Semper Futilis
Title: Semper Futilis
Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, past Castiel/Balthazar
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 5,428
Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, disability, suicidal ideation
Summary: All people are broken; some contain it better than others.
The first time Dean came home still drunk after having struck out at the bar, he made it as far as the living room couch before slumping to a seat, wrestling his pants halfway down his thighs, and taking himself in hand. He'd been nursing a semi for ages, since that blonde in a black tank top two sizes smaller than her tits had leaned over the bar next to him to order. She'd laughed at his line, which was shitty, then looked at him and it had turned to pity, which was shittier, but he hadn't merited a guilt-fuck before she returned to her friends. The night had just gone downhill from there.
So it was him and his own devices; between the alcohol-induced lack of coordination and the still-unfamiliar dominance of his left hand, it made his devices feel twice as disappointing compared to having a warm, participating body. But hey, it was stimulation and friction (maybe a little dry, but he couldn't be bothered to go get his lube) and he was getting into it, about to moan at the twist of his fingers up to the head of his cock when he heard Castiel at the top of the stairs.
Biting back the sound, he loosened his grip and stilled his movements, though he made no effort to cover himself. Cas's tread down the steps was slow and deliberate. Halfway down, he paused long enough to call out, "Dean?"
"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Dean sighed, squeezing softly at his unflinching erection.
"I didn't expect you back so soon."
"Didn't expect to be back."
Cas crossed towards the kitchen, passing right behind the couch without comment.
"Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"So you're gay, right?"
Castiel's stillness was audible. Even though they both knew the answer, knew it hadn't been a secret for half a decade, there were eighteen years of strict religious upbringing and three years of seminary and fifteen years in the Marine Corps standing in the way of an easy confirmation.
"Yes," he answered with his first exhaled breath.
"Has it been harder picking up guys? With the whole..." Dean trailed off, not really wanting to let go to make a gesture that Cas would just miss anyway. And using his other hand was entirely out of the question, even if it wouldn't be seen.
"You know I haven't tried, Dean. I imagine it would be. I was unable to maintain a long term relationship before, and though one could argue that blindness and scarring are a lesser inconvenience to a potential partner than being deployed six or nine months out of the year, it's a steep initial hurdle."
"Christ, man, you know I'm not talking about dating. You haven't tried just getting off with anyone since we got out?" Unable to resist, Dean stroked himself a little faster; not enough to come, barely enough to speed up his pulse, but it was getting harder to hold back.
"I don't 'just get off.'" Dean could hear the air quotes in his voice. "And I suspect you don't actually want to talk about my love life. You think you were unsuccessful tonight because of your arm."
"I really don't want to talk about my fucking arm." Irritated enough to stop jacking off, Dean scowled at the prosthetic sticking out of his right sleeve. It was the more realistic-looking of his two forearms, but barely functional. "At least tell me you're having a good time jerkin' it, let me live vicariously through that. My off-hand is not doing it for me right now."
"You," Castiel stopped, shifted his weight, and started again in the harsh, gravelly tone that had been Dean's first introduction to him. "Dean, have you been masturbating this entire time?"
"Sure have, Staff Sergeant," he laughed. "Don't get your panties in a twist, it's not like you can be offended when you can't even see my dick."
That raised an interesting idea, one Dean was drunk enough to pursue. "What was the last dick you saw? Excluding yours, of course."
Cas didn't answer in the loudest way possible, wrenching open a cabinet and feeling for the glass that should have been there, except Dean hadn't done the dishes. He slammed it shut again.
"I bet it was Balthazar's, huh? The weekend before we shipped out to the final cluster. Last dick you'll ever see, and it was that asshole's. For shame!"
"I'm both concerned and irritated by your interest in my carnal knowledge of Balthazar. What's this about?"
"I guess I'm just wondering if you miss touching someone else's cock as much as I miss having someone else touch my cock."
Cas hadn't made it as a career Marine by being a moron, Dean knew, so it was no surprise he immediately caught on. He growled, "You're drunk, Dean. You're drunk and straight and my best friend, so I'm going to do you a favor and forget you suggested that. Sleep it off and don't stain my goddamn couch."
He stalked to the stairs and when his left side hit the wall hard enough to knock down the group photo hanging a few inches away, he didn't even flinch.
- Semper Futilis -
The next time Dean walked into the apartment after a series of unsuccessful pickup attempts, he was a little more drunk and a lot more frustrated. It had been over a month since that night, and though Cas had stayed true to his word and never raised the subject, Dean still hadn't gotten laid and he was thinking about it again.
He found Castiel dozing on the couch with five empty beer bottles lined up on the floor near his foot. With the angle of his head against the backrest, Dean could see the patch of thick scars that cut across his scalp and down the side of his face. The hair in those areas refused to grow back, so once the wounds had healed enough, Cas had started growing the rest to try to cover it. The scruffy hair and untended stubble were a far cry from the clean-shaven high and tight Dean was accustomed to seeing on him, and it was about time to drag him to the barber. Cas may have been self-conscious about the scars, but he drew the line at looking homeless.
Dean walked over and shoved at Cas's shoulder, waiting for a grunt of acknowledgment before he admonished, "You're not supposed to drink with a brain injury, assface."
"That's only if I particularly care about additional brain damage." Cas had always remained remarkably well-spoken when drunk, but Dean could hear the telltale slur.
"Well I care, so fucking stop it. What the hell?"
"Do you ever think you should have left me there?" Dean didn't get a chance to react to that before Cas was continuing, "I think about it. You should have. You'd be whole if not for me, Dean. I'm not worth that sacrifice."
"Fuck you, that's not your call to make! How many times did you save my sorry ass, huh?"
"You deserved it! I'm just a warrior, a tool. I follow orders and I fight and I'm no good for anything else. You're a good man, you have dreams. You were almost out. You could have had the life you always wanted if you'd just left me to die. You could have been happy."
"Maybe, but I didn't. I got you, and yeah, I got fucked up for my troubles. It fucking sucks, but it was my decision. Where the hell do you get off trying to throw that away with your fucking pity party? Fuck that!"
It took Dean a moment to realize he was physically shaking Cas, hand gripped tightly in the man's shirt. He stopped, but kept his fist clenched in the fabric. Irrationally, he wanted to demand that Cas meet his eyes, really look at him in a way he'd never be able to again.
"I'm sorry." Cas slid from the couch, landing on his knees with Dean still holding him by the shirt. He did turn his face up then, teary blue eyes searching uselessly for Dean's. "I'm sorry."
Dean couldn't help the hitch of his breath, the eager twitch of his hips, or the terrible, wonderful idea rearranging itself in his mind at the sight of the man kneeling in front of him.
"You wanna make it up to me, Cas?" he asked. He released his grip and laid his hand reassuringly on Castiel's shoulder instead.
"Dean?"
"Just a favor for a friend, yeah? Doesn't have to be weird. I'm striking out left and right and it's making me feel pretty shitty. I just wanna feel another person, you know?"
Cas's head bowed and his shoulders heaved once. "This will make you happy?" he asked, but his hands were already reaching up to tentatively brush against the front of Dean's thighs through the jeans.
Dean took Cas's right hand in his left and guided it to his zipper; the other followed. "Yeah, Cas, it'll make me real happy."
He dick was straining at his pants by then, and he let out a pleased sigh as Cas freed it through fly and boxers. Cautious fingers traced his length, feeling it out and trembling slightly with the last traces of hesitation. Dean soothed his hand across the top of Cas's head and struggled to keep from pulling reflexively at the first breath of warm air that ghosted across the tip of his cock. Dry lips touched then parted around it so a hot, slick tongue could swirl and press and cradle him in welcome.
"Fuuuuuuuck," he groaned, rocking his hips forward. He tried to be considerate, but it had been so long-that sunburnt Army pfc on base three days before their ill-fated patrol. She'd been young, just starting on her first combat deployment, seeking affirmation and eager to please. When she had sucked him before he'd fucked her, she'd struggled and gagged and backed off to focus on the head. It had been enjoyable enough, especially for a horny guy not spoiled for choice in a war zone, but nothing compared to the way Cas opened to him, took everything in a smooth, wet glide.
So Dean let his hand slip down from where it rested on Castiel's hair until it held the side of his head, encouraging and testing. Cas leaned into the touch and relaxed, letting Dean guide him, and that was exactly what he'd hoped for. He used the grip to push in deeper, slowly, feeling the light drag of Cas's tongue on the underside of his dick while the harder palate slid past almost frictionless.
Soon he was as far in as he could go, Cas's throat clenching around his sensitive glans and an aborted puff of breath stirring his pubic hair from where the other man's nose rested near his belly. Cas didn't inhale, maybe couldn't, so after a moment Dean eased out, paused, and nudged back in. The swipe of a tongue across his head on the out stroke reassured him, spurred him to quicken the pace until he was grunting with every shove, pinning Cas in place with a tight fist in his hair so that all he could do was breathe or swallow around Dean.
It would have been embarrassing how quickly Dean came after that, if not for the fact he was impressed by his own ability to get off with the amount of alcohol in him. It did catch him by surprise, though, jerking him to a frozen spasm halfway into a thrust towards the back of Cas's throat. He dropped his hand to the exposed part of the shaft and worked himself through the orgasm; he stroked and squeezed and shook, then pressed all the way in one last time through the thickness of his own release as Cas tried to swallow it.
He looked down to watch his cock slide free of Cas's lips, seeing for the first time how red his chin and cheeks were from the friction of denim and zipper teeth. Stark against the irritated skin and dark stubble, pale semen leaked out with a dribble of saliva and Cas made no move to wipe it off.
Exhausted and uncoordinated, Dean patted Castiel's cheek sloppily, barely avoiding the come smeared at the chafed corner of his mouth. "That was great, dude," he mumbled, then staggered to his room and collapsed on the bed. He didn't manage to tuck himself back in his pants or remove them entirely before passing out.
- Semper Futilis -
Cas rarely joined Dean on his nights out. He'd never been outgoing, and his need to rely on someone else to see for him had cemented his status as a shut-in. But Benny was in town, and Dean was in a pretty good mood from last night's blowjob, so he scoffed at Cas's quiet suggestion that they stay at the apartment.
"We're gonna show you a proper good time, brother," he promised with an eye roll in Cas's direction. "You're out and you didn't even have to sacrifice a body part for it, we're having a goddamn celebration!"
That was how the three of them ended up in one of Dean's favorite dives, full of people and noise and whiskey. After settling Cas into a worn booth with high-backed wooden benches, the younger men navigated to the counter.
"What's with Novak?" Benny asked after they ordered.
"What do you mean?"
"He ain't himself, you gotta see that. Now, I know I haven't known him as long or as close as you, but I have never known our staff sergeant not to argue you to the ground just to be ornery."
"Fuck yes he's changed, Benny." Dean's voice came out harsher than he intended, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he looked between his friends. "Stuff that happened to us, it changes a guy. Hell, I'm fucked from it and I can still function on my own, hold down a job. I mean, it's sales and it's shitty, but I can do it. Cas can't go anywhere without me. He didn't just lose his sight, he lost his whole sense of worth and purpose. I'm trying to help him through it, but it's gonna take time."
"You don't think that's too much to put on yourself, brother? You got your own healing to do, ain't no shame in finding someone to help you both out now and then, teach him some things. Plenty of blind folk live just fine on their own."
Their beers and shots arrived, and Benny juggled most of them so that Dean didn't have to try and make his prosthetic grip without dropping or shattering the glass. Before they made their way back to the table, Dean said, "We're doing okay by ourselves for now. You're not wrong, but Cas doesn't want anyone else to see him like this, especially strangers. It was hard convincing him to let you stay."
"Then I wish you nothin' but the best. You're a good man, Dean."
Dean guided the one bottle he held into Cas's hand as he sat next to him, then took his own from Benny and asked after some other guys in their squad. The conversation ranged from there to complaints about the rations and gossip about fraternization in the brass. Throughout, Cas was silent probably because he couldn't see the concerned looks Benny kept shooting between him and Dean. After the third attempt to involve him, Dean shrugged helplessly and Benny returned it.
An hour or two in, Dean declared it was time to get serious about the ladies. Benny had first pick, of course, but Dean was getting off tonight after he'd played wingman. If he didn't find anyone at the bar, it would be time to shave Cas's scruff again. Dean appreciated Castiel's willingness as a consolation prize, but he could only deal with so much beard burn in the name of sexual gratification.
The first time he'd brought it up, it had led to an argument that had almost undone all of Dean's hard work talking Cas into a fourth instance of post-unsuccessful-pickup head.
"Look, do what you want," he'd said after twenty minutes of arguing the point with Cas. "I'm just saying, if the hobo beard stays, I'm not gonna keep letting you do this."
"Letting me? I'm doing this for you, Dean!"
"Really, Cas? I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but you honestly think I believe you keep sucking my dick out of the entirely selfless goodness of your heart? I know you're not holding out for reciprocation, I don't do dudes, and it's not like I haven't noticed you don't even get hard." Cas had frozen at the accusation and Dean almost regretted it, but had pushed on instead. "It's okay, it helps with the guilt, that's fine. We've both been getting something out of it, that's great, but it's not gonna keep working for me like this. Don't you want me to be happy?"
He'd let Cas swallow him down then, because he was too drunk to be trusted with a razor near someone's neck, but the next morning he had carefully scraped away the stubble and enjoyed the feel of soft, smooth skin against him as he came down Cas's throat.
He no longer needed to convince Cas of anything; being clean-shaven and sucking cock were just things Cas did, for him, as a friend.
And probably would do again, because the night wasn't looking promising. Benny had departed with a wave, a hot piece of Greek ass, and a promise to call in the morning. Sighing as he knocked his head back against the bench, Dean said, "One more before I call it a bust. You want anything?"
Cas shook his head, so Dean left him at the table and lounged against the bar, surveying the room as he waited for the bartender's attention.
"Dean?" The voice was feminine, a soothing alto that he couldn't place until he turned to his left. The woman before him was just as hot as she'd been when they spent a weekend together almost a decade ago. He wondered if she was still as flexible, too. He was as surprised as she'd sounded, but mustered up the charm that had scored her years ago and flashed a grin.
"Lisa?"
"Wow! How long has it been? I can't believe it's you, how are you?"
She let him buy her a drink, and when she saw his fake arm didn't look disgusted or pitying, just a little sad. As one drink turned into two, they exchanged horror stories: his last tour in the suck for a home invasion robbery two years ago that had killed her boyfriend, the father of her son. During the third round, a commotion broke out at the table where he'd left Cas.
"Stop staring at my girl's ass, you fuckin' sicko!" a man yelled. He had a hand grasped tightly in Cas's shirt and a blonde stick of a girlfriend looking indignant behind him.
It was only the sudden quiet of the bar that allowed Dean to hear his friend's soft reply: "I'm incapable of seeing her posterior, much less staring at it. Let go of me."
The man didn't, instead bringing his other hand up to grab at Cas's neck, and that moment was all the time he was given before Cas seized his wrist and twisted until a loud pop shot through the silence.
Cas let go and stood, bracing his back against the shoulder-high side of the bench. "I did tell you not to touch me. Seek medical attention for that, it's dislocated."
"Shit, I gotta go deal with that," Dean apologized. "He's with me, the guy I was telling you about, actually. But... can I get your number? I'd really like to do this again."
"That's the man you saved in the war? Of course, go take care of him!" She rummaged in her purse for a pen and scribbled on a coaster, which she stuck in his back pocket with a wink. "When you've got some time off from being a hero, give me a call."
Dean's pleased smile faded as soon as he reached Cas. Digging hard fingers into his arm, ignoring the other man whimpering on the ground and the woman sobbing over him, Dean snarled, "What the fuck, Cas! You couldn't go ten minutes without making a scene when I was finally getting lucky? Fine, you win, we're leaving."
"You were gone for an hour," Cas said as he struggled to keep up, all the cold power gone from his voice and only a tentative accusation left in its place. "You left me there and I waited, I gave you time even though you fucking left me by myself in a strange bar full of drunk assholes I can't even fucking see, and this is not my fault!" Cas was shouting by the time Dean pushed him through the door, and though he stumbled slightly at the changed texture of the asphalt, he righted himself and jabbed an angry finger in Dean's general direction.
"This was your idea, you wanted to show off for Benny and get laid. Fine, but don't drag me into it and then abandon me when something better comes along! I can't-" he broke off, voice cracking, and slumped as the fury abandoned him. "I can't defend myself like this, not against someone who really wants to hurt me. I'm not used to being this vulnerable, and Dean, it scares me.
"I'm sorry," he finished in a whisper. "I'm sorry I ruined your night. I didn't mean to."
"I know," Dean rubbed a calming hand up and down Cas's arm, soothing away his own bruising grip, "I know, and I'm sorry too. I overreacted. You know I'm happy to take care of you, Cas. You're my best friend. You're like family to me. I just get exhausted sometimes. I need some me time, and you know how depressed I've been, but I never meant for it to be at your expense. Come on, let's get you home and we'll both be okay in the morning."
"Did I really mess things up for you?" Cas asked as they walked more carefully to the car.
"Yeah, but maybe I can try to fix it or something. I got her number, hopefully she won't be as freaked out in a few days."
"I'm sorry," Cas repeated miserably. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Dean brushed his thumb along Castiel's bottom lip gently before closing the door and getting in himself. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."
- Semper Futilis -
The door shut loudly behind Dean when he returned from Lisa's weeks later, not quite slamming but dangerously close. Cas, sitting on the couch meditatively rolling something metallic in his fingers, tensed at the sound.
"Dean?"
"Ben woke up." Dean jerkily shrugged off one sleeve of his jacket, then yanked the other over his prosthetic and threw the coat into a corner. "He had a nightmare about the robbery and came in crying just when things were getting good, so Lis thought I should go. I feel for the kid, I do, but fuck my balls ache."
Wordlessly, Cas stood and turned and knelt before the couch, head cocked towards Dean. His face was blank even as Dean's split into a grin. Undoing his jeans as he made his way over, Dean settled on the cushion in front of Cas. "You are too good to me," he said, guiding Castiel down to his crotch.
He let Cas work him for a few minutes, relaxed against the back of the couch to passively accept the efforts of lips and hands and tongue and suction. It was good, it was always good, but after the frustration he'd suffered it just wasn't enough. He wanted it rough and fast and he doubted that even holding Cas down for Dean to pound his throat would satisfy.
Instead, he pushed a few fingers against Cas's forehead to ease the man off his dick. "Let me fuck you."
The object in Castiel's hand dropped to the carpet with a soft noise, and Dean glanced down to see a cartridge: silver casing, blackened copper bullet with a pronounced dent at the tip. Cas scrambled to his feet; he reached for the arm of the sofa to steady himself, but he'd misjudged his position and nearly fell again.
Dean waited, impatient but silent, as Cas slid a cautious foot along the floor until he found the edge of couch and grasped it tightly in both hands, moving around to place the furniture as a barrier between them.
"No," Cas said, but it sounded a lot more like a question than a refusal.
"I think so, yeah," Dean countered. "I think I want to fuck you, and you're going to let me."
"You don't-you're not gay."
"Not even a little, but I can pretend your ass is a girl's just as well as your mouth. You think I've never done anal, really? If that's your only argument, you might as well get back here and bend over."
"I don't want to have sex with you, Dean."
"What, you think you're saving yourself for someone better? Who, Balth? He dropped you every deployment and called you in the hospital to tell you to lose his number because he can't be your babysitter. Or am I missing the eligible men parading through here every night, because you sure as shit never leave to meet anyone."
"I don't need sex."
"Maybe, maybe not, but I do. And you're going to give it to me, just like you've given me everything else, because that's how this works. Right?" Dean stood and Cas backed away at the sound, almost tripping before he made contact with the wall and clutched at it like it could save him. "You're going to let me have this because it will make me very, very happy."
The noise Castiel made brought back memories of mothers grieving over shredded children in the unforgiving desert, and Dean hated it. Hated Cas for it, a little.
"Tell me this is okay, Cas," he whispered. He crowded his friend against the wall, good arm braced above his head, and Cas-Staff Sergeant Novak, always sure and strong, the man who had trained him as an infantryman and pulled him to safety in his first firefight, who kept him alive through his first two tours-trembled against him, sightless eyes down, back slumped into the plaster.
"Tell me I can do this," Dean coaxed into his ear.
With a choked breath, Castiel nodded.
"Good. That's good." Cas flinched as Dean stroked down the side of his face, then took his wrist and led him back to the couch. He was unresisting as Dean pushed him back to his knees and pressed his face and chest against the cushion.
"Stay there," Dean instructed as he went towards his room for supplies. "Well, take off your pants and tighty-whiteys or whatever."
When Dean returned, Cas had folded pants and underwear-blue boxers-in a tidy pile next to him for easy retrieval. He'd left his shirt on. It stretched over the hunched arc of his back, his arms supporting his weight on the couch while also hiding his face from sight, and Dean could work with that.
"Dean," Cas gasped in pain as a lubed finger eased in.
"You're fine," Dean assured him, twisting and nudging until the third knuckle was flush with Cas's ass. "It's been a while, you'll get used to it again. Try not to make noise, yeah?"
Dean's finger pulling back out earned a quiet whimper, but the next round of working the digit in was met with silence. He moved quickly, one finger becoming two and stretching efficiently, if not particularly gently.
Cas only reacted again when he felt the head of Dean's cock press against him; he jerked forward as much as he could before Dean grabbed the back of his neck to still him. "Condom? Please," he said, hoarse voice little more than a whisper.
Dean chuckled and pushed harder into the ring of muscle. "Nah, we don't need one. I use one with Lisa, and anyway, you've never complained about it with the blowjobs. A little late to be getting precious about it now, isn't it?"
He slid in, as gently as he could be bothered with in his urgency, and basked in the uncontrolled clench it earned him. Taking a few moments to savor the embrace of the tight passage and the intensity of bare skin, neither of which he got with Lisa, he allowed a few slow, shallow rolls of his hips, barely dragging his dick out an inch before sinking deeper again.
"Oh fuck yeah," he groaned, "this is what I needed."
He couldn't hold back for long, and soon he pulled out further, shoved in faster, fucked the pliant body beneath him as hard as he'd been aching to. His hand forced Cas's head down into the cradle of his own arms as Dean rested more weight on it. Panting and swearing with each thrust, Dean only made it a few more minutes before a last, rough stroke had him spilling into Cas. He ground his orgasm into the man, wringing out every drop he could before he got too sensitive.
After he pulled out and wiped himself clean with Cas's underwear, he bent to retrieve the bullet glinting between Cas's knees. Folding it into a hand damp from the face pressed against it, he said, "You dropped this."
He left then, with Cas still bent over the couch and naked below the waist and shaking.
- Semper Futilis -
After six months, Dean moved in with Lisa and Ben. He visited the old apartment, where Cas lived alone, at least three times a week.
"It's so great that he has you to take care of him," Lisa told him. "You're such a good friend. Semper Fi, I guess, right?"
"He's weird," Ben complained the first time Lisa talked him into talking Cas into joining them for dinner, after Dean had led their guest to the bathroom. "He doesn't talk and he just stares at you all the time. I mean, I know he's not really staring, but it's like he doesn't even care that it's creepy."
"Stop staring at me in front of the kid," Dean said as he slammed in over and over, bruising Cas against the trunk of the Impala. "And you could at least try to pretend you're grateful for Lisa inviting you over and cooking for you."
The next month, Cas kept his eyes down and thanked Lisa for the wonderful meal and added a few quiet contributions to discussions on Ben's football games and Dean's promotion. Pulling Cas's pants down his thighs against the closed door of the apartment afterwards, Dean felt something hard and cylindrical in the pocket. He found the same bullet Cas had been fiddling with before the first time Dean fucked him.
"Why do you have that?" he asked as he shoved the first finger in. "What would you even do with it if someone was stupid enough to give you a gun?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," Cas whispered to the floor.
- Semper Futilis -
Dean got married and Cas sat in the front row, because having to wrangle a blind groomsman just would've made the day more stressful for everyone. Still, Dean was kind enough to drive him home after the ceremony, before leaving with Lisa and Ben for the quasi-honeymoon, and the first person Dean fucked after the wedding was not his wife.
Dean had a little girl and named her Mary Ellen. Cas never went to her birthday parties, or Ben's, because the day was about them, not looking after their useless uncle, and it wasn't like he really left the house anyway. He always gave Dean money for presents, though-RC cars and stuffed animals and tickets to the zoo-and Dean always told him how happy it made them.
Dean spent most of his lunch breaks at Cas's apartment. Every time he reached into Castiel's pocket, he found three things: a packet of lube, which he used; a condom, which he didn't; and a Winchester Black Talon hollow-point round, warmed by the heat of Cas's body.
Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, past Castiel/Balthazar
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 5,428
Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, disability, suicidal ideation
Summary: All people are broken; some contain it better than others.
The first time Dean came home still drunk after having struck out at the bar, he made it as far as the living room couch before slumping to a seat, wrestling his pants halfway down his thighs, and taking himself in hand. He'd been nursing a semi for ages, since that blonde in a black tank top two sizes smaller than her tits had leaned over the bar next to him to order. She'd laughed at his line, which was shitty, then looked at him and it had turned to pity, which was shittier, but he hadn't merited a guilt-fuck before she returned to her friends. The night had just gone downhill from there.
So it was him and his own devices; between the alcohol-induced lack of coordination and the still-unfamiliar dominance of his left hand, it made his devices feel twice as disappointing compared to having a warm, participating body. But hey, it was stimulation and friction (maybe a little dry, but he couldn't be bothered to go get his lube) and he was getting into it, about to moan at the twist of his fingers up to the head of his cock when he heard Castiel at the top of the stairs.
Biting back the sound, he loosened his grip and stilled his movements, though he made no effort to cover himself. Cas's tread down the steps was slow and deliberate. Halfway down, he paused long enough to call out, "Dean?"
"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Dean sighed, squeezing softly at his unflinching erection.
"I didn't expect you back so soon."
"Didn't expect to be back."
Cas crossed towards the kitchen, passing right behind the couch without comment.
"Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"So you're gay, right?"
Castiel's stillness was audible. Even though they both knew the answer, knew it hadn't been a secret for half a decade, there were eighteen years of strict religious upbringing and three years of seminary and fifteen years in the Marine Corps standing in the way of an easy confirmation.
"Yes," he answered with his first exhaled breath.
"Has it been harder picking up guys? With the whole..." Dean trailed off, not really wanting to let go to make a gesture that Cas would just miss anyway. And using his other hand was entirely out of the question, even if it wouldn't be seen.
"You know I haven't tried, Dean. I imagine it would be. I was unable to maintain a long term relationship before, and though one could argue that blindness and scarring are a lesser inconvenience to a potential partner than being deployed six or nine months out of the year, it's a steep initial hurdle."
"Christ, man, you know I'm not talking about dating. You haven't tried just getting off with anyone since we got out?" Unable to resist, Dean stroked himself a little faster; not enough to come, barely enough to speed up his pulse, but it was getting harder to hold back.
"I don't 'just get off.'" Dean could hear the air quotes in his voice. "And I suspect you don't actually want to talk about my love life. You think you were unsuccessful tonight because of your arm."
"I really don't want to talk about my fucking arm." Irritated enough to stop jacking off, Dean scowled at the prosthetic sticking out of his right sleeve. It was the more realistic-looking of his two forearms, but barely functional. "At least tell me you're having a good time jerkin' it, let me live vicariously through that. My off-hand is not doing it for me right now."
"You," Castiel stopped, shifted his weight, and started again in the harsh, gravelly tone that had been Dean's first introduction to him. "Dean, have you been masturbating this entire time?"
"Sure have, Staff Sergeant," he laughed. "Don't get your panties in a twist, it's not like you can be offended when you can't even see my dick."
That raised an interesting idea, one Dean was drunk enough to pursue. "What was the last dick you saw? Excluding yours, of course."
Cas didn't answer in the loudest way possible, wrenching open a cabinet and feeling for the glass that should have been there, except Dean hadn't done the dishes. He slammed it shut again.
"I bet it was Balthazar's, huh? The weekend before we shipped out to the final cluster. Last dick you'll ever see, and it was that asshole's. For shame!"
"I'm both concerned and irritated by your interest in my carnal knowledge of Balthazar. What's this about?"
"I guess I'm just wondering if you miss touching someone else's cock as much as I miss having someone else touch my cock."
Cas hadn't made it as a career Marine by being a moron, Dean knew, so it was no surprise he immediately caught on. He growled, "You're drunk, Dean. You're drunk and straight and my best friend, so I'm going to do you a favor and forget you suggested that. Sleep it off and don't stain my goddamn couch."
He stalked to the stairs and when his left side hit the wall hard enough to knock down the group photo hanging a few inches away, he didn't even flinch.
- Semper Futilis -
The next time Dean walked into the apartment after a series of unsuccessful pickup attempts, he was a little more drunk and a lot more frustrated. It had been over a month since that night, and though Cas had stayed true to his word and never raised the subject, Dean still hadn't gotten laid and he was thinking about it again.
He found Castiel dozing on the couch with five empty beer bottles lined up on the floor near his foot. With the angle of his head against the backrest, Dean could see the patch of thick scars that cut across his scalp and down the side of his face. The hair in those areas refused to grow back, so once the wounds had healed enough, Cas had started growing the rest to try to cover it. The scruffy hair and untended stubble were a far cry from the clean-shaven high and tight Dean was accustomed to seeing on him, and it was about time to drag him to the barber. Cas may have been self-conscious about the scars, but he drew the line at looking homeless.
Dean walked over and shoved at Cas's shoulder, waiting for a grunt of acknowledgment before he admonished, "You're not supposed to drink with a brain injury, assface."
"That's only if I particularly care about additional brain damage." Cas had always remained remarkably well-spoken when drunk, but Dean could hear the telltale slur.
"Well I care, so fucking stop it. What the hell?"
"Do you ever think you should have left me there?" Dean didn't get a chance to react to that before Cas was continuing, "I think about it. You should have. You'd be whole if not for me, Dean. I'm not worth that sacrifice."
"Fuck you, that's not your call to make! How many times did you save my sorry ass, huh?"
"You deserved it! I'm just a warrior, a tool. I follow orders and I fight and I'm no good for anything else. You're a good man, you have dreams. You were almost out. You could have had the life you always wanted if you'd just left me to die. You could have been happy."
"Maybe, but I didn't. I got you, and yeah, I got fucked up for my troubles. It fucking sucks, but it was my decision. Where the hell do you get off trying to throw that away with your fucking pity party? Fuck that!"
It took Dean a moment to realize he was physically shaking Cas, hand gripped tightly in the man's shirt. He stopped, but kept his fist clenched in the fabric. Irrationally, he wanted to demand that Cas meet his eyes, really look at him in a way he'd never be able to again.
"I'm sorry." Cas slid from the couch, landing on his knees with Dean still holding him by the shirt. He did turn his face up then, teary blue eyes searching uselessly for Dean's. "I'm sorry."
Dean couldn't help the hitch of his breath, the eager twitch of his hips, or the terrible, wonderful idea rearranging itself in his mind at the sight of the man kneeling in front of him.
"You wanna make it up to me, Cas?" he asked. He released his grip and laid his hand reassuringly on Castiel's shoulder instead.
"Dean?"
"Just a favor for a friend, yeah? Doesn't have to be weird. I'm striking out left and right and it's making me feel pretty shitty. I just wanna feel another person, you know?"
Cas's head bowed and his shoulders heaved once. "This will make you happy?" he asked, but his hands were already reaching up to tentatively brush against the front of Dean's thighs through the jeans.
Dean took Cas's right hand in his left and guided it to his zipper; the other followed. "Yeah, Cas, it'll make me real happy."
He dick was straining at his pants by then, and he let out a pleased sigh as Cas freed it through fly and boxers. Cautious fingers traced his length, feeling it out and trembling slightly with the last traces of hesitation. Dean soothed his hand across the top of Cas's head and struggled to keep from pulling reflexively at the first breath of warm air that ghosted across the tip of his cock. Dry lips touched then parted around it so a hot, slick tongue could swirl and press and cradle him in welcome.
"Fuuuuuuuck," he groaned, rocking his hips forward. He tried to be considerate, but it had been so long-that sunburnt Army pfc on base three days before their ill-fated patrol. She'd been young, just starting on her first combat deployment, seeking affirmation and eager to please. When she had sucked him before he'd fucked her, she'd struggled and gagged and backed off to focus on the head. It had been enjoyable enough, especially for a horny guy not spoiled for choice in a war zone, but nothing compared to the way Cas opened to him, took everything in a smooth, wet glide.
So Dean let his hand slip down from where it rested on Castiel's hair until it held the side of his head, encouraging and testing. Cas leaned into the touch and relaxed, letting Dean guide him, and that was exactly what he'd hoped for. He used the grip to push in deeper, slowly, feeling the light drag of Cas's tongue on the underside of his dick while the harder palate slid past almost frictionless.
Soon he was as far in as he could go, Cas's throat clenching around his sensitive glans and an aborted puff of breath stirring his pubic hair from where the other man's nose rested near his belly. Cas didn't inhale, maybe couldn't, so after a moment Dean eased out, paused, and nudged back in. The swipe of a tongue across his head on the out stroke reassured him, spurred him to quicken the pace until he was grunting with every shove, pinning Cas in place with a tight fist in his hair so that all he could do was breathe or swallow around Dean.
It would have been embarrassing how quickly Dean came after that, if not for the fact he was impressed by his own ability to get off with the amount of alcohol in him. It did catch him by surprise, though, jerking him to a frozen spasm halfway into a thrust towards the back of Cas's throat. He dropped his hand to the exposed part of the shaft and worked himself through the orgasm; he stroked and squeezed and shook, then pressed all the way in one last time through the thickness of his own release as Cas tried to swallow it.
He looked down to watch his cock slide free of Cas's lips, seeing for the first time how red his chin and cheeks were from the friction of denim and zipper teeth. Stark against the irritated skin and dark stubble, pale semen leaked out with a dribble of saliva and Cas made no move to wipe it off.
Exhausted and uncoordinated, Dean patted Castiel's cheek sloppily, barely avoiding the come smeared at the chafed corner of his mouth. "That was great, dude," he mumbled, then staggered to his room and collapsed on the bed. He didn't manage to tuck himself back in his pants or remove them entirely before passing out.
- Semper Futilis -
Cas rarely joined Dean on his nights out. He'd never been outgoing, and his need to rely on someone else to see for him had cemented his status as a shut-in. But Benny was in town, and Dean was in a pretty good mood from last night's blowjob, so he scoffed at Cas's quiet suggestion that they stay at the apartment.
"We're gonna show you a proper good time, brother," he promised with an eye roll in Cas's direction. "You're out and you didn't even have to sacrifice a body part for it, we're having a goddamn celebration!"
That was how the three of them ended up in one of Dean's favorite dives, full of people and noise and whiskey. After settling Cas into a worn booth with high-backed wooden benches, the younger men navigated to the counter.
"What's with Novak?" Benny asked after they ordered.
"What do you mean?"
"He ain't himself, you gotta see that. Now, I know I haven't known him as long or as close as you, but I have never known our staff sergeant not to argue you to the ground just to be ornery."
"Fuck yes he's changed, Benny." Dean's voice came out harsher than he intended, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he looked between his friends. "Stuff that happened to us, it changes a guy. Hell, I'm fucked from it and I can still function on my own, hold down a job. I mean, it's sales and it's shitty, but I can do it. Cas can't go anywhere without me. He didn't just lose his sight, he lost his whole sense of worth and purpose. I'm trying to help him through it, but it's gonna take time."
"You don't think that's too much to put on yourself, brother? You got your own healing to do, ain't no shame in finding someone to help you both out now and then, teach him some things. Plenty of blind folk live just fine on their own."
Their beers and shots arrived, and Benny juggled most of them so that Dean didn't have to try and make his prosthetic grip without dropping or shattering the glass. Before they made their way back to the table, Dean said, "We're doing okay by ourselves for now. You're not wrong, but Cas doesn't want anyone else to see him like this, especially strangers. It was hard convincing him to let you stay."
"Then I wish you nothin' but the best. You're a good man, Dean."
Dean guided the one bottle he held into Cas's hand as he sat next to him, then took his own from Benny and asked after some other guys in their squad. The conversation ranged from there to complaints about the rations and gossip about fraternization in the brass. Throughout, Cas was silent probably because he couldn't see the concerned looks Benny kept shooting between him and Dean. After the third attempt to involve him, Dean shrugged helplessly and Benny returned it.
An hour or two in, Dean declared it was time to get serious about the ladies. Benny had first pick, of course, but Dean was getting off tonight after he'd played wingman. If he didn't find anyone at the bar, it would be time to shave Cas's scruff again. Dean appreciated Castiel's willingness as a consolation prize, but he could only deal with so much beard burn in the name of sexual gratification.
The first time he'd brought it up, it had led to an argument that had almost undone all of Dean's hard work talking Cas into a fourth instance of post-unsuccessful-pickup head.
"Look, do what you want," he'd said after twenty minutes of arguing the point with Cas. "I'm just saying, if the hobo beard stays, I'm not gonna keep letting you do this."
"Letting me? I'm doing this for you, Dean!"
"Really, Cas? I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but you honestly think I believe you keep sucking my dick out of the entirely selfless goodness of your heart? I know you're not holding out for reciprocation, I don't do dudes, and it's not like I haven't noticed you don't even get hard." Cas had frozen at the accusation and Dean almost regretted it, but had pushed on instead. "It's okay, it helps with the guilt, that's fine. We've both been getting something out of it, that's great, but it's not gonna keep working for me like this. Don't you want me to be happy?"
He'd let Cas swallow him down then, because he was too drunk to be trusted with a razor near someone's neck, but the next morning he had carefully scraped away the stubble and enjoyed the feel of soft, smooth skin against him as he came down Cas's throat.
He no longer needed to convince Cas of anything; being clean-shaven and sucking cock were just things Cas did, for him, as a friend.
And probably would do again, because the night wasn't looking promising. Benny had departed with a wave, a hot piece of Greek ass, and a promise to call in the morning. Sighing as he knocked his head back against the bench, Dean said, "One more before I call it a bust. You want anything?"
Cas shook his head, so Dean left him at the table and lounged against the bar, surveying the room as he waited for the bartender's attention.
"Dean?" The voice was feminine, a soothing alto that he couldn't place until he turned to his left. The woman before him was just as hot as she'd been when they spent a weekend together almost a decade ago. He wondered if she was still as flexible, too. He was as surprised as she'd sounded, but mustered up the charm that had scored her years ago and flashed a grin.
"Lisa?"
"Wow! How long has it been? I can't believe it's you, how are you?"
She let him buy her a drink, and when she saw his fake arm didn't look disgusted or pitying, just a little sad. As one drink turned into two, they exchanged horror stories: his last tour in the suck for a home invasion robbery two years ago that had killed her boyfriend, the father of her son. During the third round, a commotion broke out at the table where he'd left Cas.
"Stop staring at my girl's ass, you fuckin' sicko!" a man yelled. He had a hand grasped tightly in Cas's shirt and a blonde stick of a girlfriend looking indignant behind him.
It was only the sudden quiet of the bar that allowed Dean to hear his friend's soft reply: "I'm incapable of seeing her posterior, much less staring at it. Let go of me."
The man didn't, instead bringing his other hand up to grab at Cas's neck, and that moment was all the time he was given before Cas seized his wrist and twisted until a loud pop shot through the silence.
Cas let go and stood, bracing his back against the shoulder-high side of the bench. "I did tell you not to touch me. Seek medical attention for that, it's dislocated."
"Shit, I gotta go deal with that," Dean apologized. "He's with me, the guy I was telling you about, actually. But... can I get your number? I'd really like to do this again."
"That's the man you saved in the war? Of course, go take care of him!" She rummaged in her purse for a pen and scribbled on a coaster, which she stuck in his back pocket with a wink. "When you've got some time off from being a hero, give me a call."
Dean's pleased smile faded as soon as he reached Cas. Digging hard fingers into his arm, ignoring the other man whimpering on the ground and the woman sobbing over him, Dean snarled, "What the fuck, Cas! You couldn't go ten minutes without making a scene when I was finally getting lucky? Fine, you win, we're leaving."
"You were gone for an hour," Cas said as he struggled to keep up, all the cold power gone from his voice and only a tentative accusation left in its place. "You left me there and I waited, I gave you time even though you fucking left me by myself in a strange bar full of drunk assholes I can't even fucking see, and this is not my fault!" Cas was shouting by the time Dean pushed him through the door, and though he stumbled slightly at the changed texture of the asphalt, he righted himself and jabbed an angry finger in Dean's general direction.
"This was your idea, you wanted to show off for Benny and get laid. Fine, but don't drag me into it and then abandon me when something better comes along! I can't-" he broke off, voice cracking, and slumped as the fury abandoned him. "I can't defend myself like this, not against someone who really wants to hurt me. I'm not used to being this vulnerable, and Dean, it scares me.
"I'm sorry," he finished in a whisper. "I'm sorry I ruined your night. I didn't mean to."
"I know," Dean rubbed a calming hand up and down Cas's arm, soothing away his own bruising grip, "I know, and I'm sorry too. I overreacted. You know I'm happy to take care of you, Cas. You're my best friend. You're like family to me. I just get exhausted sometimes. I need some me time, and you know how depressed I've been, but I never meant for it to be at your expense. Come on, let's get you home and we'll both be okay in the morning."
"Did I really mess things up for you?" Cas asked as they walked more carefully to the car.
"Yeah, but maybe I can try to fix it or something. I got her number, hopefully she won't be as freaked out in a few days."
"I'm sorry," Cas repeated miserably. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Dean brushed his thumb along Castiel's bottom lip gently before closing the door and getting in himself. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."
- Semper Futilis -
The door shut loudly behind Dean when he returned from Lisa's weeks later, not quite slamming but dangerously close. Cas, sitting on the couch meditatively rolling something metallic in his fingers, tensed at the sound.
"Dean?"
"Ben woke up." Dean jerkily shrugged off one sleeve of his jacket, then yanked the other over his prosthetic and threw the coat into a corner. "He had a nightmare about the robbery and came in crying just when things were getting good, so Lis thought I should go. I feel for the kid, I do, but fuck my balls ache."
Wordlessly, Cas stood and turned and knelt before the couch, head cocked towards Dean. His face was blank even as Dean's split into a grin. Undoing his jeans as he made his way over, Dean settled on the cushion in front of Cas. "You are too good to me," he said, guiding Castiel down to his crotch.
He let Cas work him for a few minutes, relaxed against the back of the couch to passively accept the efforts of lips and hands and tongue and suction. It was good, it was always good, but after the frustration he'd suffered it just wasn't enough. He wanted it rough and fast and he doubted that even holding Cas down for Dean to pound his throat would satisfy.
Instead, he pushed a few fingers against Cas's forehead to ease the man off his dick. "Let me fuck you."
The object in Castiel's hand dropped to the carpet with a soft noise, and Dean glanced down to see a cartridge: silver casing, blackened copper bullet with a pronounced dent at the tip. Cas scrambled to his feet; he reached for the arm of the sofa to steady himself, but he'd misjudged his position and nearly fell again.
Dean waited, impatient but silent, as Cas slid a cautious foot along the floor until he found the edge of couch and grasped it tightly in both hands, moving around to place the furniture as a barrier between them.
"No," Cas said, but it sounded a lot more like a question than a refusal.
"I think so, yeah," Dean countered. "I think I want to fuck you, and you're going to let me."
"You don't-you're not gay."
"Not even a little, but I can pretend your ass is a girl's just as well as your mouth. You think I've never done anal, really? If that's your only argument, you might as well get back here and bend over."
"I don't want to have sex with you, Dean."
"What, you think you're saving yourself for someone better? Who, Balth? He dropped you every deployment and called you in the hospital to tell you to lose his number because he can't be your babysitter. Or am I missing the eligible men parading through here every night, because you sure as shit never leave to meet anyone."
"I don't need sex."
"Maybe, maybe not, but I do. And you're going to give it to me, just like you've given me everything else, because that's how this works. Right?" Dean stood and Cas backed away at the sound, almost tripping before he made contact with the wall and clutched at it like it could save him. "You're going to let me have this because it will make me very, very happy."
The noise Castiel made brought back memories of mothers grieving over shredded children in the unforgiving desert, and Dean hated it. Hated Cas for it, a little.
"Tell me this is okay, Cas," he whispered. He crowded his friend against the wall, good arm braced above his head, and Cas-Staff Sergeant Novak, always sure and strong, the man who had trained him as an infantryman and pulled him to safety in his first firefight, who kept him alive through his first two tours-trembled against him, sightless eyes down, back slumped into the plaster.
"Tell me I can do this," Dean coaxed into his ear.
With a choked breath, Castiel nodded.
"Good. That's good." Cas flinched as Dean stroked down the side of his face, then took his wrist and led him back to the couch. He was unresisting as Dean pushed him back to his knees and pressed his face and chest against the cushion.
"Stay there," Dean instructed as he went towards his room for supplies. "Well, take off your pants and tighty-whiteys or whatever."
When Dean returned, Cas had folded pants and underwear-blue boxers-in a tidy pile next to him for easy retrieval. He'd left his shirt on. It stretched over the hunched arc of his back, his arms supporting his weight on the couch while also hiding his face from sight, and Dean could work with that.
"Dean," Cas gasped in pain as a lubed finger eased in.
"You're fine," Dean assured him, twisting and nudging until the third knuckle was flush with Cas's ass. "It's been a while, you'll get used to it again. Try not to make noise, yeah?"
Dean's finger pulling back out earned a quiet whimper, but the next round of working the digit in was met with silence. He moved quickly, one finger becoming two and stretching efficiently, if not particularly gently.
Cas only reacted again when he felt the head of Dean's cock press against him; he jerked forward as much as he could before Dean grabbed the back of his neck to still him. "Condom? Please," he said, hoarse voice little more than a whisper.
Dean chuckled and pushed harder into the ring of muscle. "Nah, we don't need one. I use one with Lisa, and anyway, you've never complained about it with the blowjobs. A little late to be getting precious about it now, isn't it?"
He slid in, as gently as he could be bothered with in his urgency, and basked in the uncontrolled clench it earned him. Taking a few moments to savor the embrace of the tight passage and the intensity of bare skin, neither of which he got with Lisa, he allowed a few slow, shallow rolls of his hips, barely dragging his dick out an inch before sinking deeper again.
"Oh fuck yeah," he groaned, "this is what I needed."
He couldn't hold back for long, and soon he pulled out further, shoved in faster, fucked the pliant body beneath him as hard as he'd been aching to. His hand forced Cas's head down into the cradle of his own arms as Dean rested more weight on it. Panting and swearing with each thrust, Dean only made it a few more minutes before a last, rough stroke had him spilling into Cas. He ground his orgasm into the man, wringing out every drop he could before he got too sensitive.
After he pulled out and wiped himself clean with Cas's underwear, he bent to retrieve the bullet glinting between Cas's knees. Folding it into a hand damp from the face pressed against it, he said, "You dropped this."
He left then, with Cas still bent over the couch and naked below the waist and shaking.
- Semper Futilis -
After six months, Dean moved in with Lisa and Ben. He visited the old apartment, where Cas lived alone, at least three times a week.
"It's so great that he has you to take care of him," Lisa told him. "You're such a good friend. Semper Fi, I guess, right?"
"He's weird," Ben complained the first time Lisa talked him into talking Cas into joining them for dinner, after Dean had led their guest to the bathroom. "He doesn't talk and he just stares at you all the time. I mean, I know he's not really staring, but it's like he doesn't even care that it's creepy."
"Stop staring at me in front of the kid," Dean said as he slammed in over and over, bruising Cas against the trunk of the Impala. "And you could at least try to pretend you're grateful for Lisa inviting you over and cooking for you."
The next month, Cas kept his eyes down and thanked Lisa for the wonderful meal and added a few quiet contributions to discussions on Ben's football games and Dean's promotion. Pulling Cas's pants down his thighs against the closed door of the apartment afterwards, Dean felt something hard and cylindrical in the pocket. He found the same bullet Cas had been fiddling with before the first time Dean fucked him.
"Why do you have that?" he asked as he shoved the first finger in. "What would you even do with it if someone was stupid enough to give you a gun?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," Cas whispered to the floor.
- Semper Futilis -
Dean got married and Cas sat in the front row, because having to wrangle a blind groomsman just would've made the day more stressful for everyone. Still, Dean was kind enough to drive him home after the ceremony, before leaving with Lisa and Ben for the quasi-honeymoon, and the first person Dean fucked after the wedding was not his wife.
Dean had a little girl and named her Mary Ellen. Cas never went to her birthday parties, or Ben's, because the day was about them, not looking after their useless uncle, and it wasn't like he really left the house anyway. He always gave Dean money for presents, though-RC cars and stuffed animals and tickets to the zoo-and Dean always told him how happy it made them.
Dean spent most of his lunch breaks at Cas's apartment. Every time he reached into Castiel's pocket, he found three things: a packet of lube, which he used; a condom, which he didn't; and a Winchester Black Talon hollow-point round, warmed by the heat of Cas's body.