Fic: What I've Overcome [2b/4]
AUTHOR: bloodism
TITLE: What I've Overcome [2b/4]
FANDOM: Supernatural
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Dean/Castiel
WORD COUNT: 29,628
WARNING: A little angst, sexual situations, small gore, AU from 7x01.
SUMMARY: The souls are back in Purgatory and now the Winchesters have a blind, ex-angel on their hands. Dean insists that it's going to take him a while to forgive Cas for what he's done, but as the trio head across the states, fleeing from the monsters they once hunted, Dean ends up thinking about a lot more than forgiveness...
Dean bursts through the door to the hotel room, his face a picture of pure delight. Sam tags along behind him, looking less happy and considerably less clean.
He’s coated in blood and ash, and Dean doesn’t even have a speck of dirt on him.
“I haven’t been this happy since Cas went all Oprah on that prostitute’s ass,” Dean laughs, throwing his keys into a nearby ashtray. Sam looks disgruntled.
“Nice to know that seeing your brother coated in crap is the only thing that’ll pull you out of a slump,” Sam retorts, flinging his hand in the direction of the floor. An unrecognisable liquid plasters itself to the gray, moth-eaten carpet.
Dean snickers and glances around the hotel room in search of Cas.
He’s perched on the edge of the couch and has apparently not noticed their return. That’s just weird. Cas’s hearing was impeccable and yet he was totally oblivious to Sam and Dean’s loud chattering.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls. Cas doesn’t respond.
Dean steps closer, eyeing up the television. It’s the ending, but Dean would notice the movie anywhere.
Titanic?
He looks at Cas. He’s absorbed and completely still, bar his foot, which is tapping repeatedly on the floor.
“Hey-” Cas snaps his head around to him.
“Be quiet, Dean!”
Dean clamps his mouth shut and his eyebrows contort into an expression of extreme disbelief. Sam’s laughing behind him, his rotten mood evidently gone.
Dean peers over his shoulder to Sam, whose smile is stretched wide over his face.
“You do realise this is your fault, right?” Sam says through his grin. Dean swallows and sends a cautious glance back over to Cas, who’s dangerously focused.
“Man, no one could have seen this coming,” Dean mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair. Cas attracted to chick flicks? No way.
“I’m gonna go wash up. If Cas starts crying, lend him a shoulder, okay?”
Sam escapes into their on-suite bathroom before Dean can punch him on the arm.
The credits are rolling now and Dean watches as Cas grows slightly panicked, scrabbling for the television remote. Dean snatches it out of his hand before he can change the channel.
“If you watch anymore, your junk is gonna drop off,” Dean scolds, throwing the remote onto one of the beds behind him. Cas doesn’t look happy with this information, but he knows it’s not true. Over the past two weeks, he’s gotten used to the obscure things Dean says and has long since stopped thinking everything he says is fact.
“How long have you been watching this crap?” Dean asks, slightly concerned. Cas leans backwards on the couch, thumbs twiddling.
“Since you left. I was unaware of how much time had passed.”
Dean shakes his head in incredulity.
“Human romance is a very beautiful thing-”
“Stop. I can almost smell the girl coming out of you.” Dean shudders and stretches over to turn off the television. The dog food commercial buzzes and zones out, leaving them in complete silence.
Dean ignores Castiel’s mildly irritated expression and strips off his shirt, throwing it onto the end of the bed carelessly. For once, he’s glad Cas can’t see him - the thought of Cas being able to see him half-naked stirs an uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of his stomach.
Dean freezes when there’s a click, and the television is back on. There’s a velvety voice talking about family and love.
“Love, actually, is all around...”
Dean swirls round and Cas is leaning towards the screen again, listening intently.
“Hey!”
The angel had turned back on the television while he’d been occupied. Sneaky son of a bitch.
Dean stalks over to where the television is spewing more romantic gunk and stretches out a hand to turn it off.
“There is no way I’m letting you watch this crap while I’m in the room-” A hand shoots out and grips like a vice onto Dean’s wrist, alarming him. Cas loosens his hold the moment Dean begins to move away.
“Leave me be,” he growls and Dean actually feels a little frightened. But he’s not an angel, he can’t smite my ass anymore.
This doesn’t make him any less worried.
“Alright, fine. But if you get a stupid man crush on Hugh Grant, I’m never speaking to you again.”
Cas doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s gone back to listening to the television, an intensely determined expression on his face. Dean sighs and, with an air of defeat, slumps down onto the couch beside him.
Dean watches in silence.
-
It’s dark when Dean opens his eyes again. There’s a man with shiny teeth and slicked-back grey hair speaking on the television, pointing to a funny-looking contraption. An old woman in a bikini stands beside him, her smile wide and forced.
That’s normal. Dean has been at the hand of late-night television many times before, so he knows how bad it can get. What’s not normal, however, is the presence at his side. Or the crick in his neck.
He’s still on the couch and the tattered digital radio says it’s just gone past three am. There’s an eerie fountain of heat warming his left side and he lifts his head from its comfortable place on whatever it is, it’s soft.
Oh.
Cas’s head has slumped towards him - definitely asleep. Dean’s hair is sticking up and he blinks tiredly, looking around the hotel room in a weary stupor. Sam is in one of the beds, his silhouette moving up and down heavily in the darkness.
He’s never gonna let me forget this, Dean scrubs his hands over his face and looks around dazedly for a while, his eyes half-closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. They’d been halfway through the film when Cas’s stiff posture had begun to slouch and Dean had happily leant him his bare shoulder when his head dipped into his direction. They’d ended up with their heads pressed together. Must have been a picture.
Dean did not want to remember this. He slaps Cas with the back of his hand.
“Cas,” his voice is rough with tiredness and he attempts to open his eyes further. They’re heavy, though, so he keeps them half-shut. Cas hums in his sleep and moves closer, finding Dean’s naked shoulder again.
Dean’s mildly surprised at first, then a sleepy smile twitches around his lips and he leans back, dipping his nose into Cas’s hair. It smells clean, warm and. It’s dizzyingly nice and he tells himself just a few more minutes...
He falls asleep.
-
The next morning, Dean’s neck aches and Cas also seems to be suffering from some kind of discomfort. But what stuns Dean is that Sam says nothing.
They pack up, and then they’re off.
-
Two weeks later, and Cas is starting to show signs of reserved anger.
He’s punched a hole in a hotel room wall, broken three chairs and now the only thing Sam and Dean can do to calm him down is turn on the television. But every inch of his body remains wound and he’s becoming more and more chronic. Fingers twitching, foot tapping, lip biting - it won’t stop.
Sam is sitting on the edge of his bed, unpacking some salt, shotgun rounds and holy water. Dean’s crouched forwards at the end of it, elbows pressed into his spread knees and hands clasped in front of his mouth.
“We need to talk to him,” Sam whispers warily.
“I don’t know, man, he’s pretty scary,” Comes his brother’s downcast, muffled reply.
“Dean, he’s not an angel anymore. He’s practically harmless,” Sam pushes away the bag, satisfied with the weapons he now has beside his bed. Dean’s still watching Cas, eyes frozen and worried. Just talk to him, Dean, Sam wants to say. But he knows what’ll happen. Dean will stubbornly refuse, say it’s not his responsibility (it is) and then Sam will have to do it.
Sam’s not going anywhere near Castiel.
So, instead of pressing the matter, Sam just stands up. Then he walks past Dean and leaves the room.
It’s not time for him to interfere.
-
Dean’s incredulous gaze is still pinned on the door which Sam has just walked out of.
It was becoming a frequent thing, this disappearing act of Sam’s. In the most difficult situations, when Dean required moral support, he just left, leaving him alone with Cas.
Whose erratically jumping leg was beginning to irk on Dean’s nerves.
“Dude, will you just stop?” Dean snaps, standing up stiffly. Cas’s leg freezes and his head tilts down towards it, almost like he’s surprised that it was moving in the first place. Perhaps it was a subconscious movement.
The movie on the television is rolling, unnoticed. Two actors are chasing a baby around a living room.
“Apologies,” Cas says quietly. Then his fingers begin to move, twining themselves in a loose fray on the couch. Dean watches the fingers gently wind themselves around the thin string, strong and solid.
“You okay?” Dean manages to squeeze out of his throat. The last thing he wanted was a chick flick moment - all the more likely since Cas seemed to like them so much - but he needed to know.
Cas doesn’t say anything. It seems like he’s listening to the movie again, but Dean knows he’s not. Dean shuffles forwards, approaching the edge of the couch.
“Come on, Cas. If you don’t talk about it, it’s just gonna get worse-”
“There is nothing you can do to help, since it’s your fault that I am like this!”
Dean flinches backwards, a lethal jab of shock shooting up his spine. Cas’s eyes are open, unfocused but glaring into his general direction. Dean’s silent for a moment, attempting to decipher the emotions that are battling in his stomach. What was Cas blaming him for? Everything? His blindness? His constant fidgeting? His short-temper?
Anger clashes with calm, swiftly blasting it into molecules. Confusion and guilt face off, until anger intervenes and destroys confusion. Then it greedily absorbs the guilt.
In a flash of hot rage, Dean’s in front of Cas and pulling him up from the couch by his collar, faces almost pressed together.
“What, exactly, is my fault? Huh?”
Castiel’s mild surprise at being manhandled passes and he grasps Dean’s upper arms. He pushes with a frightening force, making Dean stumble backwards. He releases his grip on Cas’s coat to stretch out his hands, looking for purchase, but all he ends up doing is knocking a bowl of plastic fruit to the floor, along with some of Sam’s books.
Then he hits the wall with a thud, Cas’s toes pressed to his. Now Cas has his shirt bunched up in those strong, solid fingers.
“I was bought into existence as a warrior. It is against my nature to sit here and do nothing,” Cas whispers, agitation and strain in his hoarse voice. Dean’s eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to get past the feeling of hot breath on his face. “But you have told me to stay out of the fight and I shall obey. So, it is your fault.”
Cas’s hands press harder into his chest, knuckles digging into the skin. Dean is breathless, mouth open and hot and he’s panting.
“We’re not your God. You can do whatever the Hell you like,” Dean’s impressed with his sturdy response, considering he feels everything but steady. His words make Cas loosen his hold slightly. “We’re looking out for you, Cas. We don’t want you dying on us.” Dean uses Castiel’s moment of weakness to flip them around. A plastic vase jitters off of the table when Cas’s hip bumps into it.
Now Cas is pressed against the vile wallpaper, hands gripping Dean’s forearms. Dean’s got his shirt bunched up in his own hands again, backs of his fingers brushing against the stubble underneath Cas’s chin.
“We almost lost you once,” Dean’s anger still shines through, but it’s laden with pain, “We don’t want to lose you for good.”
Castiel is quiet, eyes closed, breathing mildly elevated. Dean drops his arms back to his side once he’s sure Cas isn’t going to push him around again. They stand there, a breaths distance away from each other, in a silence that’s thick. Dean’s fingers itch with the memory of warm, solid chest beneath them and he clenches them, his jaw jutting shut. His eyes run themselves along Cas’s deeply dishevelled state and he must be going crazy.
Women, Dean. You like...
“Dean?”
Dean’s closer, much closer than he should be. His fingertips are brushing against the wall by Cas’s hip and every time he sucks in a breath, his chest brushes against Cas’s. The rush of adrenaline still thrums through his veins and well, he isn’t even going to start on his emotional state. Buzzing with fury one minute, hot the next…
Women. Breasts. You’re as straight as a plank of wood.
His lips are parted, slanted over Cas’s but not quite touching. They’re just breathing into each other, Cas rigid and Dean fighting against everything his body is telling him.
It’s hot. There’s sweat prickling at the base of his neck and he’s dizzy.
“I can feel you,” Cas breathes out against his lips and Dean shivers hard. They’re not touching, anywhere, but Cas knows he’s there. “You’re very close. What’s the matter?”
Dean could have laughed. Cas didn’t even know how much of an effect he was having on him. Dean didn’t even know how much of an effect Cas was having on him.
“You’re not a chick,” Dean replies breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can when his upper lip brushes just so against Cas’s.
“I’m aware,” Cas responds lightly and is that amusement?
Dean pulls back and runs his eyes over Cas’s face. Yes, it is. There’s a small quirk to his lips and his eyebrows are curved in just the right way.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean’s inner turmoil seems to slot itself into the right place and he smirks at the angel in front of him. He wants to kiss him. Curiosity. I’m just curious.
“Cas,” his voice catches in his throat and he pushes forwards, until their bodies are completely pressed together. “Cas, can I… Can I kiss you?”
Cas tilts his head to the side, confusion evident on his pretty, pretty face.
“Why?”
Dean holds back his snort. Of course he’d ask why.
“Just… I want to try it, okay? I’m going crazy here.”
Castiel seems to ponder it for a moment - most women would jump at the chance and this S.O.B actually hesitates? - but then his face straightens out and he’s as passive as ever.
“I don’t see why not.”
Dean’s heart constricts, like it’s fighting to get out of his chest, and then he’s moving forwards, hands pressed flat to the wall. Let’s get this out of your system, Winchester. Then stop with this bi-curious crap and get back to banging a ton of women.
But the moment Dean’s lips catch on Cas’s dry ones, he knows it’ll be hard to forget this.
He can forget everything else, though, just this once. He can forget that he hasn’t forgiven Cas yet; he can forget that he’s a dude; he can forget that Dean Winchester, the righteous man, is about kiss a shattered angel.
He pushes his lips harder against Cas’s - they taste sweet and warm - but Cas is unresponsive. Dean can almost hear the thoughts buzzing around in his busy little head. Of course, it’s his first kiss he’s experiencing. He clearly had no idea what to do.
Dean moves his hand to Cas’s hip and slips two of his fingers through a gap in his tucked shirt. They come into contact with hot skin and then Cas jerks, mouth parting in surprise.
Dean’s in, pressing rougher, open-mouthed kisses against Cas’s lips. Responsive or not, he needed this. He needed to know.
Oh, but then Cas moves. It’s just a little bit of pressure, but he’s-God, he’s kissing back. The movements are confused, but it’s sending Dean mad. Cas takes Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucks gently, curious hands coming up to tug lightly on Dean’s shirt.
But Dean pulls back.
They’re both breathless and their lips are flushed and red. Dean has to swallow down the urge to dive back in when he sees Cas, mouth still parted open, eyes half-lidded, dazed and not quite there yet.
It doesn’t take Cas long to redeem himself and he straightens, brow furrowed.
“That was strange,” he says simply. Dean swallows the lump in his throat.
“Yeah,” he croaks in return. It had been a tender kiss - tenderer than Dean usually allowed - and now he seemed to be having vivid imagery of a more firmer, hot kiss. With tongues and fumbling hands and maybe a bit of grinding-
Dean shakes himself and blinks himself back into the present. Cas’s hand is hovering in the air, as though confused. Was it going to stretch out and pull Dean closer?
There’s a click and then the door to the hotel room sweeps open. Sam comes in, too occupied with placing the keys to the Impala in a dish to realise that Dean leaps half way across the room. He’s busying himself with pulling out fresh clothes when Sam finally looks up.
Castiel is still leaning against the wall, eyes firmly closed and hand partially outstretched. There’s plastic fruit and books scattered across the floor.
Sam throws the magazine and apple juice he has onto a nearby table, eyes switching accusingly between him and Cas.
“You okay?” Sam asks Cas and Dean hopes to God Castiel doesn’t mention what they’d just done.
“Fine,” Dean turns around in time to see Cas’s hand drop. His head is turned into his direction and Dean is sure, had he been able to see, his eyes would be searing through him. Sam’s frowning at Dean now, like it’s his fault that Cas is acting strange.
Well, it was.
“Gonna go,” Dean clears his throat when his voice comes out gravelly, “… wash up.”
And then he flees to the bathroom, past Cas, trying very hard not to think about how far things could have gotten had Sam not butted in.
-
It’s a few days before Cas brings it up again. Sam is asleep on the single bed and Castiel is lying next to Dean. It’s not weird - they’d shared before. They all traded; sometimes Dean would share with Sam, others he’d end up alone. Or next to Cas.
He’d never admit to himself that sleeping with Cas was a hell of a lot easier. When Cas slept, he slept hard. He didn’t fling long, gangly limbs out every time he turned over.
“You kissed me,” Cas says into the dark silence of the room, pulling Dean out of his stupor. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring the side of Cas’s face.
“Yeah. I wanted to see something,” Dean reasons, not surprised by the bluntness of Castiel’s statement. It wasn’t the first time Cas had spewed something random and off-topic during inopportune moments.
“Kissing seems to be a form of expressing emotion. So what did you need to see?”
Cas sounds genuinely curious, but Dean can’t get past the lump in his throat. What had he needed to see? What it was like, of course. Did he want to do it again?
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. Hell yeah. But he couldn’t.
“Sometimes when humans spend a lot of time together, you start thinking about crazy things. I was a little nuts, you know? All this running and not being with a woman - a guy’s got needs,” Dean mutters into his pillow, though he knows Cas can hear him clearly.
He pushes his head back when Cas turns over, his face now precariously close to his own. Cas had misjudged the distance, though Dean was sure that his surprised breath must be dancing all over Cas’s lips now.
“Needs?” Cas whispers. Dean allows his eyes to drop to the soft lips a few inches from his own and heat prickles up the back of his neck. He’s thinking about leaning forwards and taking them again, pushing Cas down into the bed with his hands and-
“We humans get a little cranky when we don’t have contact with each other,” Dean manages to say, pushing his thoughts hard to the back of his head.
“I’m here for you, Dean. If you ever need contact,” Cas whispers, laying a hot palm on Dean’s forearm. Dean takes in a sharp intake of breath when a spike of heat shoots up his arm. Then it’s gone, and Cas has turned over.
Dean stares at the back of his head for a while, before kicking off the blankets.
Fucking hot…
-
Dean wakes up to voices in the motel room. Sam’s sitting straight on his bed, expression blank and staring at something Dean can’t see. Dean emerges from underneath the quilt to see what has made Sam so… uncomfortable.
Balthazar is standing at the end of the bed that Dean and Cas are sleeping in. He looks slightly bewildered, but his eyes are twinkling in amusement.
“Wow, Deano, didn’t take you long to forgive him. Though, I never thought you’d go this far-”
“Can it, asshole.” Dean growls, sitting up slowly. He presses a hand to his right eye, which is throbbing from tiredness. Cas is sitting upright next to him, expression blank. He would seem a lot more threatening if his hair wasn’t so mussed and if he had held back the yawn that suddenly stretched over his face.
Balthazar shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head to the side mockingly.
“Aww, Cassie, feeling sleepy?”
Instead of rising to it, Cas smiles faintly. Dean stares at him disbelievingly.
“A little. What do you need?”
“We need to have a little chat.” Balthazar doesn’t need to add ‘alone’ onto the end of the sentence, as he blatantly stares at the Winchesters like they’re a major inconvenience. Castiel pulls back the covers and pats along the table beside the bed, rising to his feet. Balthazar watches him patiently, not batting an eyelash at the complete set of pajamas Cas slept in.
Balthazar walks swiftly up to Cas and plonks a hand down onto his shoulder.
“See you later, boys,” Balthazar does a two-fingered salute and then he and Cas are gone in a rustle.
Dean stares at the space they had been seconds before, an amused twitch to his lips.
“Now Cas will know what it feels like to have a plugged up asshole.”
-
It’s dark when Cas returns to them. Balthazar doesn’t spare them a glance and is gone as quick as he’d come. Dean and Sam scramble to their feet and both brothers grasp a shoulder each, stopping Cas from tumbling over.
“That was disorientating,” he grumbles, pressing a hand to his forehead. Dean pats him once.
“Not so fun when you’re the one taking the ride.”
Sam moves away after helping Dean to settle Cas into a nearby chair.
“So, what’d you guys talk about?”
Cas takes his hand away from his forehead and his pale lips tighten. Dean watches his hands automatically fold themselves into his lap, fingers drawing and clenching together.
“Cas?” Dean prompts warily. Cas seems reluctant to tell them and Dean knows that secrets can only lead to bad things - like running off the King of Hell.
“He was simply updating me with Heaven’s progress. I may not be an angel anymore, but he is still my brother.”
It seems like a reasonable answer, but there’s something scratching at Dean’s mind that just makes him not want to believe it.
“How’s it going?” Sam asks without a hint of suspicion. Dean snorts. Naïve little brother.
“Those who turned against Raphael are being rewarded. Those who were with him are being… recreated.” The look of mild sympathy on Cas’s face makes Dean wince.
“Sounds painful,” he comments, moving towards the television. He wistfully watches Dr Sexy for a few more seconds before flicking it off.
“We got work to do tomorrow. There’s a few werewolves in town. Been hiding away in some warehouse, but not eating anybody,” Dean seats himself on a hard dining chair, longingly wishing that they had a couch. “Guess they’re only hunting angel meat.”
Castiel slumps in his chair - just slightly, but Dean notices.
“Hey man, you’re coming with us.”
Sam turns to stare in surprise at his brother.
“What? Dean, he can’t come-”
“I think he’s more than capable of dealing with a couple of freaky wolves. Come on.”
Sam shakes his head exaggeratedly at Dean, obviously not wanting to voice more of his displeasure out loud. Dean rolls his eyes and reaches out for the remote that’s on the table beside him. Then he throws it across the room, hard, into Cas’s direction.
Sam’s wild, worried eyes just widen when Castiel’s hand shoots up and grabs it with perfect coordination.
“Wow,” Sam whispers, probably voicing his thoughts. Dean hides his proud smile behind a hand, though strangely, Cas has a smile twitching about his lips too, like he knows what Dean’s thinking about him.
Before Dean can consider this further, there’s a sharp bang on the hotel door. Sam and him share cautious glances and they’re on their feet in seconds.
They never get to their weapons in time. The door flies off its hinges and standing there, drooling and panting, is a werewolf. It steps forwards and growls;
“Castiel…”
Chapter 3
TITLE: What I've Overcome [2b/4]
FANDOM: Supernatural
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Dean/Castiel
WORD COUNT: 29,628
WARNING: A little angst, sexual situations, small gore, AU from 7x01.
SUMMARY: The souls are back in Purgatory and now the Winchesters have a blind, ex-angel on their hands. Dean insists that it's going to take him a while to forgive Cas for what he's done, but as the trio head across the states, fleeing from the monsters they once hunted, Dean ends up thinking about a lot more than forgiveness...
Dean bursts through the door to the hotel room, his face a picture of pure delight. Sam tags along behind him, looking less happy and considerably less clean.
He’s coated in blood and ash, and Dean doesn’t even have a speck of dirt on him.
“I haven’t been this happy since Cas went all Oprah on that prostitute’s ass,” Dean laughs, throwing his keys into a nearby ashtray. Sam looks disgruntled.
“Nice to know that seeing your brother coated in crap is the only thing that’ll pull you out of a slump,” Sam retorts, flinging his hand in the direction of the floor. An unrecognisable liquid plasters itself to the gray, moth-eaten carpet.
Dean snickers and glances around the hotel room in search of Cas.
He’s perched on the edge of the couch and has apparently not noticed their return. That’s just weird. Cas’s hearing was impeccable and yet he was totally oblivious to Sam and Dean’s loud chattering.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls. Cas doesn’t respond.
Dean steps closer, eyeing up the television. It’s the ending, but Dean would notice the movie anywhere.
Titanic?
He looks at Cas. He’s absorbed and completely still, bar his foot, which is tapping repeatedly on the floor.
“Hey-” Cas snaps his head around to him.
“Be quiet, Dean!”
Dean clamps his mouth shut and his eyebrows contort into an expression of extreme disbelief. Sam’s laughing behind him, his rotten mood evidently gone.
Dean peers over his shoulder to Sam, whose smile is stretched wide over his face.
“You do realise this is your fault, right?” Sam says through his grin. Dean swallows and sends a cautious glance back over to Cas, who’s dangerously focused.
“Man, no one could have seen this coming,” Dean mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair. Cas attracted to chick flicks? No way.
“I’m gonna go wash up. If Cas starts crying, lend him a shoulder, okay?”
Sam escapes into their on-suite bathroom before Dean can punch him on the arm.
The credits are rolling now and Dean watches as Cas grows slightly panicked, scrabbling for the television remote. Dean snatches it out of his hand before he can change the channel.
“If you watch anymore, your junk is gonna drop off,” Dean scolds, throwing the remote onto one of the beds behind him. Cas doesn’t look happy with this information, but he knows it’s not true. Over the past two weeks, he’s gotten used to the obscure things Dean says and has long since stopped thinking everything he says is fact.
“How long have you been watching this crap?” Dean asks, slightly concerned. Cas leans backwards on the couch, thumbs twiddling.
“Since you left. I was unaware of how much time had passed.”
Dean shakes his head in incredulity.
“Human romance is a very beautiful thing-”
“Stop. I can almost smell the girl coming out of you.” Dean shudders and stretches over to turn off the television. The dog food commercial buzzes and zones out, leaving them in complete silence.
Dean ignores Castiel’s mildly irritated expression and strips off his shirt, throwing it onto the end of the bed carelessly. For once, he’s glad Cas can’t see him - the thought of Cas being able to see him half-naked stirs an uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of his stomach.
Dean freezes when there’s a click, and the television is back on. There’s a velvety voice talking about family and love.
“Love, actually, is all around...”
Dean swirls round and Cas is leaning towards the screen again, listening intently.
“Hey!”
The angel had turned back on the television while he’d been occupied. Sneaky son of a bitch.
Dean stalks over to where the television is spewing more romantic gunk and stretches out a hand to turn it off.
“There is no way I’m letting you watch this crap while I’m in the room-” A hand shoots out and grips like a vice onto Dean’s wrist, alarming him. Cas loosens his hold the moment Dean begins to move away.
“Leave me be,” he growls and Dean actually feels a little frightened. But he’s not an angel, he can’t smite my ass anymore.
This doesn’t make him any less worried.
“Alright, fine. But if you get a stupid man crush on Hugh Grant, I’m never speaking to you again.”
Cas doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s gone back to listening to the television, an intensely determined expression on his face. Dean sighs and, with an air of defeat, slumps down onto the couch beside him.
Dean watches in silence.
-
It’s dark when Dean opens his eyes again. There’s a man with shiny teeth and slicked-back grey hair speaking on the television, pointing to a funny-looking contraption. An old woman in a bikini stands beside him, her smile wide and forced.
That’s normal. Dean has been at the hand of late-night television many times before, so he knows how bad it can get. What’s not normal, however, is the presence at his side. Or the crick in his neck.
He’s still on the couch and the tattered digital radio says it’s just gone past three am. There’s an eerie fountain of heat warming his left side and he lifts his head from its comfortable place on whatever it is, it’s soft.
Oh.
Cas’s head has slumped towards him - definitely asleep. Dean’s hair is sticking up and he blinks tiredly, looking around the hotel room in a weary stupor. Sam is in one of the beds, his silhouette moving up and down heavily in the darkness.
He’s never gonna let me forget this, Dean scrubs his hands over his face and looks around dazedly for a while, his eyes half-closed. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. They’d been halfway through the film when Cas’s stiff posture had begun to slouch and Dean had happily leant him his bare shoulder when his head dipped into his direction. They’d ended up with their heads pressed together. Must have been a picture.
Dean did not want to remember this. He slaps Cas with the back of his hand.
“Cas,” his voice is rough with tiredness and he attempts to open his eyes further. They’re heavy, though, so he keeps them half-shut. Cas hums in his sleep and moves closer, finding Dean’s naked shoulder again.
Dean’s mildly surprised at first, then a sleepy smile twitches around his lips and he leans back, dipping his nose into Cas’s hair. It smells clean, warm and. It’s dizzyingly nice and he tells himself just a few more minutes...
He falls asleep.
-
The next morning, Dean’s neck aches and Cas also seems to be suffering from some kind of discomfort. But what stuns Dean is that Sam says nothing.
They pack up, and then they’re off.
-
Two weeks later, and Cas is starting to show signs of reserved anger.
He’s punched a hole in a hotel room wall, broken three chairs and now the only thing Sam and Dean can do to calm him down is turn on the television. But every inch of his body remains wound and he’s becoming more and more chronic. Fingers twitching, foot tapping, lip biting - it won’t stop.
Sam is sitting on the edge of his bed, unpacking some salt, shotgun rounds and holy water. Dean’s crouched forwards at the end of it, elbows pressed into his spread knees and hands clasped in front of his mouth.
“We need to talk to him,” Sam whispers warily.
“I don’t know, man, he’s pretty scary,” Comes his brother’s downcast, muffled reply.
“Dean, he’s not an angel anymore. He’s practically harmless,” Sam pushes away the bag, satisfied with the weapons he now has beside his bed. Dean’s still watching Cas, eyes frozen and worried. Just talk to him, Dean, Sam wants to say. But he knows what’ll happen. Dean will stubbornly refuse, say it’s not his responsibility (it is) and then Sam will have to do it.
Sam’s not going anywhere near Castiel.
So, instead of pressing the matter, Sam just stands up. Then he walks past Dean and leaves the room.
It’s not time for him to interfere.
-
Dean’s incredulous gaze is still pinned on the door which Sam has just walked out of.
It was becoming a frequent thing, this disappearing act of Sam’s. In the most difficult situations, when Dean required moral support, he just left, leaving him alone with Cas.
Whose erratically jumping leg was beginning to irk on Dean’s nerves.
“Dude, will you just stop?” Dean snaps, standing up stiffly. Cas’s leg freezes and his head tilts down towards it, almost like he’s surprised that it was moving in the first place. Perhaps it was a subconscious movement.
The movie on the television is rolling, unnoticed. Two actors are chasing a baby around a living room.
“Apologies,” Cas says quietly. Then his fingers begin to move, twining themselves in a loose fray on the couch. Dean watches the fingers gently wind themselves around the thin string, strong and solid.
“You okay?” Dean manages to squeeze out of his throat. The last thing he wanted was a chick flick moment - all the more likely since Cas seemed to like them so much - but he needed to know.
Cas doesn’t say anything. It seems like he’s listening to the movie again, but Dean knows he’s not. Dean shuffles forwards, approaching the edge of the couch.
“Come on, Cas. If you don’t talk about it, it’s just gonna get worse-”
“There is nothing you can do to help, since it’s your fault that I am like this!”
Dean flinches backwards, a lethal jab of shock shooting up his spine. Cas’s eyes are open, unfocused but glaring into his general direction. Dean’s silent for a moment, attempting to decipher the emotions that are battling in his stomach. What was Cas blaming him for? Everything? His blindness? His constant fidgeting? His short-temper?
Anger clashes with calm, swiftly blasting it into molecules. Confusion and guilt face off, until anger intervenes and destroys confusion. Then it greedily absorbs the guilt.
In a flash of hot rage, Dean’s in front of Cas and pulling him up from the couch by his collar, faces almost pressed together.
“What, exactly, is my fault? Huh?”
Castiel’s mild surprise at being manhandled passes and he grasps Dean’s upper arms. He pushes with a frightening force, making Dean stumble backwards. He releases his grip on Cas’s coat to stretch out his hands, looking for purchase, but all he ends up doing is knocking a bowl of plastic fruit to the floor, along with some of Sam’s books.
Then he hits the wall with a thud, Cas’s toes pressed to his. Now Cas has his shirt bunched up in those strong, solid fingers.
“I was bought into existence as a warrior. It is against my nature to sit here and do nothing,” Cas whispers, agitation and strain in his hoarse voice. Dean’s eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to get past the feeling of hot breath on his face. “But you have told me to stay out of the fight and I shall obey. So, it is your fault.”
Cas’s hands press harder into his chest, knuckles digging into the skin. Dean is breathless, mouth open and hot and he’s panting.
“We’re not your God. You can do whatever the Hell you like,” Dean’s impressed with his sturdy response, considering he feels everything but steady. His words make Cas loosen his hold slightly. “We’re looking out for you, Cas. We don’t want you dying on us.” Dean uses Castiel’s moment of weakness to flip them around. A plastic vase jitters off of the table when Cas’s hip bumps into it.
Now Cas is pressed against the vile wallpaper, hands gripping Dean’s forearms. Dean’s got his shirt bunched up in his own hands again, backs of his fingers brushing against the stubble underneath Cas’s chin.
“We almost lost you once,” Dean’s anger still shines through, but it’s laden with pain, “We don’t want to lose you for good.”
Castiel is quiet, eyes closed, breathing mildly elevated. Dean drops his arms back to his side once he’s sure Cas isn’t going to push him around again. They stand there, a breaths distance away from each other, in a silence that’s thick. Dean’s fingers itch with the memory of warm, solid chest beneath them and he clenches them, his jaw jutting shut. His eyes run themselves along Cas’s deeply dishevelled state and he must be going crazy.
Women, Dean. You like...
“Dean?”
Dean’s closer, much closer than he should be. His fingertips are brushing against the wall by Cas’s hip and every time he sucks in a breath, his chest brushes against Cas’s. The rush of adrenaline still thrums through his veins and well, he isn’t even going to start on his emotional state. Buzzing with fury one minute, hot the next…
Women. Breasts. You’re as straight as a plank of wood.
His lips are parted, slanted over Cas’s but not quite touching. They’re just breathing into each other, Cas rigid and Dean fighting against everything his body is telling him.
It’s hot. There’s sweat prickling at the base of his neck and he’s dizzy.
“I can feel you,” Cas breathes out against his lips and Dean shivers hard. They’re not touching, anywhere, but Cas knows he’s there. “You’re very close. What’s the matter?”
Dean could have laughed. Cas didn’t even know how much of an effect he was having on him. Dean didn’t even know how much of an effect Cas was having on him.
“You’re not a chick,” Dean replies breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he can when his upper lip brushes just so against Cas’s.
“I’m aware,” Cas responds lightly and is that amusement?
Dean pulls back and runs his eyes over Cas’s face. Yes, it is. There’s a small quirk to his lips and his eyebrows are curved in just the right way.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean’s inner turmoil seems to slot itself into the right place and he smirks at the angel in front of him. He wants to kiss him. Curiosity. I’m just curious.
“Cas,” his voice catches in his throat and he pushes forwards, until their bodies are completely pressed together. “Cas, can I… Can I kiss you?”
Cas tilts his head to the side, confusion evident on his pretty, pretty face.
“Why?”
Dean holds back his snort. Of course he’d ask why.
“Just… I want to try it, okay? I’m going crazy here.”
Castiel seems to ponder it for a moment - most women would jump at the chance and this S.O.B actually hesitates? - but then his face straightens out and he’s as passive as ever.
“I don’t see why not.”
Dean’s heart constricts, like it’s fighting to get out of his chest, and then he’s moving forwards, hands pressed flat to the wall. Let’s get this out of your system, Winchester. Then stop with this bi-curious crap and get back to banging a ton of women.
But the moment Dean’s lips catch on Cas’s dry ones, he knows it’ll be hard to forget this.
He can forget everything else, though, just this once. He can forget that he hasn’t forgiven Cas yet; he can forget that he’s a dude; he can forget that Dean Winchester, the righteous man, is about kiss a shattered angel.
He pushes his lips harder against Cas’s - they taste sweet and warm - but Cas is unresponsive. Dean can almost hear the thoughts buzzing around in his busy little head. Of course, it’s his first kiss he’s experiencing. He clearly had no idea what to do.
Dean moves his hand to Cas’s hip and slips two of his fingers through a gap in his tucked shirt. They come into contact with hot skin and then Cas jerks, mouth parting in surprise.
Dean’s in, pressing rougher, open-mouthed kisses against Cas’s lips. Responsive or not, he needed this. He needed to know.
Oh, but then Cas moves. It’s just a little bit of pressure, but he’s-God, he’s kissing back. The movements are confused, but it’s sending Dean mad. Cas takes Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth and sucks gently, curious hands coming up to tug lightly on Dean’s shirt.
But Dean pulls back.
They’re both breathless and their lips are flushed and red. Dean has to swallow down the urge to dive back in when he sees Cas, mouth still parted open, eyes half-lidded, dazed and not quite there yet.
It doesn’t take Cas long to redeem himself and he straightens, brow furrowed.
“That was strange,” he says simply. Dean swallows the lump in his throat.
“Yeah,” he croaks in return. It had been a tender kiss - tenderer than Dean usually allowed - and now he seemed to be having vivid imagery of a more firmer, hot kiss. With tongues and fumbling hands and maybe a bit of grinding-
Dean shakes himself and blinks himself back into the present. Cas’s hand is hovering in the air, as though confused. Was it going to stretch out and pull Dean closer?
There’s a click and then the door to the hotel room sweeps open. Sam comes in, too occupied with placing the keys to the Impala in a dish to realise that Dean leaps half way across the room. He’s busying himself with pulling out fresh clothes when Sam finally looks up.
Castiel is still leaning against the wall, eyes firmly closed and hand partially outstretched. There’s plastic fruit and books scattered across the floor.
Sam throws the magazine and apple juice he has onto a nearby table, eyes switching accusingly between him and Cas.
“You okay?” Sam asks Cas and Dean hopes to God Castiel doesn’t mention what they’d just done.
“Fine,” Dean turns around in time to see Cas’s hand drop. His head is turned into his direction and Dean is sure, had he been able to see, his eyes would be searing through him. Sam’s frowning at Dean now, like it’s his fault that Cas is acting strange.
Well, it was.
“Gonna go,” Dean clears his throat when his voice comes out gravelly, “… wash up.”
And then he flees to the bathroom, past Cas, trying very hard not to think about how far things could have gotten had Sam not butted in.
-
It’s a few days before Cas brings it up again. Sam is asleep on the single bed and Castiel is lying next to Dean. It’s not weird - they’d shared before. They all traded; sometimes Dean would share with Sam, others he’d end up alone. Or next to Cas.
He’d never admit to himself that sleeping with Cas was a hell of a lot easier. When Cas slept, he slept hard. He didn’t fling long, gangly limbs out every time he turned over.
“You kissed me,” Cas says into the dark silence of the room, pulling Dean out of his stupor. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring the side of Cas’s face.
“Yeah. I wanted to see something,” Dean reasons, not surprised by the bluntness of Castiel’s statement. It wasn’t the first time Cas had spewed something random and off-topic during inopportune moments.
“Kissing seems to be a form of expressing emotion. So what did you need to see?”
Cas sounds genuinely curious, but Dean can’t get past the lump in his throat. What had he needed to see? What it was like, of course. Did he want to do it again?
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. Hell yeah. But he couldn’t.
“Sometimes when humans spend a lot of time together, you start thinking about crazy things. I was a little nuts, you know? All this running and not being with a woman - a guy’s got needs,” Dean mutters into his pillow, though he knows Cas can hear him clearly.
He pushes his head back when Cas turns over, his face now precariously close to his own. Cas had misjudged the distance, though Dean was sure that his surprised breath must be dancing all over Cas’s lips now.
“Needs?” Cas whispers. Dean allows his eyes to drop to the soft lips a few inches from his own and heat prickles up the back of his neck. He’s thinking about leaning forwards and taking them again, pushing Cas down into the bed with his hands and-
“We humans get a little cranky when we don’t have contact with each other,” Dean manages to say, pushing his thoughts hard to the back of his head.
“I’m here for you, Dean. If you ever need contact,” Cas whispers, laying a hot palm on Dean’s forearm. Dean takes in a sharp intake of breath when a spike of heat shoots up his arm. Then it’s gone, and Cas has turned over.
Dean stares at the back of his head for a while, before kicking off the blankets.
Fucking hot…
-
Dean wakes up to voices in the motel room. Sam’s sitting straight on his bed, expression blank and staring at something Dean can’t see. Dean emerges from underneath the quilt to see what has made Sam so… uncomfortable.
Balthazar is standing at the end of the bed that Dean and Cas are sleeping in. He looks slightly bewildered, but his eyes are twinkling in amusement.
“Wow, Deano, didn’t take you long to forgive him. Though, I never thought you’d go this far-”
“Can it, asshole.” Dean growls, sitting up slowly. He presses a hand to his right eye, which is throbbing from tiredness. Cas is sitting upright next to him, expression blank. He would seem a lot more threatening if his hair wasn’t so mussed and if he had held back the yawn that suddenly stretched over his face.
Balthazar shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head to the side mockingly.
“Aww, Cassie, feeling sleepy?”
Instead of rising to it, Cas smiles faintly. Dean stares at him disbelievingly.
“A little. What do you need?”
“We need to have a little chat.” Balthazar doesn’t need to add ‘alone’ onto the end of the sentence, as he blatantly stares at the Winchesters like they’re a major inconvenience. Castiel pulls back the covers and pats along the table beside the bed, rising to his feet. Balthazar watches him patiently, not batting an eyelash at the complete set of pajamas Cas slept in.
Balthazar walks swiftly up to Cas and plonks a hand down onto his shoulder.
“See you later, boys,” Balthazar does a two-fingered salute and then he and Cas are gone in a rustle.
Dean stares at the space they had been seconds before, an amused twitch to his lips.
“Now Cas will know what it feels like to have a plugged up asshole.”
-
It’s dark when Cas returns to them. Balthazar doesn’t spare them a glance and is gone as quick as he’d come. Dean and Sam scramble to their feet and both brothers grasp a shoulder each, stopping Cas from tumbling over.
“That was disorientating,” he grumbles, pressing a hand to his forehead. Dean pats him once.
“Not so fun when you’re the one taking the ride.”
Sam moves away after helping Dean to settle Cas into a nearby chair.
“So, what’d you guys talk about?”
Cas takes his hand away from his forehead and his pale lips tighten. Dean watches his hands automatically fold themselves into his lap, fingers drawing and clenching together.
“Cas?” Dean prompts warily. Cas seems reluctant to tell them and Dean knows that secrets can only lead to bad things - like running off the King of Hell.
“He was simply updating me with Heaven’s progress. I may not be an angel anymore, but he is still my brother.”
It seems like a reasonable answer, but there’s something scratching at Dean’s mind that just makes him not want to believe it.
“How’s it going?” Sam asks without a hint of suspicion. Dean snorts. Naïve little brother.
“Those who turned against Raphael are being rewarded. Those who were with him are being… recreated.” The look of mild sympathy on Cas’s face makes Dean wince.
“Sounds painful,” he comments, moving towards the television. He wistfully watches Dr Sexy for a few more seconds before flicking it off.
“We got work to do tomorrow. There’s a few werewolves in town. Been hiding away in some warehouse, but not eating anybody,” Dean seats himself on a hard dining chair, longingly wishing that they had a couch. “Guess they’re only hunting angel meat.”
Castiel slumps in his chair - just slightly, but Dean notices.
“Hey man, you’re coming with us.”
Sam turns to stare in surprise at his brother.
“What? Dean, he can’t come-”
“I think he’s more than capable of dealing with a couple of freaky wolves. Come on.”
Sam shakes his head exaggeratedly at Dean, obviously not wanting to voice more of his displeasure out loud. Dean rolls his eyes and reaches out for the remote that’s on the table beside him. Then he throws it across the room, hard, into Cas’s direction.
Sam’s wild, worried eyes just widen when Castiel’s hand shoots up and grabs it with perfect coordination.
“Wow,” Sam whispers, probably voicing his thoughts. Dean hides his proud smile behind a hand, though strangely, Cas has a smile twitching about his lips too, like he knows what Dean’s thinking about him.
Before Dean can consider this further, there’s a sharp bang on the hotel door. Sam and him share cautious glances and they’re on their feet in seconds.
They never get to their weapons in time. The door flies off its hinges and standing there, drooling and panting, is a werewolf. It steps forwards and growls;
“Castiel…”
Chapter 3