SPN BB: World of Sweets and Sours Pt 5

[altyronsmaker]

Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Part 5

Sam was on the cusp of one hell of an orgasm, hips rolling under Cas', skin hot and flushed, and every feeling and sensation coiling tight in his gut, collapsing like a black hole at the start of a big bang.

"Jesus Christ, Sam! Not in the front seat! I gotta sit in that- Oh." Dean's disgusted voice startled Sam's climax right out of him. "Terrific," Dean groused. "You're paying to have that upholstery cleaned, buddy."

"Ah, god," he muttered against Cas' lips, and scrambled out from under Cas's body. He hurled the car door open and hurried out. "Dean. Fuck, I'm-"

"Nope. That's what you were doing. In my car, asshole. And who is that, anyway-" he leaned down to peer into the driver's window. "Oh. Oh, no. Please," he said, jerking away from the window to face Sam. "Do not tell me you were dickin' Castiel in the front seat of my car?! Sammy, you son of a bitch!"

"Dean, I wasn't-"

"The hell you weren't. Just...the hell you weren't, Sam. I can't even..." Dean turned and stomped away from the car and Sam and Cas. "Get dressed. Both of you. We've got work to do."

"Dean!" Sam yelled, his voice echoing in the empty lot. Dean just waved a hand, disgusted and angry. "Shit."

"Castiel," another voice broke the new silence.

Sam turned to face it. "You must be Israfael?"

Fael winced. "Whew. It's been a few millennia since I heard that name. You can call me Fael."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you," Sam spat. "You know, my brother and I, we make a living killing evil sons of bitches like you."

"Sam," Cas said, voice calm as he laid a hand on Sam's back. "Go with Dean. Israfael and I will catch up with you both in a few moments."

"Set him straight, Cas," Sam said, straightening his shirt over his chest and ribs. He looked over at Cas, and started at seeing him fully dressed again, as though nothing, none of the moments in the car, had happened. "Cas?"

Cas turned to him, fond smile curving the left side of his mouth. He inclined his head, and there. Sam saw the purpling bruise he'd left just moments before. Rolling his eyes, Cas sighed, then said, "Go. Talk to your brother."

Sam nodded, then took off across the garage, chasing after an angry Dean. Not his favorite pastime. "Dean!" he called out. "Dean! Wait up. I can explain!"

Dean turned and waited for him. "Explain? Really. You can explain why you were doing god knows what with my-with Cas in my car. I have got to hear this."

"Oh. So now he's your angel?" Sam asked, incredulous. If he'd been yours to begin with, this wouldn't have happened! Or, well, that's not exactly true. It might have happened anyway," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Cas is..." Sam shook his head and shrugged, at a loss for words. "He's just Cas, Dean."

Stepping up into Sam's space, Dean pointed a finger at him. "Sammy. You're my brother, and I...well...I love you, but if you say another word, I will punch you in the face."

Sam eyed Dean, thinking that they were finally getting to the heart of the tension that had been roiling around the three of them for the last two years.

"What'll it take, Dean?" he questioned, his voice low and antagonistic. "You gonna punch me for telling you much he wanted it, how he was hungry for it, moaning like he was starving for me. You wanna know how he tasted, like sunshine and fresh rain? How salty he is when he's hot for it, how soft his feathers are when they brush against my skin?" Sam taunted him.

Dean's hands curled into fists at his side. "Sam."

"Or how his face looks when he comes." Having found the buttons, Sam pressed harder. "How he wraps himself around you and holds on like he's gonna fall apart, like that shell he wears is gonna crack and everything that he is is gonna spill out and burn you up in an instant. It's bliss, Dean," Sam taunted. "Didn't you know that?"

Instead of punching him, Dean simply muttered an angry, "Fuck you, Sam." Then he turned his back and just walked away.

Stunned, Sam could only watch him go in silence.

There was a rustle of the air around him, and Cas and Israfael were standing on either side of him. Israfael asked him, "What the hell did you say to him?"

"Hm." Cas grunted. "I told you to fix this, Sam," he said, turning an accusatory glare up at Sam.

"I don't know..." Sam turned helpless eyes on Cas. "I almost had him. He was this close to telling me about..."

"Damn, kid. I've only known him for two days, and even I know you don't play Dean to try to force his hand." Israfael glanced over at Cas. "You want me to go talk to him?"

Cas nodded.

"Right." Then, on a rush of air, Israfael was gone.

"Neither you nor Dean do anything by halves, do you, Sam?" Cas asked. "Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason why Dean and I are the way we are?"

"I just thought it was his stupid self-sacrificing nature," Sam answered. At Castiel's confusion, he clarified, "He wants you, but he's afraid to have you, so he doesn't try."

"Oh. Well. I could say the same thing about you." Cas sighed. "If it were that simple, I'd have taken care of this before now. Dean's not ready to accept how he feels about me."

Sam looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I'm his savior, Sam. And I've given my life at least twice that he knows of, to save his. There is simply too much meaning wrapped up in all of our history for him to accept that what he feels isn't divine appreciation or simple devotion. He has these notions of religiosity that need to be conquered first."

"There's nothing religious about Dean, Cas," Sam said, shaking his head, a rueful smile curling his lips.

"You're missing the point. I didn't say he was religious. Dean has faith. Not because he believes, but because he knows. He knows that God is out there. That," here he chuckled, "angels are real. And there's a childhood connection to religion that he can't get past. I have eternity, Sam. I can wait it out." Cas faced him. "You don't have to push him on my account. Though, considering what was-or is-happening between you and I, the gesture is very...generous."

Taking a deep breath, Sam asked him, "So what happens now?"

"With what?" Cas asked.

"Are you and I..?" Sam started to ask, but was unable to finish the question. He didn't know what he was even really asking. He just knew he wanted Cas in a way he hadn't considered before. Still, there was Dean to consider, and he doubted Cas would even be interested, despite the kiss-or whatever it had been-in the car.

Cas smiled up at him. "I think I'd like that."

"So would I," Sam said, a shy smile gracing lighting his eyes. "But what about Dean?"

"Well," Cas said, turning back to watch Dean walking with Israfael. "You put a crack in the armor, Sam."

"Cas. I love my brother," Sam stated.

"I know you do. He loves you, as well." Cas looked up at him, knowingly. "I used to watch him sleep, when I brought him back from Hell. He had nightmares, and I knew how to ease them. It became a habit, watching him sleep, watching over him-a habit for both of us." He paused. "He had dreams. After the nightmares diminished. Dreams about you."

"I..."

"And you have dreams about him."

Stunned, Sam could only stammer, "How...What...How did you-"

"It's all right, Sam. We will deal with whatever comes out of this."

"Okay."

They were quiet for a moment, then two, as they watched Israfael walk away with Dean. After the silence became too heavy, Sam took a deep breath. "So what's up with Israfael?"

"It appears as though your brother is a very persuasive individual. And I am not the only angel he has swayed with his...fervor for humanity's destiny."

Running that through his 'Cas Translator' in his brain, Sam guessed, "He's put us in harm's way, huh?"

Cas didn't answer but for a quirk of his eyebrow.

Hands on his hips, Sam said, "We need a plan."

*****

"So," Fael said, coming up along Dean's side. "Your brother's pretty hot. Castiel, too."

Dean glared at him.

"What? I'm just stating the obvious." Fael smiled to himself. Then he pinned Dean with a knowing stare. "But you already knew that. didn't you."

Thrown, Dean stopped walking. "That's just..." He shook his head, and started walking again, picking up his pace. "No, Fael. I'm not discussing this with you. Hell, I'm not discussing this at all."

"Well. It's either you're pissed because Sam was almost having sex with someone else, which means you want him for yourself."

Dean cut a glare out the corner of his eye, and increased his pace again. Fael smiled, keeping up with him easily.

"Or. You're pissed because he was with Castiel. Now, I don't know if you know what Castiel looks like outside of that vessel-and that is a nice vessel he's got-but I can you tell he's out of this world beautiful. I wouldn't blame you at all for wanting him. Or your brother."

Dean stopped. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you? You freakin' angels, man. Bunch of dicks."

"Well. It comes with the territory. Superiority has its perks." Fael gave him a knowing look. "Besides, you spot it, you got it, you know. And apparently, you like it that way."

"What the hell do you want from me, Fael? I mean, what has this whole thing been about?"

"I didn't think that far ahead, Dean," Fael said. "I mean, I was ready to do what I'd done for the last two thousand years. I had those girls ready, was preparing myself and them for what was to come, then you and your brother came into my bar. And you," he said, reaching up to cup Dean's face, "with your bright green eyes and wicked, knowing smile, yet still abashed. I wanted you. I didn't care about who you were or what you were doing or even that you were with Castiel. You were so damned fresh."

Dean closed his eyes. Memories of Hell, of holding Sam in his arms as he died, of their dad possessed and then gone flashed through his mind. "There's nothing fresh or innocent about me, Fael. I feel, sometimes..." He took a ragged breath. "I feel sometimes like I want to die. Just end it all and let it all fall away. But then I remember that death isn't even an end. This job has taught me that. If it's not God or back door deals bringing you back, it's something else.

When it was just helping people and putting the ghosts and demons in their places, I didn't mind so much. But this epic shit has got to go. I'm...I'm just a guy. And...I'm tired."

"Hmm." Fael pulled him in close and wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders. "I asked you before if this was the life you'd pictured for yourself. I was stupid. Of course it's not. No one ever sets out to be a savior. Fate, the universe, God puts that on people. You're going to have to come to terms with your life soon, Dean. Otherwise, you're going to be miserable for the rest of your existence, and you won't even have the shred of happiness that is sitting in front of you waiting to be snatched up."

Dean pulled away. "What are you talking about?"

"You'll find out," Fael replied and placed a guiding hand on Dean's lower back. "Now, let's go figure out how we can get the monkey off my back, so to speak."

"I left my stuff back in the car," Dean said. "You, ah, kidnapped me before Sam and I could check into a hotel."

"I think I've got this one for now," Fael assured him, and he guided Dean down the sidewalk to the hotel. "Besides, I think we should give Sam and Castiel a little privacy, don't you?"

"Hell, no," Dean said immediately, tensing up again.

"You're so precious when you're jealous, you know," Fael said leaning forward to tease Dean. "Your face goes all red along the cheeks, and there's the most delicious set of crows' feet at the corner of your eyes." He frowned. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Oh, fuck you, man. I'm a helluva lot younger than you are."

Fael chuckled, an evil sound if Dean ever heard one. "I know. I bet you've still got all that youthful stamina."

"You're flirting again," Dean said, wary.

Shrugging, Fael said, "And you like it."

Dean slid him a sidelong look. "Maybe." He shrugged. "Now that I know you're not going to be killing anybody."

Tossing his head back in laughter, Fael said, "You're jealous and acting out. There's a part of me that should stand up for my self respect, but I'm an angel, I don't have issues like that. I think I'm going to enjoy tonight immensely."

"And who exactly am I jealous of?"

Fael rolled his eyes. "It's both of them, you idiot. You want your brother. I know it's strange and weird and psychologically problematic for you-I'm beginning to think Uriel was right in calling you people mud monkeys the way you mire yourselves in your arbitrary morality-but you want him. And you're so down deep in love with Castiel it's almost disgusting. But he's moving on, in case you're not aware. He's falling for Sam, hard. And if you want to keep both of them, you're going to have to rethink your paradigm."

Dean itched to respond, but Fael held open a door and ushered him inside.

They walked into the lobby of the hotel, and Fael booked them a room for the next couple of days. Dean thought that was probably a good idea, giving them enough time to come up with a plan to lure Anumati out and end her threat, and rest up before leaving town again.

As they walked down the sidewalk to their room, Dean thought about what Fael had said about him being so damned in love with Castiel, and it just didn't sit right with Dean. He waited until the door clicked shut behind him before he said, "I'm not in love with Cas."

Fael just laughed at him, and started taking off his shirt. "Yeah. You are."

Dean paid attention to Fael getting undressed like it was a course in seduction. There was the slow shrug of his shirt coming off his shoulders and sliding down his arms. Fael held it by the collar as he walked over to the table and chair in the corner of the room. There he draped the shirt over the back of the chair. He rolled his neck as though stretching out a kink, but kept his eyes on Dean the entire time.

Dean swallowed. "Cas and me, we're not like that."

Fael nodded his head. "Not yet, anyway," he said as he tugged his t-shirt over his head and folded it casually before setting it on the seat of the chair. Then he toed off his shoes and placed them carefully next to the leg of the table.

"He saved me."

"I know," Fael agreed, hands at his waist, sliding the buttons of his fly out of their holes. He hooked his thumb into the waist band of his jeans and pushed them down hips, over his buttocks, and down his strong thighs.

"No, I mean, he literally pulled me out of Hell, Fael. People say all the time that others have saved their souls, but Cas really did save my soul." Dean sighed, frustrated at not being able to express this clearly. He was also very confused because Fael was now peeling off his socks and stood naked except for his boxers. "Why are you getting undressed?"

"Take off your coat, Dean," Fael said, and Dean obeyed without protest, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it on the bed next to him. "I know exactly what Castiel has done for you, Dean. The question is, do you know why he's done those things?" Fael crossed the room to stand in front of Dean. "Take off your shirt."

Dean frowned slightly, but lifted the hem of his shirt up and over his head, then tugged it all the way off before tossing it on the bed with his coat.

"You can't know, Dean, what it's like for an angel to touch a human soul. It's bliss," Fael whispered, leaning in close to Dean, invading his space and brushing Dean's cheeks with his lips. "It's ecstasy. Your souls are pure energy, pure power, and they hold every thought and feeling you've ever had. Castiel knows exactly who and what you are or ever were Dean."

"No."

"Yes." Fael's fingers eased into the waist of Dean's jeans, tracing along the edge against Dean's skin until they arrived at the button in the front. With a careful flick of his thumb and forefinger, Fael had Dean's jeans unbuttoned and was sliding the zipper down. "Now think, Dean. Why would Castiel, knowing everything about you as he has since that moment he pulled you out of Hell, willingly sacrifice himself twice for you?"

"I don't..." Dean hissed when the tips of Faels fingers brushed through the coarse hair at his groin.

"Do you really think you're that unworthy, Dean?"

That was the question that had plagued Dean since he met Castiel. "I don't know."

Fael sighed. "That usually is a coward's way of saying 'yes.'"

Dean grabbed Fael's wrist and pulled it out of his pants. "Fine. Then yes. I'm not worthy of someone like Castiel. The things, I've done..." he trailed off, head lowered to stare at the floor.

Fael grabbed his chin and forced Dean to meet his eyes. "Castiel knows everything you've done-in your life and in Hell-and still gave his life for you. What more convincing do you need?" Frowning, Fael let him go. "You know what? Don't answer that. Just...take off your boots, Dean. Sit down on the edge of the bed and take your boots off."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to spend the rest of this night proving to you that, yes, you do deserve some happiness."

And Fael pulled the jeans down Dean's thighs and tossed them over his shoulder. Then all Dean could do was breathe and groan as Fael used every trick of seduction and sex he'd gathered over his millennia on earth to reduce Dean to a quivering mess of nerves and sensation at least three times that night.

The next morning, Dean woke up and sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands, thoroughly disgusted with himself. Fael apparently sensed something was up, because he sat up behind Dean, and draped an arm over Dean's shoulder. "What is it now? I thought for sure I'd worked the kinks out of that horrible self-esteem you have."

"I shouldn't have done this...not with-" Dean stopped himself.

"Not with me."

Dean nodded. "I just...what the hell am I doing here with you?"

Fael sighed. "Well, considering that Sam and Castiel were doing their level best to get over you yesterday, I'd say you're entitled to a little bit of fun-okay, okay. A lot of fun."

"I didn't know. I mean, I was glad when Sam finally loosened up and got his freak on, I was. That's what big brothers are supposed to do. But it sucked, too. Because I... I was just... I always found someone, and it was okay for a while, but..."

"Jealousy's ugly, Dean. Especially when it feels like it's inappropriate. He's your brother, you shouldn't be jealous of him. That's what they say, anyway." Fael shrugged. "Know what I say to that?"

"I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure you're going to tell me." Dean looked at him, shaking his head. "And it's probably going to be irreverent."

"Fuck em. You and Sam are adults. You've sacrificed a lot, some would say too much, for this world. You should do what makes you happy. So people are gonna look at you weird. Who cares? Not like you'll have to live with those people."

"True." Dean agreed, nodding. "Demons and evil sons of bitches, I get. People are nuts."

Fael nodded sagely. "And Castiel?"

Dean sighed softly. He'd heard Fael, understood him, even. But he couldn't help feeling that Cas didn't deserve some low-life hunter who'd already served time in Hell. Cas was a creature of grace and Heaven. Dean knew himself, and he was nothing if not base and ordinary. No way was he good enough to be with Cas. He shrugged and whispered. "I don't know."

"Hm. It seems my work here isn't finished," Fael said, frowning.

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure you were thorough." Dean looked back at him with a self-deprecating smile.

"I know what you are, where you've been. Castiel knows what you are, what you've done," Fael said. "When are you going to learn that none of it matters when contrasted with who you are?" He asked, pulling Dean back down into the bed.

Dean looked up at Fael above him, his amber eyes alight with frustration and lust. Dean shrugged. "When I'm dead, I guess," he said. "Besides, if I want Cas and Sam, like you say, don't you think it's wrong to be fucking you?"

Fael rolled his eyes. "You're missing the point," he muttered and pushed Dean over onto his stomach. He slid back into Dean, gliding in on the left-over slick of their earlier fucking.

"I don't think I did," Dean said, hissing at the burn.

"Shut up," Fael whispered against Dean's back and fucked into him, slow and easy, until Dean panted out those hissing little grunts of breath he liked to hear, until Dean begged for it, filthy-mouthed and demanding.

*****

Two days later, and Dean still hated the plan. "I hate this plan."

Rolling his eyes for the hundredth time in the last three hours, Sam said, "We know. Now shut up." He turned to Chandra, Iahna, and Sela. "I'm, I mean, we're sorry-"

Iahna cut him off. "Save it, Sam. We get it. Dangerous mission, little probability of success, no glory and honor. That might have scared off Ceri and Diana, but we're still in."

"That's not fair," Chandra said. "They have children. I wasn't worth the risk to them, and you should understand that, Iahna." She turned back to Sam. "If we do this, then you can guarantee no more sacrifices?"

Fael nodded. "I can guarantee, no more sacrifices to a moon goddess." He gave them each a friendly smile.

Castiel frowned at him. "That's not entirely accurate. There are other gods and goddesses who will probably, at some point demand sacrifices, but it won't be this one."

Sela glared at the two of them. "Jesus," she muttered and turned to Dean. "Is this his idea of a pep talk?"

"What can I tell ya?" Dean answered with a self-effacing smile.

"Ugh. You're all idiots," she said, and sighed. "Just run through it one more time."

Sam nodded and went over the plan again.

*****

Fael ushered out the last of his customers with a pat on the back and friendly smile. "Sure, Greg, see ya Saturday," he said, waving at the people driving through the lot. Once the bar was empty, he locked the door and turned all the lights on. Hurrying through the tables, he shouted, "Showtime!" and headed up to the left side of the dance floor, where Sam had put the summoning materials.

He rushed through chalking the symbols on the floor, and lit two of the candles before heading back into the stockroom where the girls waited with Sam, Dean and Castiel. "Are you all ready?"

Chandra gave him a nervous smile, but hiked two thumbs up. Sela, quiet and subdued, just nodded. Iahna quirked a brow at him, glaring from behind her glasses. "Hell yes, we're ready. Just summon this bitch down here, so I can get home."

Fael chuckled at Dean's expression, then asked him, "You ready?"

"While I'm not jumping on her bandwagon, I say we get this show on the road. Sam?"

"Yeah. I'm good to go," Sam said, rifling through his duffle bag.

Fael watched him a moment. "What are you looking for?"

Sam kept digging, then grinned up at him, pulling out a sheet of paper. "Just getting my notes."

Dean eyed him. "You need notes, now?"

"Shut up, Dean. I've never done this incantation before, and except for exorcisms, my Latin's a little rusty."

Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Okay." He turned to Cas. "We got one shot at this," he said, gripping the iron blade in his hand.

"I am ready, Dean."

Dean smiled at him. "I know," he said, before turning to Fael. "We're ready."

Fael nodded, and holding an arm out, he ushered the women out of the stockroom and into the bar. "Just head over to the candles. Each of you take a space behind one."

"Why is one of them not burning?" Sela asked.

Fael glanced up at her as he bent to light the last candle. "Because the spell starts as soon as the candles are burning. They sort of get her attention. While she may not show just from the lights, her focus will be this way. If I'd left them burning while I went to get you, she would have had a head start on us."

"Oh. That makes sense."

Fael smiled at her. "Each of you pick up your candle and step into the center of your sigil. Hold the candle inside the circle." He waited while they did as he asked. "Okay. It may get a little weird-heavy silence, strange winds, you might even feel a little out of it. Just don't interrupt the ceremony."

They nodded at him, and he began to speak the words to summon Anumati. As he cast the incantation, the lights over the bar flickered out, one by one. Then the silence fell. He knew he was speaking, but there was no sound, it was as though all the atmosphere had been forced from the room. He could see the women's confusion, but he noticed that they didn't speak, and he had to smile. They were definitely well chosen, and if he'd gone through with the sacrifice, Anumati would have been pleased.

As he finished the incantation, the euphoria hit. He threw back his head and laughed, thankful that Sam, Dean and Cas were still in the stockroom. If they'd been out in the bar, their expression of this sensation would have cost them the element of surprise.

He felt giddy, his face hurt from smiling, but he kept an eye on the women in the sigils. Chandra had her head thrown back, arms held high, letting the candle drip its wax onto her chest. Iahna swayed in place, as though listening to some unheard music, her face was alight with joy. Sela's eyes were closed, her face pinched, as though in pain, and her grip on the candle was so tight her knuckles were white.

As suddenly as the euphoria came on, it was gone, and the atmosphere in the bar returned to normal with a gust of wind. The candles went out.

"The agreement was five women, Israfael."

He turned around and faced her. As always, she was beautiful. Her pale, luminous skin seemed to absorb all light in the room and reflect it back, making her appear to glow. Long black hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in waves. Dark green eyes shone from under black winged brows, and her lush lips curled in a wry smile.

"I only see three," she said, advancing on his position.

"And you won't be getting those three," he replied.

She paused in her advance, a frown marring her brow. "You're breaking our agreement?"

"I am," he said, folding his hands in front of him. "I've received a better offer."

The air grew denser, and the lights over the bar's door exploded. The wind began to rush through the bar, blowing through her hair and audibly rustling the dresses Chandra, Sela, and Iahna wore.

"What makes you think I won't kill you where you stand?" Anumati asked him, her hair billowing out around her face.

"Ladies," he said, turning his head to the side and addressing the women behind him, "I think it's time you left."

They put down their candles, and hurried away from the sigils, heading toward the door at the back of the building.

Anumati cocked her head, her eyes going silver. "I don't think so," she said, and lifted her arms. Several chairs lifted into the air, and hurled themselves toward the escaping women.

Fael threw up a shield, and the chairs exploded against it, giving the women time to get away. When the door slammed shut behind them, he let down the shield.

She glared at him, anger pouring off of her in waves.

"No more sacrifices, Anumati. Not from me, not from anyone."

She smiled, evil and glinting. Fael swallowed, girding himself against her pull.

She was beautiful, ethereal and ephemeral, like the moon she represented. There was a reason she demanded sacrifices on the full moon. Any other time and she wouldn't be at her full power. There was always a time table with the pagans. Dates and times and certain places where their power was at its maximum. Anumati knew hers full well, and used it to destroy those who defied her.

She pulled the tide against sailors who scoffed at her. She knew when to put out the light, and let those who didn't believe in her perish in the blackness that night could be. But when she was made manifest, she was her most dangerous.

There was a gravity about her in this form, an irresistibility that drew all who encountered her to her, sealing their fate. She could consume with a thought, leaving her victims in ineffable despair and ruin. She tilted her head and smiled at him again, her eyes slowly going silver. "Come to me, Israfael," she whispered, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. "Sing with me, and let us stop the heavens," she said.

Fael swallowed again. "No," he forced the word out.

She advanced on him again, seeming to float through the bar toward him. He struggled, but held his ground.

"You know you long for it, the sheer bliss of doing what you were meant to do, being what you were meant to be," she said, leaning into his space, brushing her lips against his face. "Come with me, Israfael."

"Don't you know that 'no' means 'no,' lady?"

She turned to the intruders, and just like that the spell she'd been casting was severed. Fael took a deep breath, and almost laughed.

Dean and Castiel stood just outside the door to the stockroom, daggers held casually down by their thighs.

"Now, why don't you be a good little goddess and leave the man alone," Dean said, cocky grin in place.

"And if I don't?"

"Really? That's what you're going with? The whole, 'and if I don't' routine's been done to death." He looked at Castiel and they shrugged. "But if that's your choice," he said, "if you don't, then, well, I'm gonna have to kill you."

She laughed, a tinkling sound, so out of synch with the very sinister nature of her existence. "And what makes you think you can kill me?"

Dean scratched his head. "Wow. You're just chock full of tried and true one liners. Oh, well." He lifted the dagger. "First, I have this handy dagger right here, which, while it won't outright kill you, will incapacitate your freaky white ass. Second, I've got two angels backing me up, so if you do manage to, you know, accidentally smite me, they can heal me."

She launched herself at Dean, flying through the air to land on him, dragging him to the ground with her hands around his throat. He'd dropped his dagger at the assault, and Fael scurried around the bar and grabbed it. Then he and Cas rushed at the two of them.

Fael struggled to pull Anumati off Dean, and almost succeeded. He had her torso hauled off Dean's and was passing the dagger to Dean, when she reached back and gripped her fingers in his hair. She muttered words he couldn't understand, and suddenly he felt pinned, unable to control his vessel. She'd incapacitated him inside his vessel, ripping the filament between his angelic power and his human body. When he could no longer move, she flung him across the bar. He hit the wall and felt several bones break. From then on, he could only listen-he couldn't even see the battle-as Castiel and Dean struggled against her.

Castiel must have understood what she had done to him, and managed, from what he could tell, to stay out of her reach. He heard Castiel cry out a few times, and the sick sound of flesh tearing rent through the air, followed closely by the coppery tang of blood.

Once he heard Castiel cry out Dean's name, and a rage unlike anything he'd ever experienced reared up inside of him. There were more awful sounds of a brutal fight, and finally, the dull thud of a dagger plunging into resistant flesh, then another. And finally silence.

Fael focused his senses on the other side of the room. Then, if he could have, he'd have laughed. Two sets of footsteps, one limping unevenly and heading his way. The other, heavier and solid, moved along the bar.

"Israfael," Castiel grunted, as he approached. He leaned over Fael's broken body, and Fael was surprised at how bloody and torn up Castiel was. Then he placed his first and middle fingers on Fael's forehead, and whispered a few words. Instantly, Fael was back in control of his vessel. He drew a painful breath and thanked Castiel.

Castiel nodded, helped him up, and they both headed back over to Dean and the incapacitated Anumati.

Dean stumbled warily over to the stockroom door and knocked. "Third," he said, as Sam emerged, whispering his own incantation, "I have my brother, who I think is just finishing the spell-incantation, whatever-to render your ass-" Sam stopped whispering and nodded at Dean, "powerless." Then, like someone pulled a plug, everything luminous and beautiful about her just turned ordinary.

Dean and Castiel wasted no more time in killing her, plunging both daggers into her heart, while Sam decapitated her.

Fael collapsed against the wall, unable to stand anymore, his vessel's injuries too great for him to remain. "Dean," he said.

Dean turned to him, eye wide at seeing his condition. "Fael! What...are you okay?" Dean asked, kneeling at his side.

Fael wanted to laugh, but only said, "No. I'm not all right. Not right now." He rested a hand on Dean's thigh.

"You can...you can use me, you know, if you need to. What you said...about energy and all that. I'll let you."

"And yet you insist you can't be good enough." Fael shook his head. "I can't do that; it's too much risk to you. I know where I need to go; I'll be fine." And he left.

*****

"Where will you go?" Dean asked, but it was too late. Fael was gone, the only thing left of him was the empty vessel.

"You'll be all right, Cas. A little rest and you'll be fine." Sam said, his voice worried.

Dean turned around to see Cas' torso resting in Sam's lap. "Cas?" he said and flew over to them, sliding to a stop next to Sam's thighs.

"Is it true, Cas, what Fael said about souls?" Dean asked. "Can it help you?"

Cas looked up at him with tired, wounded blue eyes. "Yes."

"Then do it!" Dean shouted tugging his shirt up. "Take whatever you need."

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Sam asked, confused.

"It's power, it'll help him," Dean said.

"What?"

"A soul," Dean said. "Cas, take it, please?"

"No."

Sam grabbed Cas' hand and held it to his own abdomen. "If you won't take his, then take mine."

Dean looked at Sam, mouth a flat grim line. "Sammy," he said.

"Please, Cas. I want you to," Sam whispered. "I want to help...to know." He pressed Cas' hand harder into his own flesh, and said again, "Please."

Cas pushed into Sam's flesh, and Sam jerked back, as though in pain, but eventually relaxed and slumped over, exhausted.

Cas took just enough to heal the worst of his injuries and withdrew his hand. He cupped Sam's face and whispered, "Thank you," then turned to Dean. "We should leave."

"What about Fael's vessel?"

Cas stood slowly, holding onto his ribs. "Leave it. Israfael will take care of it when he returns."

"He's coming back?"

Cas just leveled a look at him.

"Okay, I get it, he'll be back," Dan said, holding up his hands.

"Help Sam."

Dean leaned over and tugged Sam to standing, knowing it would be easier to hoist him on to his shoulder if he was standing. He grunted under his brother's weight, but managed it. He let Cas lead the way through the ransacked bar, and out to the Impala. Cas opened the back door and pulled at his coat as though to sit in the back seat. "No, sit up front. I'm going to lay Sam in the back; it'll be easier."

Cas nodded and moved out of Dean's way, so he could lay Sam down. Dean tucked Sam's legs up so they wouldn't be crushed when closed the door, and walked around to the driver's side. He looked at Cas across the roof of the car.

Cas stared back at him, silent.

Dean sighed, and broke the eye contact to climb inside the car He waited for Cas to get in, too.

The sat quietly for a moment, then Dean broke the silence.

"Job's done, I guess," he said. Turning to Cas, he shrugged. "Time to head home."

Cas took a break, and without looking at him, said, "I am not your savior, Dean."

Shaking his head no, Dean started the car, gunning the engine. "We're not talking about this. Ever."

"We're not. I am."

"I don't want to hear what you have to say," Dean growled, hitting the gas hard, causing the tires to spin on the gravel a bit before catching and lurching the car forward and out of the parking lot.

"Whether you want to hear it or not, I'm going to say it," Cas said, more than a little irritated. "We've gone too long, doing things your way, at your insistence. It's not working, anymore." He turned and looked at Dean. "I raised you up from Perdition, Dean, but I am not your savior. There is nothing divine or pure about the way I've come to think about you. I don't even know what these thoughts mean."

"Cas, please."

"I want to touch you. Not in some metaphoric way, not in some holy or divine communion with your soul, though that would be nice as well. No, I want to feel your heat on my fingers. I know you'll be soft and firm at the same time, and the way you smell sometimes, is very distracting. It's like...the greenest fields in the middle of spring next to a waterfall."

"That's probably the soap, Cas." Dean said, watching the road.

"This body reacts to those thoughts in interesting ways. It grows tight."

"You mean hard," Dean corrected, mortified and wishing like hell conversation was over, but knowing he wouldn't be so lucky.

"No. Not that. Though I have had several erections thinking about you," Cas assured him, unaware of just what that did to Dean's ability to concentrate. "Making them go away was difficult."

"Jesus," Dean muttered, and wiped a hand over his face. "Cas-"

"No, I mean tight and hollow. Empty and wanting. I've learned what the feeling is, but not what it means."

"You want me to help you, Cas? Because to be honest, I can't." Dean said.

"You mean you won't," Cas told him, and Dean heard the implication that Cas didn't say. Because you feel it too, and don't want to admit it. Dean looked at him, and Cas turned to face him. "You...want me. You have for a long time."

Dean turned and faced the road again, looking for the cutoff to the highway. He refused to answer.

Sighing, Cas said, "You deserve to know... I want you, too," and disappeared.

Dean pulled over, and rested his head on the steering wheel. "Fuck, Cas. That's not fair." It wasn't a sentiment Dean was wont to admit, because he knew, more so than most, that nothing you get in life, not the good or the bad, is ever fair. But Cas saying those things was just more than he could handle right then. He leaned back against the seat, and sighed.

There was no way he'd be able to drive any kind of distance that night, so he wiped a hand over his face, shook off the daze of Cas' words, and turned the car around, heading back into town to find a motel.

He checked into the first hotel he saw, which was luckily not a dank hole in the wall, but a cozy little ma and pop establishment, with clean quiet rooms and a friendly staff. He realized, when he opened the door, that in his dazed state, he'd forgotten to ask for a double room, and stared at the single bed in the middle of the room. "Dammit." He stepped inside and tossed his and Sam's duffle bags on the chairs by the table, then went out to get his brother, who was still out cold after letting Cas use him for a battery charger.

He carried Sam inside, and laid him as gently as he could on the bed. He took off Sam's boots, coat and overshirt, and debated removing his jeans. Deciding he'd rather have Sam comfortable, and knowing he hated sleeping in his jeans, he made perfunctory work of stripping Sam out of his jeans too. "Sorry, kiddo," he said out loud, "I think you'll thank me in the morning."

When he had Sam situated for the night, he grabbed a fresh t-shirt and boxers from his bag, and went in to take a shower.

He turned the water up as high as it would go, and stripped slowly, checking out every bruise and cut he'd received in his battle with Anumati. There was a dark blue mark on his chest that he knew would be purple by morning. A shallow cut along the back of his arm, where he'd slid across the edge of the bar. Several paler bruises lined his ribs and thighs. It hit him then, seeing all the damage from the fight, how bad he ached and how tired he was. Leaning on the sink, and staring at his reflection in the mirror, he muttered, "It's not the years; it's the mileage."

As he turned away from the mirror, he caught a flash of something dark and purple low on his neck. He examined the spot in the mirror and sighed. It had been a long time since he'd been so out of it to let a bed partner mark him. He lifted his fingers to the spot. As he touched the bruise, he figured out what it was that Fael had been trying to tell him that night. "Huh," he said, and grinned wryly at himself in the mirror, before turning away and stepping into the shower.

The water stung him; the showerhead had great water pressure and tiny holes, so that every drop that hit him was like a stinging hot needle on his skin. It hurt for a moment, and he hissed under the assault, but then the pressure and sharpness started to work like acupuncture to take away the aches and pains of a hard battle. It cleared his mind, and gave him room to think.

Fael was right. He was a miserable bastard. Had been for a very long time. And instead of doing something about it, snatching what little bit of peace he could from his chaotic life, he was almost content to suffer. Like he was meant to be a suffering bastard for all that he'd done. And what was it exactly that he'd done? He was a hunter. He lied, committed fraud, evaded police, and broke the law. All done in the service of his job.

He made a deal to bring his brother back from the dead. You don't deal with demons. Dad always told him that, but then Dad had to go and make a deal with the evil son of a bitch that killed his mom, so maybe he could make deals to save a loved one. So he'd done that. Saved Sam.

And he'd gone to Hell for it.

And spent ten years torturing souls.

But only after he'd been on the rack for thirty years, himself. Anybody would break. Okay, maybe not his dad, what did he know? Alastair could have been lying. Probably was. And why was he holding himself to a dead standard anyway? He wasn't a marine. He wasn't formally trained for that shit. Maybe, he finally admitted to himself-though not out loud-he just wasn't as strong as John Fuckin' Winchester.

Dean squinted his eyes against the pain of that. He wasn't as strong as his dad.

But he'd done more. Killed that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. Saved his brother. Stopped an apocalypse.

Made an angel family.

He opened his eyes. He deserved some fucking good. And if God wasn't going to give it to him, then he was damn well going to take it for himself.

Reaching a decision, Dean finished his shower, scrubbing off the day's grime, and shut off the water.

He dried off, abrading his skin until it was red, then rubbed the towel over his hair. He brushed his teeth, put on his t-shirt and boxers. He left the towel on the floor and crossed over to the bed where Sam lay, unconscious.

Only, now that he really looked, it was less unconscious and more like a deep sleep.

Seeing Sam so relaxed, made him realize how sleepy he was himself, so he pulled back the covers, and climbed into the bed.

For his final act of the day, or the first act of the rest of his life, Dean snatched a little bit of what he wanted. He reached across his brother's body and pulled him close, before stretching out along Sam's longer frame and falling asleep.

*****

Sam woke up hot, pressed into the mattress under an offensive arm. He tried to get up, but that arm pressed tighter against his chest, and a voice murmured a low, "Not yet," next to his ear. Then there were lips on his neck.

Sam jerked away. "Dean?"

Dean lifted his head and frowned at him, his hair sticking up all over his head. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Dean shoved his face into the pillow and groaned. Then he turned back to Sam and said, matter of fact, "I'm snatching my little bit of happiness, Sam."

"By kissing my neck?"

Dean sniffed. "For starters." And off Sam's incredulous look, he shrugged. "Unless you don't want...you know."

"Are you serious?" Sam asked, voice pitched a little higher than he'd like, but unable to take it back.

Dean's face fell, and he started to roll out of bed. Sam realized how his question sounded, and he knew the ball was in his court now. Dean had made the initial step and thought he'd been rejected. Sam immediately put his hand on Dean's back. "Wait," he said, "I didn't mean that the way it sounded." He took a breath. "I do. Of course I do. I have wanted, for a while." He paused again, letting his voice go low. "Stay."

Dean stared at him, eyes narrow, asking silently if Sam was positive, but his mouth never moved.

Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and slid it up and round his neck to bring him down to Sam's level. He kissed Dean's silent mouth, a chaste kiss, lips closed, quick. When he pulled away, Dean's eyes were closed. He smiled. "Stay."

Dean opened his eyes, and settled back down into the bed, draping himself half over Sam, still tentative, until Sam snatched him up and pulled him over on top of himself. Leaning forward, he planted another kiss on Dean's lips, this one nowhere near chaste, but open mouthed, and hot.

When he pulled away again, he asked Dean, "What changed?"

Dean shrugged. Then, enigmatically, replied, "My paradigm."

Sam wanted to ask for clarification, but Dean shook his head, smiling lightly. "Don't ask."

"Okay. I won't. What about Cas?"

Dean took a deep breath, as though preparing himself, and Sam started to smile. "Him, too," Dean said, then looked up at Sam. "If you want."

Smiling, Sam nodded. "Oh yeah," he said, snaking his hand under the edge of Dean's boxers. "I definitely want."

Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4