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The bunker door is really too heavy to slam, but Dean does it anyway, heaving his shoulder into it like he's sacking a quarterback. It hurts like hell, and it doesn't even make the right kind of noise, pushing closed gently instead of with a satisfying bang.
At least the pain is distracting.
So is the look Sam is giving him, confused and concerned at the same time. "What's going on, Dean? You okay?"
"I'm—it's—dammit." Well, he sure wasn't gonna tell the truth, was he? "It's zombies, dammit! Fuckin' sick of 'em. They're corny, and they're ugly, and there're too damn many ways to make 'em!" He starts to tick them off on his fingers: "That poor girl who got raised by her stalker back when, and the goddamn Croats, and Bobby's wife and Jody's kid...and these Romero-lookin' fuckers you just took down, and who knows how many other kinds. No more undead, Sammy, I mean it."
"Oh," says Sam, but his brow only relaxes a little. "I get that, they're not my favorite monsters either. But...you didn't really have to deal with them this time, Dean. You were mostly just locked in with Cas while I—"
Dean cuts him off. "Zombies, Sammy. I'm done with 'em, they can eat all the brains they want. I'm gonna go take a shower."
A very long, very cold shower.
*******
They hadn't expected zombies at all. They'd been tracking witches for a while, hoping to find one who knew Rowena, and followed a trail of weirdness to an abandoned motel in Guymon, Oklahoma. And Cas had shown up at the bunker unexpectedly, alone, and Dean couldn't just leave him there, right? not still dying, not with that look of defeat in his eyes. "It'll be a milk run, dude, we’re just getting some information. Should be fun, even, maybe it'll take your mind off things," and Dean had clapped him on the shoulder, let his hand linger a few seconds more than was strictly necessary, and Cas had looked at him and nodded.
Of fucking course, when they showed up the witch was long gone, but the motel was booby-trapped; walking over the threshold triggered a damn horde of old-school zombies, slow and shambling and ravenous. Headshots of the firearm or angelic variety only took them down for a moment—"I think they're constructs," Sam yelled as they ran down a hall, looking for a room with a functioning door. "Real enough to hurt us, not real enough to be hurt." He tugged open a cobwebby supply closet and they piled in—Dean shoved it closed and knocked down some shelving in front of it.
"Okay, so we're just stuck? We could outrun 'em, I guess, not the fastest fuckers in the bunch, but we can't let 'em get loose, they'll take over the town."
"A spell this complex requires an altar," said Cas. "It would have to be nearby to exert its influence, so it's probably in the building."
"Great," said Dean. "So we'll find it and smash it, sounds like a party."
"Shhh," Sam said. There were heavy footsteps in the hall, mindless moans. The three held stock-still while the zombies shuffled past, too dumb to try the door, and they waited until the noise was gone.
"All right, let's make a break for it," said Sam. He and Cas moved the shelves aside, and Sam cracked the door open. "It looks clear out there," he said. "I'll take point, check both ways." Slipping outside, he accidentally let the door swing shut behind him.
And when he reached for the knob, it came off in his hand.
"Uh, guys?" he said through the door. "Unless Cas has the juice to teleport, I think you're trapped in there?"
"What?" Dean yelled—well, he muffled his voice, but the intent was there. He shot a glance at Cas, who shook his head sadly. "Sammy, don't go! We'll break out, there's gotta be something in here."
"You'll make too much noise, Dean, they'll come back. I got it, okay? I can be quieter on my own anyway. I'll get the altar destroyed and come back for you two."
"No!" said Dean, and raised his fists to pound on the door, racket be damned.
Cas grabbed his wrists, and oh, he still had enough juice to overpower Dean totally. That was annoying (annoying, not arousing, not in the slightest). "Dean, Sam's right. He doesn't need us on this, we're better off staying here."
Dean put up a struggle for his pride's sake, but Cas held him firm. "Fine," he muttered. "Fine, Sam, go ahead. You get your brains munched, that's on you."
Sam's footsteps faded quickly, and Cas let go of Dean, who glared at him. "This blows," he said.
"I've never understood that turn of phrase," said Cas. "It's a reference to oral sex, right? Why would you use it negatively—don't you enjoy it?"
Nope. Nope, Dean was not getting into a conversation about blow jobs with Cas, that way lay only madness. "It's just the way I talk, don't worry about it," he said gruffly, and the sour look on his face was enough to make Cas drop the subject.
They were silent for a few minutes, Cas standing awkwardly in the middle of the small space, Dean grumpily swiping a hand through a spiderweb, regretting it immediately. He wiped off the sticky shit on his jeans.
"How you doing, man?" he asked Cas, suddenly. "The angel you were with, she just left?"
"She was right to leave," Cas said. "We don't belong here, we cause humans nothing but sorrow."
"That's not true. You've done a lot for me—for me and Sam, we couldn't have done it without you."
"No, you would have found a way, Dean. You two are so strong, you're good men. I'm starting to accept that I’m not a good angel or a good man." Cas slumped against a shelf, and he looked so goddamn sad Dean was hugging him before he knew he meant to.
"Hey," he said in Cas's ear, "you think I'd keep you around if there wasn't good in you? You've fucked up, sure. We all have. I dunno about being an angel, but you've always been a better man than me."
Cas's hand was on the small of his back, their bodies pressed together, and this had already gone on too long to be friendly. He could feel Cas exhale against his neck, and Dean's skin prickled towards him, wanting to touch.
Dammit.
Dean stepped back a little, hands slipping to Cas's shoulders. "Uh, sorry about that, I didn't quite mean to—"
Cas pulled him in by his hips and kissed him.
What was Dean supposed to do, after six fucking years of sex dreams and solo sessions where his mind drifted guiltily to Cas? Maybe he didn't have the guts to initiate, but apparently he wasn't too repressed to respond.
Cas was a furious kisser, his tongue licking into Dean's mouth right away. "Slow down, angel," Dean whispered, and they met in the middle, between gentle and rough, and then it was fucking perfect, best first kiss Dean had had since Robin. Their hands didn't wander, they didn't move closer again, this was just all they needed, all Dean wanted, he could kiss Cas forever—
Or until Sam attacked the door with a fire axe and they sprang apart, and Dean had to drive five hours home horny and sulking.
*******
He slams doors for a week.