Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish I did, but I don't.
Summary: Dean and Cas in a rowboat.
Notes: So I wrote a tag to "The Rapture." And I'm dedicating this story to my awesome V (veritas_st) because she sorta gave me the idea for it and all. This is also for you, Jamie (teddybeardoctor), because you said you wanted something happy to come out of this episode. And izzy (izazov), to prove to you that Dean/Cas can still be canon.

He's fishing again. This time in a boat in the middle of a lake that he's pretty sure he's never seen outside of his dreams. Maybe, maybe not. He's been too many places over the years to remember them all.

Dean's fishing, though. A cool breeze blowing across his face, his mind trying to focus on anything but the last day of his life. On Sammy drinking demon blood and being locked in Bobby's bunker, on Cas walking away from him with anger written all across his friggin body, or on the poor schlep Jimmy Novak giving up everything to save his family.

No, Dean's not too keen on thinking about all that crap right now, thank you very much, so he's just gonna fucking fish if everyone's okay with that. His eyes shut tight, the rod held loosely, uselessly in his hands, taking deep, goddamn cleansing breaths as another kind of breeze enters the equation.

Son of a bitch.

"Y'know," he says, his voice raw, low, tired, "I'm never gonna catch any fish if you keep popping in like this."

Cas' only reply to that is, "Dean." One word, his name, spoken in a way that sounds so goddamn broken and lost it makes Dean's breath hitch in his chest.

Son of a fucking bitch.

What the fuck is it with this goddamn angel constantly making him feel like a fucking asshole?

He opens his eyes, allows them to settle on the other end of the boat. The sun sinking low behind Cas, wreathing him in soft yellow light that somehow manages to make him look more miserable.

"I thought you said you didn't serve me anymore," Dean says bitterly, feeling instantly guilty for his tone. And then feeling instantly pissed about the fact that he felt guilty for his tone.

"I had no choice but to say that," Cas replies softly, his eyes locked on his own hands, watching his fingers twisting in his lap instead of looking at Dean. Instead of meeting Dean's gaze. And for some reason that makes Dean feel shittier than ever before.

"Why, because you're God's new favorite lapdog now?" he bites out, going through the whole guilty-pissed cycle again, apparently unable to keep himself from being mad at Cas right now even though the guy looks more and more like a whipped dog with every second that passes.

Fuck.

"No," Cas says, nowhere near forcefully, "because they would not have let me come back if I didn't..."

He trails off there, though. His eyes finally meeting Dean's, making his damn breath hitch again. Because angels, really, should never look like this. Sad and empty and lost and lonely and so fucking low it's like looking at him from the top of a well. Thoughts of goddamn Timmy trapped in the well whipping through his head as he swallows once, hard, and tries to speak.

Tries to think of something to say that'll make Cas stop looking at him like this.

"I was worried about you, y'know," he settles on finally, a little bit of truth for the only angel Dean's ever met that he's given a damn about. Remembering back to how he'd felt walking into that fucking warehouse, rubble everywhere like there'd been a damn explosion, and Cas laying in the middle of it like he was dead.

Even though it wasn't Cas.

And even though he wasn't dead.

Dean had been worried, though. Like, Sammy level fucking worried. Which is... strange. Because why the hell should he be worried about Cas? All the guy's ever been to him is a huge pain in the ass, right?

A huge pain in the ass, and a helping fucking hand, and a goddamn shoulder to cry on, and support. Belief. Faith.

Son of a motherfucking bitch.

Dean finishing his thought with, "what the hell happened to you?" because he kinda thinks he wants to know.

Cas' eyes go dark at the question, a distance there that Dean's never seen before like he's closing in on himself. Caving in or fucking imploding or something like he doesn't want to be here, or there, or anywhere or some shit like that, if it makes any sense. Which it probably doesn't but oh fucking well because Dean's a little spooked here. And when he's spooked his mind tends to become a fucking word jumble.

Rearrange the letters and what do you get?

"You do not want to know," Cas says, only the way he says it makes Dean a hundred and ten fucking percent positive that he really, really, does want to know. More than anything else right now, apparently, does Dean want to know.

But there's a warning in Cas' eyes right now. One that tells him not to push this, to just back the fuck off, and that's another thing that Dean's not used to with his special guardian angel friend. Being told no and actually having Cas mean it. And isn't that just goddamn terrific? It fucking figuring that when Dean finally needs the guy, more than ever before, heaven finds a way to yank his ass back. Pull the carrot or whatever the fuck away before Dean has a chance to grab it.

And holy fuck, why does it feel really unsettling to think of Cas as a carrot he wants to grab?

Anyways, where was he? Oh right, heaven fucking his life over again, just like hell did. Sammy locked in Bobby's basement about ready to go through some heavy detox as far as Dean can tell, his fucking brother addicted to fucking demon blood and he can't even ask Cas for help.

Goddamn terrific.

Dean squeezing the wooden handle of the fishing pole so tightly right now that his knuckles are stark white because he can't think of anything else to do. Anything else to say. Or feel or be because he's just as lost as Cas is, apparently. Just as unable to see the light at the end of the goddamn tunnel, not even knowing which way to turn to get to the goddamn end of the goddamn tunnel where the light supposedly is in the first place.

And see that? Fucking word jumble again because honestly, what the fuck is he talking about?

"How's Jimmy doing?" Dean asks eventually, the words slipping out of his mouth before he realizes that there's a good chance they'll only make this situation worse. Which, of course, they do, Dean's luck being the shittiest luck known to man these days and all. Cas almost looking like he's gonna cry now as Dean says a silent prayer inside his head because he's not sure he can handle that.

Can handle seeing Cas cry.

And frankly he's a little afraid of the mother hen fretting bullshit Cas' tears will pull out of him, if you want to know the truth. So... yeah... fucking praying here.

Cas doesn't cry, though. Thank God, or whatever. Just bites his lip once, hard, before casting his eyes back down to his twisting fingers and saying, "he is gone," like that's supposed to make sense to Dean.

Which it doesn't. Make sense. But what it does make is Dean feel good, for some weird reason. Like, really good. Knowing that the nice, sweet vessel dude with the pretty blonde wife and kid isn't hanging around for this. Any of this. Something like a sigh of relief pooling deep in his stomach – really deep in his stomach – at Cas' words.

At Cas' admission.

A smile wanting to tug at the corners of his lips as he says, "good for him," while his mind dwells on the idea that this is good for them. As in for Dean. And Cas. Completely baffled as to what that means in this crazy ass word jumble mind of his.

Cas looks up again, something loosened in his eyes now. Something that's still nowhere near the same hemisphere as a smile, but something that's at least not slit-your-wrists miserable. And it's a start, Dean figures, as the water laps gently against the side of the boat and the sun continues to sink further into the horizon.

God, Cas looks amazing by sunset, his mind thinks out of the clear fucking blue, Dean forcing his eyes to look somewhere, anywhere else as a lump the size of a goddamn softball lodges in his throat.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Dean still freaking out a little from the goddamn inappropriate thought of what-the-fuckness as Cas' voice drifts soft and soothing to his ears. His tone changed from whipped dog to fucking partner in crime, the same calming tone he'd used by Dean's hospital bed all those weeks ago.

The exact one he'd used to tell Dean, in so many words, that he believed in him. Even though Dean still doesn't really wanna admit that he got that. That he understood what Cas was driving at back then. Because the idea that an angel of the fucking Lord has faith in his ability to stop the Apocalypse? Yeah, that's kinda placed firmly in the too fucking freaky to comprehend pile.

Cas is using that voice again, though. All low and comforting as he asks, "how are you doing?" like he cares.

Like he really fucking cares.

And Dean risks looking at him again at that because... well, because he can't help himself, he guesses. Can't help but want to stare deep into Cas' eyes every time he's around him. A problem he's been dealing with since day one, and a problem that's only gotten increasingly worse the closer they've gotten.

Not that they're, y'know, close or anything like that. 'Cause they're not. He swears. But you know what he means.

He risks a glance at Cas again, though, as he says, "I'm fine." The biggest goddamn lie he's told all day.

Bigger than the ones he'd told Jimmy, promising that everything would be okay, that no one would get hurt. Even bigger than the ones he'd spouted to Sammy in the Impala, waiting for Bobby's call while his heart threatened to pound clear through his chest.

The I'm fine here being, quite possibly, the hugest lie Dean's ever told in his entire miserable existence. Because if there's one thing Dean isn't right now? It's fucking fine.

It seemed like the right thing to say, though. Cas looking at him all googly-eyed, fresh from his own heavenly torture, the goddamn "good guys" doing something so horrible to him upstairs that he looks like a shell of his former self at best. So he doesn't need Dean's shit lumped on his shoulders as well, right? Doesn't need the added burden.

And since when does Dean care about burdening Cas?

Brave new fucking world, he guesses.

Cas doesn't buy it, though, of course. Can see right through Dean's shitty ass poker face of late, concern wrinkling across his fucking brow as he says Dean's name again and actually reaches across the boat to rest a reassuring hand on his knee. A gesture that's so sudden and so, like, uncharacteristically electric that it makes Dean literally jump.

On a boat.

In the middle of a lake.

Which, if you've ever been on a boat in the middle of a lake, you'll know is not exactly the smartest thing to do.

They tip, of course. The two of them spilling into the cold water, fishing pole and box of tackle and all. And as Dean goes to heft himself back into the now water-filled boat, he actually begins to fucking giggle. Or maybe he should say snicker. Yeah, snicker. He likes that one better. Sounds manlier.

But so Dean's pulling his soaking ass back into the boat, snickering his fucking head off, sopping wet and cold in a way that should make him miserable but that only serves to make him smile wider than he has in weeks. Hell, in fucking months. The image of a soaking wet angel poking his head out of the water only making his smile that much bigger.

"Need a hand?" Dean manages to ask between snickers, and Cas actually smiles at him at that. A real, honest to God fucking smile. Not a smirk, not a grin, but a goddamn smile. An expression that hits Dean so hard in the gut he can't breathe.

He takes Cas' outstretched hand in his own, fingers and palms slick against one another's, and pulls on him. Struggling against his own laughter and lack of breath to get a heavier than normal angel back into his tiny ass boat. Feeling the boat threaten to tip over again as he makes one final yank before Cas is there.

Back in the boat.

Lying on top of Dean.

Dean who's still laughing his ass off, by the way. Cas joining in the giggling – he means snickering – fun as well as he continues to lie on top of Dean.

Something that Dean imagines should be making him far more uncomfortable than it is.

"You alright there?" Dean asks as the laughter in his gut finally begins to subside. The giddiness there being replaced with something else, something warm, as little drops of water drip down onto his cheeks from Cas' smiling face above him.

Something flashing across Cas' eyes at the question, though. Something that looks remarkably like guilt to Dean as he goes to pull away. Sit back up. Get off of Dean. Only Dean won't let him. For some strange reason Dean won't let him. Gripping his fingers around Cas' biceps tighter than he probably should and holding him there. In place.

On top of Dean.

His stomach bottoming out and his pulse trip-hammering through his veins as his mind goes blank. Utterly fucking blank. The only thing he can think – the only thing he can know – being the word no.

As in no, I don't want you to go.

"Dean," Cas says again, third time this meeting, and Dean is suddenly hit with how fucking awesome it is to hear Cas say his name. That one word taking on a whole new meaning when it comes from Cas' lips.

Holy fucking shit Cas' lips. A goddamn flood of understanding – of lust and longing and joy and fear but most of all of understanding – hitting Dean like a sledgehammer. Like a fucking flood of sledgehammers. His whole body vibrating with the beat of them as he tips his head up and presses his lips softly to Cas'.

They stay that way for what feels like an eternity, breath warm and ragged passing between them as they simply remain frozen, lips touching slightly and nothing else, warmth pressing all the way into Dean's bones. His eyes shut tight but his soul wide fucking open as Cas begins to tremble slightly above him. Against him.

With him.

Something like courage overtaking him suddenly as he releases one of Cas' biceps, trailing his fingers up through dark, soft, wet hair before gripping there tightly, pulling Cas further into him, deepening the kiss as tongues and teeth meet in another fucking flood. Something pent up for so long inside of Dean – so long and so deep that he didn't even know it was there – being released in a flash of light and electricity that reminds him of the lightning he should be feeling any second now.

The bolt from God that he deserves for kissing a fucking angel of the Lord.

There is no lightning, though. No hand of God reaching down and yanking them apart as Cas' hands ride up beneath Dean's shirt. Fingers frozen from the water skating across his bare skin making him shiver as one of Cas' knees comes to rest firmly in his crotch.

He loses control. Instantly. If he even had any control to begin with, that is. Everything else slipping away from him, though, as he takes in the feel of Cas hard and wet against him, their bodies pressed so forcefully, so fully together, that he's not even sure anymore where one of them ends and the other one begins. And he's struck with the odd fucking idea that it's been that way for a while, this deep fucking connection or whatever you wanna call it, even if they've never expressed it in this way before.

And holy shit, why did they never express it in this way before?

Dean can feel Cas pressing hard into his thigh, though. Remembering briefly how he used to love calling Uriel junkless and being suddenly grateful about how fucking wrong he'd been about that. Wrapping a leg around Cas' lower back and grinding upwards with a moan that vibrates between their mouths, still connected. Still exploring each other like they're making a map of their mouths and they want to get all the details right.

Cas bites his lip softly, breaking away from the kiss and trailing hot, wet, agonizing nibbles down Dean's frozen fucking neck as they rut up against each other. Pleasure so good it hurts building so fast inside of him that it makes him dizzy as Dean marvels at the fact that he's about to come in his pants like a fucking teenager.

While rubbing up against an angel.

A male angel.

In a boat half-filled with water in the middle of a lake that he's pretty sure he's never seen outside of his dreams.

Brave new fucking world in-goddamn-deed.

Cas breathing the word Dean into the hollow of his neck. The fourth time he's said it, this time coming out as little more than a groan. Desperate and needy and so fucking sexy that Dean's eyes flash white, coming in his pants like a fucking teenager, just how he thought he would. Warmth seemingly everywhere as the sky fills with lightning that Dean can even see through his shut tight eyelids, rain pouring down on them suddenly as Cas cries out in blissful fucking ecstasy on top of him.

Dean marveling here again. This time at the fact that they made it fucking rain. Their hips still rubbing softly together as they ride out their respective orgasms, coming down from the high of it eventually as the rain lets up as well. The sky clearing with a cool breeze as Cas collapses completely on top of him, slipping slightly to the side as he rests his head firmly on Dean's chest, wrapping his arms so tight around Dean's waist like he never wants to let him go.

And Dean can't help but think that he likes that idea. A lot. Resting a soft kiss into the top of Cas' head as he says, "I really was worried about you," because he was. More than he even realized at the time.

Cas' arms gripping him even tighter – didn't think that was possible – as he replies, "I was worried about you too."