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Assistant: Title: The Analyst
        Author: CinnamonLies undefined 
        Chapter: 10/10 
        Summary: Detective. Divorcee. Dad.Dean Winchester is a detective with the Westfall Police Department, stuck in a messy divorce with Lisa while fighting for custody of their son, Ben. Overworked and running on fumes, he's barely holding it together—sleeping on a lumpy mattress in a rundown apartment, trying to get his life back on track.It doesn't help that the new Behavioural Analyst, Castiel Novak, starts pushing his buttons in ways he didn't even know were possible.[or]Castiel Novak is a psychopath and a serial killer. After 13 months of meticulous planning, he's finally found the perfect opportunity to work side by side with Dean Winchester.
        Contents: Chapter 10: Thursday
    

    

        
          
          
            Dean 'trying', but it's not enough. Nowhere near enough.
          
        

      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    Dean smirked all the way back to the car.He’d barely waited until Castiel was out of view before sprinting to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time like he could outrun the whole d@mn precinct. Grinning his face off. Practically buzzing.Cold air biting.The last two days had been an utter sh@t show.Lisa's phone call had hurt the most. Ripping away his Mondays and Thursdays with Ben.And then Novak acting all cold and clinical. No empathy. No space. Forcing him to drop Callagher's case. Saying no when he needed time off to see his lawyer.So yeah. The 3 a.m. Zurich meeting? That had felt like a win.Small. Petty. But it was his.He could picture it perfectly — Castiel back at his desk, flipping through the file. The frowny little crease between his eyes deepening. The slow realization. The call he’d now have to take at three in the morning, ruining his entire night.Dean snorted under his breath as he slid into the driver’s seat. What a  sucker .He wished he could've seen the look on his face.But what stuck with Dean the most?He tapped the steering wheel.Annoyed.Fascinated.It was how  easily Castiel had melted for him.  The way he'd stare when Dean flashed his red eyes, just right. The faint smile when Dean let their fingers brush, as he took the file without question. All giddy and hopeful beneath the surface.Christ, the guy was easy.Not in a dumb way — not clueless. Just… Dean barely had to try. A softer voice. A little sad glance. And all of a sudden Castiel was there, all attentive and willing.  F@ck , if that didn't make Dean's heart skip a beat.Making him feel… special.Even when Dean didn’t deserve it.  Especially when Dean didn't deserve it, after the way he'd behaved all week.He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, heat prickling behind his eyes.
   … Was he being too mean? 
He sat with the thought for a second – recalling how cold Castiel had been when he practically begged for an hour off – then shook his head.Nah.Not yet.Castiel had been feeling strangely restless for the rest of that evening.Sitting at Henley's old desk space.Waiting as the hours ticked by.Spinning in his chair.He'd tried to focus on work again, multiple times. Tried to nap. Ate something forgettable. Even walked around the precinct building a few times hoping that movement would ground him.Tried to ignore that itch — the quiet urge to feel the weight of a knife in the palm of his hand. Not to use. Just to hold. For comfort. Because he couldn't figure out what to feel at that precise moment.He settled for spinning a pen between his fingers instead.Dean had played him.With those tired eyes, that fragile voice, that quiet little " Thanks, Castiel " like it had meant something. And he'd bought it. Completely.Castiel pressed two fingers against his temple.He was supposed to be better at this.He was supposed to notice when he was being manipulated.Reason dictated that he should be mad. Or upset. Maybe even vengeful. Maybe even impressed. But none of those words stuck and he struggled to pinpoint exactly what to make of it all.He didn't believe Dean had meant to hurt him. Dean wasn't needlessly cruel.
   He wasn't like that. 
This was… something else. It was almost like Dean was testing him. Trying to see how far he could push. Trying to see how far Castiel would  let  him push. It wasn't malicious. It was almost… … playful.He stopped spinning the pen, caught it in his palm. Pressed a knuckle to his lips and smiled  — surprised by this new revelation.Dean was  enjoying  this. Just as much as he was. And that was something.
  Thursday
It was snowing.It was snowing, and it was a g@dd@mn beautiful day  —  but it didn't matter.Because Thursday was going to suck.Hard.Dean still hadn't fully come to terms with the fact he wouldn't be seeing Benny tonight. Not even to see him for ten minutes for a quick hello and goodnight. Not even to throw a quick snowball for fun.Lisa had put her foot down and threatened a restraining order if he showed up.And now he was wasting more hours at the lawyers office, going through receipts and statements, signing endless documents, doing everything he can to get his time back with Benny.“We need to show you’re stable,” Martha said, adjusting her glasses. “You need to look like a parent with a plan.”Dean sneezed.He muttered an apology as Martha passed him a box of tissues. "Heater broke," he said, sniffling into the tissue. He was sure the dusty boxes from the evidence room hadn't helped his nose either.She looked at him over her glasses disapprovingly. "Don't write that down," paused, then added, "Get it fixed." He tried not to roll his eyes because it wasn't his f@ck@ng fault that his landlord kept blowing off maintenance.He was trying.He sneezed hard again.It was midday when he drove to Lisa's. Nose dripping a little because he'd run out of f@ck@ng tissues.He got out of the car. Crossed the road with the key in his fist, thumb pressing hard into the metal. He didn’t slow down, didn’t hesitate. Determined to get it over with.But when he reached the porch steps — Reece opened the front door.They just looked at each other for a second.Dean, rubbing a wet nose on one sleeve, holding back another sneeze.Reece was barefoot. T-shirt half-wrinkled. Holding a banana smoothie in a cup that wasn’t his.Dean didn’t say anything.Reece gave him a neutral smile. “Hey. Everything alright?”Dean stared at him. Could hear the TV floating through the hallway of some cartoon he knew Benny loved. It hit him sharp. Made him feel ugly inside. “I’m just dropping something off,” Dean said flatly.He reached for the mailbox, lifted the slot, and shoved the key inside. Let it fall. Hard.It clanged at the bottom. Loud. Final.Dean looked up again. Saw Reece take a small sip from his smoothie.“Lisa’s inside with Benny,” Reece added with a mild smirk, like he was doing him a favour. “Just had lunch. You wanna—”“No,” Dean cut in. “It’s fine.”He turned and made his way back down the frosted driveway without waiting for a reply.Reece, he decided, had the most punchable face known to mankind.One oversized coffee and a healthy hit of Sudafed later, Dean had mostly stopped sneezing.Mostly.Still felt like sh@t, but at least now it was the kind of sh@t you could walk around with. He dragged himself into the precinct at three. Late, but it wasn't like anyone would notice except  —  F@ck .Castiel was in his chair.Elbow on the desk. One leg crossed wide. Scrolling casually through Dean’s computer like he owned it.Dean slowed mid-stride.Of course he was.
   Smug, controlling, sanctimonious b@st@rd. 
Dean was not in the mood.He dropped his bag beside the desk with a loud enough thud to register.“You’re in my seat,” he said, hands sinking into his jacket pockets.Castiel didn’t look up. “Afternoon. Nice of you to show up.”Dean shrugged. “Told you I was taking a half day. Never said which half.”Now Castiel looked at him. Measured. “You want to take the other half off too? You look like you need it.”Dean rolled his eyes, but then paused.Slightly surprised at the subtle jab. Castiel had always been witty. Sharp. But taking a shot like that? That… that was new. He squinted a little, suspicious. Then decided to take the bait.“You seem cranky," he said with a slow smirk. "Didn't get enough sleep?”“I had a long night,” Castiel said flatly. “Some idiot scheduled me into a 3 a.m. Zurich call.”Dean leaned back against the half-wall. Arms crossed. Milking the moment.“Aw. Tragic. Can’t imagine who’d do a thing like that.”Castiel’s jaw twitched. “I enjoyed it."Dean snorted. “Bet you did."They held each other’s gaze. A beat too long to be professional.Dean flicked his eyes down to the chair. Then jerked his chin — the universal  get the hell out  gesture.Castiel didn’t move at first. Just stared. Like he was debating it. Or just making Dean wait.Finally — finally — Castiel stood. Stepped to the side. But not before leveling him with a smug look.Dean didn’t break eye contact. Dropped into the chair like it had been waiting for him. Legs spread. Elbow on the armrest. Comfort incarnate.Then, like an afterthought, he flicked a lazy finger toward the aisle.“Lost, or do you need directions back to your own desk?”Castiel’s mouth tugged, almost a smile.“If I needed directions,” he said coolly, “I wouldn’t be asking a junior liaison.”Dean’s brows lifted. Tongue pressed into his cheek. Trying not to smile.“Did you just call me a junior?”“I’ll call you whatever I want,” Castiel said, voice dropping. “If you keep acting like one.”
   Well if that wasn't a f@ck@ng challenge. 
Dean grinned back — wide and sharp. Defiant.Castiel tapped the half wall, and turned like he was done.But Dean… Dean wanted the last word.He couldn’t help it.So he stuck his foot out, just enough to catch Castiel’s shin. A light tap. Barely a nudge — but it made the Fed stumble half a step.Castiel spun back around. Stared at him. Mouth parted like he couldn’t quite believe it.Dean just smiled. Real slow. Real pleased.Then turned back to his screen. Grabbed the mouse to look like he was  busy .Except…Castiel didn’t leave.Dean could still feel him there — hovering.And then he leaned in.One hand braced on the back of Dean’s chair. The other slipped casually onto the desk beside him. Too close. Too confident.Dean didn’t turn.Kept his eyes on the monitor as Castiel’s voice dropped low behind him, calm and pointed. Breath warm at his temple.“Don’t forget to work on that trust thing we talked about.”Dean’s smirk twitched.But before he could come up with another reply, Castiel had already pushed off the desk and walked away.F@ck@ng Castiel.
   Trust thing. 
Dean spent the next four hours of his shift completely distracted by what Castiel had said. The way he said it. All smug and close, like he knew exactly what to say to get under his skin.And Dean had  technically  promised to try.But he hadn't expected Castiel to take it so seriously.Right now, all Dean wanted to do was pick a fight with the analyst — spill tea over the guy. Unplug his computer accidentally on purpose. Hide his stapler kind of sh@t  —  did he even have a stapler? He'd have to gift him one if he didn't.He tapped a slow rhythm on the armrest. Restless.Somewhere to his left, Charlie and Davis were laughing about something — precinct gossip, maybe. Someone had apparently tripped over a mop bucket. Dean didn’t catch who.“Dean."He didn’t react.“ Dean ."Dean startled upright, finally noticing.“Jesus,” Charlie said, waving a hand. “You're so out of it today.""Sorry," He sighed, running a hand over his face. "Yeah go on."Charlie was already halfway through a story, like he’d been waiting for the cue. “So anyway — this guy, right? Gets picked up for public indecency, claims he  thought  it was legal if the statue next to him was also naked—”Davis snorted. “Said he was protesting clothes. 'Clothes are the real prison,' direct quote.”Dean tried to focus.He really did.Except he spotted Castiel out of the corner of his eye – finally – on the opposite side of the bullpen. Walking past, eyes down focused on some notebook, not even glancing in his direction. Walked himself all the way to the copier machine, even stopping to talk to a random uniform on the way.Whatever it was all about, Dean was convinced it was on purpose. The lab floor had their own copier room, and Castiel had no reason to come down  here  other than to provoke Dean. Somehow.
   The @ssh@l@. 
He watched as Castiel nodded along to his conversation. Even gave a friendly smile, before going back to the copier machine and pressing at the buttons."Annnnnd he's gone again," Davis clicked his fingers. "Dude."Dean snapped back, dragging his eyes off the analyst. “I’m listening. I’m here.”Davis gave a long nod with a raised eyebrow. "You're thinkin' about him aren't you."Dean looked up sharp. "What?"“Benny, your kid,” Davis said, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “We get it, dude. Sh@t sucks.”Charlie chimed in, gentler. “Seriously. No judgment. You’ve had a rough week.”Dean stared a little, then looked away. “Right, Yeah.”Reality snapping back.And it made something inside of him ache.Hard.“You’re holding it together though,” Davis added, with a kind of clueless confidence that only made it worse. “Like, if that were me? I’d be a wreck. Hell, I cry when I stub my toe.”Charlie elbowed him. "Dude."Davis blinked, owlish. "Sh@t, I didn't mean… sorry."Dean stood too fast.Trying not to look agitated."It's okay Charlie," he said. Forcing a grin to his face. "Hey you know what would be a good distraction? Let's go out for a drink. Right now."Davis lit up instantly. "Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about."Charlie looked a little flustered. "It's still a bit early," she said, checking her watch. This time Davis was the one to elbow her, gently. "Alright alright, let me just finish up."Dean was already throwing on his jacket, eyes still locked onto his target."I'll be back in a bit," he muttered. "Invite the others if you like.""On it," Davis grinned, already zipping off to pass the message.Dean cut through the bullpen.Straight for  him."Heading out for drinks in a minute," he announced lightly.Trying to look casual.Castiel looked up at him once, then back at the copier."That's early," he remarked, not sounding too invested."You should write me up," Dean pressed, aiming for a reaction.It got nothing.The copier whirred noisily.Dean folded his arms and leaned in a fraction, trying to catch his eye. “Come on. Aren’t you dying to discipline me?”Castiel didn't even blink.Dean huffed quietly and glared down at the copier."What are you doing down here anyway? Lab copier out of ink, or are you just keeping tabs on me?”Castiel gave him a look. Slow. "What's there to keep tabs on? You haven't accomplished anything all day."“Aw,” Dean said, smug. “So you  were  watching.”Castiel deadpanned.He picked up the freshly printed paper, shuffled them straight and clipped it."Despite what you might think, I  do  have other responsibilities than keeping track of you," he held up the paper stack. "These are for Sanchez. Helping him with witness profiles for one of your old cases."Dean stepped in front of him, blocking his path."Novak."Castiel met his eyes. "Have you worked at all on what we talked about?"Dean blinked, then clenched his jaw.Castiel read the look on his face, then gave a faint smile. "That's what I thought.""That's what this is about?" Dean started, but then shifted quickly as Castiel tried to side step around him. "Okay,  okay, wait –  wait. "He froze as he realised he had grabbed Castiel by the arm.Castiel looked down at his hand.He let go quickly."Come out with us," Dean said suddenly. Surprising even himself.He pressed on."A few drinks. Get to know each other over a beer. Y'know, like normal people," he gestured vaguely. "For this… proving I trust you thing.""You want to take me to a bar?" Castiel asked, dry. Unimpressed."It's a start, right?" Dean's eyes flicked over him. Expression blank. Blue eyes blank. Everything completely and utterly  blank.The analyst was on his guard.Which figured.Dean glanced around, then lowered his voice just for the analyst to hear."Come on," he said, soft. "Don't leave me hanging."He watched. Hoping for a sign of anything. But Castiel wasn't giving anything.So he kept going. Reached up with one hand to rub the back of his neck, in that awkward, comforting way that he knew would get a reaction.Mumbled a soft please.F@ck knows why he did it, maybe for the thrill of it – but it worked. Because when he glanced back up at the analyst, something shifted under those blue eyes.Castiel stared. Then his eyes tipped to the ceiling.Before he finally muttered:"Fine."Dean hadn't been to this bar before.Apparently, it was the new local favourite for everyone at the precinct. Not that it mattered. Because Dean had his mind on other things.Like that stupid  trust  thing Castiel wanted.So here he was.Trying.Beer in one hand, smile on his face listening to his colleagues, and a federal pain in the ass sitting opposite him — all part of the so called plan. He wasn’t quite relaxed, but he was doing a decent job faking it.It had been a long time since he’d done this.Going to a bar. People. Laughter. Dean smiled numbly.Across the table, Castiel sat straighter than everyone else, one hand curled around a glass of water. He hadn’t said much, but he was listening. Occasionally, his mouth would twitch like he almost found something funny.Charlie leaned over and nudged him, giggling. “You’re allowed to laugh, you know. We won’t revoke your badge.”Castiel blinked at her. Flat. “Technically, you don’t have the jurisdiction to revoke my badge.”That earned a ripple of laughter around the table.Dean smirked into his glass.Castiel smiled politely, took a sip of water and looked somewhere else.Conversation rolled on — precinct bets, worst coffee crimes, Sanchez trying to defend himself after someone brought up the infamous burrito-in-the-foil incident.Dean let it roll over him. The voices, the warmth.Every so often glancing at Castiel, wondering if this was what he wanted.This counted.
   Right? 
This was effort. Time spent. Team bonding. Trust-building.Even if Dean didn't feel like it.He took another slow sip of beer and looked around the room.A woman across the bar caught his eye. Blonde. Tall. She smiled at him — slow and deliberate — then tilted her head like an invitation.Dean blinked. Looked away too fast.
   Sh@t. 
Charlie saw. Of course she did.“Oh-ho,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Dean’s still got it.”Donna followed her gaze. “D@mn, you really do. Go say hi.”“Yeah,” Davis added, grinning. “She’s making heart-eyes at you, dude. This is not complicated.”He raised both eyebrows and held up his beer. “Can't a guy drink in peace?"Sanchez smirked. “C’mon. Be honest — when’s the last time you got laid?”Dean faltered. Eyes flicking to Castiel in panic, before catching himself and looking away.That slight half-second pause. Just enough for Charlie to notice. Partially.“Oh my God,” she gasped. “It’s been that long?”Dean rolled his eyes, playing it cool. “I’ve been busy.”“Busy not getting laid,” Davis said, clearly delighted. “Dude. She’s still looking."“I know,” Dean muttered.He glanced back.Embarrassed.She was pretty. Definitely his type.Or — used to be.But the spark wasn’t there. No pull. Nothing in him wanted to get up and walk over.He tried desperately not to look up at Castiel.Failed.Their eyes met, briefly.Blue eyes all calm and collected, completely unbothered.It was then that he felt something nudge against his foot, and he almost jumped at the touch – Castiel had stretched a leg out under the table. Barely touching, but deliberate.Dean blinked.Staring.He bit back a grin. Slowly, he kicked a leg back – not hard, just enough for it to make a point.Castiel smiled for a moment, then broke the gaze first, looking across the bar. Taking another sip of water like nothing happened.Dean swallowed. Looked away.Davis was still talking, overexcited. “Okay, listen, I’m gonna give you one — free of charge. Walk up, say ‘I lost my number, can I have yours?’ Classic. Works every time.”“Wow,” Charlie groaned, laughing. “You  cannot  seriously think that works.”Davis pointed his beer. “You gonna try it out, Winchester?”Dean raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll spare her the trauma.”That drew more laughter.Dean slid further down in his seat, casually.His knee brushed against Castiel’s again — firmer this time. Gave a deliberate nudge.Heart pounding as he felt the knee rest back against his. Heavier. Intentional. Warm.
   This. 
He liked this. Far more than he wanted to admit.As the evening developed, the group had scattered across the room.Castiel settled near the end of the bar, letting the noise of the music and the others blur into the background.He liked watching Dean from this distance.Liked that Dean hadn’t noticed the way the room bent around him — the way people made space, angled shoulders, unconsciously leaned in when he spoke. Even when he was  clearly  sick, holding back sniffles, Dean still held gravity. Still pulled.That was the problem.People noticed. Even now.And Castiel didn't want to share that attention. Not with the blonde at the bar. Not with his colleagues.Castiel had stretched his leg out under the table earlier — let it press against Dean’s for a moment too long.The touch was a correction.Just a reminder.A warning.
   Dean didn’t need to be wandering off to entertain strangers across the bar. 
To his surprise, Dean responded.Dean sunk down further into his seat, lazy, grinning. Comfortable. Like he never had any intention of getting up to begin with. Pressing his knee back into Castiel. Insistent. Pushy, even.Nudging back as if to say he  wasn't going anywhere. Using just enough pressure that made the warmth travel up Castiel's thigh and straight to… Well. It took more effort than usual trying to hide the effect it was having on him as he sipped his water. Trying to count the number of framed photographs on the bar wall.Whatever this was, it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy what Castiel had in mind.Not even  close.But he enjoyed it all the same. For now.After that, Dean and the others had bounced back and forth between the bar and tables, splitting up into smaller and smaller groups as the evening wore on. Castiel had contemplated leaving at some point. Make a polite excuse, slip out the back.Except every time he wanted to – Dean would somehow catch his eye from across the room.Give him this  look.Nervous. Warm. Cold. Sharp. Soft. All these little emotions wrapped up in those green eyes. Holding him there.And Castiel would sink a little further onto the counter. Leaning on one elbow. Admiring his dumb detective and his runny nose.Eventually — finally — Dean came wandering over.Leaned against the counter, propped his chin up on one hand, mirroring Castiel's pose. Castiel pulled away from the bar, straightening up. Didn't want Dean to think he could get too comfortable. The detective glanced him up and down, disappointed that he had pulled away."Still going hard on the water?" Dean teased, openly. "Or are you going to let me buy you a drink."Castiel gave him a faint smile. "I don't drink.""Right," Dean nodded hazily. "I remember. Light drinker."He turned and motioned to the bartender for another beer.They stood in silence until the drink arrived.Dean sipped it.Glanced at him.“So?” He asked, soft. “This count for anything?”"This?" Castiel asked."You know," Dean pinched his nose. "Bonding. Building trust. That sorta thing. Is this helping?"He hummed."If you mean watching you drink and flirt your way around the bar then no. Hardly," he said, taking a sip of water again.Dean huffed."Well you don't exactly make it easy, Mr. talkative," he grumbled. Then leaned in. "And if we're talking about flirting, you were the one who was playing footsy with me under the table."Castiel tilted his head.Unfamiliar with the word."Footsy?" He asked, eyebrow raised. Dean stared at him. Drink lowering."The thing with the… – you know when you… – " he kept staring. Gobsmacked. "Do you not know what a  footsy is? "Castiel frowned, slowly dawning on him what Dean was referring to."Oh," he paused. "You mean when you kicked me.""Kicked – " Dean turned away quickly, pressing a hand over his mouth.Stifling a laugh.Castiel pressed his lips together, wanting to be annoyed. But he couldn't help but smile back."You find that funny?""No, no," Dean turned back. Schooling his expression. "It's just, you profile murderers and criminals all day but you don't know what a footsy is, it's kind of… " he trailed off. Coughed lightly."Kind of what?" Castiel prompted.Dean kept staring at his drink. Took a slow sip."... it's kind of adorable, man," he mumbled.Castiel stared a little.Unsure of how to respond.Unsure if this was another one of Dean's tricks.
   It had to be. 
"Quit lookin' at me like that," Dean nudged him, still looking down at his own drink. "Someone will notice."Castiel scoffed lightly, but turned his head away.He didn't care who saw.Dean was  his  to look at. "You shouldn't finish that drink," Castiel said mildly. "You're catching a cold. You have work tomorrow."Dean wavered a little. Wanting to protest."You're probably right," he hummed, sliding the drink across. "Here. You have it.""I don't…" Castiel sighed. Taking the bottle. "Fine."He took a sip to taste. Then a longer one."You know in a way, that's kind of like a second hand kiss," Dean mused out loud, pointing at the bottle top. "Where my lips have been."Castiel faltered.Swallowed.Lowered the bottle and slid it back onto the counter."Are you messing with me Dean?" he asked slowly."It's  fun," Dean shrugged, grinning. "I like this. Me getting you a drink. You, getting all flustered."Castiel looked away.Annoyed.It was one thing for Dean to toy with him.But Dean had promised to try – and if this was him trying, then it wasn't enough."I thought you would take this seriously."Dean blinked. "I am," he frowned. "I'm trying to bond with you."“This is deflecting. This is charming. This is what everyone else gets," Castiel paused. "You haven't said one real, meaningful thing all night."Dean turned slightly away, wiping his nose again with the back of his hand. His voice dipped. “I’m not good at this, alright?”Castiel didn’t say anything.Dean let the silence hang for a second too long. Then forced a smile. Crooked. Shaky around the edges."But hey,” he said, voice lighter. “You got a free drink out of it. Not bad for government work.”He stood up abruptly. Brushed his hands on his jeans."Early morning meeting right? We should call it a night."Castiel nodded once.Unsatisfied.Dean was pulling away again. And there was no point pushing for more.Even if all he wanted to do was press Dean against the bar. Knee shoved between his legs to part them. Maybe with his head pressed down against the counter top.
   Show him exactly where he was meant to be. 
“I think I left my jacket over there,” Dean added casually, already stepping away.He wandered back to the original table.Tapped the back of the chair he had been sitting on earlier.Looked around, suddenly very alert."Uh guys, you seen my jacket?"Dean searched the room again.Panicked. Frustrated.Circling like the outcome might somehow change if he checked the same spot twice.Castiel lingered near the door with his arms folded. Watching.Not helping.The bartender had already confirmed it: no jacket in lost property, no sign of it on the floor. The entrance camera caught nothing either — just some motion blur and bodies passing through. Whoever took it was already long gone.Castiel took a little joy in the fact Dean was suffering.Just a little.He hadn’t gotten what he wanted out of the night — so it seemed only fair they both left unsatisfied.Still…Dean looked worn out.Pitiful.Shivering as soon as the door cracked open.Castiel sighed. “How far are you parked?”He was already shrugging out of his coat before Dean could answer.“No,” Dean muttered. “There’s no way I’m wearing your trench coat.”Castiel held it out anyway.“You’ve only got a T-shirt,” he said, leveling him with a look. “At least I have the suit jacket.”Dean glanced back toward the bar, clearly checking to see if anyone was watching.Then — reluctantly — he took it.  Slid his arms into the sleeves. Shoulders hunching down into the warmth.They stepped outside.Snow drifted light, but sharp. Biting.The cold caught Dean immediately — his posture curled tighter, hands buried in the coat’s deep pockets, chin ducked into the collar.Castiel watched him.The trench coat looked ridiculous on him somehow. Swallowed him whole.But it didn’t matter.There was something strangely satisfying about seeing Dean in it.Wrapped in something of his.Wearing his scent. His shape. His warmth.Castiel drank the sight in and memorised it. For later.Following silently beside him.Dean shoved his hands deeper into the coat pockets, head down.The coat was comfier than it looked. Already warm when he put it on.And it smelled f@ck@ng good.Clean, clinical, sharp. A little like aftershave. A  lot like Castiel. Like that T-shirt he once had with the exact same scent, but  better.Dean wanted to bury his face into the collar and inhale. But Castiel was right beside him. Watching. So instead, he rubbed his nose against the lapel. Casual. Like it meant nothing. Damp. Pathetic.“You're getting snot onto my jacket," Castiel noted, in a way that sounded like he didn't care too much. Then added. "You look miserable."Dean exhaled a bitter laugh. “Thanks.”Slush scrunched under their feet.He sniffled again.Hated how raw his throat felt. Hated that his nose was still running. Hated this whole g@dd@mn week.“I shouldn’t be here,” he said suddenly. “Not just this bar — I mean any of it. Tonight.”Castiel glanced over.“I should be home with my kid,” Dean said, voice tight, staring down at the pavement. “Thursday nights are ours. Always have been.”His boots crunched on a patch of wet ice. He kept talking.“We make dinner together — nothing fancy. Mac and cheese or frozen nuggets. Dumb cartoons. Same ones every week. I’ve seen  The Incredibles  like forty times. He always laughs in the same spot.”He sniffled again, this time sharper.“Lisa says I’ve been stressing him out,” Dean muttered. “Says I come over all anxious, and he picks up on it. Says I'm not stable, or reliable. Said if I show up again outside my time, she’ll file a f@ck@ng restraining order.”His voice caught for a second.Not enough to break. But close.Castiel hadn't said anything the entire time. But Dean could sense him. Listening.So he kept talking.“Lisa's got this new guy now. Reece. New boyfriend or date or yoga buddy or whatever the hell he is. Didn't even mention him. Just let him into our – into their home and now it's like he owns the f@ck@ng place.”He scoffed. “Made himself a banana smoothie in  my  cup. The prat.”Castiel made a small sound at that, a little laugh.Dean looked over. Saw it. Smiled faintly.He sighed. “I know it's not his fault. He’s just… there. But it still felt like I was interrupting  his  day. Like I was the one intruding.”His voice dropped even lower.“I hate his f@ck@ng face.”A beat passed.Castiel’s voice, soft: “Do you feel the same way about me?”Dean stopped walking.Castiel did too.Dean didn't look at him yet.“… No,” he said eventually. Then smirked faintly. “Well. Not all the time.”Castiel smiled at that.Then he reached up and touched him. Fingers brushing along his jaw — soft. Too soft.Dean leaned into it before he realized he had.Eyes flicking up to meet blue. Remembering who it was.He pulled back sharp, breath fogging in the cold. “So,” Dean said, folding his arms tight across his chest. Stepping back. “This it? We done?”Castiel tilted his head.Thrown."Done with what?"Dean huffed a cloud of white air. Rolled his eyes. Impatient."This. The whole 'trust thing'. I opened up to you. Spilled my guts out. So we're good right?"They stared at each other in the snow.Castiel closed his eyes. Shook his head lightly."So it's all just an act isn't it," he said, softly. The words cut.Dean laughed — short, tired. “Jesus. What did you expect.""The past few nights I let you talk circles around me. Let you get away with it too," Castiel shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought you'd take this seriously. And instead you're just doing it again."The disappointment in his voice hit.Dean's jaw clenched. "Then why do you keep letting me. Why keep trying to know me."Castiel gave him a searching look. "I like being around you. Is that so bad?"Dean let out a breath.Almost laughed. Bitter. Harsh.“You like being around me,” he echoed. “Yeah. I’ve noticed. Especially when you’re on your knees. And I let you. Just to feel good.  For once . And it's so f@ck@ng easy Castiel  — That's how easy you are. You'd do it now if I asked you to  — ”The words landed. Sharp. Cruel. And wrong.Spilling out of his mouth before he could stop himself.Dean watched the flicker of something cross his face — not wounded, but something more complicated. More quiet. Private. Distant.And just like that, the weight of it hit him.
   Sh@t. 
His breath caught. He blinked. Regret came fast and hard.“I didn’t —” he started, already stepping back. “That wasn’t — f@ck. I didn’t mean that.”Castiel didn’t say anything.Didn’t move.Just looked at him, gaze steady, unreadable. Dean felt suddenly, violently sick. His throat burned. His face flushed hot from the cold, from the shame, from the fact that he couldn’t even  blame  Castiel for reacting — because he hadn’t reacted. He’d just  stood there  and let Dean say something that ugly.“I’m tired,” Dean mumbled, almost to himself. “And sick. And I shouldn’t have said that. I just…”He trailed off. Words slipping through his fingers.Snow kept falling. Silent. Steady.Gathering on Castiel's hair. His shoulders. His tie. His blue eyes darkened in a way that should have terrified Dean if he wasn't so numb from the cold.“Dean,” Castiel said once, voice low.Dean shook his head. Took another step back. He tore the trench coat off like it burned. Rough. Crumpled it, then shoved it toward Castiel with both hands. Didn’t wait to see if he caught it.“I should go,” Dean said, voice cracking. "This was a mistake  — "He couldn't finish his sentence.Castiel moved.Two steps forward. No hesitation.Dean stumbled back on the icy pavement, back bumping into the Impala with a startled breath. The cold metal stinging through his shirt — And then Castiel was there. Closer than breath.One hand with the trench coat pressed against his chest. The other curled around his neck, harsh, warm and possessive.Castiel dipped his head fast. Breath dragging hot across Dean’s skin as he buried his face in the space between jaw and collar. Dean tried to move but he was half frozen in place, and Castiel wasn't letting go.His cold nose brushed under his ear.Dean's breath hitched."You did mean to say it," Castiel murmured. Breath hot. "It's the first real thing you've said all night."The warm hand on his neck slid up to his hair, gripping slightly. Too warm to want to push away. "You were being honest for once. Not holding back."He nosed his way up the side of Dean's neck, sending a shiver down his spine. "That's  what I want."He continued. Trailing past his cheek. Past his eyebrow. Making his way up to his temple before stopping, pressing his lips there. Fingers tightening in his hair just a fraction harder."You can't hurt me Dean," he whispered against him.Then planted a short kiss. Forceful. Tender.Damp. Hot.Castiel held them like that for a moment, head resting against his. Close enough that Dean could hear Castiel swallow. His neck so close that Dean had to fight the urge to bury his head into the warm nook and smell that scent from the source.And for a moment. He did.Let his head fall softly into that spot. His runny nose instantly wetting the fabric of the collar, but god.
   God. 
He chased the warmth as it moved away.When he opened his eyes again, Castiel was pushing him away — slow, reluctant. Letting go.
  Like he was trying to hold back.
Eyes blue and soft in the dark. Struggling. Hand finally slipping off his shoulder like it took  effort."Drive safe," he said, stepping back. Further and further until he turned around and was walking down the street, pulling his coat back on.Dean… Dean couldn't breathe.Stared after him before the cold really began to hurt.He turned around, dazed. Fumbling with his keys, swallowing thick around whatever he felt rising in his chest.He got the door open. Climbed in. Slammed it shut.Took a shaky breath — started the engine and drove. Not daring to look back once in the mirror.And Castiel.Castiel kept walking.Hands curled tight in his pockets to stop himself from turning around.From dragging Dean back by the collar.From showing him exactly what he meant by trust.He’d nearly lost it back there.Almost said too much.Almost taken too much.Almost shown Dean what it would feel like to be owned.The echo of Dean’s body still clung to him — warm, trembling, needy. The way he’d leaned in, just for a second, before pulling away. Like he didn’t know what he wanted.But Castiel knew.He knew exactly what he wanted.Dean. Unfiltered. Cornered. His.And for one reckless second, he’d thought he could have him.But it wasn’t time.Not yet.Dean was almost there.He could be patient.All Castiel had to do was wait.
  
  

    
      
        
        
          ANOTHER DOUBLE CHAPTER POST?I'm so sorry this took so long. And I promise, I promise, I promise the next one won't be such a cliffhanger. If you're still reading this, hope you enjoy and stay awesome <3'
User: Chapter 7
User: Chapter 7
Assistant: