Some fluffy pointlessness and some angst thrown in to make it really clash. The reference to Poison's 'Talk Dirty to Me' that occurs later on is due to the episode of scrubs where Carla and Ted sing it in a choirish way – blame that for the sweetness overload that occurs.

This is also a kind of spiritual successor to 'Human' in that the events of Castiel's fall are the same as described in that fic. You don't have to read it, and if you did and you hate this just pretend they aren't related.

Dean wakes up in a bed that isn't his own. Not that unusual, he hasn't owned a bed since just after his mom died. The reason it sends him scrabbling for some kind of weapon is that the bed he wakes up in isn't the one he passed out on. It's not even in a motel, it's in a house, which, after a few seconds of whipping his head round, looks familiar. It's Bobby's house.

Mentally his alert level slips a notch. It can't be that bad if he's at Bobby's. A few memories surface, being trapped in Bobby's nightmare house, Sam's possession, the zombies...alarm bells start off again. It could defiantly be bad.

Taking a step away from the bed his foot catches in a wire, bringing a laptop crashing from the bedside table. Wincing at the noise it takes him a moment to place what's weird about the scenario. Laptop. Since when did Bobby own a laptop, or even if he did, when would he ever let Dean borrow it? It certainly wasn't Sam's who, after one too many porn-borne virus's had withdrawn it from use.

On closer inspection the room was off too. Not the usual jumble of Bobby's home, it was messy, sure, but Dean recognised the mess as his own. His weapons, his brands of soap all over the wash stand, issues of Busty Asian Beauties poking out from under the bed.

It was his room, not a room he was crashing in, a room he inhabited.

"...the hell...?"

The door inched open, lancing light from the bare bulb in the hall right across the room.

"Dean?"

"Yeah...uh...Cas?" He squints against the glare, making out the angel's shape and taking in the distinctive voice, blurred by sleep, which unnerves him. Angel's don't sleep. In no way should they sound sleepy and mildly irritated. They also didn't use doors in his experience.

"Cas what am I doing here?"

There's a short silence.

"Are you drunk or just existential, 'cause either way it's still two in the morning."

"No, I mean a second ago I was asleep somewhere else, then I woke up here."

Another silence, slightly tenser this time.

"Where were you?" the shadow by the door takes a step into the room, stops and then hangs back. Castiel being cautious is the weirdest part of the whole mess in Dean's opinion.

"Uh...Route 46 stop...Clifton something, I don't know, man, now I'm here...is this Bobby's?"

The light snaps on, it takes a second for him to adjust. When he does his eyes find and fix on Castiel, leaning against the door jam in sweatpants, not a suit. His hair's sticking up at odd angles and an entirely new beard is shadowing his face.

He looks ten years older than the Castiel Dean spoke to three hours ago, and he's human.

"Fuck" Dean's mouth and brain agree in unison.

"So you're telling me that Lucifer, that whole deal, was ten years ago?"

"Yes."

Castiel is sitting across from him, watching him intently. It would be comforting, if anything about Cas was ever comforting, in that he looks exactly like the Castiel he's familiar with. But every few seconds his eyes tick away from the blue ones boring into his and catch on all that's wrong with the picture. Cas in sweats for one, shirtless for another and with the anti-possession glyph tattooed over a nest of scars on his hip.

The last time he saw Castiel it was from the ground of an alley because the sonofabitch had just given him the beating of his life. Or at least one of the top 5 ass kicking's he could actually remember. He'd been pissed as all hell, scaring him for the first time in a long while, so now seeing him all...casual, was freaking him out. And he was human, what was up with that? Dean found it gratifying in some corner of his mind. The icy, unfathomable Castiel finally losing his edge and falling in with the humans.

"As far as I can tell you went out on a hunt, you'd just got back when I was turning in." He fixes Dean with one of his meaningful but ultimately unreadable stares. "You were hurt, when I got back from putting the car away you'd gone to bed."

Dean returns the stare blankly.

Castiel sighed.

"This is getting us nowhere."

Dean huffed agreement, still too weirded out to talk.

"It's probably the head injury." Castiel indicated the bandage that covered the wound just above Dean's temple. His face assumes another, equally unreadable expression, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"You slamming me for trying to contact Michael." The venom in his voice surprises him. Must be more pissed at him than I thought.

Castiel blinks.

"This wasn't you as well was it?" he jerks a thumb at his own head.

"No" Castiel sounds offended which just pisses him off more.

"No, not now you're all powerless. How did that happen by the way?"

His own words hang in the air for a second, making him uncomfortable. He hates Castiel for hurting him, for preventing him from contacting the other angels, but he doesn't really want to attack him. The silence lasts for a good long while, Cas's eyes fixed on the duvet that stretches between them.

"I chose it" He states quietly, finally.

Dean's about to say something, exactly what he doesn't know, but Cas just gets up and motions to the door.

"I need to make a call" He disappears, the normal everyday way, and Dean is left in the unfamiliar room. Alone.

Eavesdropping is not something he's ever had a problem with. Spying on Sam to keep him in check, on his Dad to gauge the full extent of a crisis and hell, sometimes even during actual cases. Dean is good at listening in. It occurs to him as he lingers in the hallway just outside what used to be Bobby's living room, that he's never had to spy on Castiel before.

"...No, nothing." Come the tail end of Castiel's weary voice. "Sam, he had no idea Lucifer was caged, that Bobby's dead...the last ten years is just gone." A pause during which the person on the phone, Sam, presumably speaks. Castiel sighs.

"I know, when, if, he remembers, he'll be extremely annoyed that I even spoke to you...but he needs you here, Dean, this Dean, still wants you here." Another pause. "He doesn't remember my fall Sam, he thinks I'm still..." A bitter laugh in response to Sam's interruption. "Exactly, though I would not have phrased it like that." Another pause. "I think he actually hates me."

Dean feels a small twist of guilt. He lives with Castiel, they're clearly friends and if what he's heard is true, he doesn't speak to Sam much, if at all, these days. That hurts somewhere he thought was deadened to the disappointments he feels about Sam. If it is true, if what he's experiencing isn't a really really weird dream. Then Castiel is the closest thing he has to family, and right now he thinks Dean hates him.

He's not paying attention to the voice downstairs so Castiel's sudden presence next to him on the landing is a shock. A quick glance at him reassures Dean that he has no idea he was listening in.

"Probably not a good idea to go back to sleep, you might wake up thinking you're still twenty-five." He looks collected enough, shaking off the tiredness he's shown so far. "Coffee?" Dean nods and follows him downstairs. After a couple of minutes Castiel returns from the darkened kitchen with two cups of coffee.

Now that they're under the lights in the living room Dean notices a large hand shaped bruise on Castiel's arm. Thanks to a lifetime of experience he can tell it's fresh. Uncertainly he looks at his own hand.

"Did I do that?"

Castiel sighs and slides a mug over towards him.

"I think I had it coming." There's no defensiveness there, he's not hiding anything or sparing Dean's feelings.

"Really." Dean almost adds, I find that hard to believe. Because he does, even though Cas beat the hell out of him he can't ever imagine returning the favour, especially now he's human.

"I may have expressed an opinion on the effect of advancing age on your hunting abilities." Cas almost smiles but without humour "you may have disagreed."

"You said I was too old to hunt?" Dean raises an eyebrow, that can't (and obviously didn't) go down well.

"You came back with a head wound tonight." Castiel shrugs, plucks a dark jacket Dean doesn't recognise off the end of the couch. Locates a flask in the pocket, pours a generous amount into his coffee. "Last time it was a broken wrist, before that a bullet wound...couple of burns too."

"You told me to quit." Castiel looks at him sharply, piercing eyes narrowed.

"I told you I wanted to help." He gulps coffee.

"I wouldn't let you." Not a question. A statement. Castiel clearly gets the distinction, he nods.

"But you're..." he falters, Cas is what exactly? Not an angel, not anymore. He's not strong or powerful enough to take on demons. He's smart, ok, but not a hunter.

"Yeah" Castiel rolls his eyes pointedly. "The last time I went on a hunt, the last time you let me go, I got mauled by demons." He indicates the mass of scars beneath the warding sigils on his hip. "I was laid up for a while, I'm still not a hundred percent but..."

"But you want to help." He nods his understanding, reminded of himself begging Dad for details of his latest hunt. Caught up in the importance of it, worrying the whole time if he was ever coming home.

"There isn't anybody else" He says, simply, then frowns. Clearly he didn't mean for the conversation to get this far. He'd just meant to explain the bruise away and leave it at that. Dean quickly changes the subject.

"So...not that I'm complaining or anything but...how'd this happen?"

"The head injury..."

"No. This, roommate-of-the-freaking-lord deal." To his surprise Castiel smiles. Not the half imagined mouth twitch of Castiel the angel, or the unfocused, naive grin of his post-apocalypse self. It's an actual, normal 'ha! Good one' smile.

It's weird but in a good way, and for a second Dean's almost happy. Talking to a normal person and making jokes, watching them smile. He hasn't done that in weeks, months. It's all quips and jibes and the end of the world.

Then he remembers that it's Castiel and it's weird all over again. A question occurs to him, one he really really doesn't want to ask. But does.

"Why do you like me?"

It's instantly too girly so he quickly adds, "I mean you don't really seem to...you didn't seem to like anyone."

"Angel's don't like." Castiel still seems amused by this welcome distraction.

"So how..."

"I became human just before the confrontation with Lucifer. You were very helpful, when it happened. It wasn't the easiest thing to go through...after that I was restored, more than that I..." he struggles to equate it to human terms, "I was promoted."

"And you still chose to come back?" he exhales sharply "dude, seriously, I can't imagine myself, uh...me... letting that happen." Castiel looks confused, an expression so familiar it makes Dean want to laugh. "I was kinda warned that you and humanity led to..."

"Drug fuelled orgies and eventual execution?" he looks intently at the carpet as he speaks, purposefully avoiding Dean's eye. "You told me, after I returned. I was...surprised."

"Shocked the hell out of me too, not that the rest of the world was doing so great." He finally manages to catch Cas's eye. "I never told anyone. Not even Sam."

"For which I am still profoundly grateful. Besides, now it's just another thing that never happened." His voice is light but Dean can detect the feeling in it. Shame, sadness and a kind of fear.

"I saw it though." He says quietly. "It doesn't matter that it won't happen. It already did." He's surprised at the pain that causes him, every time he thinks about it. Sam as the devil. Himself as a torturing general with even less humanity than Castiel had show when they'd first met. It was Castiel that made him hurt the most. He'd just seemed so reduced, weeded down to a broken soldier. Dean hadn't even seen him die, just known that he'd gone to his death, still high and knowing that Dean had sent him there. Worse still, the drugs, the alcohol, the sex. It was all him. The Dean Winchester coping strategy.

Something about that seemed weirdly familiar.

He's just catching at the slight wave of déjà vu that accompanies that thought when something else happens. Castiel yawns and then stretches convulsively like a cat. The already loose sweats slip lower as he lengthens out, reaching up. Dean's eyes fall first to the tattoo, and then lower, across the sharp hipbones to the soft line of hair that stands out on his sun starved skin.

The slight feeling of familiarity intensifies until he can remember this. Not seeing this but thinking about it. He remembers remembering watching this. Imagining Castiel without even the sagging sweats as cover.

And fuck if that isn't more disturbing than everything that's happened to him so far.

Ten Years Ago...

He still can't believe this is allowed.

That he has a steady job and an address for the first time in years is unprecedented. That his plans for the future don't revolve around insane sentences like 'If we don't kill the Devil..." or "I'm going to find God." is purely awesome, and best of all? He doesn't come home to a room that's either empty or occupied by his brother. He never brings women back to the bed that isn't his anyway, never wakes up alone or knowing he has to leave last night's partner within the next hour.

It's not that they're a couple. Dean would probably go to hell, again, sooner than he'd think of Cas as his partner. Worse yet as a boyfriend. They live together, ok, but it's not like he's never lived with men before. His Dad, Sam, Bobby, hell he spent a few awkward nights in the same room as Ash once.

This is different, but not by much. There's the sex, obviously, the fact that through some miracle of their fucked up universe he's even allowed to touch something like Castiel. That still gets him. Even though it's been months since he got his memory back. Even though he's woken up wrapped around Cas's naked self to many times to keep track. Even after all the times he's watched the older man strip off and lie on the bed, looking up at him. He still can't quite believe that the world let this happen, or that Castiel even wants it to.

As he rolls over in the greyish light, feeling the chill of the under heated apartment, Castiel shifts on his own side of the bed. There are still a lot of things Dean finds it weird to watch Cas do, sleep is one of them. Of course it's followed by practically anything that isn't fighting angels, staring intently at nothing and throwing Dean around like a rag doll, but it's still an event in itself.

"Dean" without opening his eyes the ex-angel mutters. "Stop it."

"I'm just watching you." He slides an arm around him underneath the tangle of blankets. His fingers brushing over his spine and down to his hip. Blue eyes flick open lazily, eyebrows rising.

"I find it unnerving."

"Still not stopping."

"Dean?"

He shakes of the memory to find Castiel watching him, frowning.

"I think I remembered something." The light that comes on in the other mans eyes makes him feel irrationally happy. Or it would if he wasn't so freaked out. Of all the things to remember why did it have to be proof that he was gay? Gay and probably married to Castiel by now.

"Really? What?"

"We lived somewhere, before this. An apartment."

"Yes."

"And we're..." He makes an awkward gesture to indicate the both of them. "We're a...we..."

Castiel blinks.

"Are a couple. Yes."

Castiel looks both amused and tense with the expectation of anger.

"Since..."

"Since before Lucifer was defeated."

"Wow" He huffs out air and rubs a hand over his face. "I have no response to that."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Castiel assures him, sinking back against the couch cushions.

"Why?" Dean's head snaps up.

"I thought you might react badly. There didn't seem any point if we assume the memory loss is temporary."

"And if it isn't?" Castiel give him a long, strange look.

"Then there would still be no reason to tell you."

"Jesus Christ!" He surprises them both by yelling. "You...you're telling me if I hadn't remembered that, you'd have just let it go? Ten years and then just, nothing?"

"I wouldn't want to coerce you." Castiel's voice has developed a slight edge, clearly he isn't enjoying this.

"How did it happen?"

"Dean..."

"I want to know, Christ! This is..." he forces himself to be calm. "I need to know this, it's my life Cas and this seems like a pretty huge part of it."

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. Dean prepares himself for the refusal, internally he grudgingly lets it drop.

"After I fell they found me on a shrimping boat. When I eventually regained consciousness I was transferred to a mental facility... they thought I was disturbed for believing in Lucifer. You came to get me..."

As he tells the story, filling in the rest of the apocalypse around it, Dean can't feel a twinge of recognition. It pisses him off, here it is, his life story of the past decade, and it triggers less than Cas's momentary stretch.

He can tell Castiel is glossing over some of it. He sees the tension in him as he describes his ascent back to heaven. His capture and torture at the hands of Sam. He gauges Dean's reaction, carefully dilutes the details, but Dean can guess enough.

"When Bobby died he left you the house. You'd already been hunting again, it seemed easier to do so from somewhere already equipped and... obviously you felt it was the right thing to do...that's it." He looks at Dean, the first time he's done so since he started speaking. "That's the last ten years."

Dean can't think of anything to say.

"Dean?" Castiel looks concerned. "I'm sorry for...I have no idea what I'm sorry for." He smiles wryly "You're still dealing with the end of the world and I'm dragging out the photo albums."

"We have photo albums?" Castiel almost wants to laugh at the appalled look on his face.

"Not actual...maybe one." He admits "It was gift from Becky, last Christmas."

"Becky?"

"Married to Chuck." A lazy smile graces Castiel's face. "They're surprisingly tolerable."

"Sweet" Dean smirks.

"They think so."

"So, can I see it? The album, not Chuck and Becky." Castiel gets up and opens an overflowing cabinet in the corner of the room. After a few minutes of routing around he almost, but not quite, growls in frustration and pulls something out of his pocket. Snapping open the small case he shoves a pair of rectangular glasses onto his nose and goes back to searching. Eventually he sits back down, passing Dean a black leather bound folio.

Flicking it open Dean begins to scan the pictures, unnerved by Castiel's gaze. After a few seconds he attempts to distract him.

"It's weird seeing you with glasses."

"I've had them a while."

"I can see that." Dean looks down at a picture presumably taken on the day the album was presented. It shows Becky smiling widely next to bashful looking Chuck, both sitting on the same sofa he's currently on. But his attention is caught on the Dean in the picture, looking older than he remembers himself, smiling, one arm slung around Castiel. A Castiel wearing the same modern glasses and a black T-shirt. Castiel is the only one not grinning at the camera, he's relaxed into Dean's hold, smiling slightly to himself.

As much as Dean hates to think it – Castiel, angel of the lord, looks adorable.

He looks through the rest of the album, forgetting that Castiel is watching him. There are pictures from the rest of Christmas, from what looks like the day they moved in (Castiel is struggling with a large box and looking unimpressed with the photographer – presumably Becky.) There are a few more he's willing to bet are not Becky's pictures, just ones she managed to get hold of. One of Castiel lying on a couch looking half asleep, smiling at the person behind the camera.

It makes him a little uncomfortable, seeing these pictures, so unlike anything he's had before. The insufferable cuteness of it almost makes him want to comment, raise an eyebrow about what he's become. But he can't because, looking at Cas in the picture, on the couch. He knows that he'd take that picture, given the chance. He looks small and human and...beautiful, stupid word that it is.

He's never thought of Castiel like that before.

The last picture is a recent one. Recent from his own point of view, in that he recognises himself from the memories he actually has. Him and Cas by the impala, Castiel's hands thrown up in annoyance, Dean's own eyebrows raised and arms folded. They're arguing, but they still look right together.

"Sam took it." Castiel's looking at the picture, not at him. "The day we got back from the hospital."

Three days after they started sleeping together. Three days and they already look like a couple.

"We look happy." Castiel snorts laughter unexpectedly.

"If I remember correctly I'd just snapped after six hours of 'rock appreciation' and you were yelling at me for kicking the door closed."

Dean smiles.

"Never hurt the car."

"Lesson learned." Castiel replies sagely. "Also never insult your taste in music, pie, movies or women." He corrects himself. "Not that there has been an opportunity for the latter." Dean thinks he can see the beginning of an honest to God smirk.

It's hard to believe that the last thing he remembers is Castiel beating him up. Though clearly he remembers more, somewhere he can't access. If all this other stuff hadn't happened there's no way he could have gone from thinking Cas was a righteous asshole of an angelic bastard to thinking 'at least I have good taste in men'. It's been about two hours, nothing short of a miracle could change Dean Winchester's mind about something in two hours.

Speaking of his stubbornness.

"The fight we had..." he begins carefully. Castiel's easy smile fades instantly, leaving him hollowed eyed with worry. Dean finds himself comparing it to Sam's many tortured looks. No contest, Castiel's wins hands down. "I hurt you Cas, that's not just a fight, that's...more than a fight." He finishes lamely.

"I told you, I wanted to help you. Watching you get hurt is...difficult, especially when I used to be of use to you."

"And I hurt you for that?"

"No" His voice is harsh and insistent, Dean remembers it from the arguments they've had about the angel's plans. Castiel really doesn't want him to know.

"I might remember..."

"Then you'll remember, I won't have to tell you."

"Cas..."

"No."

"You're saying..." his voice falters. He knows this. Castiel on his feet, about to stalk away, his own voice – 'You're saying...'

"You're saying it's better if you go out and get hurt? I can't handle that Cas, not again. Not after last time."

"I'm saying I've been shot, stabbed, tortured and I am still trying to help you. So let me."

"That's supposed to make me feel better? You've done enough for me, with the apocalypse...I want you to be safe."

"And I don't want to watch you kill yourself. That's what you're doing, any more nights like tonight and you might not make it back."

"One hit to the head? Seriously, I've had worse Cas...you gave me worse, remember?"

"If you'd been knocked unconscious they'd have killed you. You need someone else there."

"You're worrying about nothing."

"I'm worrying about you, Dean."

A sudden jolt as he sees, sees Castiel. The same one sitting with him now, only standing, looking at him with fierce, angry, worried eyes. He can see the tension in him. Dean feels a rush of sympathy, he knows what it's like, loving someone who never stops, never gives a moments thought for themselves as they sacrifice themselves for everyone else.

He's turned into his father.

"If you're going to keep doing this." Castiel isn't angry anymore, he just looks tired. "Do it without me, ok? We're done."

"Cas..."

"We're done, Dean."

"I grabbed you" He says, the memory slotting neatly into place. "I grabbed you, you pushed me away. I went to bed upstairs...in the back room. You went..."

"I went to put the car away. You left it when you came in."

"You went to our room."

"Yes."

"So you heard me knock the laptop down, heard me moving around and you just got up to see what was wrong?" He can't imagine someone doing that for him. "We were fighting."

"I was worried."

"You're always worried." He replies without thinking. Castiel blinks, surprised, then recovers.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs, gaze flicking contemplatively to the ground.

"You don't have to apologise for..."

"I told you I was going to leave." He looks Dean firmly in the eye. "I wasn't going to leave and I shouldn't have said it."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen."

"You don't remember..."

"Yeah, and why is that?" Dean smiles bitterly "You were worried about me dying but I just lost the last ten years Cas, that's worse."

"It really isn't"

He doesn't have a response to that either.

A loud hammering breaks the silence.

"That would be Sam." Castiel gets up, notices for the first time that he's shirtless and grabs a grey hooded sweater from the back of the couch. "I'll let him in."

Across the room a phone rings.

"Damn it" He sighs "Can you get the door, I have to... impersonate an FBI official."

"Hope you do a better job than last time" he quips on the way to the door, realising too late that it's only 'last time' to him.

"The angels just gave you back?"

It's the weirdest conversation he can remember, and that means it outranks the evening so far. Sam, looking a lot more grizzled than he remembers, is drinking coffee across from him, explaining how he returned from angelic prison.

"They realised I had no idea how I was back, and that it hadn't changed me that much. That I wasn't evil." He cautiously looks Dean in the eye. "took a little longer to convince you."

"You tortured Cas."

"I can never take that back, I know. I wish I'd never asked you..."

"Asked me what?"

Too late Sam notices Castiel's not now gesture.

"I asked you to... uh...well I knew you could get him to talk, so..."

"You've got to be freaking kidding me!"

"Dean..." Castiel jumps up at the same time as he does, stepping between him and Sam.

"You're just going to sit here with him after he did that? You let him in the house, you made him coffee...how can you forgive that?"

"Dean" and for a second he's the stern angel Dean remembers. He sits back down, letting Castiel sit beside him.

"I'm sorry for intruding." Sam seems genuinely aggrieved "It's just when Cas...tiel " he corrects the over familiar nickname quickly, flicking a nervous look at Dean. "called me I thought you were going to freak out, you know about..." he uses the same inelegant gesture as Dean to indicate 'coupledom'. "I thought you'd...need me, or something." His eye brows twitch in a regretful grimace. "guess not." He gets to his feet, nods towards Castiel in thanks. "So, I'll get out of your..."

"Stay." Dean surprises himself. "It's...well now it's just really early, but if you've been driving all night...stay." Sam looks to Castiel for permission.

"You should stay." He winces "I don't think any of the guest rooms have been opened since Bobby..."

"He can have my room...the one I woke up in? Seemed pretty clean, messy though." He smirks at Castiel to break off the feeling that something monumental just happened. "you should clean more."

"You clean I cook, that was the deal." The other man shoots back, dead pan.

"Yeah well, you burn the meatloaf; I can skip a few..." He blinks. "You burn meatloaf."

"Apparently." mutters Sam, "you remember?"

"No, I just said it, and I knew."

"If we have to wait for you to mock me every time you want a memory back..." Castiel thinks for a second. "Actually that'd do it pretty quickly." He yawns sharply.

"And on that, bed." Dean gets up and beckons at Sam "I'll show you where it is." He leads Sam upstairs, shows him the room he woke up in hours ago. It occurs to him that if he remembers the things in there they have to be years old by now. It's the room his pre-apocalypse self might have inhabited.

Once he closes the door on Sam he pauses, aware that he's given away his own bed and now has nowhere to sleep. His awkward pause is broken by a sudden blast of AC/DC and some fairly un-angelic cursing. A couple of rooms away he see's light under the door and opens it. Inside Castiel is holding an alarm clock that's playing 'Back in Black' at top volume. He locates the off switch and jerks it triumphantly, setting the clock down and catching sight of Dean.

"I take it that's mine." He says finally, indicating the alarm clock.

"Just in case I didn't get enough of your five albums during the day." The ex-angel says drily.

"Wow you really hate my music."

"And you hate me singing in the shower..."

"You sing in the shower?" Dean repeats incredulously. Castiel grimaces.

"Not well, last time you yelled at me through the door, something like, 'Stop murdering poison, you sound like a damn choir boy.'"

"You sing poison in the shower?"

"Like a choir boy apparently, not that I can picture one singing 'Talk Dirty to Me' ."

"Please let that not be a joke."

Then he realises that he's smiling, and Cas is smiling back and they're standing in a bedroom they share...and it feels like the most normal thing in the world. Castiel seems to notice his sudden change in mood.

"So...you gave Sam you're room, if you want to take the bed, I can sleep downstairs." He watches him carefully.

"Cas it's your bed..."

"Technically..."

And he knows it's intended to make him ok with taking the bed, that Cas really just wants him to be comfortable. The self sacrificing idiot. But he still can't help but take it in the way his brain is telling him he shouldn't.

"Great, which side am I on?"

Castiel meets his look questioningly, but doesn't comment.

"The left."

Dean tugs back the dark blue duvet and slides underneath, turning his head against the pillow to get comfortable. Castiel stands frozen for a second, then turns off the light and feels his way to his side of the bed. Dean feels the mattress dip, the lighter man settling down. Minutes pass and his awareness of Castiel doesn't diminish. A slow infusion of warmth creeps across the bed, filling the carefully maintained space between them. Dean closes his eyes but he can hear Castiel breathing in the dark, feel every movement he makes beneath the sheets.

"It was good of you to let Sam stay." His voice comes out of the dark, alarmingly close.

"I guess." He can't really pinpoint his reasons for doing it, only that Sam still has power over him, he's still his brother, even after everything. Silence stretches out and he thinks Castiel has fallen asleep, then he speaks again.

"If you're uncomfortable I can still leave." He says gently.

"I'm fine..."

"You're staying still, really really still, usually you've taken over the bed by now."

"You're cold." Dean whines, feeling a chill arm snake across his waist.

"I've been outside."

"Yeah, got that." He mumbles sleepily, trying and failing to secure the pillow with his arm.

"Dean."

"What..."

"You're all over the bed again."

He drags his heavy limbs inwards, creating enough space for Castiel to lie down behind him.

"You good?"

"Very."

Castiel jumps a little when Dean's arm slides over his waist. He feels the body next to his move across the bed, settling when his chest is pressed against Castiel's back.

"This ok?" Dean's voice mutters against his ear. Castiel wraps a hand over the one on his abdomen in response.

"Good" comes Dean's sleepy response. "and thank you...for tonight."

"You're welcome."

He wakes up in a bed that isn't his own, at least, not one he remembers owning. There's a warm weight against him, a forehead pressed against his shoulder and a hand stroking at his side.

Which doesn't suck, in the hierarchy of things to wake up to.

He moves a little, just enough to ascertain that he's definitely reacting to the presence of a warm body. A body which fidgets and makes a sound he identifies as worryingly male. The thought flicks across his brain, 'It's just Cas'. Which raises a few more interesting questions, before he remembers the events of the previous night.

So, yeah, it's fair to say it makes his top ten of mornings to remember.

Castiel makes a gruff, unimpressed sound that sends warm breath skating down Dean's chest. Twitching awake the other man presses closer, face still buried just below his collar bone. The hand that was lazily stroking his side moves around, heads south without warning, and slides into an altogether different rhythm.

Definitely top five then.

He's just relaxed into the feel of Castiel's hand moving over him, in a way that suggests a lot of prior experience and is proving quite effective...when Castiel wakes up properly. All of a sudden Dean's left, cold, achingly hard, and alone, because Castiel has pulled right back to the other side of the bed.

"Shit! Sorry." His hair's ruffled into peaks and his eyes are huge with awkwardness and shock. If he wasn't so utterly focused on the tension still evident under the disturbed sheets, Dean might even find it funny.

"It's fine Cas" he says instead, still breathing heavily, trying desperately to subdue himself, but not even thoughts of Ash are having the desired effect.

"No I..." he moves forwards just as Dean does, bringing them almost as close as they were a few seconds ago. "Sorry" he says again, lamely.

And then Dean does the unthinkable.

Or at least, to him it's unthinkable, to Castiel it's the norm – Dean's mouth on his, bodies pressed together in the room they share. `And then Castiel's hand returns to its prior location, earning a happy moan from Dean, and then...

"Cas, Dean isn't downstairs, have you...God, sorry!" Sam's head appears around the door and is withdrawn just as quickly.

Dean and Castiel remain frozen.

"Great, reunite with Sam, scar him for life." Dean smirks.

"He'll be fine." Castiel is halfway to the door, presumably having remembered that he needs to make Sam breakfast or some Betty Crocker shit like that. He's getting the distinct impression that Castiel is the wife of this relationship, which isn't entirely unpleasant. He almost misses the tail end of Castiel's sentence as the door closes. "...it's not like it hasn't happened before."

And that's how that morning reached the top of his 'weirdest starts to the day, ever' list. Right above 'woke up in a coffin having been saved from hell' and 'woke up to an angel asking about my subconscious fantasies.' Neither of which came close.