Just so you know, my novel 'Me and Mine' is now available in hard copy. See my profile for details

Also, apologies for the crappy quality for writing in the last few updates, and their lateness. My course has been super busy.

This should be considered the last update – I was writing, and it reached a little bit of a closure point and I thought...this is where I wanted to take them. This is how it should end Also, before anyone points it out – I know Cas was talking to Pamela at the end of the last chapter, this is a cut to the session with Dean.

"My family are fine, great." Dean tells Dr Barnes, arms crossed over his chest.

Pamela looks at him, not buying it for a second.

"Care to expand on that?"

"Not really."


"My Mom's dead. My Dad's barely coping. I don't want to talk about it." Dean tells her.

"And when you were a child?" Pamela asks, softly but relentless.

Dean looks down at his hands.

"They didn't hit me or yell, or drink, cheat on each other..."

"Good...and how were they together."

"Perfect." Dean says without hesitation.

"Interesting choice."

"They were."

Pamela nods, noting on her legal tablet.

"How so?"

"They were just...they went out for dinner, had parties, he mowed the lawn, she made lemonade. Perfect."

"And that's what you always wanted in a marriage?"

Dean is caught off guard, still seeing his Mom and Dad in their bed on a Sunday morning, eating toast and arguing over the sports section.

"I wanted...just...normal life– and that was it. That's what everyone had."

Pamela looks at him wryly. "Just because you grew up in a Christmas card, doesn't mean that everybody else did."

"I know that." Dean mutters. "But, it's what everyone wants. To be happy."

"Did it make you happy?"

"That's not the point."

"That's exactly the point." Pamela tells him. "Did, getting married, building your family, your home, make you happy?"

"I stayed, didn't I?" He bursts out angrily. "I stayed with her, with them...I did everything I was supposed to do, and it didn't..."

"It didn't what?" Pamela looks at him curiously.

"...work." Dean's shoulders sag. "It didn't work."

"Did you really do everything?" Pamela asks, leading him down the thorny path of blame that Dean has looked down in despair for years.

"I tried." Dean bites the side of his lip. "I...all the time we were dating, ever since we met...I was on top of it, I had it under control and then..." his mouth moves in mute confusion. "I didn't. It just, got away from me, and I couldn't get it back...and then it was too late. The whole thing was just...cracked."

"And that event...that pushed it over the edge for you...was that the first time you and Castiel..."

"I wanted him, that night, at the bar – more than I wanted Lisa, more than I wanted anything – the house, the car, my job...even my family. I just wanted him, and I couldn't turn it off, after...I just kept wanting him."

"And what do you feel for him now?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what do you want to happen now? Do you want him to stay?"

"I don't know..."

"But you don't want him to leave."

"No." Dean says quietly.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe, what made your parents perfect was their desire to be together, above all else? And not that they were normal, or average?"

"You're saying I want Castiel, and that's what he had over Lisa, not just him being a man."

"You said that." Pamela says, raising a small smile. "I'm just here to ask questions."


"So, how was it?"

Castiel is bunched up against the headboard of the single bed in Sam's spare room, wearing a pair of grey sweat pants borrowed from Jess, and a white dress shirt borrowed from Sam. Dean sits with his back against the far wall, legs laid out on the floor, also in clothes borrowed from Sam. After therapy he hadn't much felt like going to Lisa's, but Sam had gone after he'd taken them home, to pick up a few things. With Jess still at the office they had the house to themselves for a while, and Dean wanted to talk about what had happened at the therapist's office. Castiel had seemed even more closed down than usual in the car.

"It was..." Castiel curls up tighter. "It horrible."

"What'd she say to you?" Dean asks, feeling a stab of dislike towards the woman who'd done this to Cas, before remembering that he's done a hell of a lot worse to him himself.

"Nothing, nothing that wasn't just...questions. Questions about things that I didn't want to question." He blinks and looks at Dean, as frightened and naive as a man half his age. "You're the first person I've ever loved, and it's killing me."

Dean feels like he's been kicked in the mouth. He swears he can taste blood.

"I love you." He says, from his place on the floor, in clothes that aren't his.

Castiel looks at him.

"I don't know how." Castiel whispers. "I don't know what to do now...what to want...how do..." He stops, unable to articulate anything that's whirling through his brain.

"I can't tell you." Dean says. "Because I don't know. Any of this...I've never loved anyone and had them at the same time. I've never had to function everyday with it..."


"I lived with her, and I put my life with hers, but I don't think I loved her like this...half the time this hurts, honest to God feels like my heart's dying."

"I told her it hurt." Castiel fixes Dean's eyes with his own. "It hurts you?"

"All the time."

Castiel creeps down from the bed, feet sliding over the covers first, over the edge to find the floor. He sinks down as he stands up coming to sit by Dean's feet. He wraps his arms around Dean's folded knees, leaning his head against them. Dean moves up, sliding from Cas's grasp and putting his arms around the smaller man.

They're kissing before either of them decides to, mouths wet and raw and blind. Shaking in each other's arms, feeling a pleasure of such depth and scope that it borders on agony. Hearts seized totally, arresting in their chests, because this, this...is it. This is all they've wanted, waited for, since always, and forever. Finding nothing in the world that could replace this, before they even knew what this was – having tried to find righteousness and direction, comfort and placid affection, having sampled a hundred dark delights between them, in alleys, cars and hotel rooms, to satisfy both hungry libidos and ravenous hearts. They have found, stumbled upon, an ache that pains as it satisfies, is sweet as it is desperate, all consuming, crippling, and yet inspiring, fortifying.

All that is, and still more.

Feeling full to burst with it, Dean rests his head against the curve of Castiel's throat, and he in turn clutches the other man as close as physically possible.

"I never wanted to leave you." Dean says, pressing so close that he can feel Castiel's heart beating.

"I don't ever want to let you go." Castiel feels the words well up from some spring inside of him. True before he even thinks of them.

They stir themselves from the floor as one, shedding borrowed clothes and dropping them to the floor. The single bed is a small space for two grown men, but they crowd the soft mattress, pulling a silky blanket up over each other, bare limbs moving with the rhythm of breath, brushing together and unleashing waves of agonising feeling, comfort, love, desire, hesitation, bliss, exile.

They stroke each other's backs as they lie face t face, and Castiel realises that his breath is coming very fast, Dean's too – their hearts racing, lips parted in exertion, though they lie still, as if merely expression emotion had somehow exhausted them both. He cups Dean's face with one hand, thumb tracing his lips, full and shuddering with breath. Their bodies are pressed so close, so hard against each other, that it almost hurts. They kiss and Castiel feels swallowed whole. It's the first time they have been together, at least, that's how it feels; their bodies pressed together as if designed to do so, Dean's chest against his, their legs twined strongly, gripping each other as if afraid they will sink through the bed. Their kisses are shaky and hard, but tender, desperate. Both men feel as if they are burning up, feverish and shivery with cold.

They move, skin dragging on skin as their hips rock, rubbing and sparking pleasure to send the agonies of want and need and love skyrocketing. Both men grip each other hard, bones shifting at the pressure, their mouths sealed together forcefully, letting no greedy, grieving sound of pleasure escape, save muffled cries of yearning, which are consumed only by their ears.

And until exhaustion claims them, sleep creeping in to relax their grip, they clutch each other, knowing that they were made, arranged for this moment. This feeling, so terrible and fantastic that it threatened to destroy them both, was made for them and them alone. As if they were the first lovers.

Nothing, not the trials to come, the inconvenience of building new lives, the apologies, the amends that must be made. The suffering that would be faced. Nothing would touch them, nothing would tear this apart, it was too strongly joined.

Right then is when they know that it is the earth that shall move for them.

And not the other way around.