Archive of Our Own ^beta

The moment Castiel saw what happened, he slammed on the brakes. The road was slick with slashing rain, so it took him fifty feet of road before he could pull onto the shoulder and come to a full stop. He snapped open his door and ran into the highway, jumping back against his car’s side when another vehicle zoomed past, horn blaring.

Out of breath already, Castiel turned and ran back down the edge of the roadway, sprinting like his life depended on it.

No, not his life – the dog’s.

Another car pulled into the shoulder, a black one, and Castiel dodged it, slapping his hand on its roof as he hurtled past. He could barely see through the rain but he saw the dog, dragging its back legs behind it as it tried to get itself out of harm’s way.

Paying no heed to oncoming traffic, Castiel grabbed the dog and lifted its frail body, surprised by its heavy weight. He took it to the side of the road and collapsed to his knees, holding the animal in his arms. It whined, baring its teeth in a defensive way.

“Shh, shh,” Castiel hushed, brushing the dog’s ears back. He didn’t know a lot about dogs but he knew this one was a pitbull: the wide, white face and stocky body were unmistakeable. Its black eyes pleaded with him, shining with pain and fear.

Castiel turned his head as he heard footfalls approaching. A man in a leather jacket lurched out of the grey blur of rain, one arm over his head to shield his face. His heavy breath touched Castiel’s ear as he knelt in the dirt at the side of the road too, setting both his pale hands on the dog.

“Jesus Christ,” the man breathed. “Did you see what happened?”

“Someone tried to dodge it, some sports car—” Castiel peered at the other man’s face, captivated by his features. In the flickers of clear air between raindrops, Castiel could see he was handsome, and distractingly so – even at a moment like this. “They hit the dog and drove on.”

“Asshole,” the man uttered, shaking his head. “Shit.” He ran his hands over the dog’s head, fearless when the dog snapped its jaws at him. “We gotta get him to a vet.”

Castiel flushed with anxiety, thinking of everything that would require from him. “I don’t have time...”

“Time?” The handsome stranger met Castiel’s eyes with a passion that could’ve set something on fire. Green eyes, he had green eyes. “This dog’s probably dying of internal hemorrhaging or something serious and you don’t have time?”

“My flight leaves at six,” Castiel explained, raising his voice to be heard over the downpour. “I just finished up an important case here, and someone at the FBI is expecting me in D.C. – I can’t be late because of a dog.”

“FBI? Are you kidding me?!” The man huffed at him, but Castiel had no words to relieve his ire. “Well, great,” the stranger said sharply, carefully taking the dog from Castiel and cradling it in his own arms. “There goes this year’s housing budget. Guess I’ll be moving back in with my brother.”

“Budget?” Castiel squinted.

The man glared at Castiel. “What, is ‘budget’ a dirty word in government circles, FBI man? I’m a musician, I don’t exactly make six figures.”

Castiel swallowed. “If this is about money, I can pay the veterinarian’s fees.”

Relief – true and genuine relief – shone on the stranger’s face. He looked down, resting his nose on the dog’s muddy head.

Castiel reached for the breast pocket of his trenchcoat, pulling out his notepad and pencil. “I’ll give you my number,” he said, hurriedly wiping spots of rain off the paper, then scrawling down his name and contact details. “When you get the bill, let me know where I can find you.”

He ripped the paper and handed it to the stranger. The stranger took it in one hand and crumpled it up in his fingers, not like trash, but like something he intended to hang onto very tightly indeed.

“Help me get it into my car,” the man said, shooting a desperate look at Castiel.

Castiel stood, and he took off his trenchcoat, laying it on the dirty ground. “Put it on this,” he said, helping the stranger to rest the dog on top of the coat. “Gently now, gently...” Together they lifted the distressed animal, and each carried one end of the coat to the black car, which was idling halfway into a ditch, emergency lights flashing to guide them through the drenching haze.

The stranger got the back door open, and with some awkward positioning, Castiel helped get the dog inside. It whimpered, writhing at the change of position, clearly in pain.

The stranger stood back, looking worried. Castiel left the coat where it was, but took out his cellphone and notebook, putting them into his suit pockets.

“I should be back in Portland in a few days,” Castiel told the stranger, checking his watch to be sure he hadn’t lost too much time. “Listen, I’m sorry, I have to go—”

“Dean Winchester,” the stranger said, shutting the car’s back door.

“Pardon me?”

“My name. It’s Dean Winchester.” Rain trickled off Dean Winchester’s chin, and still shone on his eyelashes like tears.

“Dean,” Castiel repeated. “I have to go.”

“Go, then,” Dean said.

“Call me.”

Dean nodded, and Castiel was sure for a second he saw a tiny smile.

Dean paced, back and forth, back and forth, breathing into his clenched fist. The vet’s office smelled like chemicals and dog food. Rain washed against the window panes, making the bleary daylight flicker across the dappled linoleum, gleaming below his muddy boots. He could hear the pitbull yap-yap-yapping in the next room, complaining to the vet, scrabbling its claws on the operating table in its panic.

The barking lessened, and then faded away. The vet must’ve knocked it out so they could take a look at its injuries. Dean hoped to Hell and back that it would pull through okay.

“Mr. Winchester,” the secretary said, waving him over.

Dean stepped up to the front desk, wringing his hands at his sides. “Yeah.”

“You’ve left your dog’s name blank on the form,” the woman said, pushing her horn-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “I need a name in the system. What shall I put down?”

“She doesn’t— She doesn’t have a name,” Dean stammered. “You said she doesn’t have a microchip or anything, and there wasn’t a collar, so she doesn’t have a name.”

The lady smiled. “Well, what are you going to name her? I’ve seen the posters around town – you’re that musician, aren’t you? If you write your own songs, you should be able to think of something poetic.”

Dean smiled tensely, determined not to disappoint her. While he was thinking, Dean realised this was a clever ploy by the secretary to distract him from worrying about whatever the dog was going through. And it was working.

“Rain Dog,” Dean said eventually. He nodded a few times, settling on the idea. “Like the Tom Waits song.”

“Rain Dog,” the secretary smiled, writing that on the form, then moving to her computer to type it in. “Very appropriate for the Portland weather.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

“I wish my parents had named me something fun like that,” the secretary said, scrunching her fingers into her scruffy red bun. “People these days name their children all sorts of interesting things. Sunshine, Blaze, Destiny. People with names like that get songs written about them all the time. I got stuck with a name that only rhymes with ‘blender’.”

Dean glanced down, and he saw the secretary’s name tag said Brenda S. He ducked his head and smirked, thinking of the FBI agent who had promised to pay for today’s veterinarian care. “Brenda’s better than ‘Castiel’, though.”

“Castiel?”

Dean grinned. “The guy who lent me his coat so I could carry the dog.”

Brenda looked interested. “You know, I’ve never heard a name like that. It’s quite nice, isn’t it? And he gave you his coat— He seems like a kind man.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. That was a lot to assume from a name and a borrowed coat. But then, he considered Brenda’s thought more deeply...

Dean’s opinion of government agents was based largely on the work they did, not the people they were. Castiel’s job might require him to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, but Castiel himself... he seemed like a respectful guy. Now Dean thought about it, he’d learned a lot about the man today. Yeah, Castiel had to rush off at a bad time, but he couldn’t help that. He cared about animals, he was selfless with his belongings, and he was generous with his money.

Plus... he was kind of good looking. But that had nothing to do with anything.

“Novak.”

“Oh, good, you’re there. I thought you weren’t going to pick up. It’s pretty early...”

Castiel squinted, one hand shielding his face as he hurried through the rain. “Who is this?”

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester. You gave me your number? For the dog?”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel smiled, moving his cellphone to the other ear, then pinning it against his shoulder as he opened the door to his car. Dean spoke but Castiel didn’t hear; he sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door with a damp sigh of relief, then he switched the cellphone back to his other ear. “Hang on, go back a moment, I didn’t catch that.”

“The bill. I’m looking at the printout the vet gave me – it says it’s nearly four hundred dollars—”

“Is it okay?”

“Okay? ‘Okay’?! Hell no! I can barely afford my rent as it is! Don’t tell me you’re bailing on me now.”

Castiel huffed. “No, I mean the dog. Is the dog okay?”

“...Oh.” Dean exhaled a tiny laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s good. She’s sleeping her meds off right now, all curled up in her little bed. Both her back legs are in casts— Vet said she’s gonna need physical therapy, and a helluva lot of painkillers, but she’s gonna be just fine. According to the vet it’s a miracle her spine was fully intact. Some bad bruising, that’s all.”

Castiel felt his smile tugging at his lips, and he shut his eyes, one hand rubbing at his forehead. “Thank God,” he whispered.

“For the record, the dog bed was fifty dollars,” Dean said quietly. “But, actually, you know what – I’ll cover that one. I got her some food and a kitty litter tray ‘cause she can’t exactly get out at the moment, since her casts would soak through if she set a foot outside the apartment door. This dump’s got puddles up to the second step. Is it raining where you are? I think I can hear it...”

Castiel peered out at the windshield of his car, watching the raindrops fight each other in a swishing, dribbling madness. “I’ll say,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t think the sun rose two hours ago if you were looking at what I’m looking at. It’s so grey it’s nearly black.”

“Did you make your meeting on time? Wait, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“It was at eight this morning. The motel bed was comfortable and I overslept, but I got to the meeting in time,” Castiel smiled. “And no, you didn’t interrupt anything. I was just leaving for the airport again. I’ll be back in Oregon by the afternoon.”

“Huh,” Dean scoffed. “So that’s where the taxpayer dollars go. They go flying you all over the place when a simple phone call would’ve done.”

Castiel pressed his lips together tightly. “I can’t say it’s usual practice, Dean. For some agents, maybe, but certainly not for me.”

“But two flights in two days? Why send you there and back for one meeting?”

“They wanted to see me personally.” Castiel’s gaze rose to the roof of the car as he smiled. “I was promoted to a Senior Special Agent. Inspection Division, Portland branch.”

“Oh, really?” Dean paused for a moment, processing that. “Uh, that’s pretty... cool, I guess.”

“Yeah. It is... pretty ‘cool’.” Castiel grinned at the foreign word. “Very cool, actually.”

“Do you have a badge? Like one of those proper FBI badges in the flippy-case?”

“I do indeed. They gave me a brand new one with my new rank.”

Dean was definitely smiling when he said, “Awesome.”

Castiel chuckled. “You’re impressed by a badge?”

“You could say that,” Dean said slowly. “I’ve, uh... got a thing for uniforms. And I mean—” He breathed nervously, “you don’t really have a uniform-uniform, but you’ve got a suit, so the badge is sorta... like a uniform...”

Castiel puffed out a stunned breath and closed his mouth. “I see.”

“Anyway,” Dean said forcefully, before clearing his throat. “As soon as you’re back we gotta discuss the green stuff. You’re covering the full vet fee, right? I had to promise Brenda I’d be back to pay. I left her my Mom’s ring as insurance, so you’d better be here, all right? Or else I’ll hitchhike my way to D.C. and kick your lying ass, you got it?”

Castiel laughed, somehow charmed by the way Dean spoke hopefully, fearfully, and angrily all at once. “I’ll be there later, Dean. Where can I meet you?”

“My place, I guess. Rain Dog’s not exactly going anywhere.”

“Rain Dog?” Castiel frowned.

“That’s what I named her. After the Tom Waits song. And the weather. I dunno, I thought it was perfect.”

“Who’s Tom Waits?”

There was a short silence. “You’re not a huge rock-‘n-roll fan, I’m guessin’.”

“I like dance remixes of orchestral music,” Castiel replied. He blinked. “I think that means ‘no’.”

Dean was the one to laugh this time. He had a pleasant laugh, a thunderous sort of chuckle. “You know what, man? Scratch what I said. I’m gonna go to the thrift store, get Rain Dog a wheely cart and an umbrella, you ‘n me are going out to Sweet Note.”

“What’s Sweet Note?”

“You’ll see,” Dean said mysteriously. “Look it up in the phone book, and I’ll meet you there.”

Castiel nodded, looking down at his watch. “How is four o’clock for you?”

“I’ll see you at four, FBI man. One question: how do you take your coffee?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Black with sugar. Why?”

He didn’t get a reply. He looked at his phone, and was surprised to see Dean had ended the call. With a tut of amusement, Castiel flipped his cellphone closed, pushed its antenna back down, put it in his pocket, then started up the car.

Castiel stood outside a store with two levels and a glass front, staring at the face of it past the drooling rims of his umbrella. From what he could tell, it appeared to be a record shop. There was artwork displayed in the window, and through the splattered raindrops, Castiel could see people moving about, lit by a warm light. It seemed like a friendly place to be. He stepped up to the glass door and pushed it open with one hand.

Shaking his umbrella dry onto the muddy towel laid out on the floor, Castiel lifted his eyes and observed the upper deck of the shop. Now he was inside, he saw it was more than simply a record store: it was also a bookshop, and a coffee shop. The clatter of plates seduced Castiel’s ears like the music that filled the air, the sound sultry and warm, meshing perfectly with the tart smell of fresh coffee grounds. This place had a beautiful, earthy aura. It was comforting.

Castiel meandered through stacks of art books and revolving towers of greetings cards, finding his way to one corner of the lower level, where a staircase led up to the café part of the store. He climbed, looking about in the hope that he would be able to locate Dean.

A few other customers sat and chatted to friends and business partners, sipping on steaming hot drinks, or reading alone while they ate cake. Castiel took another look at them, and he realised some of them were listening to music through bulky headphones, plugged into the walls at the sides of their tables. Strange.

“Cas! Over here!”

Castiel saw a hand wave, and he smiled when he spied Dean at a table on the far side of the upper deck, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He wore a big smile, and his arms were bare from the biceps down. The room was warm enough: Castiel shed his new trenchcoat as he approached the table, and he lay it over the back of the chair opposite Dean.

“Careful,” Dean said, one hand out to stop Castiel from pulling out the chair. “Look under the table.”

Castiel bent at the waist, and his face broke into a grin as he saw Rain Dog snoozing on a pillow inside a red wagon, the kind Castiel used to carry books and toys around in when he was a child. Her back legs were cast in white plaster, and – Castiel raised his eyebrows – each cast was decorated with pink heart-shaped stickers.

When Castiel straightened up, Dean grinned at him, distending the freckles on his cheeks. “She’s a real cutie, ain’t she?”

“Why is she covered in stickers?”

“Why not?” Dean shrugged. “If shiny things make people feel better I don’t see why it wouldn’t work for dogs.”

Castiel chuckled, swiping his necktie against his middle as he sat himself down, careful of where he put his feet. He watched Dean lean back in his chair and signal to a waitress: a quick point down to the table and a smile, and somehow the waitress understood what he meant.

“You come here often?” Castiel asked.

“Only all the freaking time,” Dean chuckled. “I work here Thursday through Monday, but I’m a self-producing singer-songwriter by trade. I scored some evening gigs at the bar down the street so I’m part-time now.”

Castiel nodded, taking another look around. “It’s nice.”

“It’s better than nice. Look here.” Dean tapped his finger on a socket on his left, where a CD case rested on top of a fixed-on CD player. “Got you some Tom Waits to listen to while you, uh... wait.” He pulled a cheeky grin and flipped a switch, then grabbed a chunky pair of headphones and beckoned Castiel closer with a finger.

Castiel leaned in, curious, and found his ears clamped down by the heavily-padded headphones. Dean adjusted the set to fit his head, and Castiel’s eyebrows rose, hearing a vague tootling noise, joined by an accordion, then a clonka-clonka-clonk – accompanied by a voice that sounded exactly like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street.

“This is music?” Castiel asked apprehensively.

Dean snorted. “Shut your mouth, open your ears, and appreciate.”

Castiel shut his eyes as well as his mouth, and he did as he was told.

There was something decent about it, he supposed. Rhythm. Oddity. Castiel shrugged with his face. It was okay. Nothing too special, as far as he was concerned.

Oh, how we danced
And we swallowed the night
For it was all ripe for dreaming!
Oh, how we danced away
All of the lights;
We've always been out of our minds—

Castiel felt one of his fingers tap on the table. He opened his eyes and he looked at his finger, and it tapped again.

Dean beamed. “You like it.”

“I don’t like it, I’m—” The finger tapped again, joined by foot. His foot went on jumping, his movements set with the rhythm of the music. Castiel set his jaw, and gave in. “All right, it’s an interesting song with a good beat. It’s just... not my thing.”

After he spoke, he eyed Dean’s face, then his gaze lowered to examine the roughened neck of Dean’s black Pink Floyd t-shirt, the wrist bracelets with skulls on them, the chipped purple polish on his fingernails. Rugged. Hard in places, soft in others. A little dark, a little colourful.

Aboard a shipwreck train
Give my umbrella to the Rain Dogs
For I am a Rain Dog, too.

“It’s not my thing,” Castiel said again, “but I can understand why it’s yours. It suits you.”

Dean stared for a moment, his pink lips parting. He blinked his long lashes, and he started to smile. His eyes shone, and his looked down for a moment, flattered by Castiel’s compliment.

By then, the song was already fading out, and Castiel narrowed his eyes to listen to the last notes as the sound slipped away.

When it was over, Castiel looked up, and Dean reached to turn the player off. “I’m gonna buy this for you,” Dean said, waving the CD case, then taking the disc out of the player and putting it back in its case. “I’d tell you to use Napster instead, except I get a cut of the profits when I sell something from this store, so...” He shrugged, smirking to himself. “And yeah, I checked: I get a cut even if I sell it to myself. I think other places have employees’ discounts.”

“What’s a Napster?” asked Castiel.

“It’s a website. Online file sharing,” Dean smiled. “Some of what’s there is perfectly legal. Not all of it is. But if you’re looking for free music, it’s the place to go.”

A squint graced Castiel’s face. “So it’s for stealing music using the Internet.”

“It’s not stealing, exactly,” Dean said with confidence, rolling a shoulder as he looked away. “I’m broke as a stick, so I’m not gonna pour all my money into buying music I might not even like, when I need money for food – as much as I wanna to support other artists.” He met Castiel’s eyes again, offering a lopsided smile. “I like to try before I buy. That’s why I love this place, man.” He patted the CD player beside him with a hand.

“But,” Castiel said, “you’re a creator yourself. Why would you support music theft if you wouldn’t want it to happen to you?”

“Who says I wouldn’t want it to happen to my music?” Dean grinned. He was enlivened. He was so passionate about this, and it showed in his eyes, and the bold way he moved his hands on the table. “I fork out for the artists I really love. That’s how my record collection even came to be. If someone loves listening to my stuff enough, they’re gonna go out and get themselves a copy of the real thing. Glossy album art, hidden bonus tracks. They want the smell of the CD even, or, like, that gorgeous snap when you open up a new case. There’s still an appeal to having a genuine article. That’s my dream. Give the world a free taster and they’ll come back for more.”

He tilted his head, eyes on the collection of sample CDs off to the side of the table. “Besides, I know the Internet’s still a relatively new thing and all, but there’s millions of people using it every day, all over the world. My name gets out there, and I could have a market for selling more records overseas. It’s free advertising.”

Castiel nodded slowly, starting to get it. He still had doubts about the legality of this, but he understood Dean’s reasoning.

Dean looked at Castiel with some kind of bizarre glee. “Look at it this way,” he said, stabbing a fingertip down on the table, “the people who listen to my music and enjoy it are gonna be people like me. Empty pockets and a love for beautiful sounds. I gotta give what I have to my audience, and they gotta get it any way they can. It makes sense they’d get it the same way I do now. Online. Illegally. Only, I want it to be legal. For them and for me.”

Castiel watched Dean turn away to accept a pair of coffees as the waitress approached the table.

“Thanks,” Dean said, smiling softly at the girl. She was slender and brown-skinned, and very pretty.

“Who’s your friend?” the waitress asked Dean, eyes scooting over to Castiel, then back.

“Castiel Novak,” Castiel said, nodding respectfully.

Dean rubbed at the corner of his open mouth with a thumb, smiling slightly. “Cas is the dude who stopped for Rain Dog,” he explained, looking up at his coworker as he pulled his coffee closer. “Cas, meet Tracy. Waitress by day, audio sorceress by night.”

Tracy smiled, red lips pressing together. She was young – she couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.

“Pleased to meet you,” Castiel said to her. He took a sip of his coffee, and was pleasantly surprised. “Oh, this is wonderful,” he sighed, every muscle in his body sinking down a few inches, practically melting into the coffee steam. “Thank you, Tracy.”

Tracy smiled widely. “You’re welcome. Call me over if you want anything else.” She stroked her black hair down against her plaid shirt and turned around, tightening her apron as she went.

“As soon as I find the cash to hire a sound technician, I’m getting her on my crew,” Dean said, pointing in Tracy’s wake. “She’s got way better ears than I have. Did you know once you reach a certain age, you can’t hear the higher frequencies any more? As soon as I hit thirty I was like, crap, I probably can’t hear enough to edit my own tracks.”

Castiel smiled down at his coffee. “I never asked – what sort of music do you make?”

“Bit of this, bit of that?” Dean shrugged. “I try not to make all my tracks sound the same. Mostly it’s rock. Soul, blues. Sometimes I’ll pluck on a guitar and make something new if I’m out of songs I’m not sick of.”

Castiel nodded slowly, watching Dean through the haze above his coffee. “You’ll have to play me something, sometime.”

“Really?” Dean stared back, dragging his tongue over his lips. “Um,” he said. But he didn’t continue. He seemed to have forgotten what he was talking about.

Castiel put down his coffee, eyes following it. Rather than begin a new conversation, they shared a quiet moment. Castiel looked back up, saw Dean gazing back, and he smiled at him.

Dean cleared his throat, while his face and the tips of his ears gradually pinkened. He took a sip on his coffee, eyes widening as his gaze slid away. He guzzled a few hot sips, then panted as he set the cup back on its saucer. He was still pink-cheeked.

Castiel bit his lower lip, and turned to signal Tracy with a wave. If he and Dean were going to stick around for a while, he was going to order some pie.

After nearly three hours in Sweet Note, they devoured four coffees, two slices of pie, and a fruit salad between them, but after all that, they realised they’d both forgotten the purpose of their rendezvous: an exchange of financial information. In the end the topic only came up because they couldn’t work out how to split the check, and Dean started blushing all over again.

Castiel said he would cover today’s bill for the both of them. Dean argued; Castiel supposed there was something very special about seeing the look of troubled gratitude on Dean’s face when Castiel insisted. In any case, Castiel said, Dean was the one looking after Rain Dog, so it was only fair. Dean backed down at that, and he crouched to pet the napping Rain Dog while Castiel pulled out his credit card.

Castiel was fairly sure they’d just gone on a date. He wasn’t convinced, nor was he sure if Dean blushed so often because he was flustered in a romantic sense or if he was just a flustered type of person in general, and Castiel couldn’t bring himself to ask. Whichever way Dean saw it, Castiel definitely viewed this outing as a date in his mind.

They walked together to the bus stop, Castiel holding his umbrella over himself and Dean. They talked business, but it was peppered with distracted laughter and a friendly nudge or two. Rain Dog’s wagon was covered by its own child-sized umbrella, which was propped up against Rain Dog’s shoulder so it wouldn’t fall down. Dean dragged the wagon behind him, checking back every few seconds to make sure Rain Dog was okay.

Castiel liked Dean a lot. It was odd for him to like someone so much. But, stranger yet – it was odd that Dean liked him back. They smiled comfortably in each other’s presence, and Castiel didn’t ever have to explain his jokes, because Dean simply laughed at the fact they made no sense. People were rarely so kind.

“What I think I’ll do,” Castiel said, as they waited at the bus stop for Dean’s ride home, “is I’ll drop in at the vet’s clinic tomorrow, and I’ll pay there. Then you don’t have to worry about going back, and money is only moved around once.”

“Cut out the middleman, that’s what I always say,” Dean smiled.

“You do?”

“No,” Dean chuckled. “That’s the first time I’ve used that phrase in, like, five years.”

“Good. Because I am a middleman myself, and I don’t enjoy being cut out. I’d much rather be... well, thoroughly included.” Castiel smirked, inching a tiny bit closer to Dean. He stuck one hand in his trenchcoat pocket as he bobbed up and down, trying to keep warm. “By the way,” Castiel said, “You still have my other coat. It’s much warmer than this one.”

“Damn, I knew I forgot something,” Dean sighed. “I got it cleaned for you. Cost me a pretty penny, too. You’re just gonna have to come around sometime and pick it up. Gimme your notepad, I’ll give you my address.”

Castiel gave Dean his notepad, and Dean wrote down the address of his apartment, plus a message with a signature to prove to Brenda that Castiel had been sent by Dean.

“I’ll get your mother’s ring back for you tomorrow,” Castiel said. “When we next meet, we can swap your ring for my coat.”

“Sounds like a plan, FBI man.”

Castiel felt his eyes crinkle up in a smile.

They waited another five minutes for the bus, huddled close together, and when it arrived, Castiel helped Dean lift the wagon and its dopey passenger into the bus. Dean lowered his umbrella and turned around in the bus’ doorway, giving Castiel one last smile.

Castiel smiled back. Even when the bus was gone, he was still smiling.

Castiel edged into the bar when it was halfway full. It was warm – stifling, even – and it smelled of beer and sweat. Blue lights filtered through performance smoke that hung over the chattering crowd, which had amassed between the door and the small stage on the distant side of the open room. Coloured laser lights flickered over the heads of the audience, highlighting precisely how many people there were.

Castiel kept his arms tucked in, making himself smaller. He’d never made a habit of going to crowded places, but tonight was the night Dean asked him to come out, so tonight was the night Castiel came out.

He could hear a voice speaking on a microphone, and he could see the vague shape of a man standing on the low stage at the far side of the bar, both him and his house-brick background lit in purple and pink. Castiel side-stepped through the standing crowd, apologising under his breath when he bumped elbows and stepped on toes. He had to get a better view.

He found a good spot over in a corner; the bathrooms were right next to him, which was why nobody else was standing here. He could step away if anyone had to get past.

He listened to the man on stage introduce the first singer of the night, and a round of applause went around the room, raised beer bottles silhouetted over Castiel’s view of the stage.

Castiel listened to a woman sing along with a small band, but he couldn’t too much pay attention. People came and went in the following twenty minutes, in and out of the bathroom. Castiel was aware the bar was getting noisier between songs; alcohol levels were no doubt rising, and more people entered the bar every few minutes. They all seemed expectant. Perhaps they were all waiting for Dean.

Someone bumped Castiel’s arm, and Castiel apologised, stepping aside. But that person lingered, looming across Castiel’s view.

“Are you Castiel?”

Castiel looked up into the face of the man who had said his name. The fellow was round-eyed and surprisingly tall, with brown hair tickling on the shoulders of his plaid shirt.

The man grinned when Castiel didn’t reply. “I’m Sam,” he said. He stuck out his hand, expecting Castiel to shake it.

Castiel obliged, grimacing because he knew his hand was clammy. If Sam wiped his hands on his jeans afterwards, he didn’t make a show of it.

“I figured I’d drop in and catch tonight’s gig, since it was on,” Sam said, resting his back against the black wall, taking up more room than Castiel was comfortable with. “What do you think so far?”

Castiel swallowed. “I suppose it’s all right,” he intoned, giving a shrug. “I’m actually waiting for someone, a performer. He asked me to come tonight.” He swallowed, eyeing Sam warily. “Forgive me for asking, but who are you? How do you know my name? Did you follow me here? If this is about my current case, I told Hannah I wasn’t to be contacted outside of work hours.”

Sam looked baffled for a few seconds, then he laughed, a scruffy bellow of a noise that cut through the bassline of the guitar on stage. When Sam straightened up, he was dopey-eyed and twitching with a smile. “I’m Dean’s brother,” he explained.

“Oh,” Castiel breathed, mouth open. He frowned, lowering his eyes. “Apologies, I thought you were a contact sent by my coworker.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam smiled. He leaned close, muttering, “Dean told me you have the coolest job ever.”

Castiel chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that.” He watched the band on stage finishing up their song, but rather than applaud, Castiel leaned close to Sam’s shoulder and asked, “What about you, what do you do?”

“I’m an attorney,” Sam said, immediately lowering his voice when the DJ took over and the room went quiet. “I defend copyright law infringers.”

Castiel smiled, suddenly realising why Dean knew so much about illegal downloads. He was tempted to ask Sam if he endorsed Dean’s questionable use of the Internet, but he wasn’t the sort to give away someone’s position. Instead, all Castiel said was, “I see.”

“Oh, look, that’s Dean’s cue,” Sam said excitedly, standing up straight. He started smashing his giant hands together, an enthusiastic look on his face. Castiel stood on his tiptoes to see over a few heads, and let out a breath when he saw Dean Winchester loping up onto the stage, a guitar in hand.

Dean perched on a stool in the centre of the stage, one hand wrapped around the microphone in its stand, the other hand holding the belly of his acoustic guitar. “Hey, guys,” he said, and his low voice filled the room. “How’s it hangin’?”

The audience cheered, raising the roof for a good five seconds.

“Heh-heh, that’s awesome. Glad to hear it. I’m gonna play you a handful of tunes tonight – hey, hey, yeah, settle down!” He grinned, laughing when the audience applauded and cheered for him. “Save it for later, all right! I haven’t played anything yet.”

He began to twang on his guitar strings, smirking at the enthusiasm the crowd went on building; whistles and shouts of encouragement leapt from all corners of the room, punctuating every chord Dean played.

Dean lowered his head, nodding in time to the music. Castiel curled his fingers into fists, expecting his heart to beat out of its chest. He was nervous because of the crowd, but more than that, he feared that something would go wrong with Dean’s guitar, that he’d forget what to play or he’d sing a bad note.

But, as Dean took a breath, ready to sing, Castiel forgot his worry. Dean was no amateur. His first note was long, unbroken, and utterly fantastic.

Castiel smiled, forgetting the crowd for a while. Dean was confident up there. While Castiel wasn’t sure he liked the song, he liked seeing Dean playing it. Castiel remained silent, inhaling shallowly so he could hear Dean’s guitar over his own breath. The audience was quiet, as was Sam. If they had any appreciation for musical talent at all, they were probably all restraining their breath too.

Dean had his eyes half-closed, his chin jutted out – and a soulful, sweet note escaped his mouth, sliding from his lips.

Castiel heard lyrics about water and fire, something about footsteps through sand. He didn’t know the song, and for Castiel it went by in a blur of semi-awareness, but there was no denying that it was beautiful.

Dean could carry a note like a bottle bobbing in the sea. That is to say, he could sing very well indeed.

Castiel applauded at the end of the song, feeling a smile rush to his face out of nowhere. He clapped harder than the people at the bar, and harder than the people at the tables, and harder than Sam. He even whooped once, because other people were doing it and it seemed like fun. His throat hurt after, but he was sure Dean heard him amongst the applause.

Without pause, Dean’s fingers switched up the beat, and a new song began. The crowd went into uproar, clamouring and whistling so loud that Castiel went stiff with frustration; he couldn’t hear a thing. But the audience settled down, realising nobody could hear. Dean’s dancing fingers played and played, and then he began to sing.

This time he sang about heartbreak – but not the same old romantic kind that seemingly all songs were filled with. He sang about the heartbreak a person felt when they lost someone close to them, stolen away by the greedy hands of Death. There had to be a hundred people in the bar tonight, and Castiel was certain almost all of them could resonate with the feelings Dean poured into his song. Dean’s song caused a hundred heartbreaks, all at once. The dark magic of it went beyond the lyrics – it was the corrosion in his voice, and the pain on his face when he sang the words “You were my happiness, my life. When yours went, so did mine.”

Castiel had never lost anyone. But he allowed tears to spring to his eyes for one reason, and one reason only: he wanted to know what it felt like to cry at a song. He let the words carry him away from his own inexperience and into Dean’s own life, his loss, and Castiel felt empathy like never before.

He smiled as he wiped a tear away. Dean had succeeded where three decades of movies, books and music had failed. Castiel was almost relieved: thank God, he was human too. He could be made to weep by someone else’s creation, someone else’s loss.

Dean reached the end of the song, and refused to let anyone stay sad. He leaned into his microphone and grumbled, “Wipe your damn faces, I’m not that bad.”

The audience chuckled – as did Castiel and Sam. All of them were relieved to smile again.

Dean’s hand sprang into a bouncing, jaunty set of chords, grinning as he started to whistle along. This song didn’t appear to have any lyrics, but his whistles pinched his cheeks and carried a tune high and low, swiping and jiving through the air and infiltrating everyone’s heads.

To Castiel the tune felt like the colour yellow, almost solid in the curled palms of his hands. He thought of canary birds and sugar-crusted apple pies and springtime, and he marvelled at how a song with nothing in it could fill so much of his mind.

Dean laughed, shattering the whistle apart on a gasp. He folded forward, slapping a hand to his guitar. “I lost it. God, why is it so hard to whistle while you’re smiling? That’s your fault, that is. You guys make me so happy I can’t keep a straight face.”

Despite missing out on the second half of the song, the people in the bar clapped for him. Castiel was pleased just to have heard what he’d heard. He wanted to hear it again, but he couldn’t – Dean was already moving on.

Dean took the microphone out of its stand, and he breathed into it. “Hey, uh, I figured I’d sing you a little somethin’ new. It’s not finished, but I gotta test it out on someone with good ears, right?” The crowd rumbled with a quiet laugh, and Dean echoed it, eyes crinkling at the sides as he bowed his head. “Wrote this one for a friend of mine. I first met them a few weeks back... Well, I’d tell you the story, but I might as well sing it.”

The crowd cheered him on gently, a few people shouting encouragement from the front rows.

Dean put the microphone back in its stand, then tuned his guitar, gently twisting two knobs at the end. After a moment of calming silence, he started up a fiddly melody on his guitar, shaking his head in time with the rhythm. He took a deep breath, let it go, then took another one to sing.

“Rain came down; quiet night for me.
Was just drivin’, get out of the city.
Where am I goin’? Hell only knows.
But I saw those headlights flashing, and I knew;

“Loneliness is oh, oh, over!
I always needed you.
Empty feelin’ has reached its end
You’re here now, you’re here now,
Thank God, I’ve got a friend...”

Dean played the same chords over again, repeating what he’d played before, but this time, he hummed. His eyes fell shut, and he smiled.

The music played on under his fingers, but this time his voice was silent.

He opened his eyes, the music slowed... and then it was over.

The room burst into cheers, applause and whoops and laughter. The crowd loved it, and at that moment Castiel wished he knew more about music. It must’ve been splendid, and amazing. But all Castiel had heard was Dean being Dean. It was like he’d been singing every note he spoke ever since the start, and Castiel hadn’t ever known any other way to hear him convey a message.

But, musical ignorance aside, one thing couldn’t escape Castiel’s awareness: Dean had written him a song. That was... oh, that was special. Castiel had never had a song written about him before.

Dean laughed, flattered by the applause that went on. He waved a cut-throat gesture over his neck and the crowd’s chirps slowly petered out to a bumbling silence. Dean grinned. “Wow, wasn’t expecting that. Jeez.”

Wanting to make his presence known, Castiel let out a single whoop. His voice carried in the hard-walled room – Dean raised his eyebrows, swinging his attention towards Castiel. Castiel knew he’d been located, but after a quick grin, Dean gave no reaction to having spotted him.

“Actually, uh,” Dean said, licking his lips, “that song was about my dog.”

The audience laughed, some clapping, some sighing out an “Aww.”

Sam grumbled.

But Castiel swallowed, looking down. He smiled, because Rain Dog deserved songs to be written about her too, but Castiel couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Dean played a few notes on his guitar, and the same chords started up, playing the refrain from the song over and over. “I got another verse,” he said into the microphone, slipping off his stool and hunching so his mouth still rested on the mike. “Hang on, tech problems—” He played those notes again, while a staff member came along and raised his microphone for him. He grinned, saying thank you with his mouth away from the microphone.

He went over the notes one more time, then shut his eyes and began to sing.

“Don’t pretend you’re not heart-broke,
I see you standin’ there.
I wrote you a sweet, sweet melody;
Half of it’s for you, from me.”

He laughed, nosing the microphone. “Now I’m just makin’ this shit up. Get over here, man.” He pulled away from the microphone and beckoned bodily to Castiel, sweeping his entire arm upwards. Castiel flushed hot, sure he was going to set his trenchcoat on fire.

Dean laughed again, taking the microphone from its stand. “That there’s my friend Cas. He’s the one who helped me rescue my dog from a road accident. Yeah, that’s super cool, right? Come on up, buddy, come tell us how the story goes. Help me make up a new verse.” The audience murmured excitedly, honoured to be present for part of Dean’s creative process. Castiel, however, was shaking on his feet.

Dean noticed the delay. “C’mon, man. These guys don’t bite. ‘Cept Pamela, but only if you ask nice.”

The crowd laughed. Half of them were looking over at Castiel, waiting him for him to approach the stage. Sam leaned close and patted Castiel’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging shove. “Go on. It’s not so bad once you’re up there, I promise.”

Castiel swallowed, taking his first step towards the front of the room. He was trembling.

When Castiel got close enough, Dean seemed to notice his fear.

“Hey, my guy’s lookin’ a little nervous. I can do this off stage, man, it’s all good. You stay right where you are, Cas – I’ll come to you.” He turned back to his audience, giving them a big smile, ignoring their groan of disappointment. “That’s all from me tonight, folks. Tonight’s been one massive ego boost, so thanks for that. Honestly, bottom of my heart.” He patted his chest twice. “Love you guys.” He kissed his fingers and blew the bar a kiss, then grinned and hopped off stage to raucous applause, more cheering and clapping.

A DJ came up and took Dean’s place, taking the same microphone and calling for more praise for Dean, more applause. Dean waved, but then he stepped into the shadows and made his way through tables and reached the edge of the room, approaching Castiel.

Dean grinned when he got close. “Hey, man,” he chuckled, bringing Castiel in for a brief one-armed hug, his guitar held away from their bodies. Castiel stood back all weak-kneed, still trembling. Dean’s smile dimmed. “Sorry about that. Didn’t take you for the stage-fright type.”

“I— It’s just, the, uh... crowds,” Castiel stammered, waving a shaking finger at their surroundings. The audience was listening to another singer now, a woman with a very different sort of voice.

Dean gave Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze, and then he led him by the sleeve to a back hallway through the side of the room. It was cool out here, and far quieter, and the lights were hung from the walls, giving out a soft ochre glow.

Castiel let out a calming breath. “Was that song really for me?”

“You and Rain Dog,” Dean smiled. “I was just messin’ you around up there. We’re still friends, right?”

Castiel gawped. “Dean, of course.” That was a partial lie; until now Castiel hadn’t even been convinced they were friends in the first place. Now he was sure.

Dean beamed, eyes down. He was about to reply, when another person entered the corridor.

“Dean,” Sam beamed, rushing for his brother and enveloping him in a bear hug. Dean’s eyes widened as he was partially crushed, but he laughed and gripped his brother tight, still holding his shoulders when they separated.

Dean glanced over at Castiel. “Cas, I guess you met Sam?”

“We watched you together,” Castiel smiled. “You were wonderful.”

“Aw, shucks,” Dean replied, batting at Castiel’s arm.

Sam caught Dean’s eye again, muttering, “I’ve gotta head out now, I left Tommy and Shep in the car – but you played good show tonight. Was great.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, bringing his brother into another quick hug. “Go give those puppies a consolation treat. No mutt likes being locked in a four-wheeler.”

Sam nodded. He glanced back at Castiel, who stood patiently, pretending not to listen. Sam cocked his head towards Castiel, eyes back on Dean. “Oh... and Dean? When you get the next verse down, make sure it’s obvious the song’s about him, okay?”

Dean snorted, bowing his head. He was embarrassed, but still smiled when Sam patted his cheek. Sam turned to leave, giving Castiel a farewell squeeze on the forearm. “See you around, Castiel.”

“See you,” Castiel called after him. He watched Sam’s broad-shouldered figure exit the hallway and duck back into the crowd, swallowed up by tables, flashing lights and human bodies.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean uttered. He had a soft look in his eyes when Castiel focused on him. “C’mere. I got something to give you.”

Castiel followed Dean down the hallway, and they took a right, entering a tiny alcove of a room that served as a dressing room for the talent. Dean went to a chair and lifted Castiel’s trenchcoat from the back of it. “This is yours.” He handed it to Castiel, one hand lingering on top of it. “I’m, uh... I’m glad you came tonight.”

“As am I,” Castiel said. He took the coat, then reached into the pocket of the coat he was already wearing and pulled out the fine silver ring he’d retrieved from the veterinarian’s office. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Thanks,” Dean said quietly, taking the ring and sliding it onto his finger. There was a pale band on his finger, and when the ring was on, it covered the discolouration perfectly. Dean must’ve been wearing the same ring for years; the flesh in his fingers had shaped around it.

“You said it was your mother’s?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled and looked up, meeting Castiel’s eyes. “I loved her a lot.” He said no more about her or the ring, and Castiel nodded, satisfied, since that was all Dean wanted to share.

“Where’s Rain Dog tonight?” Castiel asked.

“I left her at home,” Dean replied. “She’s probably goin’ stir-crazy by herself, tearing the walls down. I’m heading home now, gotta get back. You wanna walk with me?”

Castiel nodded, eyes still on Dean. They shared a smile.

When Dean had put on his black pea coat and popped the collar up, he put his guitar into a carry case, which he then locked closed and slung over his back. He and Castiel left the bar together via a back entrance, and they walked side-by-side in the dark, making puddles ripple under their feet as they made their way down the street.

They talked a bit. But not much. They put their hands in their pockets and they watched their shadows touch in the moonlight.

Today was the day! Dean pretended not to be nervous about his first tour, but Castiel could see it revealed in his twitches, and the way he’d double- and then triple-checked he had his prepaid phone card, his wallet and his car keys; he took a shallow breath and looked back up the concrete staircase, worried he’d left something behind.

Wanting to reassure him without freaking him out, Castiel reached closer to Dean and took the dog leash from his fingers, making sure to squeeze Dean’s hand accidentally-on-purpose as he did. Dean let Castiel take Rain Dog, and while Castiel hung back, Dean went to the fire door at the bottom of the staircase and invited in a blast of oily, dry air from the underground parking lot.

Under a low ceiling of concrete beams, they walked in silence over to Dean’s Impala, then passed it, carrying on another five spaces. Castiel’s champagne-coloured Lincoln Continental waited in the shadows, lit only by dingy fluorescent lights and no daylight at all. The distant sound of a car’s wheels turning on concrete screeched and echoed through the building, then faded.

Castiel got his car unlocked, then reached over and opened up the back door. There was an empty space beside the car, so there was room for Rain Dog to patter around as she waited to get in.

Dean gave a heave of exertion, helping Rain Dog up onto the back seats. “There we go. Don’t you dare do your business on the seats, okay?”

“Is she likely to do that?” Castiel asked warily.

Dean wafted a hand through the air. “She already went. She’ll be fine.” He shot Rain Dog a firm stare. “Won’t you?”

Rain Dog barked, wagging her pudgy white tail so it smacked against the tan-coloured leather seats. She had a goofy, smiley expression on her face, tongue lolling from her mouth.

Castiel held the back door of his car open wide, still bent forward to watch the dog. “She’s made an impressive recovery,” he said, happy to see Rain Dog spin around in a circle and plonk herself down to rest. “A little wobbly on her paws, perhaps, but she’s settled well.” He looked up, catching Dean’s gaze. “Do you think she’ll be all right? Two weeks without you is a long time.”

Dean sighed, his smile slipping away. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, giving a shrug. “If I’m honest, I think I’ll miss her more. My life got so noisy and crazy after she arrived that I’m probably gonna be looking behind me every ten seconds to check if she’s keeping up.”

Castiel offered a reassuring smile. “But you finally have your chance to go on tour. That’s what matters.”

“Puh,” Dean waved dismissively. “I’m the opening act for some barely-known band. Nobody even knows me outside this county.”

“It’s something, though. Someone out there will remember your name. Soon enough you’ll be playing your own show and you’ll have your own fans, and the stage will be all yours.” Castiel tilted his head, softening his gaze. “If it helps, I do believe your number one fan is right here.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and he bent to look inside the car. “Rain Dog! You never told me you liked my music so much! Can I sign something for you? You want a hug?”

While Castiel laughed, Rain Dog got up and waddled closer to Dean, panting against his belly as he gave her a rough face-rub, squishing her cheeks in his hands and tugging her floppy ears.

“I actually meant me,” Castiel smiled, putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked back, and Castiel gave him an earnest look. “Your demo CD was what kept me going all throughout the Yellow-Eyes case. It kept me – I don’t know... sane. Grounded. All those grisly crimes, and I still found a moment in every day to step back and lose myself to something beautiful.”

“Why, FBI man, are you tellin’ me you got a thing for my voice?”

“I have a thing for you,” Castiel said as he rolled his eyes, then almost inhaled his lips as he realised what he’d said. Dean looked equally as taken aback, but thankfully he laughed it off.

“Sorry to disappoint ya, pal, but the position of number one fan is already taken by my brother.” Dean smirked. “You could worship the ground I walk on but there’s no getting past him.”

Castiel chuckled. “I don’t see Sam offering to take your dog for two weeks.”

“Sam’s got enough dogs.” Dean shook his head. “Rainy’s not ready for all that rough-and-tumble yet. Sam’s mutts can get wild. They’re barely a step down from wolves.”

Castiel nodded understandingly, finally letting his hand slide away from Dean’s shoulder, dragging down his arm as he went. “You’d better go,” he said. “Atlantic City craves the sound of your voice.”

Dean smiled, leaning into the car to give Rain Dog one last kiss and a belly rub. “Take care of my FBI man, won’t you, pup? Yeah! Yeah-yeah-yeah.” Dean blew a raspberry on Rain Dog’s tummy, then patted her goodbye. “I’ll be back, baby. Don’t forget me.”

Rain Dog barked a farewell, and Dean closed the door so she wouldn’t jump out after him and break the bones that had only just healed.

Dean sighed, resting his knuckles against the window glass, smiling when Rain Dog licked the glass and left a big oozy smudge. “Bye-bye, pup.”

Castiel took Dean’s arm in hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. They walked together across the parking lot, making their way to Dean’s car.

“Guess I’ll see you around,” Dean said, popping open the driver’s side door. “Wish me luck, Cas.”

“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Castiel said, pulling Dean into a hug. Dean squeezed hard, then let go. He looked worried. “Everything’s going to be fine, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “I’ll page you every day, and I’ll let you know if I have any problems with Rain Dog.”

Dean struggled to smile, so he nodded instead. “Let me—” He exhaled, breath shaking.

“Dean...?”

“Let me know how you’re doing... too.” Dean swallowed hard. “Like, just... call me. Even if Rain Dog’s fine and there’s nothing to report.”

Castiel hid his surprise well. “Okay.”

“‘Kay.” Dean touched Castiel’s chest gently, then turned and sat himself in his car. He paused for a moment, gazing at Castiel through the glass, then he turned on the engine, and the powerful roar of machinery drowned out every other echo in the lot.

Dean reversed into the main space, and he pulled out to drive straight. His horn tooted twice, and Castiel waved when he saw Dean’s hand stretching out through the open window.

He’ll be back before you know it, Castiel said to himself.

Surprisingly, Castiel’s silent wish came true. Two weeks passed in practically a blink, and when Dean came to collect his dog, Castiel found his apartment was empty and quiet and tidy again. As silly as it was, he missed the random scratches on his carpet and waking up in the middle of the night because Rain Dog was howling.

Castiel reasoned that he missed Rain Dog because having a pet gave him a sense of purpose that working for the FBI didn’t always do. Things at the Federal Bureau wasn’t like the movies – mostly it was paperwork, and Castiel didn’t always know the full scope of what he was doing, because so much was classified.

But, a large part of why he missed Rain Dog... Well, quite frankly, Castiel missed being woken up by howling at night because it gave him an excuse to call Dean and talk about nonsense, until one or two or all three of them fell back asleep. Doing that was soothing, and it made Castiel happy. Dean was his best friend. Better than a best friend, even... but Dean didn’t know that yet.

Castiel’s heart ached. It was difficult to say whether that was mostly because of Rain Dog’s absence or Castiel’s craving for Dean’s company. Both, probably.

Castiel didn’t remember who suggested the solution to his secret problem in the end – it must’ve been the outcome of a half-asleep discussion he and Dean had over the phone, but without even realising, a seemingly far-fetched idea became a reality almost overnight.

Castiel took Rain Dog for one week. Dean took her the next week.

And just like that, it worked.

When she lived at Castiel’s apartment complex, Rain Dog had access to the rooftop garden, and she could do her business on real grass, and she could hang her front paws over the edge railing and bark at pigeons as they flew past.

When she lived with Dean... well, there weren’t really any definite benefits to that, aside from being allowed to snuggle up in bed under Dean’s blankets. (Dean denied that ever happened, but Castiel wouldn’t let him take back the confession. It happened, and it happened every time.)

Dean kept possession of the chew toys and the bed and all the doggy paraphernalia he’d amassed over the months, and those things became Rain Dog’s Things At Dean’s Place. She got her nap corner and her favourite patchwork duck that she could chew on, and when Dean lay on the couch she lay on his soft tummy and occasionally licked toast crumbs off his face.

Since it was a hassle to move all the stuff every time Rain Dog went to the other place, Castiel bought a whole set of new things – new fur brushes, new bowls, new toys. Rain Dog got her puppy igloo and her Extra Special Extendy Leash that let her go for walks much farther ahead of Castiel when he went jogging in the mornings. In the evenings, she got to sit with Castiel while he did his Very Important Eff-Bee-Eye Work, but she wasn’t allowed to chew his papers because he’d get cross when she did that and make her sit outside with the door closed. That wasn’t fun. But, when she was living with Castiel, she had an excuse to wake up and howl at night (more out of habit than anything), and Castiel would get out of bed and fawn over her and rub her belly, then he’d get out the cordless telephone and cuddle her while he talked to Dean.

As a dog, Rain Dog wasn’t too bothered by her humans and their peculiar habits. But she would listen to Dean’s voice through the phone, and she liked that sound he did with his voice, the happy rumbly noise. He did that lots when Castiel talked to him. Even though Rain Dog missed Dean’s presence, hearing him laugh made living with Castiel the best thing ever. Even the Extra Special Extendy Leash and the puppy igloo weren’t as good as hearing Dean’s happy rumbles.

But, as the months went on, their arrangement was the only way things went. Dean and Castiel wouldn’t always see each other for long – they’d let Rain Dog hop out of one car and hop into the other, chat for a few minutes, and then they’d drive off. They went to a ballgame once (Rain Dog was not allowed to chase that particular ball, for some unknown reason), and another time they went to the beach (Best. Day. Ever.), but those precious moments only lasted for a few hours at a time.

What Rain Dog wanted – really, really wanted – was a way for them to be, sort of... in the same place. Yeah. Dean and Castiel ought to be in the same place for some time. A long time. Then Dean would make his happy rumbly noise, Castiel would get all smiley like he did whenever he talked to Dean, and Rain Dog could lick up toast crumbs and go for a walk with the Extra Special Extendy Leash all in one day.

If only that were possible, it would be a doggone dream come true.

Dean sighed.

Rain Dog looked up at him curiously, wagging her tail when Dean met her eyes.

Dean smiled a bit, sure that Rain Dog was silently asking “What’s up with you, dude?”

“Nothin’,” Dean shrugged. He looked up, watching the door of his apartment. The varnish was all scratched off at the bottom, and the little orb for the peephole was inexplicably gone, so it had been blocked up with white plaster. The front door was ugly, sure, but it was less ugly than the rest of the room. Even before Rain Dog arrived it was a wreck.

“Just,” Dean said, “this place is a total dump. I could tidy and vacuum until this place was spotless and it would still suck.”

Rain Dog panted happily, because she had absolutely no idea what Dean was talking about but she liked when he talked.

Dean glanced down at her, petting her. He glanced at the door again, wondering if he’d heard a knock. No, just someone closing a cupboard downstairs.

“You’re one lucky mutt, Rainy,” Dean said, ruffling Rain Dog’s ears. “Every other week you get to hang out with Cas. And you’re free of this god-awful stink. Like, what even is that smell? I washed my freakin’ socks, so it’s not that. Ugh.” He sighed again, flopping back onto the couch, one arm dangling so Rain Dog could stay in contact with his hand. “Me, I’ve been stuck here day in, day out, and half that time you weren’t even here to keep me company, and I’m kinda mad about that, you know?”

Rain Dog licked Dean’s hand, and then yapped in delight when Dean went “Eeeugh!”

Suddenly Rain Dog’s ears pricked up: there was someone coming up the stairs. She ran to the door and stood on her strong back legs, front paws on the wood. Her tail swished madly, which only meant one thing: it was either Sam bearing the gifts of pig ears and a half-dozen smells from his own dogs, or Castiel, who often showed up bearing no gifts whatsoever, save his handsome self.

Whoever it was knocked at the door. Tap tap tap tap. Rain Dog went crazy barking, leaping up and scratching at the wood.

Dean grinned: it was Cas.

He went to the door and unlocked it, unchained it, unbolted it, then opened it.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said, thumbing over his shoulder to invite him in. “Whoa, watch yourself, Rainy. Put a lid on it. Sit. Sit!”

Rain Dog sat, but kept trying to get up before remembering she was meant to sit. Her wild eyes were locked on Castiel, her front paws lifting from the ground in turn, doing her own version of beckoning Castiel down to her level.

“Hello, Rain Dog,” Castiel said seriously. He crouched down, patting her head. “How have you been?”

Rain Dog barked and barked and wagged her tail, standing up to lick Castiel’s face.

“No,” Castiel said sternly, holding a finger in front of Rain Dog’s nose. “No licking.”

“Wait, we’re not doing licking?” Dean asked in surprise. “I let her lick me all the time.”

Castiel stood up straight, and he heaved a huge sigh. “That would be why my attempts to get her to stop have been completely futile, then. Our training is utterly inconsistent.” He looked away, a little annoyed by that.

“Sorry, man.”

“It’s all right, you didn’t know,” Castiel said, waving it off. “But for future reference: no licking.”

“Gotcha.”

Castiel took his coat off and hung it on the stool by the kitchen bar, where it dripped rain onto the carpet. Rain Dog sniffed at it, then sniffed at Castiel’s legs.

“So how’ve you been?” Dean asked.

“Oh, not too bad,” Castiel said. He stepped forward, but he didn’t hug Dean because the initial moment of greeting had passed. Dean awkwardly lowered his arms, relieved that Castiel hadn’t been looking at him, but had instead spotted the pile of mail on the coffee table.

“Dean, what’s this?” Castiel asked, bending at the waist. He picked up an envelope with a torn side, reading the big red letters on the front.

Dean felt his skin flare hot. “I think it’s pretty obvious what it is. They hand those out to people who they want to kick outta the building.”

Castiel turned the envelope around, showing Dean the big red letters again. Eviction Notice, the envelope read.

“You should see the letter that came inside,” Dean said bitterly. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people who signed the petition. The whole building, I’m guessing.”

“Petition— They signed a petition?!”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, going to the couch and flopping onto it. “People around here aren’t that into pitbulls, apparently.”

Castiel let out an explosive huff. “Pitbulls! A breed isn’t the dog! That’s like saying they’re evicting Rain Dog because she has a Caucasian owner!”

Dean raised his eyebrows and let them drop again, in a well, what can you do? sort of way. “I told them I’m not getting rid of her – and like decent neighbouring folk, instead of getting mad, they got even. There’s a lady downstairs who’s gonna have a baby in a couple months, and apparently – apparently, this whole petition was put together because she’s scared the dog will hurt the baby.”

“Why do you say ‘apparently’ like that?”

“‘Cause I know her,” Dean said. “She’s cool. Like, she says hi to Rainy when we walk past her in the evenings.”

“So why the petition?”

Dean forced a smile. “Legal shit. When I signed the contract for this place, there was nothing forbidding pets on the premises. Then I got Rain Dog here and what’dya know, she barks a lot. I figure this is just the douchebag owner backtracking on his own fineprint because he doesn’t like the noise.”

Castiel fumed. He looked furious, and Dean wouldn’t be too surprised if he spontaneously burst into flames.

“Chill, Cas,” Dean chuckled. “I was thinking of moving out anyway.”

“But they can’t just— And to blame it on pitbulls—!”

Dean shrugged. “Living in this place is like living behind Satan’s ballsack. You get some nasty germs all up in your business around here. I can’t expect them to act like the people from Friends, can I?”

Castiel stood on the spot, fritzing about like an angry computer pixel.

With a chuckle, Dean stood up. “What would you have me do, anyway? Call the cops on them? The notice is already served, and I got no intention of sticking around. Why bother? Just let those assholes enjoy their silence. Maybe they’ll change the rent agreement so pets aren’t allowed, and that’ll save the next guy the worry of trying to keep the cockroaches outta the kitchen.”

Castiel’s lips curled down at the idea of cockroaches in the kitchen, and he shivered. “So where are you going to go?”

Dean crouched down and reached for Rain Dog, who came and sat at his feet and panted happily in his face. “I dunno,” Dean said. “Probably go crash with Sam for a few weeks. Long-term, though? I want somewhere that’s still in close range of you, so you get to see Rainy. Somewhere within travelling distance of Sweet Note and the recording studio. And maybe somewhere with a garden. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pup? Yeah, a little garden? So I can scoop your poop off real grass instead of a sidewalk?”

Rain Dog looked thrilled, but Dean was probably projecting.

Castiel made a small, thoughtful noise.

Dean glanced up, seeing Castiel tug on his necktie, which he only did when he was scheming.

“What’s in your head?” Dean smirked. He glanced down at Rain Dog, waggling his hand between her ears so they flapped about. “FBI man’s had himself a real smart thought! I wonder what it is?”

“I, um,” Castiel cleared his throat. “I was just wondering what you thought of living with a roommate.”

Dean arched his bottom lip. “Dunno. I lived with Sam for years without much issue. Outside of brother stuff, I mean. So long as they can tolerate pitbulls, I think I could co-exist with someone else easy enough. Why’d you ask?”

Castiel took a quick breath. “Well, ah...”

Dean stood up slowly, eyes on Castiel, suddenly very interested by what he had to say.

Castiel licked his lips. “Would you... perhaps... like to move in with me?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose, heart doing a flip in his chest. “With you?”

“It’s just, I meet all the necessary requirements... And I do love having Rain Dog around, you see, and... well...” He swallowed, running a hand soothingly over the back of his neck, then up and over his mouth. His rounded eyes flicked to Dean’s, waiting expectantly for his answer.

Dean let out a tiny breath. “I-I’d... I’d love that.”

Castiel’s smile was nervous, but completely genuine. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean whispered. “Wow. That was easy.”

“Yes,” Castiel chuckled, lowering his head. He frowned. “Very easy.”

Dean put his borrowed suitcase just inside the front door, taking a deep breath. “It smells clean.”

“That’s because it is,” Castiel said like it was obvious. He went ahead, carrying Rain Dog’s patchwork duck over to the middle of the magnolia carpet. He dropped it there, then walked past Rain Dog as she rushed for her toy and started playing with it.

Dean put down the rest of his things on the couch, and he went over to the wide windows that overlooked the twelve storeys below from the balcony. “Holy crap, even in the rain, you can see so much from here. Why did I never come here in daylight before?!”

“Because it was always an evening handoff,” Castiel said, smiling as he came up next to Dean and handed him a Twinkie bar. “Rain Dog was always either mine or yours, never both of ours. I don’t think it really occurred to us to find a reason to socialise with each other without using her as an... excuse.”

Dean took a bite of his Twinkie, looking back at his dog (their dog), who was rolling about on the rug, busy yanking on her patchwork duck’s floppy feet. Dean looked back at Castiel, who was giving him a guilty look. “What’s up with you?” Dean asked.

Castiel lowered his eyes. “Sometimes I called you in the middle of the night and told you Rain Dog was howling when she wasn’t.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You did?”

Castiel nodded, turning his back to the window and sliding his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “I think I just wanted to talk to you.” He gulped. “I... I like you. A lot. You’ve been such a great friend to me, Dean. I grew up thinking I wanted some adventure and madness in my life, so I went and joined the FBI, but that ended up being nothing like how I imagined it. The things I see in my line of work can be horrific. And after seven years, it makes you paranoid. Anxious. I live far-removed from the idea of normality, most days. I work nine-to-five but there’s nothing regular about my job.” He shrugged. “Let’s just say, after years of sitting on that rocky ledge, I needed some stability.”

Dean scoffed. “You’re telling me I’m stable? Me, who just got evicted, who doesn’t have a full-time job outside of retail, and barely makes it by on tips every other weekend?”

Castiel gazed at him. He gazed, and gazed, and gazed. He smiled. “You said it yourself, in the song about me and Rainy. Loneliness is oh, oh, over. Your words, Dean. You’re what I needed in my life. I kept telling you – kept telling myself – that Rain Dog was the thing between us, she was what brought us together, and she’s what keeps our relationship going. But...”

He trailed off, and the eager shine in his eyes dialled back to a regular shine. He looked over at Rain Dog, watching her do roly-polies over the rug. He didn’t finish his sentence.

Dean swallowed hard. “Did you stop talking ‘cause you’re scared you’re gonna freak me out so I leave right after I moved in?”

Castiel looked up, eyes on Dean’s.

Dean gave him a smile. “Go ahead and spill your feelings, Cas. I’m not gonna run away.”

Castiel’s lips parted, but he couldn’t speak.

Dean licked his lips, feeling them twitch. He spent a few seconds working up the courage to speak in Castiel’s stead. In the end, it didn’t take long at all – he’d been working up the courage for months already, and at this precise moment, something inside him went ding!

Dean cleared his throat ever so softly. “Cas?”

“Hm?”

“I, uh, don’t know whether it’s through some overlooked logistics on your part, or whatever, but I did notice that the lease agreement I signed for this place says there’s only one bedroom.”

Castiel took a small breath, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced down.

Dean bit his lower lip, sliding closer to Castiel, slipping his hand against his thigh, then turning it so their fingers touched at the very tips. Castiel moved his hand, seeking to thread his fingers between Dean’s.

“I could always sleep on the couch?” Dean said softly, but in a way that made it clear he knew neither of them were going to be happy with him sleeping on the couch, not any more.

“You could,” Castiel said, lifting his eyes to Dean’s. His voice carried the same tone as Dean’s, conveying the exact same message. It was like... tender sarcasm. “Or,” he went on, “you could not.”

Dean tilted his head. “Not sleep on the couch? Or not sleep at all?”

Castiel opened his mouth, about to reply, but then he laughed, eyes closing as he rocked his head forward, resting it against Dean’s shoulder. “If this is really how things are going to go between us, Dean, I suspect I might get my own eviction notice.” He lifted his head, and looked Dean in the eyes with a beady look in his own. “Evicted for noise.”

Dean laughed softly, nosing his way towards Castiel’s mouth, chasing a breath. “We can be quiet.”

Castiel half-closed his eyes and swept Dean into a tiny, unprovoked smooch, taking him by surprise. They separated with a breath, eyes searching each other for confirmation that that really happened, that it was real and they were seriously doing this.

Dean bit his lip and grinned, feeling a heat flood his cheeks. Castiel lowered his eyes again and kissed Dean’s chin, running the tip of his pointed nose against Dean’s sensitive lips. Another kiss followed, this one slow and rocking; it went like a stroll through a park, paths twisting, moving at a decent pace, full of all sorts of colourful, rain-scented sensations to enjoy.

Castiel slid his hands into Dean’s hair, holding his face close as they shared breath. They gazed at each other, lost in the magic of newness and the excitement of feeling another man’s heartbeat against their chests.

Then, Castiel frowned. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you get the feeling you’re being watched?”

Dean grinned. “I thought that was you, staring deep into my eyes.”

Castiel smirked, but his eyes drifted, and he bent his neck to look down. Dean looked too, and chuckled: Rain Dog was sitting at their feet, peering up at them with a captivated stare, her mouth open and panting.

“You know what?” Dean said, sliding one hand into Castiel’s to hold it. “Once I actually get settled and spread out, this apartment’s not that big. I mean, my records go over there with your books, and the shelf’s full; my toiletries go in your cupboards and suddenly the bathroom’s full; my food, your kitchen – same story. But half of what’s left to unpack from my car is dog gear. Between us, we’ve got too much stuff for one dog. We got two of everything now. Two sets of bowls, two dog beds, two lots of pet shampoo. What are we meant to do with the extras?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “We could always... get another dog...?”

Dean waited outside the bedroom, one hand on the door. He could hear Castiel inside, turning the pages of a book. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight; Dean peeked in through the space between the door and the frame, and saw Castiel getting comfortable in bed, putting his book on the nightstand, then fluffing up his pillow.

Dean glanced down. Rain Dog sat at his feet, gazing serenely up at him. She was waiting for him to go into the room, but she wasn’t nervous like Dean. Thankfully she was patient, and she didn’t say anything to make Dean hurry.

When Dean was ready, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Castiel looked up from his place in the bed, a smile on his face.

“Dean,” he said, pleased to see him.

“Room for one more?” Dean joked, coming to a stop a few steps from the bed, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt.

“Plenty of room,” Castiel said. He sat up, moving over a few inches so he sat on the right side of the bed. He leaned over the middle and pulled back the quilt from the left side, revealing the white bedsheet underneath.

Dean took another soothing breath, and moved to the bed. “You’re sure this is okay?” he checked, seeking Castiel’s eye-contact for confirmation. “I can sleep on the couch again if it’s weird—”

“Dean,” Castiel said sternly. “If you’re ready for this, then it’s your choice. I’m happy whatever you do.”

Dean swallowed, nodding as he put his weight on the bed. It was a high mattress, and he knelt on it first, his striped pyjama pants crinkling under him as he slunk down under the already-warm covers.

He sighed, relaxing into the bed. “You got a good mattress.”

“Memory foam,” Castiel smiled, wriggling closer. He set one arm over Dean’s chest, giving him a reassuring rub. “I’ve been led to believe it’s what astronauts use.”

“Cool,” Dean said. He swallowed again, blinking a few times. The room was bathed in a warm golden light from the lamp on Castiel’s side of the bed – Dean wondered what time Castiel intended to turn it off. Were they going to lie together like this for some indeterminate part of the night, or were they going to sleep?

...Or was something else going to happen?

They hadn’t discussed sex, or anything of that kind, not since they toyed with the idea on the first day. Dean had moved in, and within his first week he’d settled down easily, but despite all the flirtation and occasional kisses he enjoyed with Castiel, Dean hadn’t slept anywhere but the couch. When was the right time? How was he even meant to approach the matter? He worried about it a lot. He wanted to be intimate with Cas but he didn’t know how to go about initiating it.

“Dean,” Castiel said gently. “You’re as stiff as a board. If this isn’t working—”

“It’s working,” Dean insisted. “I just... I gotta get used to it.”

Castiel slid closer, pressing his warmth against Dean. He kissed Dean’s cheek, exhaling against his neck. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

Dean smiled, turning his face against Castiel’s, gazing into his eyes from close up.

Rain Dog barked, her paws scrabbling at the side of the bed. She jumped, but only scraped the mattress before landing back on the carpet. She whined, tugging on the blanket with her teeth.

“Rainy,” Dean said, leaving Castiel’s embrace and rolling over to look at Rain Dog. “Stop that.”

Rain Dog pouted, giving Dean her best puppy-eyed look.

Dean growled, rolling his eyes. He flipped over again, looking cautiously at Castiel. “What’s your policy on having dogs in the bed?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “What’s yours?”

Dean gave a guilty shrug. “I couldn’t stand to see her make sad faces at me whenever she was at my place. I’d let her in the bed, mostly when it was cold.”

Castiel sighed. “Well, the bedsheets are going to have to be washed sometime, I don’t suppose it makes much difference if it’s this week or next week.”

“I can let her up?”

“Go ahead,” Castiel smiled, touching Dean’s hand under the blanket.

Dean let out a grateful breath, sitting up again and putting his bare feet on the carpet. “C’mon, baby,” he said happily, getting to his feet. “How ‘bout I give you a lift? Your back legs aren’t at full power yet.”

He bent at the waist and picked Rain Dog up, laughing when she yapped out a sound of joy, her tail wagging frantically. Dean turned and put her on the middle of the bed, and she padded around in a big circle, mapping out the soft space of the mattress. She panted in Castiel’s face and stepped on his thigh, making him yelp, but then Castiel laughed and reached to pet her. Dean slunk back into the bed beside Castiel, beaming.

While he was still tugging on her soft ears, Castiel’s eyes moved from Rain Dog to Dean. Something in his smile changed, and Dean squinted, not sure why Cas was looking at him like that.

“What?” Dean asked.

Castiel seemed embarrassed, sliding his hand off Rain Dog and hiding it under his pillow, resting his cheek on top. “Um,” he said, pressing his lips together tightly, then releasing them. “When you bent over...”

Dean cracked a grin. “What, you like my ass?”

The corners of Castiel’s eyes crinkled up. “No. Well— Yes, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Huh?” Dean felt a tremor inside him, wondering if Cas was talking about what Dean thought he was talking about.

Castiel bit his lower lip, scrunching his way through the bed to press close to Dean, one arm around his waist. Dean’s breath hitched, enjoying the warmth of Castiel’s body and the scent of his skin that enshrouded Dean’s every breath, but he couldn’t focus on that – not when Castiel’s hand had left the realm of friendly affection and had slipped itself under the waistband of Dean’s pyjamas.

Dean’s heart thudded, knowing his eyes were dark and his hands were sweating; he gripped Castiel’s t-shirt, watching him intensely as Castiel fingered the elastic rim of Dean’s underwear.

“This is lace,” Castiel said under his breath. Dean hoped to God that tiny, crooked smile of his was one of playful mischief, not maliciousness.

“Uh,” Dean breathed, his inhale catching halfway down his throat. “It— It’s, um.”

“Panties,” Castiel stated. His hand rested at the peak of Dean right buttock now – but he pulled his hand out of Dean’s pants without exploring properly. Dean was immediately torn between disappointment and embarrassment. He wanted more, but at the same time he was bothered by having to ask.

He found himself blushing, chin down against his sternum, feeling the pillow under his face burn hot with his own heat.

“Why are you so shy about it?” Castiel asked, stroking Dean’s cheek. His lips parted, apparently realising something. “Were they the last clean pair of underwear you had left? Is that all it is?”

Dean breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. I have a ton of briefs and hip-huggers and crap like that. I dunno. They’re comfy. And I guess they look kinda nice on me...”

Castiel ran his thumb over Dean’s cheek again. “You never told me.”

“Why would I tell my guy friend what kind of underwear I like wearing?” Dean scoffed. “Besides...” His eyes strayed from Castiel’s, going first to Rain Dog (who was snoozing between their feet), then to the ceiling. He took a breath, let it go, then looked back at Castiel. “It’s kind of... more personal than that.”

Castiel kept silent, but he was definitely listening.

Dean didn’t feel like formulating an explanation, so he pushed up close to Castiel, taking the hand from his face and sliding it down under the covers. With his heart beating in his throat, Dean angled Castiel’s hand downward, putting it into his pants, making Castiel cup his crotch in the palm of his hand.

With a frail gasp of excitement, Dean then pulled down his pyjama pants and rocked his hips into Castiel’s hand. Their eyes locked; Castiel saw the lust in Dean’s eyes, and he got it. It was a sexual thing.

Dean shut his eyes and kissed Castiel, jaw working to separate Castiel’s lips. Castiel was surprised at first – he clearly hadn’t been expecting Dean to come on to him tonight – but he soon let out a tiny sound of desire. Dean responded with a soft moan, rolling halfway on top of Castiel.

Castiel broke the kiss first, pulling his hand out of Dean’s pants, moving both hands to hold Dean’s waist. They kissed again, eyes half-shut, heads turning.

Dean let the burn of his skin and urges in his hips guide him for a minute, drowned in Castiel’s touch and flavour and smell.

But then Dean gasped apart from Castiel’s mouth, and their eyes sought each other. “Wow,” Dean breathed.

Castiel chuckled and surged up against Dean’s mouth, both hands sliding up his back, dragging his shirt along the way. At the top he took Dean’s head in his hands, holding him secure. He rolled Dean onto his back, driving his hips hard against him. Dean felt pleasure coiling through his body, and he moaned, sinking deep into the bed under Castiel’s weight.

But then there came another weight too, one moving at their sides. Dean gasped, seeing Rain Dog standing by his shoulder, sniffing curiously at Castiel’s face.

“Rainy,” Dean hissed. “Go away.”

Rain Dog smiled, and with her mouth open, her tongue flopped out and she began panting loudly, tail wagging.

Dean groaned, thumping his head into the pillow beneath him. He gazed up at Castiel, who was grinning widely. “Panty-blocked by a dog,” Dean complained, scowling when Castiel rolled off him and lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, facing Dean and chuckling.

“I can put her outside if you like,” Castiel said softly, one hand trailing a pattern against Dean’s belly. “Do you still want to – um, carry on?”

Dean let out a gruff sigh, putting both hands behind his neck, raising his head up to glare at their dog. She looked all too pleased with herself. Dean shrugged, looking up at Castiel. “Do you?”

Castiel gazed back gently, not looking as ardent as he had a minute ago. “I’m not sure,” he said, tilting his head as he thumbed at Dean’s stubble. “There’s something I’d like to do, and I suspect we could get away with doing it while Rain Dog is still here.”

Dean’s temperature rose, wondering how naughty this was gonna be.

Castiel beamed, dipping his weight so he shared Dean’s space. Their lips brushed, and Castiel kissed Dean once, nosing against his upper lip. “I’d like to be cuddled. Very tightly, and for a very long time.”

“Cuddled?” Dean repeated, almost breathless. It was so innocent but said in such a filthy way that he honestly felt a thrill. “I can do that.”

Castiel purred a low note, eyes hooded as he snuggled himself against Dean’s body, peppering kisses against his throat, his jaw, his neck and his shoulder. Dean felt his breath catch a few times, like this was exciting. And it was. Oh, it was. Dean was baffled, but he couldn’t deny that he was turned on to some small degree.

Castiel looked so happy like that, all bundled up against Dean’s side with their arms around each other. Then Rain Dog went and toppled over against the back of Dean’s thighs, so now Dean was sandwiched between two warm bodies. He felt the love, he really did.

Accepting that this was how it was gonna be, Dean wriggled one last time, kicking his pajama bottoms the rest of the way off. They tangled around his feet, but now that his legs were bare, he could slide them between Castiel’s – and Castiel gasped. Dean liked the way that felt too.

Dean kissed Castiel’s forehead, then rested his own forehead against him, eyes open only enough to see Castiel’s eyelashes. Dean felt those eyelashes brush against his own cheek, and he sighed.

“Do you really want another dog?” Dean asked. “What if the other dog won’t even let us kiss hello before it’s all up in our faces like Rainy?”

Castiel chuckled. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find other ways to greet each other,” he said plainly, kissing Dean’s lips. “Turn the light off, would you, please? I’ve had quite enough of being awake.”

Dean smiled against Castiel’s skin, and he slid one hand out of the warmth and over Castiel’s shoulders, reaching for the lamp. When it was off, Dean, Castiel, and Rain Dog lay in a perfect, comfortable silence.

Castiel’s fingers spread out over Dean’s bare hip, thumb moving soothingly up and down, up and down. Dean felt it was paced like a metronome, like a heartbeat. It beat slow.

With his own heartbeat tied to Castiel’s, Dean let Castiel’s rhythm lead him into a steady and restful sleep.

The next time they tried to have sex was also a bit of a mess. Rain Dog had never heard people making those kinds of noises before, so she wouldn’t be quiet, and she was worried. She thought they were dying or something.

It took three tries on three separate occasions before Dean and Castiel ever made it to completion, and that time was in the back seat of Dean’s car, with the vehicle hidden in a discreet corner of the underground parking lot. It was a rather shameful experience – Dean wasn’t pleased about the stains and Castiel wasn’t altogether happy with the circumstances, because he preferred when things were soft and warm, not painful, stiff, cold, and wholly uncomfortable. Orgasms aside, neither of them counted that attempt as a success.

The following times were better. Rain Dog now did the canine equivalent of rolling her eyes whenever she heard Dean and Castiel getting handsy, but she would always come and investigate when the noises stopped. Just in case.

“I think Rain Dog’s ready for it,” Dean said conversationally, holding the cordless phone to his ear while he paced about the carpet in his socks. One hand was in the pocket of his jeans, balled in a fist. “Me, on the other hand...”

“You don’t know for sure if you got the apartment though,” Sam said placatingly. “Maybe give it a few weeks to settle in before you add another dog. The shelter’s still going to be there.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, wriggling the fingers in his pockets. “God, I’m nervous as hell.” He looked up when Castiel burst in the front door, home from work looking frazzled. He dropped his briefcase and shed his trenchcoat onto the floor.

“Dean, get off the phone!” Castiel said, unravelling the scarf from around his neck. “The real estate agent’s going to call any minute now!”

“Oh, crap,” Dean muttered. “Sammy, I gotta go, Cas says the realtor’s about to call and tell us if we got the apartment.”

“All right. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do. Say hi to your dogs for us.”

“Yep. Good luck!”

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean ended the call, then made his way towards the bedroom door. Castiel had just exploded out of the bathroom and was now rummaging through his sock drawer, finding clean socks. Dean leaned on the door frame of the bedroom, holding the phone in his hand. “Have a good day?”

“How would you define ‘good’?” Castiel asked, shoving his feet into black socks, then tossing the dirty ones in the laundry hamper. “The weather was wet, my current case is still at a dead end, and all I could think about was the apartment.”

“We’ll get the apartment,” Dean said confidently. “They wouldn’t dare deny an FBI agent his best domestic vantage point.”

Castiel smiled and got up off the bed, pacing closer to Dean. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well,” Dean said, kissing Castiel hello, “if I ran the world that’s how it would go.”

Castiel kissed Dean’s lips again, then his cheek, and they sank into a hug.

Dean chuckled. “You’re nervous too, huh?”

Castiel squeezed, his weight sagging. “I really, really want that apartment!” He stood back, both hands holding Dean’s wrists. “Think of it! Ample space, a gorgeous, luxurious bathroom... A room for books and music, and no dogs allowed! A kitchen with two workspaces! A garden all to ourselves.”

Rain Dog trotted up to their feet, barking once, thoroughly enthusiastic about the prospect.

“You said it, baby,” Dean said to Rain Dog. “You want it as bad as I do.”

Castiel sighed anxiously and pulled Dean in for another hug. Dean kissed his ear, because that was all he could reach.

The phone rang, and Castiel yelped.

“This is her! This is it!”

“Answer it!” Dean shouted, pushing the phone closer to Castiel’s face.

Castiel panted a few times, struggling to find the right button on the phone. He found it, pressed it, and put the phone to his head. “Hello! Novak-Winchester residence! Castiel speaking!”

Dean watched, fingertips tapping together as Castiel stood motionless, listening to the tiny babbling voice at the other end of the line. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

Dean tried to mouth “Did we get it?” but Castiel looked away, raising one finger in a ‘wait’ gesture.

Castiel nodded, frowning. “But did everything come through okay?”

The realtor jibbered a reply – Dean wished so badly he could hear what she said.

Castiel bit his lip... his eyebrows raised...

“YES!” He punched the air. “Thank you! Oh my goodness, thank you!”

Dean cheered and jumped up and down, then wrapped Castiel up in a huge hug. “We got it! Rainy, we got it!”

“Quiet, quiet!” Castiel said hurriedly, shoving his hand over Dean’s lips. He listened hard to the realtor, nodding. “Okay... Okay, thank you so much! I’ll call you in the morning— Thank you, bye!”

Castiel hung up the phone, and he turned to Dean with a mad, mad happiness in his eyes.

“YEEAAAAh-h-h-h-h!” they shouted together, holding each other and jumping up and down like children. Rain Dog leapt with them, barking and trying to fly.

Dean crumbled into a fit of laughter, grabbing Castiel and flopping with him onto the bed. They kissed, full of smiles and feelings of hope and success.

They gazed at each other from up close, their noses pressed together. Dean tipped his chin up and smooched Castiel with all the love in the world, blood pounding uproariously through his head.

Castiel breathed out in a huff and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue to lap at Dean’s teeth, rocking a passionate rhythm into his lips.

“Mmm,” Dean murmured, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. He smiled at Castiel, searching his darkened eyes for confirmation that they were thinking the same thing. “Celebration sex?”

Castiel laughed, headbutting Dean’s cheek. “Okay.”

Dean bit his lip and grinned. “Can you do the FBI detective thing?”

Castiel gave a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes, but he smiled in any case. “If we must.”

“Awesome.” Dean pushed Castiel off him and they both got to their feet. “Okay— You go put your suit back on, and properly this time. Tie done up tight. I’m gonna get ready. I won’t be a minute.”

“What do you need to get ready for?” Castiel asked, frowning, but Dean was already elbow-deep in his underwear drawer and wasn’t answering the question.

“Go get ready!” Dean insisted, handing Castiel his spare (dry) trenchcoat and shooing him out of the room. “And take Rain Dog with you.”

Castiel went off, picking up his suit jacket from the bed as he went. He shut the bedroom door between him and Dean, and Dean heard him putting his jacket and coat on.

Castiel’s voice came through the door, “Are you ready yet?”

Dean gasped and panted and did his jeans up again, then flung his socks off and straightened his t-shirt. “Okay! I’m ready.”

“Shall I start?” Castiel called.

“Yep!” Dean threw himself onto the bed and picked up his reading book from the nightstand, pretending to study.

A knock came at the bedroom door, and Dean looked up like he was disturbed. “Who is it?” he asked.

In his official voice, Castiel said, “FBI.”

Dean put down his book and slunk to the edge of the bed, padding over to the door. “Did you say FBI? What do you want?”

“It’s official detective business. If you could please open the door, sir...”

Dean opened the door a crack, peering into the stern face of an FBI agent. “Can I see some identification?”

Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out his FBI badge, holding it up so it swung. He glanced at it, noticed it was upside down, and turned it the right way up. “Senior Special Agent— Detective Castiel Novak, Inspection Division. I’m here to perform an inspection.”

Dean sighed. “Come in, then.”

He opened the door up, and Castiel entered, looking around as if this was Dean’s house and Castiel had never been here before.

“May I ask what you’re inspecting?” Dean said curiously, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Castiel opened his mouth, but paused. Dean gave him an encouraging look, so Castiel rolled his eyes and said, “I’m a bikini inspector.”

“No, no, come on, Cas,” Dean complained. “Do it properly.”

Castiel sighed heavily, but put his serious face back on, tucking his FBI badge back into his coat. “I’m a bikini inspector.”

Dean beamed, curling his toes in excitement. “But, Detective, why would you need to come here? I’m a dude, I don’t wear bikinis.”

“That remains to be seen, sir,” Castiel said bluntly. “If you could please undo your pants and bend forward over the bed, I am required by law to proceed with an inspection.”

Dean bit his lip, hiding his smile. He went to the bed and undid the button on his jeans, then faced forward and bent at the waist, pressing his face and chest to the mattress. “Is it going to hurt, Detective?”

“No,” Castiel said gently, running his hand up Dean’s back, crinkling his t-shirt. “It’s a, ah... a non-invasive procedure.”

Dean whimpered, he couldn’t help himself. He could feel a pressure in his groin already, so excited by what was coming.

Castiel reached around Dean’s waist and unzipped his jeans, then sank his fingers under the denim and eased the waistband down a few inches, working it past Dean’s buttocks and exposing his rear.

“Sir, if I’m not mistaken, you are currently wearing a red thong?”

Dean’s hand squeezed the bedcovers, and he nodded, his voice husky as he replied, “But it’s not a bikini, Detective.”

“It’s close enough,” Castiel said firmly. “Sir, are you aware that in wearing this garment, you are in violation of the law – uh... 67-a, subsection three, which states that no person is allowed to wear bikinis at any time?”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean said. “I didn’t know. Am I in trouble, Detective? Are you gonna punish me?”

“I am placing you under arrest,” Castiel said, pulling Dean to his feet and turning him around. He pulled a fluffy pair of padded handcuffs out of his trenchcoat pocket, and he snapped them open with one thumb. “If you could please sit on your bed, I have to handcuff you.”

Dean grinned, kicking off his jeans, then he sat on the bed and shuffled back until he sat in the middle. He lay down, stretching his arms up to grasp the bars at the head of the bed. “I’ve never been arrested before,” he said, giving Castiel his best bedroom eyes as Castiel slunk over Dean, straddling his waist. “I’ve never been in this... much... trouble.” Dean lifted his hips off the bed and grazed Castiel’s crotch with his own, pleased when Castiel broke character for a moment to shiver.

“Ah...” Castiel clipped the handcuffs around Dean’s left wrist and latched him to the bed. He lay down on top of Dean, trenchcoat spilling either side of their bodies. “S-Sir, I’m afraid you’re in far worse trouble than you realise. I’m going to have to...”

When he blanked, Dean leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Punish me.”

Castiel’s breath caught. “Gonna have to... punish you.”

Dean spread his legs and gave Castiel full access to his crotch, and his thong. The thong barely covered anything when Dean was relaxed, but right now it was a mere decoration for a small patch of skin at the base of his erection.

Castiel licked his lips, his lustful eyes set on Dean’s face. He sat back over Dean, fingers moving to his own belt buckle to undo it. Dean watched him slide the belt open and unzip his slacks in a quick movement, nudging them down to his hips. Castiel then pushed his boxers down, but Dean didn’t get to see anything before Castiel lay down on him again, humping once at his crotch.

“Detective!” Dean gasped, squirming against Castiel. “Oh, Detective, I’ll be good. I won’t wear any more thongs...”

Castiel laughed, bursting into a guttural giggle right beside Dean’s ear. Dean grinned, but he batted at Castiel’s chest, trying to get him reined in. “Shh!” Dean said. “C’mon, FBI man, don’t screw up now.”

Castiel licked his lips twice, holding Dean down as he rubbed against him, trying hard to control his amused grin. “Uhm... I forgot where we were...”

“I won’t wear any more thongs,” Dean repeated, hugging Castiel’s shoulders to him, then stretching the fingers of his right hand through Castiel’s dark hair.

“I doubt that,” Castiel gasped, thrusting against Dean, making the bed clunk. “Oh, I doubt that – unhf – very much, sir.”

Dean wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist, giving him a little hip action so he had some more to rock against. “I – uhf – promise... I’ll wear – hufh – boxers from now on...”

Castiel snorted, breaking character yet again so he could laugh. “Dean, you couldn’t uphold that promise for two days.”

“I could!” Dean argued, giving Castiel a kiss. “Bet you I could.”

“Couldn’t.”

“Could,” Dean said again, sliding a hand down Castiel’s back to grab his ass, giving it a good squeeze. “If I can’t you’ll just have another reason to go down on me, so either way, it’s a win for you.”

Castiel chuckled, kissing Dean’s bristly jaw. “Mhhm. You’re a lawless man, citizen. I oughta... aughh... Dean...”

Dean moaned gently, raising his hips to push into Castiel’s, and Castiel shuddered. Castiel was probably overheating all over, because a suit and coat was too much to wear in bed, but all that showed was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Castiel lowered his head and took hold of Dean’s t-shirt, rolling it up so it went past his nipples. “Sir...” he struggled to speak, but he went on, “I-I’m going to administer the... the... a punishment... Ahh—”

Dean whimpered, his skin tingling from his scalp to the soles of his feet as Castiel set his mouth on Dean’s nipple, tongue swirling.

“Gahhh,” Dean breathed, the fingers of his free hand clenching in the collar of Castiel’s trenchcoat. “Oh, I must’ve been bad... to deserve this.”

Castiel’s lips smacked, and his kisses trailed upward; he nosed and tickled at Dean’s throat, sucking on his Adam’s apple. Dean stretched out his neck and pushed his head into the pillow, groaning deeply. His legs went weak, his back arching. He was nearing his peak – and the friction between his legs was probably only half the reason. Castiel’s FBI thing really worked for him, somehow.

“Detective... Novak... Cas...”

Castiel murmured and nibbled at Dean’s neck, trailing nips and kisses down to his shoulder. Dean became consumed by a zealous, urgent heat, and he started panting, shivering in Castiel’s arms.

“That’s it, sir,” Castiel uttered, caressing Dean’s neck with his hands. “You’re so bad. You’re so naughty.”

Dean chuckled, both loving and hating those words spoken in such a throaty voice. He closed his eyes, feeling the pressure building over his entire body, focused at exactly the place Castiel was rubbing his erection.

“Duhh-tec-tive...” Dean gasped, “Oh-ho, yeah, right there. Right there. Don’t stop...” He moaned, his free hand gripping a clump of Castiel’s hair. Castiel kissed Dean’s wrist, still writhing against his body. They got frenzied, moving so roughly now—

Castiel thrust against Dean over and over, moving with greater vigor every second. His hands gripped Dean’s hips to steady him, both men gasping; Castiel held Dean close and drove him into the bed.

“Cas, go faster— Yeah! Like that, like that, don’t stop—!” Gasping, gasping, hands clenching tight. Flames of pleasure erupted under Dean’s skin, and he cried out, “Oh god, yes, I’m coming, I’m cuh— Auuhhk—”

Dean arched his back and pressed up into Castiel with all his might, holding him close and releasing against his clothes, against his bare thighs.

At the moment Dean collapsed, Castiel looked between their bodies and reached down, pulling up his white dress shirt to his navel. He sank down again, sighing at the pressure of Dean’s skin against his erection.

A dog’s bark made Castiel’s slow rhythm falter, and he frowned. Dean was still shaking, but he chuckled, realising what was going on.

Dean and Castiel looked to the side of the bed. Rain Dog was standing up on her back legs, paws up on the mattress, peering over at them. She panted, smiling; her tail was probably wagging like a windshield wiper on full blast.

“You left the bedroom door open, didn’t you?” Dean grumbled.

“Shoo,” Castiel said breathlessly. “Rain Dog – out!”

Rain Dog barked again, dropping to the floor then standing up again.

“Out!”

Rain Dog ignored the instruction. Dean figured she thought things were much too interesting in the bedroom to leave. Dean and Castiel were making weird noises again, and to a dog, sex probably smelled funny.

Dean groaned, a noise broken by a laugh. He buried his head up against Castiel’s necktie, hiding his burning-hot face against the cloth.

Castiel sighed, and he sat back over Dean’s crotch, taking off his trenchcoat.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked.

“If she won’t leave, then you and I might as well hide from her.” Castiel lay back down, covering himself and Dean up with the coat.

It was dark and warm and bitter-smelling under the coat, but boy, if it wasn’t intimate. Dean accepted a soft kiss on his lips, letting Cas breathe into his mouth. Castiel’s hands stroked his throat, his jaw, thumbs caressing his swollen lips. They began to rock together again, Castiel driving his erection between Dean’s thighs. Dean purred with pleasure, enjoying the feeling.

“Uncuff me, Detective, and I’ll give you a hand with that,” Dean whispered, smiling against Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel reached up and pressed the release button on the toy cuffs, and the cuff around Dean’s left wrist fell off and dangled behind the bed. Dean sank his hand under the coat, where it was immediately warmed by body heat. Dean set that hand on Castiel’s neck – it was cold in contrast, and Castiel grunted, then moaned.

Dean ignored Rain Dog’s barking and gave Castiel another kiss, sliding both hands down his back, under his shirt... up his sweaty back, giving him relief, and a hard, massaging pressure.

“Oh— Dean...”

“That’s it,” Dean whispered, nibbling at Castiel’s ear, running his nose against the rim of it. “Come on, Detective, let’s finish your inspection.”

Castiel pulled out from between Dean’s thighs and took one of Dean’s hands, tugging it down to touch him. Dean took the hint, getting a good grip around Castiel’s erection and starting up a fast, strong rhythm. Castiel grunted, already huffing hot breaths against Dean’s neck. Dean whispered words of encouragement, running cooling circles against his muscular back.

“Dean... Dean—”

Dean gave Castiel one last kiss, and smiled through it when he felt Castiel convulse against him, finally reaching his peak. He made a sound of pleasure, eyes closed – and when it was over, his hips went on working, shoving himself against Dean for a few more seconds. Then his thighs began to tremble, as he tried to keep himself from squashing Dean as he relaxed.

With an exhausted sigh, Castiel rolled off Dean and spread out over the bed, exposing them both to the light again. Castiel was naked from his navel to his knees, but layered up in too many clothes everywhere else. Dean grinned at him, and saw he was pink in the face and sweating, completely spent.

Dean rolled closer, giving Castiel another kiss. “That was beautiful.”

“Ah— I’ll... I’ll be back for... another inspection,” Castiel panted. “At a... later date.”

Dean chuckled, nuzzling against Castiel’s cheek. “I’ll be waitin’ for ya, Detective.”

Dean felt a sudden bump on the mattress, and he rolled halfway over – only to see Rain Dog had hopped up onto the bed, curious about what they were doing.

“Hey, hey, off the bed!” Dean said, trying to nudge her with his foot. “Off!”

Castiel grinned, still out of breath. He tugged his coat close to cover his body, so the dog didn’t see such an inappropriate sight. “Well,” he breathed, “At least we know she can jump now. Healthy back legs.”

Dean had to admit that was a reassuring thing to know. “Doesn’t excuse jumping on the bed, though!” He got up and lifted Rain Dog off the bed, ignoring her bark of argument. He put her outside in the hallway and quickly closed the door. “Sorry, pup,” he called through the door. “Me ‘n Cas gotta have a little alone time every once in the while, ‘kay?”

Rain Dog barked and barked, scratching at the door, but then she huffed and stopped to listen.

Dean sighed with a smile. He pulled his t-shirt down to meet the band of his thong, and he snuck his way back to Castiel, cuddling up close. Castiel had caught his breath by now, and his flushed face had returned to its normal complexion. He sat up and took off his suit jacket, kicked his slacks and boxers to the floor, and finally loosened his tie. Then, with only his loose dress shirt on, Castiel lay back and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, kissing at his neck.

“Love you,” Dean said, nosing at Castiel’s forehead.

“Love you more,” Castiel said.

“Now you’re gettin’ soppy. Don’t do that to me, man,” Dean complained, but he grinned widely in any case. “We’re gonna be that weird, gross, lovey-dovey couple, aren’t we? We’re gonna be the ones in the fancy apartment who have roleplay sex and have a pitbull barking at all hours. And then me and Tracy are gonna be sitting there playing music, and you’re gonna be singing in the shower like a strangled cat—”

Castiel guffawed, squeezing Dean tightly. “I’m not that bad at singing.”

“Oh, how we DAnced away ALLL of the li-hghts; We’ve AAAAlways been OOOUT of our miiiiyyynds—”

Castiel cackled, smacking Dean in the chest. “Not all of us are gifted with the voice of a siren, Dean.”

“Maybe not,” Dean said kindly, rolling closer to press against Castiel, stroking his face. “You were gifted with a voice like a hacksaw. You’re gonna be evicted for noise.” He kissed Castiel’s chin, offering him a smile. “But if you ever do get evicted, buddy, I’m goin’ with you.”

Castiel beamed, holding Dean tight. “As unlikely as it is, if that ever did happen, do you know what I would do?”

“What?”

“Come on tour with you,” Castiel said. “And bring Rain Dog with me. Maybe the other dog too, if we get another dog.”

Dean moved back a few inches, staring at Castiel in surprise. “My tour’s not until August.”

Castiel smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “Would you object to having more able bodies on your crew? I can do paperwork or heavy lifting, and I have a handgun I’m allowed to use. Rainy can... guard. She’ll bark at everyone and everything – and let’s face it, you’ll never have an alarm clock fail on you again.”

Dean laughed, nosing at Castiel’s face. “You really wanna come with me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Castiel nodded. “Forget what they say about the FBI; a tour bus on an open road is where all the real adventures happen.”

“Aw,” Dean smiled, kissing Castiel’s lips. “I got my own personal groupie.”

“Number one fan,” Castiel said cheerfully. “I said it once and I’ll say it again.”

A loud bang! interrupted them. They rolled over and sat up, trying to see what it was. The bedroom door was open again, and Rain Dog—

Rain Dog came along and bounced up on the bed, tail wagging as she made her way between her two favourite people and lay herself down between their calves.

Dean exhaled, rolling his eyes as he lay in Castiel’s arms once again. “Great,” he muttered, lips dragging on the skin of Castiel’s throat. “She can jump so high she can open doors now. She’s gonna be a friggin’ menace, either here, the new apartment, or anywhere else we take her.”

“But she’s our menace,” Castiel said sweetly, reaching down to ruffle Rain Dog’s floppy ears. “Our little raincloud of disaster.”

Dean beamed, snuggling a bit closer to them both, rubbing Rain Dog’s back with his foot. While petting her, he reached to pet Castiel too: he ran a hand back through his hair, lost in his eyes for a moment.

Then, Dean smiled, feeling a creative thought strike him full-force. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I think there’s a song in there, maybe. Better than that other one I never finished. A story about our lives, the way we got together. I dunno – if I play it right, it could be a real hit.”

Castiel looked curious. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled, kissing Castiel one more time. “You, me, and our little Rain Dog. Something about finding love in a downpour, then loving up a storm.”

Castiel smiled, nodding. “You’ll make it perfect.”

“I might need a little help with the chords,” Dean said, jokily. “You go stand in the shower and I’ll feed you the lyrics.”

Castiel laughed, shoving a hand in Dean’s face. Dean rolled back again, tangling Rain Dog between his and Castiel’s legs as they lay together, arms around each other. Dean rested his chin on Castiel’s chest, eyes crinkling up with the pressure of trying not to laugh when Rain Dog started licking his toes.

The three of them lay like that for some time. A long time. They talked about lyrics and love and the future, and they laughed. They laughed a lot.

Rain Dog lay beside Dean and Castiel (now forbidden from licking feet), and she soaked up the happy rumbles of her precious humans. Actually, she even considered that they’d never sounded more joyous than they did right now. When they were merry, Rain Dog was merry.

While she had the distinct feeling that things were only going to get more merry in the near future, for this one moment, Rain Dog was sure – completely and utterly sure – that she was absolutely, definitely, and unquestionably the happiest damn dog in the Whole. Wide. World.