flustering. He switched the Impala's engine off and turned to give Cas his full attention. "I guess you've never gotten laid, huh? Not a popular pastime in heaven?"

Castiel averted his gaze, staring studiously out the window, back ramrod straight.

The lack of eye contact inexplicably bothered Dean. He bent his head until he caught Cas's eyes again, trying to project reassurance, though he did wonder how the hell there could be a heaven without gorgeous, loose women. "Come on Cas, stay with me here."

"We don't...angels...we are not equipped," Castiel explained, his voice lowering on the word equipped as if it were icky.

Raising his eyebrows, Dean said, "Then you've definitely got to give sex a try while you're down here. Otherwise it's like...it's like going to Disneyworld and not riding Space Mountain!" Or so Dean was told. None of his hunts had ever taken him to Disneyworld, and now that he thought about it, that sucked.

A flush spread over Castiel`s pale cheeks. "I...I do not know how..."

Dean's eyebrows climbed higher, accompanied by a smirk. "Dude, every teenager knows how! Come on! It's like doing it yourself, but in a—"

His train of thought was ground to a halt as Castiel fixed him with a wide-eyed look of nervousness.

A horrible realization struck. Dean gulped. "Please tell me you've at least buffed the banana, Cas!" Then he was whacked with another revelation: angels probably didn't piss. "You haven't even touched it, have you?"

"No," Castiel admitted, his perfect posture shrinking into a slouch.

Panic balled in Dean's chest because this was somehow his problem now. "No wonder you're uptight," he muttered. If Dean hadn't gotten off ever, he'd be climbing the padded walls of an institution.

But this wasn't the first time that Dean had signed up for a job that turned out hairier than he'd expected. It never stopped him before. "Look, I'm your friend, remember?"

Castiel nodded somberly. "You are my best friend, Dean. You are my only friend."

Those simple words weighed heavily on Dean's chest. "Yeah, I'm your friend," he repeated, more tenderly than before, "and friends don't let friends go through life without knowing how to choke the chicken." He stepped out of the car. "Come on, let's get a room."

As he mindlessly checked in with Cas in tow, part of Dean, the part he thought of as Sane Dean, informed him that this was the worst idea ever. He was not gay, he was uncertified in angel sexuality, and did he really want to go back to hell this badly?

But Insane Dean responded with ease that he'd had way worse ideas. And Practical Dean pointed out that he could either help his buddy Cas or mope about Sam and the A-word all night.

Dean never listened to Sane Dean anyway.

When he entered the motel room, the first thing he noticed were two beds lined up a few feet apart.

Dean was thrown by that, but then he hazily recalled asking for a double room out of habit. The setup was so familiar that he half-expected Sam to walk up behind him and throw their bags on the beds.

It was clean, by motel standards. The air was stale, like no one had opened a window in a while. The walls were puke green, the bedspreads maroon, the lampshades hot pink.

It was hideous, but he'd seen worse. It would do. Dean swallowed as he remembered what it would do for. He'd jacked off in plenty of motel rooms; all they needed were four walls and baseline sanitation.

He watched Castiel walk into the room, examining it from floor to ceiling.

Dean was uncomfortable that this dingy place was where an angel was going to jerk off for the first time in literally forever. He should have splurged on a real hotel that had matching furniture, that was aired out daily—one with a mattress that didn't squeak when he sat on it.

Castiel did not seem bothered, though. His inspection of the room complete, he turned to Dean and calmly asked, "What would you have me do?"

Dean was used to being the one in charge in the bedroom, but he'd never given direct orders before. At least the first step was obvious. "Uh, take off your coat. And your jacket. And, uh, everything else, I guess." He already felt as shy as a virgin himself, damn it, and they hadn't even started. "Then you can sit on that bed there, and, um, I'll find some lotion."

That gave Dean an excuse to turn away and dig in his bag very intently, ignoring whatever Cas was doing behind him. For once he found the lotion too soon for his liking. Dean schooled his features into something that looked less like holy fuck I can't do this and turned around.

Castiel was sitting on the edge of the bed, directly across from Dean, completely naked despite the lack of strewn clothing anywhere in the room. His legs were parted casually, hands resting on his thighs. Overall the body language was more like guy in his best suit at a job interview than naked angel in a motel room about to do dirty things. Except without the coat, without anything, Castiel was diminished into something fragile. His lips were parted slightly, and he was looking to Dean for direction.

Before he thought to stop himself, Dean glanced between Cas's legs. He was immediately embarrassed and looked away. But that didn't stop the image of Cas's cock from flickering in and out of his thoughts like a scene of pornography spliced into a movie.

"Right, okay, good," Dean said. He tried to sound upbeat, though his heartbeat was quickening as if he were expecting a demon to jump him any second. But Dean was well practiced at beating back that pulse of fear and getting the job done.

His arm moved woodenly to pass Cas the lotion. "Take this and put it on your hands. But don't use too much—you want it smooth, not sloppy." Maybe those instructions were too vague, but Dean couldn't think of any better way to describe what came so naturally to him.

Castiel took the bottle with a focused nod, their fingers accidentally brushing.

The brief contact grounded the situation in reality. Dean didn't just have some hazy plan for wacky antics with a comically naive angel; he was actually guiding Cas to his first bona fide orgasm. Whatever was left of Dean's self-assurance melted.

He glanced away, but still he listened to the glide of Castiel's palms against each other as they slicked with lotion. Then the sound stopped. Dean turned back just in time to catch Castiel glancing down at his own exposed penis. Castiel swiftly look up into Dean's eyes, face flushed, as if he were just as embarrassed by his exposure as Dean was.

His timidity made Dean determined to see this through, because Cas obviously wouldn't get anywhere alone. "That's yours, you know," he said. "There's no reason to be freaked out by it."

To demonstrate that looking was fine, he let his attention fall to Cas's cock, nestled in dark curls.

Castiel swallowed and followed Dean's gaze to look at himself again.

Dean felt heat spreading over his face. Indignant, he reminded himself that it was just another guy's dick, for God's sake. He'd seen it all before.

When Dean looked up again, the fear had left Castiel's face, replaced by a head-tilt of curiosity.

Encouraged by their progress, Dean decided that it was time to dive right into the lesson. "Now, uh, just touch yourself." What else was there to say? It wasn't brain surgery. Dean hoped that these simple directions would be enough, that he could stare into space as Cas jerked off and be done with this disturbing intimacy.

"Touch myself where?" Castiel asked with a frown.

Dean's hopes were dashed. "Your dick, dude."

"Oh." A full ten seconds of absolute silence followed as Castiel's hand moved with agonizing slowness down the slope of his thigh and toward his cock. His fingers brushed against it a few times, and it twitched. He drew his hand away as if scalded and pressed his legs together. Castiel bit his lip and looked up at Dean desolately. "I don't think I can do this."

That look twisted in Dean's chest like a knife, making him desperate to reassure Cas that it was going to be okay. "Don't say that," he insisted. "You've been to hell, you've faced down demons, even angels. You can definitely do this."

Castiel shook his head. "I am a warrior of God. It is my nature to fight. This...I am not supposed to have this." Vulnerability was written all over his face, carved deep into his creased brow and sorrowful eyes.

It clicked with Dean that Cas was a lot more frightened and insecure than he'd thought. The wham-bam-thank-you-hand thing wasn't going to fly. But of all things, Dean knew he was good at this, and he was determined to drag Cas writhing and moaning over the hump.

He was going to make Cas feel good.

This new goal settled in Dean's mind, clear and forceful. First he had to coax him out of the stiff, protective pose he'd withdrawn into. "Okay Cas, you don't have to touch yourself there. We can do other things. Do you trust me?"

Castiel nodded with certainty.

Cas seemed so certain that Dean felt humbled. "Cool," he said, putting on his most convincing grin. "You need to relax. Stop tensing and spread your legs for me."

Saying spread your legs for me made Dean's stomach coil and his cock throb. He swallowed dryly and tried to ignore the reaction. This was for Cas's enjoyment; he promised Little Dean some Busty Asian Beauties action later.

Castiel obeyed. He released a tight breath and let his shoulders fall, and his legs came apart just enough to display his cock. He kept his gaze fixed on Dean for reassurance.

Something about Cas depending on Dean so sincerely for this was profoundly arousing. Busty Asian Beauties! he told himself. He wasn't even close to fifteen anymore; he should have more self-control than this. It was just Cas, they were just friends, and this was not hot at all.

"Dean?" Castiel questioned.

Cas's voice jarred him from his thoughts, which he pretended he'd never had. "Put your hands somewhere. Anywhere. Wherever feels right."

Raising his palms, Castiel looked from one to the other in serious contemplation.

"Don't think so hard," Dean soothed in a soft, sure voice. "Just touch yourself anywhere you want."

After a moment's hesitation, Castiel dropped one hand to his side and raised the other to the middle of his chest, resting it there. He looked down at it impassively and slowly splayed his fingers.

"That's it, Cas," Dean encouraged. "Now move your hand to your left. Take it as slow as you need to."

His hand slid over his chest, running over his pectorals and sliding along his nipple. Castiel displayed unguarded interest as he examined his own movement. Dean watched intently, waiting until his hand was just where he wanted it.

"Stop there," he said. Dean thought about how he liked to be touched, and the words flowed easily. "Now stroke your nipple with your thumb. Just rub it over and around the tip."

Castiel did so, moving the pad of his thumb in even circles around the dusky skin. Some of the lotion smoothed onto his nipple, making it glisten and sensitizing it to the air. Castiel stared down at his progress almost clinically. But then he brushed over the tip of his nipple, eliciting a quick, surprised little noise deep in the back of his throat.

Dean's pants tightened at the sound. "That feel good?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"I...yes," Castiel agreed breathily, still touching his rapidly hardening nipple. "Is it supposed to rise like this?"

"Definitely," Dean told him with a smile. "Try to pinch it. It'll feel even better."

Castiel pressed his thumb and forefinger together tightly on his sensitive nub. He breathed harder at the sensation and squeezed his eyes tight. His legs splayed wider of their own accord, free hand drifting to the inside of his thigh.

Dean couldn't deny it anymore: he was getting damn worked up watching Cas pleasure himself. But all Cas needed were a few more words of encouragement, and Dean could live with the strain in his pants until then.

"Can I pinch it again?" Castiel asked him, forcing his eyes open to seek Dean's permission.

The innocent question threw Dean for a loop and shot a coil of need straight to his cock. He barely resisted the urge to buck his hips that twisted like a flame around his spine. "Fuck yeah," he told Cas. "Do it. Give it a little twist, too."

The twist made Castiel gasp. His cock was rising to attention. He pinched and twisted his nipple again, harder. His back arched, the fingernails of his other hand digging into his thigh.

Dean's thoughts hazed as fire coiled in his belly, his focus stuck on the choose-your-own-porn adventure in front of him. He tried to picture a beautiful, naked woman splayed across from him instead, but the image didn't stick—and worse, he didn't want it to, because Cas's parted lips, his blown pupils, his shaking hands and bobbing cock were better than the curves of a nameless woman, because it was Cas.

Dean was going to fucking die if he didn't get his pants off. Instead of shucking them as he desperately wanted to, he babbled hoarsely to Cas. "Yeah, that's good, you look so good. Give the other nipple some action now."

Castiel followed his orders automatically, moving his hand to his other nipple and repeating the movements that made the first hard and needy. But this one perked more quickly, and the back of Castiel's other hand kept rubbing against the side of his cock. His hips began to move in a slow but steady rhythm, the instincts of his body taking over now that the concerns of his mind were out of the way.

His eyes rose, half-lidded, to lock with Dean's.

"Keep looking at me," Dean said without thinking, because the stare that had tormented him earlier was now tormenting him more pleasurably. Except he had to get his pants off, seriously, because this was the most erotic thing in the world and riding it out in his jeans was not going to happen. He clutched his cock tightly through his thick fabric, rubbing himself as best he could, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Dean could see everything in Castiel's face now. His eyes were darkened by need and confusion, his mouth open, gasping and moaning, cringing and shaking as sensations burst like fireworks through his veins. Through it all he anchored himself to Dean, his gaze clinging to him, pleading all at once for help, for an end, for more.

"Touch yourself, Cas," Dean told him, voice cracking.

Castiel's hand moved from his thigh to close around his cock. His teeth clenched around a broken, begging sob as he began to stroke himself.

And that was it, Dean was done waiting. He broke away from Cas's gaze and stood, working his belt open with determined fingers. He unzipped his pants and forced them off his hips, stepping out of them clumsily. Then he was rubbing himself through his boxers, stifling a moan.

"Dean," Castiel called to him. He'd stopped touching himself and was clutching the side of the bed, fully hard and trembling. "I can't, it feels so...strange, so tight. Please."

All that mattered to Dean after that was touching himself and touching Cas; reason had left the building. He curved his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers and pulled them down, his cock hard and weeping. Then he was pressing against Cas, pushing him back onto the bed. He held Cas's cock himself and pumped his shaft.

Castiel groaned sharply with every stroke up and down, hips jerking wildly until he found a frantic rhythm.

Dean moved on top of him as they scuffled back on the bed together, his hand never letting up on Cas's cock. He slid himself between Cas's legs and moved his unoccupied hand down his chest, scraping against both abused nipples.

That was all the foreplay Dean's straining cock had patience for. He moved his hand to where he needed it, stroking their cocks together as he watched Cas writhe beneath him.

Castiel came first, crying loudly in ecstasy as his seed shot onto Dean's hand and across his own chest.

Dean kept thrusting. He dropped his hand from Cas's cock and used it to stroke Cas's side soothingly as he trembled.

Breathing heavily, Castiel reached out his hand and gripped his thigh, touching Dean for the first time.

An intense bolt of pleasure seared through him. He rode it out, staring right into Cas's eyes, which steadied him with their expression of bliss and worship. Lungs clutching at air, he then fell exhaustedly onto the bed beside him. Dean's mind drifted lazily through the afterglow, eyes closing...

He was gently tugged from sleep by the sensation of fingers brushing against his shirt. Opening his eyes, Dean watched blankly as Castiel scooped some of his seed onto two tentative fingers. Then he rubbed it into his own naked chest, mixing their fluids, and raised the fingers to his mouth. He licked them experimentally with the very tip of his tongue, then drew them into his mouth, claiming them with his lips.

That was the moment when Dean's brain caught up to what had happened. But he couldn't find the strength or desire to panic just yet. Instead he reached over and pet Cas's hair, feeling an unfamiliar tug of affection that was frightening in itself.

Castiel withdrew the fingers from his lips and moved closer to Dean. He burrowed his face into the crook of Dean's neck, slinging an arm across his chest. Their legs were already tangled. They stayed like that for some time, Dean warmed by Castiel's breath and body.

Eventually the feeling of contentment eased. Dean's thoughts took form again, dragging him from his comfy physical reality into the murky mental swamp of what the hell happened?

"Thank you, Dean," said Castiel, raising his chin to look Dean in the eye, calming Dean with his certainty.

Dean tipped his head, closed his eyes and placed a quick, chaste kiss upon Cas's lips. He was crazy, but it felt right, and Dean had always placed more faith in his instincts than in God or anything else.

Still his body slowly tensed with agitation, because this was crazy, wanting Cas like this. Soon Cas's body and arms and legs felt more like restriction than comfort, pinning the hysteria that was beating against Dean's chest for freedom. He extracted himself and moved toward the opposite edge of the bed, staring at Cas like he was a train wreck that Dean couldn't tear his gaze from.

Castiel moved toward Dean, then stopped dead, the hand that had been reaching toward him falling limply at his side. He looked at Dean with a mixture of confusion and hurt.

God, Dean felt like an ass.

"Did I do something wrong?" Castiel asked him.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, not sure himself what he was about to say.

A pounding knock sounded on the door.

Dean's head whipped toward it, startled. He glanced around dazedly for wherever he'd left his gun.

"Dean?" The voice was Ellen's, and it sounded angry.

He scrambled off the bed and grabbed for his pants with trembling hands. "Coming!" he called. He was already walking toward the door when he recalled the messy state of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and chucked it aside, meanwhile looking back to tell Cas to mojo his clothes on, stat.

But Castiel had vanished.

Dean paused for a moment, concerned about the sorry state in which they'd left...whatever it was between them. But Ellen was his more immediate concern.

He opened the door partway and said, "Ellen, hi." He searched her face for fear or worry, some indication that the hunt had gone south.

But she only looked cross. "And what do you think you're doing here?" she asked, pushing past him into the room.

If you only knew, he thought.

Her strides paused; something by the bed had caught her eye.

"What?" Dean asked.

When Ellen turned back to him, her scowl was replaced by a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "You really do have a girl in every port, Dean Winchester—and even in small, landlocked towns."

Dean peered over at what she was looking at and groaned at his stupidity. He hadn't even pulled his goddamn underwear on, and there it was in the middle of the damn room. Coupled with his shirt, which has less than serendipitously landed on top of the lampshade for all to see, anyone could figure out what he'd been up to.

"At least I know you're not here to butt in on my hunt," Ellen commented wryly. "I didn't interrupt something, did I? Are you hiding the poor girl in here somewhere?"

"No!" Dean protested. "No, I swear, it's just you and me."

"That's the problem," she continued, not missing a beat. "You don't do well alone, Dean. Bobby's worried about you. He's the one who sent me here, you know."

That pissed Dean right off, because he wasn't a damn kid who couldn't be left alone for five minutes. He'd hunted alone plenty while Sam was at Stanford. "Bobby should be more worried about Sam," he said.

"Bobby asked Rufus to keep an eye on Sam as a personal favor. He's been milking the wheelchair for all it's worth."

Dean couldn't shake the affectionate smile that spread on his face in Bobby's honor. He was glad that Sam had someone looking out for him, but as for Dean, he wasn't alone anyway. "Good ol' Bobby. You don't have to worry, though. I'm hunting with a friend."

Ellen's amused eyebrow tilt turned to a skeptical one. "You expect me to believe that? You Winchesters don't have friends. You cling to each other for dear life and don't let anyone else in."

"Dean does have a friend."

Castiel appeared by the window. Ellen sprung in surprise; then, in one swift movement, she pulled holy water out of her pocket and tossed it at Castiel's face.

Wet and blinking, but otherwise unaffected, Castiel pointed out, "I am not a demon."

"Apparently not," she conceded in a stony voice. "You're just some fellow who gets his kicks from startling a woman out of her skin."

Biting back a chuckle, Dean introduced his perplexed, dripping companion. "Ellen, this is Castiel." He shot Cas a friendly grin, and remembering how they left things, decided to say something encouraging to him too. "I'm glad you came back."

Ellen's gaze traveled from Dean to Castiel.

And with a twinge of dread, Dean realized that she was adding his ruined shirt and tossed underwear into the equation.

"So," Ellen said, drawing out the syllable until it sounded suggestive, "I suppose you're a—" The word hunter was clearly on the tip of her tongue, but an up-and-down look at Castiel must have knocked the notion out of her head. "What is it that you do?"

"I am looking for God," Castiel answered.

Ellen's eyebrows rose in amusement. "In all the wrong places."

"Ellen," Dean interrupted, thoroughly done with this humiliating encounter. "Don't you and Jo—"

"Oh," she interrupted, again drawing out the syllable, making it too meaningful, "by all means, don't let me keep you boys from...whatever it is you're doing." She backed away toward the door.

"But Dean, do give your brother a call. Or I will." And the look she sent him left Dean in no doubt about what the first topic of Ellen's conversation with Sam would be.

"Will do," he promised weakly.

After Ellen left, Dean swiveled on Cas, who had already dried the holy water with his mojo. But then Dean realized that he still didn't know what to say. "Uh, how do you feel?" he asked.

Castiel slouched and stared at the floor. "You know how I feel, Dean." When he looked up, his eyes were colder than Dean had seen them for a long time. "I apologize for embarrassing you. Thank you for the help."

Sensing that Cas was about to leave, Dean immediately took a step forward and called, "Wait!" All at once his heart strained with emotion, and Dean didn't know how to feel this way, not for anyone. But this was the apocalypse, however much he tried to ignore it, so what the goddamned hell. He wanted to do a lot of things before the end, and he couldn't picture doing them with anyone but Cas.

"We're not done," Dean told Cas firmly. He took another step forward.

"We're not?" Castiel raised his head a notch. He looked confused and hopeful.

"'Course not." He gripped Cas's shoulders and leaned in, thinking all the dirtiest thoughts he could and hoping Cas was using those awesome mind reading powers of his.

He must have been, at least a little, because Castiel's eyes widened, and a shiver coursed down his spine.

Dean grinned wickedly. "See, I have lots more to show you."