A/N: Um, regrets? None. Here, have some crappy bakery!AU fic I wrote in the dead of night that was requested by a friend of mine.

Don't own anything except for this story.


DAY 1

It was just another normal day. Business was slow. Dean had messed with the customers by telling anyone who had entered that they were closed for the rest of the day. He had done this for a couple hours now. Ever since they opened up, which was at 10 AM. "Ugh, damn it, Dean," Sam said as he watched his brother prop his feet up at one of the tables whilst feasting on an apple pie. He heard a muffled 'what?' coming from his brother but all Sam did was shake his head and heave out an exasperated sigh. "We need to clean up, you know. Mom and Dad told us that when they're dead, we-"

"We take care of the shop. Yeah, yeah. Just chill, okay?" Dean, wiping the leftover bits of pie from his face with the back of his hand, shifted his position, now planting his feet on the tiled floor. Lifting an arm and moving it across the building, he replied, "listen, we've got all day to fix this place up. It's not like Dad and Mom left us with five bucks worth of ingredients and a crappy interior. Look at this place! It's all right."

Sam's eyes soared swiftly across the room. Tiled clean floor, peach colored walls. The counter, minus the bits of dust collecting at a corner, was practically neat. It was decent. The tables were adjusted in an organized fashion and the cushiony booths were a great improvement to the wooden chairs from a year and a half ago. "I guess you're right, but we still need to fix the place up."

And that's what they did. Dean had fixed up the kitchen, putting things in their rightful places, and Sam was trying to decide whether he should paint the walls or polish the booths to add to that shinier look. In the end, Sam decided to go with the latter.

By the time they were finished, which was about 3:30 PM, Dean was whining about how Sam hadn't gotten anything done in the three and a half hours of work. Sam protested, saying that he had buffed the dining room up. Dean found no difference, but when Sam pointed out that he did do something by making Dean look closer at one of the booths, the older Winchester simply rolled his eyes and said that it wouldn't make a difference and that their customers wouldn't care.

The two spent the rest of the day taking orders and preparing baked goods for their hungry customers. When the clock reached 6 PM, it was Sam's turn to check everything; the money in the cash register, the things in the kitchen, everything. Dean was waiting in the car and jamming out to Metallica. When Sam locked up and hopped into the Impala, Dean started driving back to their motel.

The drive was long and Sam had fallen asleep just 20 minutes before they reached their destination.


DAY 8

Again, another normal day at the shop. Things had been picking up slowly and they were gaining more customers with the new look of the place. One customer, who had been visiting from Michigan, noted that the booths were very clean-looking. It prompted Sam to get into a heated chat with his brother on the topic of one phrase: I told you so. Dean let the subject slide and sternly announced his brother should get back to work.

At one point in the afternoon, probably around 2 PM, a mob of people entered the bakery all at once, causing both the Winchesters to freak about the orders. Dean had mixed up a couple of orders, causing a few people to grow impatient as he tried to correct the meals.

Unlike Dean, Sam had no problem organizing the orders and managing everything. He was more task-oriented than Dean was and had a better memory in who wanted what. The younger brother had no problem and when he was done with his part of the job, he helped Dean bake the varieties of pies and pastries.

When the flood of people had ceased, Dean called an unscheduled break, hanging around the kitchen and playing with the flour. Sam had been taking orders and would tell Dean to get back to work, which Dean would absentmindedly reply with an 'okay' without actually getting back to work. Though, Dean was forced to continue making sliced bread slathered with maple syrup and a hint of cinnamon for they had been running out of it. It was his specialty. That and apple pies.

It was 4 PM and Dean was sluggishly working around in the kitchen. Flour was splattered on the ground and on his face. Sam entered to check up on him and saw Dean punching at a large bag of sugar as if it were a sandbag.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Sam interrupted Dean's session, raising an intrigued brow at his brother's action.

Whipping around, the older Winchester chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his nape, taking a glance away from Sam before locking his green eyes back on his sibling again. "Practicing?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam snapped his fingers. "Stop goofing around. Come on, we've got two more hours left." And with that, Sam exited the tiny kitchen, returning to the need of the customers waiting in a line in front of the counter of the main room.

When it reached 6 PM, it was Dean's turn to close up and Sam was waiting for him to get in the car. Seeing an exhausted Dean climbing into the driver's seat, Sam found out that Dean still had flour blanketing over his forehead. "You look ridiculous."

"Shut up," Dean retorted quickly and drove off.


DAY 19

The bakery was closed for renovation. This time, it was Dean's idea. Sam's constant nagging had gotten to him and he felt like everything was horrible. The polished booths from the first day of work had dulled down and was collecting streaks from customers sliding in and out of them carelessly.

Sam had been wearing one of his old shirts, one that he had gotten from his mom on his birthday. He and Sam had settled that one of them would redecorate the main room by painting and the other would reorganize the things from the kitchen and throwing unnecessary things out. Dean, having not wanted to get his favorite shirt messy - which happened to be a new plaid shirt that Sam thought would look nice on him - played a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Sam to settle what task the two would get. Dean's task was to clean the kitchen and Sam was forced to take the other task: painting the walls.

The younger Winchester decided that he should keep the peach color, but add a different color to compliment it. But time for a design. Stripes? No. Too weird. Dots? No. Even weirder. He wanted something simple, yet something formal. In the end, Sam decided to paint the bottom half of the walls a maroon red and keep the top half of the walls peach.

Unfortunately, that meant that he had to move the booths and the tables aside. Luckily, he had some help. A few friends like Ash, Jo, Ellen, and Bobby, helped moved everything and decided to pitch in with the whole redecorating. Ash and Bobby helped Dean clean the kitchen and Jo and Ellen helped Sam out with the painting.

Time flew by quickly and Sam decided to rebuff the booths once again. Ellen and Jo had left and Bobby was still helping Dean with the kitchen, complaining that there was a lot of useless things in the kitchen. Ash stayed for a while, alternating between servicing Dean and Sam, but when the clock struck 1 PM, he left through the back door without anyone noticing until Bobby pointed it out.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. Sam and Dean, having been exhausted - and Dean accidentally slicing a nick at his arm when he dropped a knife - decided that they didn't want to open the shop and announced any people entering the small building that they weren't open.

One of them, a fairly decent-looking man, dressed in a dark blue suit, had caught the eye of both the Winchesters. He wasn't like most of the customers, strolling in with casual clothes. Dean and Sam had grown to recognize most of the regular people that stepped into the bakery and this man with gelled black hair and dark blue eyes was not one of those regular people.

Still, Sam told the man that they weren't open and he understood completely, exiting out of the building in a swift and nervous manner.

Nobody else came into the shop and the two agreed that they should close up early. A quarter before 5 PM, Dean turned off the lights and secured the building by locking the doors; both the entrance and the back door.

And they drove back to their motel.


DAY 22

"Here. Thank you. I hope you have a great day," Sam said with a false sense of happiness when he handed the small box of palmier and a larger box with cherry pie in it to a young girl who was probably in her mid teens. He watched her give him a generous smile and fled out of the store.

It was the end of the day and the sun was still shining. Summer was always like this. Long days and short nights. He looked out the transparent doors, the sun's golden rays invading the building and lighting the place up as if it were some kind of heavenly place. The streaks gleamed and ricocheted off the tiled floors and bursting the ceiling with an even deeper shade of gold, lighting the shady corners of the room.

The place was empty and Dean was cleaning up the tables. "Dude, these people are pigs." What Dean got from Sam made his ears twitch. A laugh. Jerking his head up to look up to Sam, he snapped, "what? What're you laughing about, ya loser?"

Sam just shook his head. "It's just that… you're calling them pigs? Man, you should see yourself! You leave crumbs everywhere on the bed and you have stains on your shirt. They're ketchup and mustard, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes and muttered, "and you complain that ants want to take you to their leader."

"I heard that!" Dean exclaimed, slamming his open palm at the table he was cleaning up. "Listen, that was a very vivid dream, okay? It was freakin' scary! And-"

"Um, hello?" A timid voice broke out.

Dean brought his head away from Sam and to the source of the sound. The same man. The sharply dressed man. He wasn't wearing a blue suit anymore. This time, he was normal-looking. Wearing a pair of jeans that didn't match his dark waistcoat - with a white dress shirt underneath - and a pair of worn out dress shoes, Dean saw the man open his mouth to answer, but no words entered his ears. "Uh, what?"

Sam shot a look at Dean and answered, "no, we were just about to close up. Did you want anything, sir?"

"Oh…" The man mumbled, fiddling with his fingers. His dark blue eyes settled at Sam. "No, no. I mean, yes. I do, but if you're ready to leave, then I can come some other time." He addressed the two a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, man. No problem. Just come by whenever ya want and we'll get ready with your order ASAP." It was Dean's turn to say something and flung the dirty rag to rest on his shoulder. "Just pop up and say hi or something. Say what you want and we'll get to it. Right, Sammy?" He turned his head to take a glimpse at his brother, flashing a large grin. When he saw Sam nod, Dean moved away from the table he was tidying and stepped closer to the stranger, resting a hand on his shoulder. "We got your back."

The man shrunk back away from Dean's touch and nodded once. "Thank you." And that was all he said before he left the building once again.

Sam let out a guffaw. "What the hell was that?"

"The hell was what?" Dean refocused his attention from the spot where the man had been standing to his brother.

"'We got your back.' Seriously, dude…" Sam didn't bother to finish the sentence and just shook his head. "Come on, Dean. Close up."

Dean rolled the rag and aimed it at the counter, but when he tossed it, it flew over it, landing on the ground. "I'll get that," he commented briefly before walking behind the counter to pick up the cloth. "And it's your turn to lock up," Dean added as he shifted away from the counter and striding over to the entrance. "I'll be waiting in the car."

Sam watched Dean leave and headed over to the counter, opening the cash register. Swiping the key, he went into the kitchen and checked the back door if it was locked. When he found out that it was, he went back to the main room and shut the few windows around before he finally turned off the lights and closed the entrance doors.

Stuffing the key in his pocket, Sam exited the shop and claimed the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean didn't wait and drove away immediately.


DAY 30

Things were going slow and the two acknowledged the fact that business wasn't quite as busy. They asked around and found out that a new bakery had opened. Shocked, the brothers argued about if they should close up. It was Sam's idea. Dean wasn't quite fond of it and grew angry when Sam asked him if they should shut the bakery down.

When it was 2 PM, everything was deserted. Sam decided to take a look at this new bakery and when Dean came back, he said that something was strange with the place. The food there was delicious - which Dean grew even more furious by the fact that Sam actually tasted 'the competition's foods' - but something was off. It wasn't the atmosphere of the place. In fact, the atmosphere of the rival bakery was very friendly and they even had generous employees.

"I'm just saying, we can't compete with these guys," Sam said as he slid into one of the empty booths, opposite of his brother. "They've got great things. They even have a couch, Dean! A couch!"

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "What kind of stupid place would have a couch at their place? It's not a damn home!"

The two continued arguing and juggling ideas of what to do with their bakery, but the shuffling of feet ceased their talk.

"Hey… it's you," said Dean as his green eyes relocated to the person that made the noise. "Uh, that guy with the waistcoat and the suit and all that fancy crap."

Again, in a suit, the blue-eyed stranger flashed a smile to the two siblings. "I apologize. I've been working and-"

"Yeah, well, we haven't. Look at this place? It's a goddamn ghost town!"

Sam, after hearing Dean's comment, just furrowed his brows together and decided to ignore the other Winchester. "So, uh… what's your name again?"

"Castiel."

"Castiel? Ah… nice name. I guess," Sam crinkled his nose when he heard the man now known as Castiel introduce himself. "I'm Sam. That's Dean." He pointed at his brother and took a brief glance at him. He could have sworn that Dean just winked at Castiel. He figured that it was just his eyes playing tricks on him and continued, "there's this other bakery shop…"

Castiel nodded and cleared his throat, combing a hand through his tousled hair. "Yes, I realized. I checked there. Everything seems nice, but I don't understand that they have such popularity in such little time. It's a bit… strange."

"Yeah? Welcome to the club, Cas," Dean shrugged and gnawed at the inside of his mouth, stealing a shared look at Sam. He noticed Sam give him a quizzical look. "What?"

"Cas? Really?" Sam simply shook his head when Dean repeated his 'what?' and turned his attention back to Castiel. "It's no big deal. I mean, we'll get through it. I hope. So, uh, what are you doing here?"

Dean blew a raspberry, the noise catching both Castiel and Sam's attention. "He's obviously going to order something. What do you want, Cas?"

Looking at the menu plastered on the wall behind the counter, Castiel roams his eyes through the multiple of foods. "Have you got any apple strudels?"

"Got it. I think we've got some already prepared. I'll check in the back," Sam scooted out of the booth, leaving an open seat, and wandered off into the kitchen for any ready meals.

Silence dawned in the room and the two men refused to look at each other, awaiting for Sam to return. As the silence grew, everything became much more awkward for Dean. Hell, maybe even Castiel. Thankfully, Sam was gone for a short period of time and had a tray with two pastries on it.

"Here." Sam handed Castiel the tray and patted at a table. "Come and sit down. Do you want a drink with that?" He saw Castiel shake his head and the Winchester returned to his previously abandoned seat. "So… where are you from?" Small talk wasn't one he excelled at, but it was worth a try.

After having sat down next to Sam, Castiel took a giant and eager bite from a strudel, the filling trailing down his slender, pale fingers. "Pontiac, Illinois," he said with a muffled speech, his cheeks puffing out so much that he resembled a chipmunk with nuts in his mouth. After chewing his bite for a lengthy amount of time, he swallowed, and wiped the filling and leftover flakes of the strudel from his cracked lips. "This is good."

"Thanks," Dean took the compliment before Sam could say anything and added, "what do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer."

And that alarmed Dean. He had done some things in the past he wasn't proud of and having Castiel here? It made him tense up. He took a peek at Sam who had mouthed 'calm down' to him and tried to relaxed his muscles. He tried, but to no avail. It only just made him tense up even more and noticed that Castiel gave him a strange look.

"Is something wrong?"

"Um, no… I think you should leave now, Cas… u-uh, Castiel." Dean's words, now strained and stiff, emitted. "We're closing up anyway. Right, Sam?"

Sam had agreed and Dean, trying to be as polite as he can, told Castiel to go home, saying that he can keep the tray and everything else. When Castiel was away from the proximity of the building, Sam questioned, "you okay?"

Dean just nodded and proceeded to clean the place up and close the place for the evening.


DAY 36

It was nearly closing time. About half an hour left. News had gotten around quickly at their bakery shop and their customers had came crawling back after the new bakery was forced to shut down due some kind of bug problem. The owners of the place had to move out of the town and find a new place to settle at.

And really, Dean and Sam couldn't be happier. Their customers were coming back and the rivals had to be relocate. It was great.

In the large crowd, Sam spotted Castiel entering the building. Waving his arm to catch his attention, Sam hollered out, "hey! Castiel!"

Castiel's eyes dart immediately to the call of his name and found Sam, producing a warm smile. "Sam," he replied and walked to the end of the lazily compiled line.

Sam took orders swiftly and told Dean to hurry up on the meals. When it reached Castiel's turn, Sam leaned against the counter, closer to his new - if he can say such - friend. "Hey, how are you? How's work?"

"It's fine. Participated in that bakery case. The health department weren't really fond of it," he started, then started talking about the details of the case and nearly grew frustrated when he had to talk about a certain event in the case. "It was all so exhausting." He examined Sam's features and realized that Sam's green, nearly hazel, eyes were flooded with boredom. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Snapping out of his trance-like state, Sam shook his head, and fixed his posture. "Sorry, sorry. No, it's my fault. Sorry." Sam noticed that another line was forming behind Castiel. "Hey, Cas? Can we talk later? Mind if you order something?"

"O-Oh," Castiel responded, his cheeks flushing red. "I'm sorry," he repeated and scanned the menu quickly. It was almost like he memorized everything on there - that, or he knew what he was going to get - and added, "I'll have a profiterole."

"A what?" Dean had entered the scene, flour once again invading his face and shirt. Luckily, he had a large apron over his clothes. "What the hell is he talking about?" He asked, his head cocking out to Sam.

"It's a cream puff, Dean. With chocolate sauce. Or… caramel, or ice cream, or whatever." Sam combed a hand through his brown hair with ease. "How much do you want? And size? Small, medium, large?"

It took Castiel some time to give Sam and Dean a proper response. "Nine? Medium. Mm… three with vanilla, three with ice cream, three with whipped cream. If that isn't too much to ask."

"Gotcha," Dean clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers rapidly, returning back to the kitchen.

Castiel shifted to the side, allowing the other people to register their orders to Sam. He didn't move. He didn't bother to find a seat or anything; he just stayed there. Listening attentively to the orders being placed, Castiel repeated what the customers' said and Sam confirmed it with a nod. When Sam thanked him, Castiel only mustered out a short 'you're welcome'.

It took about the rest of the time before closing for Dean to prepare Castiel's - and everyone else's - requests. Sam and Castiel helped Dean serve the meals out to the rest and the three were alone in the shop. They sat together in a booth. Dean and Sam on one side, Castiel on the other.

"Hey, man?" Dean asked, trying to get Castiel's attention, but instead, got Sam's. "Not you." He grunted when a wave of pain hit his rib and sent a glare to his brother. "Dude. Not cool." Nudging his elbow back to Sam's side, he heard his brother laugh and squirm a bit, edging closer to the wall. "So, Cas, you're kind of getting pudgier."

"What are you talking about?" Castiel, grabbing an ice cream topped cream puff in his hand, replied. When he heard Dean's explanation that he was getting fatter, a sheet of pink blanketed down on Castiel's cheeks. "I'm not getting fat, Dean."

And that was it. Castiel had taken offense of Dean's observation and left the building altogether with his plate of cream puffs.

A long and dreaded length of silence played out until Sam spoke. "You idiot."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."


DAY 42

Sam had been sick and Dean told him that he had to stay back at the motel and watch some cartoons - which, actually, he did do since there was nothing good on - while Dean was busy keeping the shop stable. He had brought - well, more like tugged - Jo along with him to help him out and a few other people that volunteered to help.

It was nearing the end of the day. The sun had been setting now and Dean told his helpers to go home when things started to settle down.

Exhausted, Dean wiped the sweat from his face and slid into an empty booth, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. "God."

"Not necessarily, but I've heard that the resemblance is striking," a voice echoed into the room. One that made Dean shudder, one that made Dean tense up, one that made Dean's blood boil with a sense of anger and some kind of… lust?

Dean brought his head to the source and found Castiel, slightly slimmer than he had last met him. "You forgot the beard. All you have is a stubble."

"Funny, Winchester," Castiel walked toward the tired man and leaned against the side of the booth. "Where's Sam?"

"Sick."

Castiel portrayed an uneasy frown. "Will he be all right?" When he saw Dean nod, the lawyer bit his bottom lip, hoping that Dean's younger brother would be fine. He'd grown attached to the boys and hoped that nothing bad would happen to them. Like what friends always thought for one another. Friends want each other to be okay.

"You're still a bit pudgy," Dean commented, a teasing, lopsided smirk appearing. "Got a bit of a tummy. I think you need to stop eating from here."

"And have you two go out of business? I don't think so." He shook his head and slid in, sitting next to his conversational partner. "I'm not getting fat, Dean."

Dean scoffed. "You are!" Patting at Castiel's stomach, he heard a faint thwack from the action. When he saw Castiel's skin jiggle ever so slightly, he repressed a laugh. "Yeah, you're getting fat."

Castiel flushed, shielding his stomach with his arms. "Be quiet," he snapped.

"Oh, come on. It's not like I don't like it. You're like a chubby kid or something."

The blue-eyed man gave Dean a blank stare. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"It's a compliment, asshat."

And the two continued to talk about Castiel's weight gain, which Dean had thrown some nasty insults about - though, this time, Castiel didn't get angry and barge out of the shop for he had expected such things from Dean Winchester - until Dean called it a night and told Castiel to head home.

When Dean arrived back to the motel to find a sleeping Sam sprawled along the bed with an open laptop resting on his chest, he's instantly taken to a time where he would find a teenage Sam, cheek against the keyboard of a computer, asleep. Some things never changed. Taking the laptop off Sam's body, he realized the undercarriage of the laptop was exceedingly hot. Quickly shutting the laptop down, he closed the device and slid the laptop under Sam's bed.

He didn't bother to change into another set of clothes and once his body hit the bed, his head shrouded with darkness and he swiftly succumbed to sleep.


DAY 45

Sam was still sick and Dean was more or less working at the bakery. Having 'flour fights' and pie eating contests didn't sound like work, did it? Still, even with Dean goofing around at the shop, he managed to fill in everyone's orders.

Everything went well for the rest of the day. That is, until Castiel snuck from behind the back door and loomed behind Dean until the Winchester noticed, which caused Dean to ruin the newly finished pie by dropping it on the ground. The two got into a playful argument in which they played Rock, Paper, Scissors - Castiel thought it was a stupid game to play - to decide on who would clean up the mess. Castiel lost. And once again, Castiel was enjoying himself another baked good delivered by Dean when they were done cleaning.

Dean was standing, leaning against the counter as he watched Castiel sitting in a wooden chair he had collected from the pantry which also doubled as some kind of regular closet rather than just for preserving food. "Cas?" He called out, swiveling the beer can in his hand before taking another sip.

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel looked up as he wiped his hands with the napkin that came along with the meal, coating the napkin with strawberry filling.

"You are getting fat," he commented, pointing at his friend's stomach with his free hand. He witnessed Castiel pat at his stomach, causing Dean to chuckle. It was so natural now. To point out Castiel's obvious weight gain. It's not like it wasn't Castiel's fault; it was mainly Dean's - and a bit of Sam's - because they were the ones that followed up with Castiel's requests. "You know, you're gonna like, explode from all that sweet crap you're consuming."

Castiel shook his head, unwilling to believe Dean's statement. "I'm not going to explode."

"Yeah…" Dean took another chug at the can until it was completely empty. He set the can on the counter and walked over to Cas. From the swaying and stumbling of his feet, he had been a bit tipsy. "Yes, you are. And m'not saying that just 'cause I don't want you around or anything, but it's bad for your health and-"

"And alcohol isn't bad for you?" Castiel shot a skeptical look at Dean and scooted a bit off the chair, half his rear hanging off the edge. "Sit down," and right after commanding him to, Castiel took another bite of his treat, finishing the meal.

Dean did as told and sat on the vacant space Castiel offered him. A tiny burp expelled from his mouth and mumbled something incoherently, setting his head to rest on Castiel's shoulder. "Shut up. Alcohol's awesome."

Castiel stayed silent, not wanting to get into a useless argument with a drunk Dean, until it was time to close up.

"Dean?" No reply. "Dean?" Again, no reply. Glancing over to Dean, he found that the man beside him had fallen asleep. Digging his elbow at his rib, he felt Dean jolt awake and hit Castiel out of pure reflex. Castiel, luckily, didn't fall off the chair by Dean's attack. "You fell asleep."

Dean didn't say anything and got up from the chair, swaying as he does so. "What time is it?" He didn't wait for Castiel to reply and checked the clock. A little past 6 PM. "Damn. Okay. You need to go home. I gotta get back to Sam."

"You're drunk."

With a swift roll of his green eyes, Dean dug into his pocket and tossed Castiel the keys to the Impala and when he did, he quickly regretted it.

The drive back to the motel wasn't what he expected.


DAY 58

Dean had gotten injured from slipping in the tub of the motel's bathroom and Sam was the one in charge of the bakery. Dean dialed up Bobby and Ellen to help Sam make sure that Sam 'didn't do anything stupid' while Dean stayed in the motel as he rested.

Sam found it rather empty without Dean around to banter with on deciding which toppings to put on the prepared dishes. It wasn't quite the same.

When Sam came back to the motel, he found a familiar mass lying next to a snoring Dean. "Cas?"

Castiel raised his head up and spotted the younger Winchester. "Sam."

"What are you doing here?" He asked, slowly trailing to his empty and neat bed and taking a seat at the edge of the mattress. Seeing Castiel this close to Dean was an unnerving sight. Then, he realized that Dean's arm was around Castiel's neck. His eyes widen with shock and averted his eyes from looking at his friend.

"Your brother called."

Sam saw Cas slid away from Dean uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Um, okay. Are you guys… uh…" He didn't know how to put it. Together? Dating? Friends with benefits? He knew that the two had gotten to become best friends, but seeing them together like this? It was far too much for him. And instead of saying anything else, Sam pointed at the door, gesturing for Castiel to leave. And he did.

When Dean woke up, Sam told him what he had seen and demanded if he and Castiel were an item.

They were.


DAY 70

Having Castiel with Dean made Sam feel weird. He grew to find them staring at each other for long periods of time and tapping at each other's shoulders right before one would hug the other. It was strange; seeing his brother with someone. He didn't figure Dean would be interested in boys. His brother would always brag about making out with a girl behind the campus or something. Never with a guy.

Still, it didn't affect the two in their work. Dean was able to keep his priorities in order and helped Sam with the orders.

By the end of the day, Dean and Sam became too exhausted to drive back to the motel and Sam suggested Castiel should do it for them. He didn't decline the suggestion and brought the two Winchesters to their motel. Sam had scurried away into the motel with ease.

Snatching the keys to the Impala possessively from Castiel, Dean bid goodnight to his friend - or hell, should he call him his lover? Mate? … oh, who the hell cared?

Castiel didn't fare well with the instant parting and tugged on Dean's arm lightly as the man headed into the motel. "Wait."

"What?" Dean groaned, not wanting to have this inevitable conversation. Turning around, he yanked his arm away from Castiel's grip and crossed his arms, producing a tired sigh.

With Dean's yank, Castiel was pulled closer to Dean and hooked an arm lazily around Dean's neck, tugging close. So close they could feel each other's body heat through their clothes. So close that a piece of paper couldn't squeeze between them.

Dean, already knowing a kiss would come out of this scene, unfolded his arms and poked at Castiel's slightly bulging stomach. "You're still fat, Cas."

"Mm," Cas mumbled out as he shrugged. Inching in to invade Dean's personal space - as if he hadn't already done that - he pressed a firm kiss at Dean's cheek.

"Still fat." Dean glided his tongue against his upper lip and returned the action by pulling back and pinching Castiel's nose. "Say something, man."

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel spoke in a nasally tone, "you're horrible, Dean Winchester."

"And that's why everyone loves me," he said proudly before letting go of his nose and presenting Castiel with a brief kiss to the chin. "Now leave. I'm tired."

Castiel let go of Dean and moved away, bringing a newly-discovered distance between the two. Giving a tender wave, he turned his back away from Dean and paced along the sidewalk.

Dean kept his eyes on Castiel until the mist of the evening engulfed his presence. A smile etched on his face not because of the kiss they shared, but because of the fact that Castiel jiggled as he walked. "I can't believe I'm dating that fatass," he muttered to himself as he shook his head before finally entering the motel.