Well here it is – part two. I might do an actual sequel, but I'd need to think about it – I'm rushing this because it won't leave me alone and I have work to do, but I nearly cried, so I think it's good. I have to say, I hated jimmy when I started writing Sweetheart (closeted bastard) but he's grown on me

Hope you like it.

Amelia is taking the same classes as him, Business Studies major with a minor in Theology. She's shy and dark haired with greyish blue eyes. Sometimes he sees her smiling at her friends as she enters the room. She reminds him of Cas, but softer, safer. He works up the nerve to talk to her three months into the course. He asks to borrow her pen, feeling ridiculous. He ends up with a cup of coffee and a date for dinner the following evening.

A few months into their relationship, jimmy realises that he's in a relationship. He has someone he sees all the time and who he knows stupid little things about. He's in love.

The first time they have sex Jimmy barely gets through it. It reminds him too much of Castiel, but he finds Amelia to be soft and beautiful, and he loves her, in the part of his heart that isn't reserved for his twin. It gets easier, as the memory of his brother fades into early adolescent experience and Amelia becomes his present.

He proposes at the end of their second year. She accepts.

He hasn't seen Castiel for two years, aside from the occasional letter and the even rarer phone call they have barely communicated. On the phone he can hear the looseness of Castiel's voice, the intoxication in the way he chuckles to himself and rolls his words aimlessly.

"Are you still on that stuff?" he asked, once, his anger taking over his love for a brief moment.

"Are we still on this?" Castiel retorts dryly. "Jimmy..."

"I just wanted to know."

"Yes, I am. Ok?" He sounds tired, there's a noise in the background. "Shit. I have to go."

"Ok. Cas...I love you, be safe, alright?"

"Sure. I love you too man." The line goes dead.

Jimmy goes back to his finals revision, Castiel kicks off his heels and flips over for a client.

He's been wearing women's clothing for a while. The first time he was high, bored and a little curious. The dress came in a plastic sack of hand-me-down crap he inherited from his apartment neighbour. Green silk-effect-nylon and wonderfully soft on his nicotine yellowed hands. There's very little softness about him these days.

He slips it on, standing in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, drawing down the last of the joint clenched in his fingers. His hair is too long, flattening under its own weight, his face is pale, eyes big and blue beneath their sooty lashes. There are track marks on his left arm, deep purple against the skin.

He looks nothing like Jimmy, not anymore.

He doesn't know whether to be glad or not.

Crowley thinks little of this new preoccupation of Castiel's. He tends to take kinks in his stride, though Cas knows he's been going elsewhere for his fun. He keeps the rent checks and the pills coming though, amongst other things. So it's not like he cares. He's never short of a fuck, or business come to that – they go neatly together.

At Jimmy's wedding, the first time they've seen each other for two years – Jimmy catches him using.

They've already had a bad start, Jimmy looks as neat as ever, filled out with age and almost glowing with happiness thanks to the impending wedding. He meets his brother at the airport and is instantly shocked.

Castiel is thinner than ever, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a faded Buddha print. His hair is slightly too long and hangs into his eyes, he's unshaven. But it's the way he moves that worries Jimmy the most, twitchy and languid by turns, eyes huge in his gaunt face. Jimmy hugs him fiercely, mouth pressed to his ear.

"Oh Cas..."

"Nice to see you to."

He knows Castiel is a stoner, probably a heavy drinker if not an outright alcoholic. But he's his brother and he loves him, more than he thought was possible.

Until he catches him the spare bedroom with his works out on the bed, readying himself to shoot up.

He slams the door shut, making Castiel jump guiltily.


"Pack. You're leaving" Jimmy throws Cas's duffle onto the bed.

"Ok...I can get the train back." Castiel looks unsurprised and devastated at the same time.

"You're not going home." Jimmy scrubs a hand over his eyes. "I talked to Amelia about this...I thought, maybe you'd need..." he sighs. "I'm taking you to Rehab, Cas."

A bitter smile graces Castiel's mouth.

"Oh the hell you are"

"You're a junkie." Jimmy thunders dangerously. "you brought this into my home – that's out of control."

"I don't want to be in control" Castiel tucks the shaving bag that contains his works away.

"You still with Crowley?"

"Sometimes." Castiel looks down at his hands. The nails have red polish on them, which is the least of Jimmy's concerns right now.

"What does that mean?"

"That I'm a whore, that I get around, ok?" Castiel smiles his hard smile and Jimmy suddenly wishes they were fifteen again, that he could just take a hold of his brother and keep him safe, because the only dangers were bullies and traffic. He can't save Castiel from Crowley, from drugs and whatever infections he's picked up while he's been 'getting around'. All he can do is try to hold him together.

"Cas you aren't that bad."

His brother laughs bitterly. Because he knows exactly how bad he is, he's high not stupid. He knows he's a junkie, that he drinks too much, that he's a whore for taking two, three guys at a time, for money.

He knows.

"Just come with me, please?" Jimmy strokes his hand and Castiel closes his eyes, feeling tears burn in his throat. He nods, roughly, dumbly. He couldn't speak now if he wanted to. Jimmy wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly. And Castiel just, breaks. He sobs hard against his brothers shoulder, hands gripping his shirt tightly. Jimmy presses his face against Castiel's hair while he cries out three years worth of pain and fear and shame.

"Shhhh...it's ok." Jimmy murmurs, running his hands over Castiel's back, feeling his spine as a harsh line of bone. "It's ok...I'm here."

That night he drives Castiel to a rehab clinic two towns away, the closest one with spaces available. He leaves his brother in the care of the night duty warden, looking small and tired and red eyed. In the foyer he hugs him close, squeezing his shoulders.

"I love you, and I'll be back in a few days, ok?" Castiel nods, Jimmy turns to leave.

"Jimmy!" he turns back to find his brother looking open and aware for the first time in...well almost four years. "I want...I want to say, sorry..."

"You don't have to." Jimmy smiles, feeling affection strangle his chest. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too."

Rehab isn't easy. Castiel feels like shit for a long time, shivering and sweating through his come down, feeling sick and hot and aching so much he wishes he could just pass out. Jimmy visits to show him pictures of the wedding, and they curl up on the resident's sofa to look through them. He feels younger, like Jimmy is years beyond him and protective and strong.

It's nice.

It takes a long time, and Castiel worries that it won't work because he can't tell his therapy group about Jimmy and what happened when they were younger. But he feels better, gains a little perspective on his life – it hasn't all been about Jimmy, and it shouldn't be.

That's the first time Castiel goes into rehab.

The only time.

That's the one thing he's proud of, that came out of the whole mess. He got clean and he stayed clean. Booze and cigarettes aside he's practically a monk once he hits the outside.

He and Jimmy can talk more now, though his brother doesn't understand everything. He doesn't get why Castiel still likes women's clothes, even now he's sober. He still can't come to terms with his brother's promiscuity, though he's slowed down there.

Castiel's philosophy is simple, he likes women's clothing, so he's going to wear them. If he wants sex he'll go get it. Same goes for a drink, he's never had a problem with that. But not drugs.

And that's fine by Jimmy.

Castiel adds another rule mentally - Not relationships either, because, frankly, he'll never love someone as much as Jimmy – so why ruin someone else's life?

He leaves Crowley's place with a little support from Jimmy. He's still hooking, but only occasionally, and it's alright. No one would believe it but it is alright. Sex is fun, and he needs the money, but not badly enough to do things he'd rather not.

He picks most of his guys up at The Sweetheart, a club across town. It's old and falling to ruin but he likes it, and the men there tend to be out and amenable, not closeted and unpredictable.

It's a slow night, not many people around, so he's outside watching the rain, smoking and enjoying himself. He likes nights like this, when everything feels almost unrealistically gritty and dark – because he knows it isn't, he's been there already.

And he's glad to be out.

He's disturbed eventually, some guy comes out of the side door behind him. He's cute so he doesn't really mind. Castiel's happy to receive an appreciative once over and returns it. The guy's hot – in a broad shouldered hick kind of way. He's tall, blond or light brown hair. Castiel figures he could use some action tonight, not even the paid kind, which puts him in a good mood. He asks the guy if he's looking for something, gets a rough response. He likes that, the guys voice is a mass of slightly inebriated accent.

He lets him back him against the wall, hitching his skirt up and kissing him hard. He feels strong, good against his smaller body. He's missed this, good clean fun – at least to him. His hands fall to the guys belt.

"What's your name?" he almost growls against Castiel's throat.

"Cas" he surprises himself by answering. "My name is Cas..."

Things are getting serious when he thrusts up, catching the hard outline of the guys dick against his own. The guy pulls away, sharply, looking shocked.



Well that's just adorable.

"Oh...I'm sorry." He feels it too, he should have made it clear. His mistake.

He watches the guy bolt, torn between being turned on, amused and feeling oddly warm and affectionate. He doesn't get many innocent guys, defiantly none who don't immediately see him as an easy guy dressed up for the night.

Poor guy.

He asks at the bar, on a whim, and finds out that the guy, the soldier is from the military base outside of town. It takes him all night to work up the nerve, but the next morning he puts on his old suit, trench coat and shoes. He hedges a little but eventually goes for his silk underwear – not like he's going to be searched.

The least he can do is find the guy and apologise, for what exactly he isn't sure, but he feels bad about what happened.

And he wants to see him again, in daylight. The guy was hot after all, and he's not going to apologise for being interested in another look.

His name is Dean. The bartender knew that much, so it's almost easy to get a message to him from the front gate. He waits in the tiny control booth for him to arrive. Still hot, even in uniform and looking nervous and perhaps a little pissed.

The conversation is tense but he can feel the heat there, this guy knows what he is and he's still interested. Perhaps a little more interested now. So when Dean's finger brush the lace and silk of his underwear...Cas thinks, what the hell? How long has it been since someone wanted him badly enough to turn for him?

Well...not since Jimmy. And isn't that the point? Isn't that why he's here?

Sometimes he wishes he could understand how his mind worked. At least then he'd know where he was headed before he got there.

"I'm not..." Dean pants, eyes uncertain and heated.

"I know" Castiel hears himself almost growl, pulling Dean against him and then back into the wall, kissing roughly and hungrily. His voice turns gentle as he takes Dean's hands guiding them unflinchingly and looking him in the eye. "Just touch me."

Dean's hand cups him through the fabric of his slacks, rubbing the silk underneath into his groin. Castiel hums delicately, his own hands working on the zipper of Dean's pants. The larger man jumps at the first contact of his fingers, which although long and slim, are nothing like a woman's.

"Hey" Castiel tips his head up, stroking slowly. "It's ok" he kisses him. "You like this?" Dean kisses him, hard. Castiel smiles against him, opening his own pants deftly. They press into the wall, Dean rutting against the dampening fabric of the scrap of silk panties caught between them.

"Oh...fuck, yes" Dean's hands hit the wall on either side of Castiel's head as he throws his body into the motion. "I'm..." his hips stutter, Castiel feels his own orgasm approaching, fast and messy, he could get used to this, it's been so long since he'd just been with someone, not just fucking them but feeling them.

He feels like a fucking teenager.

It's awesome.

"I'm gonna..." Dean rubs against him hard, pulsing come against both their stomachs. "Ooh...oh, god." Castiel bites Dean's lip, surging his own climax against the sodden fabric of his underwear. He rubs them together, feeling the heated wetness trapped between them.

Dean looks shaken and yet still aroused, which Castiel finds endearing. He can't remember the last virgin he had, there haven't been many. And this guy is just...Dean looks down at their bellies, streaked with come, his fingers wrap around Castiel's spent dick, rubbing it softly, he loses his train of thought, letting his head fall to Dean's shoulder with an unsteady goran. His fingers find Dean's cock, teasing the sensitive flesh. They whimper as their pace increases, blood flooding downwards into the torturously raw skin.

"Fuck" Castiel pants succinctly.

"Mmmhmm" Dean's teeth catch at his throat. "You're fucking...so good...Cas...you feel so fucking good."

"Yeah" His breath is harsh, like he's on the edge of crying, despite how delirious he feels. Wound up and wrung out and so fucking on edge. A raw nerve about to come again. "Oh god keep doing that" Dean's fingers work the uncut skin of him, rubbing his slit roughly. "Fuck...please...please..." He comes like it's been punched out of him, dry and tight little spasms that almost bend him double, he collapses into the wall, Dean's chest pressed to his as the other man shudders and gasps.

His legs feel unsteady, his chest and face are burning, sweat soaking them both. He feels...good, fucking fantastic, and Dean's still holding him, not pulling away and cleaning up with a grin. They're pressed together, still mostly clothed. Dean's breath stirs his hair. His chest pounds hard, painful emotion twists his gut.

And Dean says six words that he's waited a long time to hear.

"I'd like to see you again."