The darkness of the night had once again embraced them after a scorching day. Cas had collected some more of the aloe to soothe Dean's sore, tight, angry pink shoulders, but the rest of him had managed virtually unscathed.

It was the evening of day fifteen, the day when Dean had his heart in his throat out of fear of losing Cas, of having to spend the rest of the time (rest of his life, his subconscious decided to substitute,) here alone. Which sounded odd. He could spend weeks in solitary existence on his hunting and fishing trips, but now, being alone had seemed too much to handle.

Once the scare of Cas being airlifted out of here had passed, Dean had only barely allowed Cas to roam around, and only on Dean’s adamant condition that they went together. So the aloe situation had been sorted by both of them making the trip to the leaves, obediently wearing their GoPros, though the temptation to just shut them off and make good use of the time they would’ve managed to steal had been growing exponentially with every step.

Dean, as per his need to protect, had insisted that Cas rest and let Dean go do the heavy lifting, gathering firewood and finding sustenance. Much to Dean's surprise, Cas had agreed without argument. The fever really had taken a toll on him.

Now it was campfire and darkness, the random sounds of nature, and somehow they'd ended up with Dean sitting cross-legged on the ground with Cas's head once again pillowed on his thigh.

It had happened so naturally that Dean wasn't sure if he'd even noticed otherwise, so lost in thought staring at the flames, so comfortable in Cas's presence, but Dean had stumbled onto a thought that made him realize he was now caressing Cas's shoulder, and was gently massaging Cas's scalp and carding his fingers through his hair.

“Don't stop,” Cas mumbled drowsily, tilting his head to look up at Dean, who wasn't sure which expression he was sporting. Until he felt a smile take over his face. One reserved for situations which made his heart leap with love.

He blamed the flames in front of him. Fire had always been fascinating to him, as long as it was safely contained. There was something so primal about it, it brought out the deep side of him. What had startled him from his ministrations was simple; As his sometimes overactive mind had established earlier, he had feelings for Cas. And not just the 'pin him to the closet surface and fuck him senseless' kind.

Here he was, skin to skin with a man he'd probably have wet dreams about for the rest of his life, and awake jerk-off sessions if Dean was really honest with himself, fingers buried in Cas’s hair to muss it up further, and all he wanted was to kiss that confused look off his face and replace it with a pleased groan.

Dean swallowed hard and tried to refocus his thoughts. Something of a safer territory. Like hedgehogs or goldfish. Yellow jackets. Skunks. Anything to stop him from popping a chubby with Cas's head in his lap while his heart took this moment to start pounding harder.

He brushed Cas's hair off his forehead and returned to watching the flames, but he could still feel Cas's eyes on him.

“What's bothering you?” Cas made to sit up, but Dean held him down with a firm hand to his arm. Typical Cas – straight to the point, no pussyfooting around a subject, just diving in head first.

Dean let out a self-deprecating laugh and tilted his head back to seek wisdom from the skies. “What's bothering me is that we're here, and if we were anywhere else, life would be so much easier. So right now, everything is bothering me.” Dean waved a hand that encompassed both his frustration with the situation, and the surroundings.

“But if we weren't here, we wouldn't have met.” Cas said solemnly and went silent for a moment, both the men staring at the fire as if it held all the answers. “Unless you believe in destiny and fate,” Cas continued quietly. “In God's plan.”

Cas took Dean's hand, carefully lifted it off his shoulder and sat up on their grass bed, mirroring Dean's posture, cross-legged, and slid his hand along Dean's arm to curl his fingers around Dean's. “I believe we make our own destiny.”

Dean could only nod briefly, seeing there was more and listening, rapt. He squeezed Cas's hand silently to encourage him to continue.

Looking down, clearly thinking his words through before they left his mouth, Castiel added, “I was once so indoctrinated into believing that God could do no wrong, that he held the filaments of our lives in his hands and led us on our paths exactly, guiding us right to the places where we needed to go.” Cas glanced at Dean quickly, unsure. Dean took both his hands in his, webbing their fingers, and tilted his head in a kind of fashion he’d clearly adopted from Cas. This apparently helped, and Dean was briefly very proud of himself to have been able to offer this comfort.

“It took a long time to shake the last vestiges of those beliefs, but how can we be free, if there is a puppet master pulling our strings for his own amusement? Who is this God to make my decisions for me?” Cas’s breathtaking eyes gleamed in the dim light, almost glowing as the fire in the pit reflected on Cas’s face.

Sensing an old argument, Dean chose to stay mum still, quietly admiring the fire burning so blindingly brightly inside Cas. Dean had had his moments of digging his heels with his dad, but never anything on this scale. Faith had destroyed families.

Cas took a calming breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and squinted at Dean measuring what might be going on in Dean’s head, squeezing his hands to underline his words. “What's important is that we did meet. I don't understand why the circumstances matter.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sighed, giving up his stewing in the matter, and stared into the cutest, crinkly, squinty eyes in the galaxy. And winked.

“A-haa.” Cas's features brightened considerably, nose scrunching when he smiled, understanding taking over. “Had we met at a bar, we'd’ve shared a drink and taken it from there, that's your point?” They let go of their grip on one another, Cas motioning between them with a leering grin.

“Basically, yes. It would have been easier.” Dean kicked a leg out and leaned back on his hands, watching Cas get up and grab their pot of water, watching that perfect ass walk away, those thighs like sinewy tree trunks, when Cas leaned down, Dean wanting nothing more than to take Cas’s flaccid cock in his mouth and suck him until he came down his throat in hot pulses. Dean’s tongue itched.

Cas returned while Dean adamantly did not stare at what would get his itch off efficiently, and thrust the vessel to Dean, a flirty grin forming on his lips. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Winchester? I know it's only water, but I'm assured this establishment carries only the freshest of spring waters.”

Chuckling, relaxing a little from his horndog thoughts, Dean took the pot with both hands, holding his pinky up for good measure, and took a tiny sip.He smacked his lips and closed his eyes as if enjoying the finest whiskey. “Excellent vintage, Mr. Novak. Very fine indeed.” He set the water aside and patted the space next to him, raising his brow. “Care to join me?”

Bowing dramatically to thank for the offer, Cas sat down, mere inches from Dean. For Dean, the distance might’ve as well been the Grand Canyon for how much he just wanted to throw Cas on the grass and really get to business.

“Do the circumstances matter, Dean?” Cas’s smile was happy, soothing Dean’s nerves with how calm Cas was about the situation.

With not entirely faked gravity, Dean shook his head with an answering grin, feeling lighter than he had since last night, before Cas took ill. And everything was fine.

Everything was absolutely fine, Dean realized and it kinda shook him.

All the melancholy was gone, and Cas had certainly made his point. Maybe they couldn't do whatever they pleased right now, but they could spend their time together, get to know each other, be as silly and playful as they wanted, as long as they played by the production's rules.

So Dean turned to Cas and closed the chasm between them, catching Cas’s jaw with his fingertips and kissed him slowly. Unhurriedly, Dean’s tongue licked over the tiny grooves on Cas’s lower lip, tasting each one, pausing to suck on a particularly delicious one, making Cas moan quietly and haul him closer. Cas's beard was long enough, same as Dean's, soft enough, that there was no worries of stubble burn, and Dean kind of missed the scratch. The additional sensation, any and all sensation he could get from Cas.

If kisses were all Dean was going to get, he'd take every single one Cas was willing to give and tuck them away to hold onto until the world crumbles.

Firelight painted phantom shadows behind Dean's eyelids, reminding him of his earlier thoughts.

At that same moment, before Dean had the chance to turn brooding again, Cas's hand fisted into Dean's short hair, just barely the right length for a good grip, just this side of too rough, and Dean gasped, his cock taking serious interest in the proceedings.

Cas’s passion flowed through into their kiss, him holding Dean still to devour his mouth, it all spoke of unfulfilled needs they were just going to have to manage. Once again under the blanket of the night, they had their moment of peace, and the sense of belonging Dean felt, which had been growing since their first handshake, was flooding his chest.

Cas was making a shelter for himself in Dean’s heart, and it seemed it was sturdy enough to last many a storms and rains, with a window to let the light in.

It was wonderful to know they were in this together.

Once again laying on their makeshift bedding, limbs tangled, their hard cocks leaking against each other's skin, neglected and denied, hidden from cameras and superfluous people, the men constantly maintaining their liplock, Dean knew for a fact they were in this together.