Dean strode through the downtown area, looping the same streets over and over. He didn't have a destination in mind, he just wanted to be in motion, walk out some of the anger that had surged through his body and made it difficult to breathe. Why couldn't he stop feeling like this? Just come up with some fake story and stick with it? It had been almost six years, and he still couldn't seem to get past it, get over it. That was one failing he knew he had for sure: he couldn't forgive and forget.

Even as he tried to let the emotion burn out, there was a part of him that kept holding on to the tail of it, because underneath that old rage there was something else, something that had made him flee from the motel—from his travel companion. No matter how far under wraps Dean thought he kept things, Cas had a way of seeing straight through him, like X-ray vision. He had from the start, really, somehow reading Dean's original drafts of North Aspect and finding that spot of hurt. And if Cas could see it, who else could? What else was Dean revealing that he'd rather have kept hidden? It was a nasty, exposed sort of feeling, when Dean almost considered it a point of pride that he was difficult to read, that he let himself be seen in just the ways he wanted.

As he walked, the temperature kept dropping, and eventually, he started wishing he'd been wearing a jacket when he stalked off. It took a good half hour more before he figured he was ready to head back, hands and feet half numb. If luck was on his side, Cas would already be sleeping. Dean wasn't sure how to explain his behavior away; they were past the point of Dean being able to pretend there was nothing going on. Best he could do was apologize, maybe feed Cas the same story he'd given Sam… Something twinged in his gut. Spinning half truths to Sam to protect him was one thing, but lying to Cas just to save himself some grief? That didn't feel right. And under the voice of conscience, there also was a tiny echo of fear that told him Cas would see through the lie, leading to… anger? …disappointment? He didn't know which was worse.

He passed Baby in the lodge parking lot and stood at the door to their room for a moment, being sure to enter quietly. If it had been an argument with Sam, he would have been facing a dark room, with a cold shoulder to come the following day, but this was Cas. The lights were on, and Cas was sitting on his bed, a tablet in his hand. He looked up as Dean opened the door, and Dean froze in the doorway. Faced with those intense blue eyes, concerned but also cautious, it was an act of will for Dean to step into the room and close the door behind him instead of bolting back out into the cold. He hovered for a second by the front wall before deciding to move to sit on his own bed, facing Cas but not quite ready to hold eye contact.

Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands together and rested them on his knees to stave off any fidgeting. "…Well, guess it isn't really a road trip until one of us gets angry for no good reason."

Cas didn't say a word, so Dean lifted his head and met his gaze. He'd put down his tablet and was giving Dean his full attention. He looked so calm and collected that irritation tried to surge up Dean's throat again, but no, Dean was done with that for the night.

Taking a few breaths, Dean let the quiet stretch. He could do this. He remembered that night with Sam after the tornado. "I'm sorry for storming off," Dean told him. "I… have a temper, and sometimes it gets the better of me."

"It wasn't for 'no good reason'." Cas's voice was low, just above a murmur, as though he were talking to himself. It sent a ripple through Dean's chest that nearly made him shiver.

Dean looked away. He didn't want to lie any more, but he couldn't tell the truth.

"Dean…" Cas's voice on his name was gentle; Dean inhaled, tensed his shoulders. "I am asking questions because I see that you're hurting and I want to help… because I am your friend. You do understand that?"

Dean held his breath, blinking. It was just too much, hearing him talk like that. He shook his head. "I can't."

"Dean—"

"—I can't, Cas—I can't give you what you're asking for. I just… I'm not ready. I may never be ready. And I need you to be okay with that." He ventured a look up. The other man's gaze was sad, and it sent a twist of regret through Dean's chest.

"All right, Dean."

It didn't sound all right, the silence that pressed in after that soft concession. And it didn't feel all right, sitting like cold gravy in Dean's stomach. But he didn't have any better ideas, so he nodded, pretended like he was satisfied. "All right."

They didn't exchange another word outside 'good night'. Dean lay awake for some time, staring at the wall, missing having the option of slipping out of bed and padding out his back door into the Kansas nighttime.

The next day, they were scheduled to leave Colorado and make their way southwest into Kansas. It marked a week that he and Cas had been on the road together. Before his ridiculous outburst the night before, he was surprised how easy it had been. He expected Cas to have one annoying habit or another, but honestly, they got along better than he and Sam did. He supposed he and his brother had more history and a tendency to push one another's buttons though… often on purpose. The trip also turned out to be a little bit of torture, in a way, because Dean found himself looking at Cas when he could get away with it and constantly shoving his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and touching him. Now, there were only a couple days left before Cas would fly back to New York and become just a voice on the phone again. It was better than nothing, but all in all, Dean preferred having him sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, where he could watch expressions of puzzlement and wonder cross his face.

They went to get a final cup of coffee at the little shop Cas seemed so enamored with, then made a stop on their way out of the city for some groceries for the cooler. Dean felt like he was walking on eggshells, constantly trying to check Cas's face for… well, anything, really. It was like nothing had happened at all, the way Cas was acting. Dean was starting to wonder whether the guy might have a better poker face than he thought. They were about a half hour out of Estes Park when Cas spoke up.

"The rocks are more reddish here, almost like I'd imagine the Southwest to be."

Sneaking a look over, Dean found his passenger looking out the window, serene. "Uh, yeah, drive far enough south from here, you start getting into desert, then New Mexico."

"Will we pass through any of that?"

"Naw, you'll see, once we get down out of the mountains, it drops off fast. Seriously, one minute you'll be in foothills and the next it's the Great Plains all over again, not like Nebraska."

"Sounds like another road trip, someday…"

His tone was casual, but Dean understood the implication. The hunch in his shoulders started to uncoil. "Yeah, the Great American Southwest is a whole 'nother experience."

True to Dean's description, they exited the mountains into rolling hills a short way from Boulder, then followed the highway down the flats parallel to the Rockies for a time, rounding Denver before taking that final turn due west on I-70, out into the sparse grasslands. It was another interstate, but this one felt like home to Dean. Soon, the mountains were just a shaded line in his rearview mirror, and great stretches of farmland started appearing to either side of them.

"Welcome to the Central Great Plains," he announced, when they were far enough through Colorado. "From here through Kansas, you'll see five kinds of prairie and not a mountain to be found. We'll be on my home turf by end of day."

They stopped to gas up, and Cas leaned against Baby in the summer sun, squinting upward. "There's so much sky here…"

Dean turned to follow his gaze. The ocean of blue above them was dotted from one horizon to the other with marching lines of puffy clouds that billowed up into mounds and gleamed dazzling white up top. "Yep, this is why I feel so hemmed in back east… Compared to this, feels like everything's pressing in on you. New York might as well be a maze of canyons."

The sunbaked asphalt hummed under Baby's tires, singing home through the soles of his shoes. As often as wanderlust made him walk the country top to bottom, the sight of Kansas sweeping by always felt right, and at the end of a trip, he viewed it with new appreciation. Late afternoon, he turned south off the interstate. Rather than push it straight home, he couldn't resist taking Cas on a tour of his stomping grounds at Cheyenne Bottoms. They ate lunch from the cooler at the rest area across from the Education Center along the refuge's southern border. Then, Dean took them on a loop through the refuge itself, stopping often to point out various bird species: fat, white pelicans, an almost constant feature of any plains wetlands, elegant herons and egrets, early migrating sandpipers, buzzing sparrows singing in the tall grass, a kingbird with its stark white chest and black hood, scolding them from its perch.

"Is this what you do when you work?" The look Cas gave him was almost fond, and something warm turned over under Dean's breastbone.

"Yeah, sorry, guess I went into guide mode there…" Dean felt himself flush, and glancing at Cas's slow smile just made it worse. He turned to gaze out over the water instead, using the excuse of scanning for birds.

"It's lovely."

Something about the way he said it, like maybe it wasn't the wetlands he was talking about, made Dean's stomach give a distinct flutter. Are you fucking kidding me? he asked himself. He thought he'd been doing a pretty decent job of ignoring whatever bit of one-sided chemistry was going on between them so far. There was no way he was going to blow it with a day left.

They finished the drive with him rambling about the wetlands and wildlife, trying to stop being so goddamn aware of the moments Cas drifted into his personal space. It's a loop, he told himself. Just gotta distract yourself.

Music came to the rescue on the final hours back to Olathe. He talked his favorite bands—Led Zeppelin, Metallica, CCR, Van Halen, Kansas—and songs. "What about you, Cas?"

Cas lips flicked in a brief smile. "Well, you were one type of Gen Xer… and I was another. The Smiths, The Cure… Fleetwood Mac, U2 were more to my liking, at least back in the day, but I wouldn't call them my favorites. Not sure I have a favorite band. These days, I keep exploring new things. Mostly folk and alternative, I suppose."

"Thought you were going to tell me you only listened to classical and opera or something," Dean joked. "Okay, so… No favorite band. What about favorite songs? Just a few off the top of your head."

Castiel looked out his window, squinting against the sun that was starting to hang lower in the sky. "'How Soon Is Now?', The Smiths, 'Burn', The Cure, 'The Chain', Fleetwood Mac… 'Have You Ever Seen the Rain?'—"

"—That one's CCR."

"Yes, you reminded me of it." Castiel turned back for a moment. "I tend to prefer specific songs versus bands. 'Radio Ga Ga', by Queen… 'Immortals', Fall Out Boy. 'Devils and Dust', Bruce Springsteen…'Rocks and Water', the Madison Cunningham cover version… I enjoy listening to programs that focus on different artists or genres every week."

Only about half of the songs rang a bell. Dean thought of the way he continuously played certain albums or always tuned to the available rock stations. It seemed completely at odds with Cas's listening style. "I dunno, I guess I find something I like and stick to it. Don't you have, like… an anthem, or something?"

"Do you?"

"Sure…" Dean paused. The conversation suddenly felt more personal than he had intended; Cas was staring at him across the cabin, like he knew it. It had been Dean's choice of topic, though. Didn't make sense to back down now. "Like… Zeppelin's 'Good Times Bad Times', or 'The Song Remains the Same'."

Cas didn't show any immediate sign of recognition but nodded. "I suppose right now that song for me would be 'Spirits', The Strumbellas. If you decided to ask me that same question a month or two from now, the answer would be completely different… an old Seventies glam rock song, or a new Americana release, or perhaps even a random piece of pop."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, seems like no matter what you do, pop worms its way in… I would swear I have never listened to Taylor Swift, but then she comes on the radio somewhere, and somehow, I know the damn words…"

"Her 'All Too Well' is nice…"

Of course Cas would just admit to liking a Taylor Swift song… Dean wondered what it would have been like, to grow up somewhere that produced someone like Castiel Novak. Kansas, for all he loved it, had been a tough mother.

Soon enough, they were off the interstate and winding south down the narrow roads that would take them to Dean's place. Cas sat up when Dean slowed and pulled onto the dirt drive, peering out across the rolling hollows. The tiny brown house came into view, with Dean's gray pickup truck sitting out front.

"So, this is it…" Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, watching Cas's expression. It was possible his house was smaller than Cas's apartment, now that he was thinking about it. As they got out and started grabbing the bags, Dean caught movement behind the front window and saw Sam's face peaking out. He shot him a disapproving look. What the hell are you doing?

Sam raised his eyebrows, tilted his head toward Cas, pulled an impressed expression. Not bad.

Dean glared. Bitch.

Sam sneered back. Jerk. His face disappeared from the window before Cas turned around.

By the time they came in the front door, he was sitting over on the coach, pretending to be working on his laptop. "Hey, welcome back…" He got up, setting the computer aside and ambling over to them. He held out a hand to Cas first. "Castiel, nice to meet you in person finally."

"Sam, good to meet you." Cas exchanged a handshake with him.

Dean couldn't help but watch his face out of the corner of his eye; if he was surprised by Sam's height, his expression didn't show it.

"So, good day?" Sam queried, glancing between them.

"Yeah, came straight through on the interstate. Took Cas by the Bottoms this afternoon. Sun shining… what else can you ask for?"

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels. "You guys hungry for dinner? I was thinking we could order some takeout from the Deli."

"Nice. I think there's a menu in the kitchen drawer somewhere." He turned to Cas, who appeared to be cataloguing the living space. "Come on, we can dump the bags in my room."

"…and then she slapped me." Cas explained.

Dean laughed even harder, he and Sam both wiping tears from their eyes over the remains of pastrami and reuben sandwiches and fries.

"I can't believe your cousin did that," Sam gasped.

"Yes, well, needless to say, that's the last time I asked him for advice. Or let him take me to a club." Cas was eyeing the tabletop, looking vaguely traumatized.

Dean snorted. He could picture the confusion and shock on Cas's face, even if he hadn't been there. Given what Cas had told him before, it was highly likely the 'cousin' was Gabriel Shurley. If so, he had a mean prankster streak. "What an ass…"

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Like you wouldn't have done the same thing to me, if you had half a chance."

"Hey, ask Cas. I have been a perfect gentleman on this trip. No pranks."

"Iowa," Cas retorted, impassive.

Sam rolled his eyes, snorting.

"Okay, almost no pranks," Dean winced. "Nothing that got anyone slapped, anyway."

Turning to Cas, Sam observed, "You should have slapped him."

"I will keep that in mind for next time," Cas promised.

Dean pulled a displeased pout.

"Next time?" Sam's eyebrows went up. "You spent a week on the road with my brother and are already coming back for more? Brave man…"

"Hey, I do this for a living, you know—" Dean protested.

"It works out well for me." Cas smoothly spoke over him, keeping eye contact with Sam. "I get nervous about traveling, and Dean enjoys driving. So much so that he put it in his publishing contract that he won't fly to New York."

Sam's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Is that what he told you?" he asked, a gleam in his eyes.

"Sam…" Dean warned.

"He can't fly," Sam continued with far too much glee. "Our Mom took us on a trip to San Antonio, the year I graduated high school? He spent the entire flight with his eyes closed, hyperventilating."

"I can fly," Dean growled. "I flew out to Alaska a few years ago."

"Wow, how many fingers of whiskey did that take you?"

Dean scowled. Once there, he had considered how much money and time it would take to drive back instead; it wasn't doable, at the time. "Listen, Sammy, I don't bring up your fear of damn clowns over dinner, do I? So do me a favor and lay off."

Sam gave him a superior glare, but since Cas was looking at them both a bit wide-eyed, obviously uncomfortable, he sat back and relented.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to reignite an old argument," Cas mumbled quietly.

"Oh, no, Castiel…" Sam immediately wiped the last of the sulk off his face, turning sympathetic and waving a hand. "This is very standard sibling behavior."

Dean grinned, also trying to reassure his friend. "Yep. What're brothers for if not for bickering with… Lemme clean up these plates." He rose and started collecting the dishes and wrappers. As he leaned over Sam's shoulder to reach for his stuff, he spoke under his breath, trying not to move his lips, "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam likewise muttered, clearing his throat after to cover it.

After dark, Dean sat with Cas out back in the wooden lounge chairs, sipping at a bottle of beer. Cas had barely touched his; Dean wondered what he typically drank, if anything. Sam had declined to join them. Even if he'd wanted to, it occurred to Dean that he didn't have enough chairs out here. He hadn't ever needed more than two.

"You hear that?" he asked, breaking into the drone of cicadas and crickets, as thick in the air as the summer humidity. In the pause after, a slight breeze rustled the stalks of grass in front of them and, as though on queue, a whip-poor-will yipped, far down the hill where the open woodlands would be. He waited a long moment, he and Cas both remaining motionless and letting the night's song swirl around them. Then, he tilted his head back, letting the summer constellations fill his view. "This is my little piece of heaven. Whenever I need a break or get stuck on some chapter or life is just too crazy, it's right here, waiting."

"You must come out here a lot." Cas's voice was low and soft, seemed to run through Dean's chest like a river.

"Yeah… Sometimes, if I can't sleep, I'll just come out here in the middle of the night. Look at the stars. In the winter, without the haze, it's clear as crystal." He glanced back down and, in the dim light of the crescent moon, found Cas studying the spot where Dean's hand rested on the arm of his chair. Dean swallowed, fingers tingling as though the weight of Cas's gaze was tangible. In any other context, he'd know what that look meant. The chairs were close enough that Cas could have reached across, if he'd wanted, but it wasn't something you could do by accident. As he watched, Cas turned away to stare out into the grass, oblivious to being observed. Dean took a breath and turned away himself, recognizing the swell of disappointment under his ribs.

When Dean's beer was gone and the annoyance of hovering mosquitos was starting to overpower the spell of Kansas in the evening, they made their way back to the house. There was a sharp clack as Cas's shoe hit a rock, and he stumbled.

"Ope!" Dean grabbed hold of Cas's shoulder without thinking. Cas all but righted himself on his own, but he was solid and warm under Dean's palm. As he turned to look up into Dean's face, it took every ounce of will Dean had to resist the urge to pull him closer, run his other hand along his jaw. "Uh, sorry…" Dean gave his shoulder a couple of awkward pats before recalling his hand into a fist at his side. "There's a floodlight, but I don't use it unless I really have to."

That night, Dean gave Cas his room and took the couch. He stared at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that things would be easier after Cas left for New York, that he would be glad to get some space, ignoring the stubborn tightness in the hollow of his throat and his stomach.

The next morning, Dean kept busy, making a full breakfast—eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and pancakes—and enjoying listening to Sam and Cas chat at the table. He tried to smile and keep his tone light when he did participate, but there was a somberness underneath that he couldn't shake. All too soon, it was time to leave for Kansas City, to get Cas to the airport in plenty of time to go through security before his flight home. The drive was an hour through unscenic urban sprawl. Dean struggled to find things to say, settling for playing the radio quietly and responding to Cas's occasional questions about places along the way.

Once into the airport complex, he navigated the Impala to the terminal for American Airlines, hopping out to help Cas with his bag. He knew you weren't supposed to stop long curbside, and he'd never been great with goodbyes, so he just nodded once. "Thanks for the great trip, man. Hope we can do something again next year."

A bunch of gears in his head locked up completely as Cas abruptly stepped in and wrapped his arms around him. This wasn't like the side-hugs he generally exchanged with people. Cas was full on leaning in. Dean rested his hands around Cas's back in return—it would have been rude not to?—and tried to keep his cool. He worried his body might take this as an opportunity to get completely inappropriately turned on, but instead, he felt a warm lightness spread through his chest, causing him to exhale almost reflexively. For a moment, he felt oddly euphoric, the sensation spreading with a tingle he could feel up his spine to the top of his scalp. Then Cas was stepping back and fixing him with a look of concentration.

"Take care, Dean," he entreated.

He turned and walked away, disappearing through the sliding doors into the terminal beyond.

At an annoyed glower from one of the patrolling security officers, Dean stumbled back into the driver's seat and pulled away, navigating back onto the highway with some difficulty after losing track and looping around another terminal a few times before succeeding in locating the exit ramp. The entire way home, he breathed shallow, as though afraid to disturb the lingering sensation of warm arms wrapped around his chest.

"So, Cas seems really nice," Sam observed from across the living room.

Dean had whiled away the afternoon walking the property, unpacking, and doing up the last week of laundry. Now, he was starting to organize his trip photos for full blog posts. He didn't glance up. "Yeah, he is."

"...You guys get along okay on the trip?"

"Yep."

"...So, did you tell him how you feel?"

At that, Dean snapped his head up to give his brother a look, narrowing his eyes. "…What?"

Sam raised eyebrows. "Well, you basically brought the guy home to meet me, Dean… I've been waiting for you to tell me that you're together or something."

"You just happened to be here, Sam," he pointed out.

"So, you're saying that if I had been in Topeka, you wouldn't have driven him out to have dinner in the city?"

Dean practically heard the sound of tires screeching in his head as he realized that's exactly what he would have done. He blinked, trying to clear the thought from his mind. "We're just two buddies who took a road trip."

"Uh, yeah." Sam's face dropped into a skeptical frown. "I have eyes, Dean. I see the way you two stare at one another."

Dean wasn't sure he could pull off lying about his own attraction, so instead, he insisted, "Cas doesn't think of me like that. He's a—" He stopped; he didn't have the right to disclose Cas's orientation, even to his brother. "—Cas," he finished weakly.

"Are you sure, Dean? Because I saw just as many looks going the other way…"

"No. I mean, yes. Shut up." Dean frowned back at his laptop, trying to end the speculation. "We're just friends."

"Okay, one, I don't think I've ever met any of your occasional hiking buddies in person, and two, I've never seen you act like that with any other person. Ever."

"Act like what?" he grumbled, refusing to look at Sam.

"Like… normal. Like you." There was a pause. "I think you should consider that maybe there's some mutual attraction and attachment there."

Later, having fled outside with a bottle of beer, Dean looked up at the stars, panicking. He'd never had a classic 'Big Gay/Bi Panic'. He was always very aware of what he and his body wanted and did not want, and while he certainly took steps to manage how much that showed on the outside, he never had a moment of surprise or shock about his own sexuality. But, sitting there in his yard, he was certainly having a Big Something Panic. He'd always thought that he and Sam were cut from the same cloth, that there'd never be any bringing someone home to meet the family, marriage, or apple pie life on the horizon for either of them. But after an hour of trying and failing to come up with any friends (or lays) in the past that he'd felt similarly for, contemplating how much future time he saw himself spending (or at least hoped to spend) with Cas, and purposely picturing domestic scenarios in an effort to disgust himself (it all backfired miserably because they turned out sorta cute or too sexy), Dean had begun to consider that, in the slang the kids on the internet used these days, he had caught feelings.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that? he asked the expanse of space above him.

The distance from Kansas to New York had never seemed so far.