I ask the question before I've even decided I'll say anything.

     I don't want to be mad, thought I was done being mad, because I feel like I have no right to be. But apparently I am still kind of mad. Cas forces himself inside, pushing past me, and starts taking off his clothes, stripping down right there in the entryway. He hangs his coat, first, like that's a normal thing to do, shucks off his shoes, and then pulls the crewneck sweater he's wearing over his head.

     "What makes you think I'm in the mood for this?" I ask and its performative. It's me trying at something that we both know is simply not true. I am always in the mood for Cas. It's an unfortunate circumstance of my life.

     Cas goes, "Oh, you're not?" And he drops to his knees, running a hand up my leg, over my sweatpants. I'm not wearing anything under and they're thin. My body's not mistaking Cas's hand for anything but Cas's hand. I'm definitely not hard, but I'm also not not hard. So it takes about two seconds of him rubbing his hands over my thighs while he looks up at me, all doe-eyed and innocent, for me to get there. "It seems like you are," he says and he licks his lips, the little shit.

     Admittedly, I'm never going to turn down Cas.

     I grip the back of his head, jerking it backwards a bit as I pull him up to his feet. I kiss him, just as roughly, biting at his lip till he opens his mouth to me. We scatter our clothes across the living room floor, make our way upstairs in a rush of limbs until I finally just lift Cas and carry him the rest of the way.

     I think, this is what he wants, right? He wants someone to roughen him up, get under his skin, reduce him to nothing more than a pool of marks. Cas goes down on the bed and I follow after him, crawling up his body. He's flushed all over but I'm not looking, not looking at the faded bruises, the fingerprints that are not mine. A forensics team would not name me if Cas went missing and his body turned up under a bridge.

     When we fuck this time, it's different. It feels like an argument we both know neither of us will win but we're trying, anyway. I pin Cas to the bed, hold him there as I grind into him so slow he's begging when he says my name, asking for more. I want him to feel the pain of it. I want him to remember that I was here. I want to leave my palm print in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, a different kind of imprint.

     Cas moves, hikes an elbow up that knocks me back enough for him to tilt me off of him. I'm disoriented only long enough for him to climb into my lap, bearing down on my chest to give him leverage to fuck me like he's trying to get me to see god. I am seeing god. I'm seeing more of my life flash before my eyes than I remember living. I reach out, holding Cas's hips, trying to slow him down. He slaps at my hand, pushing it away as he leans forward, face hovering over mine so he can moan into my mouth without kissing me.

     I'm so close to the edge and I don't want it to end, not like this. I swing an arm over his shoulders, holding him to me as I roll over. We don't part, but I sink deeper so that my eyes roll for a second and Cas whines. I lift one of his legs to the side, coming at him at an angle. I'm about to jerk him off when he grabs my wrist, stopping me. "If you touch my dick right now, I'll punch you in the face."

    I grin knowing he's good for it, now. "How are you," I pant, "still making sentences?"

    We're fucking to submission. Who's, I'm not sure.

     Cas is clutching my shoulders when he comes. His mouth open as he tips his head back into the pillows making this wanton sound that sends me over the edge. I let my weight go, toppling against him. He's buzzing, I realize. I turn my head and its laughter, soft chuckles that he seems surprised by.

     "Fuck, that was good," he says quietly enough that I almost miss it.

     It was. I can't move. Feels like I was just deveined. My eyes won't stay open. Of course, after all these sleepless nights now my body's ready to give in. Cas has gone quiet, hasn't shoved me off of him, and when I turn to look at him, he's knocked out. I lift myself enough to pull the condom off, tossing it in the direction of the garbage near the bed. I definitely miss but that's a less tired Dres's problem. I settle in my spot, mostly on top of Cas. This feels like penance. It feels like we both just sat through confession.

     I fall asleep wondering if I paid for my sins yet.

     I don't know what time it is. It feels like I've been sleeping all my life but then Cas is shoving me off of him, rolling out from under me as he moves to the edge of the bed. He's breathing loudly. I sit up, quickly, thinking he's having a panic attack. It's bright outside but not sunny, the room lit in a weird white glow.

     Cas is staring at the watch on his wrist. He's silent. I sit up, picking my phone up off of my nightstand. It's vibrating incessantly. I have no idea what time it is, but I'm thinking it's late and that this must be Dolores about to kill me for missing work.

     I'm right. It's past ten. There's one missed call from Dolores, but otherwise my phone is full of emergency messages from an automated number. We're in a State of Emergency because of a snow storm. All non-essential businesses are closed. Makes sense now why Dolores wasn't going crazy.

     I get up, walking over to the window, peaking through the blinds since I'm stark naked. Everything outside is white and icy. First snow always looks like a wonder to me.

     "I need to go," Cas says brusquely as he gets up. He's naked, too, and in the white light the bruises and marks don't look all that faded.

     "It's a state of emergency," I say following him downstairs. My sweatpants are by the couch. I slip into them as Cas puts his underwear back on.

     "Okay, and? I still need to leave."

     I stare at him. "You really shouldn't drive in this. Your cars rear wheel drive."

     Cas stares back, confusion fixed on his face. "Well, how do you even know that?"

     "Because you drive a sports car?" I respond like this is common knowledge. "You're not going to make it two feet out there without hydroplaning. Just — stay until the roads clear."

     "I think I'd rather risk it on the road, honestly," Cas mumbles.

     I glare at him. "So sorry this is the end of the world for you but you're the one that chose to come over." When he doesn't respond, I shrug. "Okay, well I'm going to shower."

     I turn back around and head upstairs. I do shower, but it's fast. I feel anxious about Cas's presence in the house, that if I take too long he'll do something crazy, like try to leave in this weather. When I'm finished, I find him in the same spot I left him, only leaning against the wall staring blankly.

     "You can use the shower," I tell him. "Take some of my clothes."

     He turns his gaze to mine, says dryly, "No thanks."

     I tilt my head. "Cas," I say, exasperated. My shoulders sag. "Have a shower. Grab some clothes. I promise it won't come off as a sign of defeat."

     To my complete shock, he gives in, turning and heading upstairs. I follow closely behind so I can grab some sweats out of the drawer for him. He's already in the shower when I get them together, steam billowing in the stall. I leave the clothes on the sink. When I go back into my room, I strip the sheets, clean up the mess we made, and remake the bed.

     I take the laundry downstairs, start the wash, and then let the dogs outside into the backyard. Charlie absolutely loves the snow, goes barreling face first into it. I watch through the glass sliding door as I make their bowls of food.

     Once they're settled, I get started on breakfast. Cas will probably decline this, too, but I still make enough pancakes for the both of us. I decide to scramble some eggs, move to grab a spatula and pull the drawer open to the envelope full of letters I wrote to Cas. I remove it slowly, setting it on the counter. I'd put it there as a reminder. Funny how these things work.

     Cas comes down the stairs, bare feet slapping against the wood. "I made breakfast," I call over to him. "And I've got coffee, tea, some kind of peach juice? I don't know but it's fresh and it's good."

     I look over at him, dwarfed in sweatpants that are too big for him and an old black The Smiths tee shirt. This isn't the first time Cas has worn my clothes, but something about it now, with the way things are between us, makes it more than what it is. I don't want him to ever change.

     "Peach juice?" he muses as he takes a seat at the island. This is more cooperation than I expected.

     I nod. "Do you remember Ms. Vivvie?" Cas nods. "She has a table at the flea market and sells fresh pressed juices. If you ever get the chance, her grapefruit is by far the best."

     Cas stares. I can't tell what his expression means. "Who are you, anymore?"

     The eggs are done and I move them to a serving dish, bringing them to the island with the pancakes. "What do you mean?" I grab plates, sliding one towards him with utensils.

     "People talk and people talk a lot about you."

     "Good things I hope," I say.

     Cas rolls his eyes. "Like you aren't aware that everyone loves you."

     I shrug. "I wasn't, no."

     "Yeah, whatever you say, Mr. Little League Coach."

     Flushing, I look away, turning to grab the juice in the fridge since Cas gave no indication for what he wants. I pour us glasses and then take a seat across from him. This meal is mostly silent, too, but not as tense. Cas puts away like six pancakes and half the eggs. I'm pleased.

     He helps me clean up and it's one of those instances where it feels like no time has passed at all. We move around the kitchen, like we're slow dancing, each step intuitive of the other's.

     We finish and Cas starts to head towards the living room, but I stop him, saying, "I want to tell you something."

     He halts, shoulders getting tense as he turns back to me. "You want to tell me something now, right now, when there is literally no where for me to go inside this tiny ass house when whatever you say pisses me off?"

     I clear my throat, virtually unfazed by his tone at this point. "I'm gonna tell you still, even though you've now clearly set a precedent for how this is gonna go."

     Cas throws his hands up. "Fucking fab."

     I don't hesitate. "I wrote you letters."