Fic: What I've Overcome [3/4]
AUTHOR: bloodism
TITLE: What I've Overcome [3/4]
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’s diving for the knife under his pillow the moment the wolf moves forwards. Sam stands boldly in front of the animal, creating a barrier between it and Cas.
“Sam!” Dean shouts, throwing the knife across the room. It’s silver - should be enough to slow it down, maybe even kill it. Sam catches it easily and thrusts forwards, catching the arm of the wolf. A tuft of fur wilts to the floor and the wolf lets out a howl of pain, swiping forwards with a big claw. It wallops against Sam’s side, but doesn’t slice the skin. Sam flies through the air and collides with the wall, the force of the impact sending a picture hanging from the dank wallpaper to the floor.
It shatters noisily and then it’s Dean’s turn. He leaps in front of the monster, eyes scouring the floor quickly for the knife that Sam had dropped. It’s there, next to the furry paw on the floor.
Shit, Dean curses to himself, eyes darting up to the animal looming over him. Its saliva is dribbling out onto the floor of the motel, dampening the stained carpet.
“Cool it, beasty,” Dean holds up both of his hands in a sign of surrender. It actually seems to perplex the wolf for a moment and Dean takes the opportunity to lunge forward and grab the hilt of the knife.
A bristly paw comes out and pushes him in the chest, sending him backwards. The room flies around him and comes to an abrupt halt when he hits the wall. A flash of pain sparks up his spine and he grunts, collapsing to the floor in a heap. But he can’t afford to be disorientated - Sam’s still recovering.
He pushes himself to his feet slowly, but freezes when Cas steps in front of him.
“Cas, get out of the way!” Dean exclaims hoarsely, his voice tinged with pain. Castiel remains in front of him and Dean knows he can hear the wolf stepping closer.
He’s on his feet in a flash, ignoring the rush of giddiness that renders him immobile for a second. Then he’s next to Cas, gripping hold of the sleeve of his coat and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the wolf.
They’re blocked in - a wall to their far left, a table to their far right.
“Castiel,” the growl of the wolf is almost unintelligible, but the name is so familiar, Dean can hear it. You’re not getting to Cas, you son of a bitch.
And then he’s steaming forwards, knife clutched tightly in his hand, head filled with a surge of overwhelming protectiveness.
The wolf is quicker. There’s a brief brush of coarse fur against his face, then a searing pain down his cheek. The room is soaring past him again and then he lands on the top of the table in a crumpled heap. It collapses under his weight with a hefty crunch and then a smooth, watery warmth spreads down his brow. He’s blinking blood out of his eye when he sees Cas facing off to the wolf again, sturdy and strong.
“Cas,” he croaks, but his voice is a whisper - he’s still winded. He’s helpless, scrambling atop the splinters of wood painfully, blood seeping down his face and dripping off of his jawline onto the smooth, crushed planks beneath him.
The wolf is prowling forwards and Dean freezes when a paw rises. But Cas blocks it from coming into contact with his head, faster than Sam or Dean could have ever managed. Dean can’t help the wave of pride that makes his mouth fall open.
He’s blind and he still kicks more ass than me and Sam put together.
Sam’s still trying to come round on the other side of the room, but Dean can’t spare him more than a worried glance. Cas is still fighting against the wolf - and winning - and Dean just can’t tear his eyes away.
It’s when the wolf manages to cut in a sideswipe and Cas lets out a grunt of pain, Dean decides to get his act together. He clambers to his feet, swiping his sleeve across the gash on his forehead to stop the flow of blood. Then, he draws his arm back and tightens his grip on the knife.
“Move, Cas!” He shouts and Castiel is out of the way before the words have even left his mouth. Dean throws the knife and it twirls, over and over through the air, until it buries itself into the werewolf’s chest, past the fur and straight into the heart.
The wolf lets out a groan, a howl, a guttural snarl and then falls forwards. The fur begins to travel inside the body and then they’re left with an ugly looking man who has a gaping hole in his chest. The room smells of blood, wet dog, and fear.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean calls over his shoulder as he approaches Cas. There’s a little blood seeping through the space in between Cas’s hand, which is placed lightly over his lip.
“Yeah,” his brother groans in reply. Dean doesn’t look back to see if he’s telling the truth. He places both hands on Cas’s shoulders and when it’s clear he’s not going to do it himself, Dean grasps hold of Castiel’s wrist and forcefully pulls his hand away from his mouth.
His lip has welled up a little, split, but it’s nothing major.
Dean smacks him on the arm.
“The hell, dude? You could have been killed!”
“But I wasn’t,” Cas says bluntly, “and I am more than capable of looking after myself.”
Dean looks at both of Cas’s closed eyelids in turn and holds back a sigh, letting his hand drop from his shoulder. He notices he’s still holding Cas’s wrist and quickly releases it. He’s frighteningly disturbed over the spike of whatever that was that had coursed through his body at the sight of Cas’s blood and Cas’s pale skin.
Dean sweeps his gaze over the room, blanching at the sight of it. He doesn’t want to see what the motel manager thinks of the mess - if they’re still alive. Quite frankly, he’s surprised a wolf managed to walk through the front door without causing more of a commotion.
“We better go,” Sam voices Dean’s thoughts and Dean nods in agreement. “You wanna clear up a bit before we leave?”
Dean’s about to say that tidying it up before running was kind of counterproductive, when he realises that Sam is talking about him. His cheek is still stinging and he turns to look at himself in a small mirror on the wall. He’s got a shallow gash travelling from the edge of his brow to the tip of his left cheekbone.
Great.
“How am I gonna get chicks with a frickin’ slice through my beautiful face?” Dean jokes, touching a hand delicately to the cut. Sam snorts and looks over to Cas.
“Cas looks like a kicked puppy. Women are gonna be buzzing around him like flies.”
Dean’s gaze moves to Cas in the mirror and he finds himself silently agreeing. His chin has a little blood on it, but once he’s all cleaned up, Cas will probably just have a little bruise near his lip and on his cheekbone.
“Lucky asshole,” Dean mutters to himself, reaching forwards to grasp a handful of tissues from a nearby box. He wipes off the blood as best as he can and shoves it into his pocket.
“Better leave before the rest of the rabid dogs get here,” Dean says, stepping over a table leg towards the bed and his bags. They gather up their stuff, and then they’re on the road again.
-
It’s a day later when Dean loses it again.
It’s just him and Cas. Cas is listening to the television - some animated girl with ridiculously long blonde hair is singing with a douche-y looking dude. Dean’s just lying on his bed, pretending not to be interested, though he finds himself swaying slowly to the tune.
Sam’s out, probably talking a little more than necessary to a woman who was ‘happy to tell the FBI about any strange occurrences’ that were going on in the area. They’d asked a few other people, but when a hairy biker had hilariously quipped that Dean and Cas must be into some kinky shit - clearly their wounds were misinterpreted - Sam had sent Dean back to the motel.
And they were alone.
Cas is shifting uncomfortably - it would have been unusual, but since his battle with the wolf, his fidgeting had stopped. Now, just a day later and he’s back at it again. It’s bugging the hell out of Dean, who’s trying to ignore the fact he’s enjoying the prissy Disney song playing out of the television.
He hauls himself off of the bed and heads over to the couch - fuck yes, their new motel room actually had one - and that’s when Cas freezes. Just stops moving entirely, index finger twitching once before falling still.
The characters have stopped singing now. Dean clears his throat, just making his presence obvious in case Cas hadn’t noticed him sitting next to him.
“You doing okay?” Dean asks him warily, eyes fastened on the red blip on Cas’s pale lips. What would it taste like…
“Fine,” Cas replies, his knee beginning to jitter up and down. It thumps on the hollow floor and Dean bristles. He’s clearly not fine and he’s just keeping it in and for God sake.
Dean clamps a hand down onto Cas’s thigh and all air is sucked out of the room. His leg has stopped moving, but Dean doesn’t notice. There’s firm muscle and a torturous heat warming his palm. His fingers twitch and Castiel sucks in a breath.
He turns his head towards him and Dean lifts his up simultaneously.
“Dean, I-” Cas stops, like he can’t quite think about how to word the next sentence. Instead of continuing, the angel leans forwards, swooping dangerously close. “I would like to try the… kissing. Again.”
There’s no embarrassment behind his words. Just curiosity. Dean’s hand slides down the warm thigh towards Castiel’s knee and he squeezes it gently.
“So would I,” And then Dean’s hands are cupping Cas’s face, lips crushed against a surprised, open mouth. It’s messy and inexperienced and Dean is once again the only one contributing. But after he nibbles on Cas’s bottom lip, over the welt, Cas is there again, lips moving just as fervently as Dean’s.
Hands are pressing into Dean’s back and fingers are woven in Cas’s soft hair as they tug and meld their mouths together in every possible way, heavy exhalation coming from their noses and wet sounds filling the silence. There’s no tongues, just a furious, unrelenting press of the lips and Dean’s pretty damn sure that Cas had to have learnt that from somewhere.
Dean pulls back, chest heaving and cheeks burning. Cas seems equally flushed, his lips swollen and parted.
“I think I like… this,” Cas whispers, a little lost. Dean mentally pats himself on the back for managing to render an angel almost incoherent, then realises he’s having trouble forming a reasonable response.
“Well, I am pretty experienced,” Dean says, chest filled with pride. But he’s jerked out of his arrogant show when hands bunch themselves up in the front of his jacket. After a blur of movement, he finds himself on his feet and against the wall, Cas’s lips on his again.
They’re smooth and wild and if this carries on, Dean won’t be able to stop. He tries to push Cas away, but then there’s a swift lick along his bottom lip and that’s Cas’s tongue. Fuck.
Cas hooks Dean’s tongue with his own and sucks it into his mouth, his hands rubbing up and down along Dean’s chest, rough and demanding. Cas is out of control - total sensory overload. Dean can’t break off to tell him he needs to slow the fuck down, because Dean’s getting hard and there is no way in hell he is going to admit to himself that a guy is turning him on.
He’s still having his sexual identity crisis, for God’s sake.
The door opens and neither of them realise - Dean hand has wound itself under Cas’s shirt and he’s too intrigued by the smooth skin on Cas’s back to give a shit about doors opening.
It’s the choked, disgusted sound that makes them pull apart. Or rather, make Dean release Cas’s lips with a frightened gasp, leaving Cas perplexed. Sam’s standing in the doorway, dressed in his suit, with an utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.
“Dude, were you and Cas getting off to a Disney movie?”
Of all the things for Sam to say, he goes for a frickin’ joke?
Dean’s too busy opening and closing his mouth, so any responses that come to mind blow away in wispy defeat.
“Me and Dean were trying out kissing. It’s… interesting.”
Dean closes his eyes and decides to just ride through the immense surge of humiliation that smacks him upside the head. God, Cas, you could have told him I was giving you CPR or something…
“Really?” There’s a smile in Sam’s voice, “Looked more than interesting-”
“Sammy, really, just clam it.”
There’s something in Dean’s voice that actually makes Sam fall silent. Dean’s eyes are still closed - he doesn’t think he can deal with Sam’s over-expressive face right now.
“Cas, can you give us a minute?” Sam actually sounds kind of sincere and serious, so Dean opens his eyes. His brother is looking at Cas fondly, no sign of teasing on his face whatsoever.
“Of course,” And then Cas fumbles towards the door, exiting it smoothly. Dean and Sam stand in silence. Dean’s hoping it won’t turn into a chick flick moment - the last thing he wanted was the ‘The Talk’ from his own younger brother.
“I already knew,” Sam’s seated himself on a shabby chair, his head ducked and fingers fiddling with each other. Dean stares at him, confusion twisting his brow.
“What?”
“I already knew. About you and Cas. A couple of weeks back.”
“There is no me and Cas. I’m just… sexually frustrated. Having a bit of a crisis. No biggie - not the first time I’ve thought about it,” Dean shrugs off casually, heading towards his bag that’s beside his bed. He’s sure there’s a warm beer tucked away in it somewhere. Hopefully it’d quench back the dangerous urges he’s still got to kiss Cas senseless.
“But this is Cas, Dean. Not some random biker in a bar that looks like Doctor Sexy. And that didn’t look like thinking to me.” Sam’s looking up now and he’s serious, his eyes aflame with that protectiveness from all those weeks back. Dean looks away from his brother when he finds the beer in his bag, smirking in victory.
“Hey, the same thing would happen if some other pretty guy was travelling with us. Like I said, not the first time.” Dean’s still treating the conversation as if it’s a nuisance and Sam doesn’t seem to like it. He’s on his feet now.
“Cas is an ex-angel. He’s almost as old as the Earth itself and is probably one of the most naïve men on the planet. It’s the first time.”
Dean’s smirk falls and he meets Sam’s eyes. He looks pissed.
“Who’s stolen your cupcakes?”
“Dean, he’s not someone you can just mess with. If you’re gonna have a sexual identity crisis, have it with some guy we meet at a roadhouse. Not a blind ex-angel who’s still learning how to dress properly,” Sam’s voice is steel and the words actually get to Dean.
He tries, just briefly, imaging himself with a faceless guy. He jolts out of the daydream, mild repulsion spreading over his face. Sam sees it.
“There is no way I’m gonna get into bed with some airy fairy,” Dean states, making his way across the hotel room and attempting to hold back another appalled shudder. He picks up a bottle opener and plucks the top off of the beer bottle, taking a large glug from it.
He can still taste Cas in his mouth.
It’s when he sees Sam smiling at him - a complete one-eighty from his previous expression - that he realises he must have said something. He thinks back on his words, but can’t see what he could have said to make his brother grin like an idiot.
“So, you’re saying you’re not into guys?” Sam prods. Dean can hear his calculating mind whirring, but doesn’t know why he’s overthinking everything. His brother was an enigma.
“Dude, no, gross. Just thinking about it makes me want to gag.”
“…But you didn’t mind doing it with Cas?”
The vivid imagery of their previous make-out session hammers into Dean’s mind and he flushes. No, he certainly hadn’t minded that. But he’d be damned if he’d admit that to Sam.
“You know what? I think you just cleared up my little bi-curious problem. There’s nothing. Nada. Zilch. Guess it was a fluke,” Dean actually smirks at the crestfallen expression that befalls on his brothers face. It doesn’t last long - his eyes are twinkling again.
“You’re a terrible liar. You know, denial makes the feelings grow stronger-”
“We’re done talking.” Dean storms towards the door of the motel and hauls it open. Cas is standing outside, patient, and lifts his head up the moment Dean opens the door.
Dean actually feels his cheeks grow hot at the sight of him - he’s just standing there and it’s enough to make his head spin.
“Sam’s finished with his pep talk. Get your ass back inside, hot stuff.”
He says it jokingly, to press Sam’s buttons, but he finds himself blushing embarrassingly at his own corniness. After Cas enters, Dean closes the door behind him and stares at the back of Cas’s head, wondering whether or not he had imagined the small, gentle smile on the ex-angels face.
-
Every two days, Balthazar appears and takes Castiel away.
Sam’s not suspicious at all and Dean tries not to be, but that trust which he had in Castiel has evaporated. He doesn’t trust angels, with their disappearing and sly, knowing smiles.
He blinks down at the ketchup he’s holding when it shifts in his hand. Then he lets out a yelp of alarm and drops what is now a frickin’ turtle.
Dean’s eyes immediately snap up to meet Gabriel’s gaze and he does not like his smile. Sam hasn’t realised yet, so Dean kicks him under the table. Sam lifts his head to glare at him in confusion, before noticing his distant gaze. Soon, he’s staring down Gabriel too.
“Hello boys,” he sweeps his gaze around the hotel room with searching eyes and Dean unclenches his teeth.
“He’s showering.”
Gabriel’s eyes snap back to Dean, head still turned. Then his lip quirks up at one edge.
“Oh, I know. I thought we could have some precious bonding time before he comes out.”
The water stops in the other room. Dean hides his sag of relief - the last thing he wanted was ‘bonding’ time with Gabriel. He smirks at the angel until Cas opens the bathroom door and emerges, puffs of steam curling around his form. Instinctively, his eyes snap over to him, but they don’t flicker back to Gabriel. No, they stay there.
Cas is clenching the edge of a small towel around his waist, muscles tensed in his arm and his skin, fuck, it’s damp and there are droplets of hot water trickling down his chest. Then there’s his hair, ruffled and slick, sticking to the edges of that face.
Dean closes his mouth when he realises its jerked open and then shifts in his seat, trying hard not to clear his throat though he really needs to. His eyes dart around the room, looking at everything in the room that’s not Cas; unfortunately, that includes Gabriel. His gaze freezes on him and Dean stiffens.
Gabriel is smirking. It’s that you-may-know-I’m-an-angel-now-but-I’m-still-as-tricky-as-the-fucking-trickster kind of smirk. He’s seen something and Dean’s damn sure it’s something he didn’t want him to see.
“Castiel,” Gabriel calls, never taking his eyes off of Dean’s, “I’d put some clothes on if I were you.”
Dean’s jaw is clenched again, firm and tight. Shit…
Sam looks confused at the warning tone in Gabriel’s voice, until he sees Dean staring down the angel with a furious vehemence. Sam’s invisible to them in that moment. It’s just them.
“Good to see you’re warming back up to him, Dean,” Gabriel’s voice sounds slightly mocking, “Though it looks like you’ve taken a bigger leap than I thought you would.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Dean manages to grind out, casting Castiel a wary glance. His furtive glimpse sticks and he finds himself following a trail of hair at the base of Cas’s chest, licking his lips as it reaches the edge of the towel-
“Someone get this kid a bucket,” Gabriel’s voice is mocking, but he sounds pissed. He kicks Dean in the shin. “Eyes up front, soldier.”
Dean tears his gaze away, guilt flashing in his eyes before being rapidly replaced with annoyance. Gabriel glares back, though his teasing smile remains tightly on his face. He lifts his hand and clicks and for a moment, Dean thinks he’s going to do something crazy, like stick him back in TV land.
But no, instead there’s a rustle and then Castiel is dressed.
“Time to go, bro,” There’s another click and then Cas and Gabriel are gone. Dean slumps backwards in his seat and runs his hands over his face, letting out a slow breath. Sam sniffs behind him.
“I think you got slobber on your jeans.”
Great. Now Sam was at it. Dean casts him a blank glance with a tilt of his head. Sam’s fighting back a smile and throws up his hands.
“Alright, sorry. Whatever.”
Then Dean turns back and rests his hands in his lap, wincing when they brush against his too-tight jeans. He grits his teeth and turns back to his meal on the table, refusing to acknowledge the obvious arousal between his legs.
He can’t find it in himself to feel happy that the ketchup is back. He squirts it over his meal and begins to stuff his face, willing away the heat on his cheeks and repeating - for what could have been the thousandth time - that he did not want Cas.
-
Two months since Cas lost his Grace and fell from Heaven, he makes his first mistake.
They’re at a rather luscious hotel and Cas is tired - grumpy, secluded, quiet. So he tells Gabriel to speak to him outside the room, instead of flying them someplace remote and Dean, well, his suspicions have only been rising throughout the weeks of jumping to and fro, so he waits.
They leave the room, Gabriel pinning him with a hard glare as they do so. Dean ignores the warm smile that the prick gives Sam - Dean had no idea when they’d become close enough for smiles, but he doesn’t care at the moment. He innocently wipes the handle of his gun, gives it a few minutes and then jumps to his feet.
“Dean.” Sam knows, of course. He could probably see it in the way his eyes had kept flickering to the door and back. Dean holds up a hand.
“Nothing you say is gonna stop me.” Dean’s across the room and through the door before Sam can get out another word. He instinctively hunches his back and makes his way along the wall until he reaches the corner. He can hear jumbled words coming from just beyond it and then listens.
“… dangerous, but hey, what are brothers for, right?”
“How many days?”
“About three. Maybe less. Balthazar’s pretty feisty, I’m sure he’s looking forward to tearing into a couple o’ souls.”
Dean frowns and his stomach drops, just slightly. It doesn’t sound like they’re gabbling on about Heaven, but it doesn’t sound like they’re not either.
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
“No problem, bro,” and then Gabriel’s voice raises a little, “Think of this little expedition into Purgatory for your Grace as a… thank you, of sorts. You did save the entire world and Heaven.”
His breath sticks, his head swims and his legs weaken. He slams a hand hard against the wall and then it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s seeing red, then white, then black, then red again.
Purgatory. Grace.
They were going to get Cas’s Grace back.
“No.” He speaks to himself, voice low and hoarse and full of betrayal. Cas had lied to him. Again.
He vaguely acknowledges a rustle of feathers and approaching footsteps. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s swinging around the corner and grasping Cas by the lapels of his coat.
“Dean,” Cas’s voice is surprised and concerned, but Dean doesn’t fucking care. He drags Cas behind him, ignoring his fumbling footsteps and the pair of hands that grasp his forearm, attempting to tear away the grip.
Dean kicks the hotel room door open and Sam jolts to his feet, looking really scared.
“Get out,” he growls to his brother. Sam just stands there, blankly staring between his brother and the tight clasp he has on Castiel’s coat. Dean’s breathing erratically, tick in his jaw, eyes cold as steel and loose hand trembling with anger. Cas actually looks a little frightened, hunched over and hands only gently clawing at Dean’s sleeve.
“Dean-”
“I said get out, Sammy!” Dean yells and Sam jerks into movement, fleeing from the room, sparing them one last glance before shutting the door. Dean doesn’t waste time - he shoves Cas against a beam, hard, and smashes his fist across his face, sending him to the floor.
“You son of a bitch, you lied to us!”
Cas has a hand pressed to his cheekbone, but looks stoically calm. Deadly calm. Dean lurches forwards and catches his fingers in the collar of his coat again, hauling him back to his feet and pressing him into the beam.
“Me and Sam, we’re doing everything we can for you. And this is what you give to us?” Dean’s face is dangerously close to Castiel’s, breathing hot, angry air over his face. “You’ve been lying through your teeth this whole time, you bastard. Were you going to disappear on us once you had your mojo back, huh? Just leave me and Sam to tear apart the world looking for you?”
Cas’s hands fly up to rest on Dean’s, not trying to pull them away nor trying to pull them closer. Then they’re flipped, and Dean sees red when Cas pushes him into the beam, anger flittering through the calm expression.
“I can’t, Dean,” he speaks for the first time, “I can’t live like this. I have been an angel for as long as the Earth has existed. I have seen things that you can’t even imagine,” he’s close, pressing closer, “To give it all away. I can’t.”
Dean scours the ex-angel’s face, jaw tight and arms tense. Then he’s pushing Cas away, pulling back his arm and hitting him across the face again. His knuckle breaks and a splatter of blood decorates the angel’s face. Cas slumps against the kitchen counter he has fallen against and presses a finger to the small cut on his cheek, wincing.
Then Dean is in front of him, hands framing his face and thumb pressing to the trickle of blood. Pale skin, my blood, so fucking beautiful.
There is something worth being human for, Cas.
He surges forward and smashes his lips to Castiel, teeth and tongue and mess. It’s smooth and fluid, a kiss filled with bites and passion. Castiel makes a noise in the back of his throat and starts to reciprocate. Then he’s reaching towards Dean’s waist and hot hands find their way under the tight, black t-shirt. Dean exhales a gasp of air into the kiss and pulls away, just a little, so he can press their foreheads together, their breath dancing and blending together.
They stand, panting, Cas’s hands inching along smooth skin to Dean’s back and when his fingers tantalisingly dance right there at the base of his spine, Dean loses it. He tears his hands away from Cas’s face and presses them into the kitchen counter behind him, pushing a knee between Cas’s legs. When the angel hitches in a breath, he rolls his own hips forwards and then the room is filled with two sharp, desperate groans. Dean’s forehead collides with Cas’s shoulder.
He tilts his head and captures the edge of Cas’s neck with his lips, sucking hard on the skin. The sound Cas makes is heavenly and Dean catches his waist with his hands, untucking the shirt. Then he thrusts his hands underneath the silky fabric, hands travelling upwards until they reach hardening nipples.
“Dean,” Cas hisses, grinding his hips in one slow movement over Dean’s. The friction makes Dean release the puckered skin of Cas’s neck and let out a hearty growl into the crook. He moves, capturing Cas’s open, desperate mouth with his, pushing his tongue deep into the crevice of Cas’s lips. Their tongues brush and stroke against each other, and Dean finds a spot, just under the tight muscle of it, that makes Cas suck in a harsh breath and push his hips more into Dean’s.
It’s too much for Dean. He’s hard, fuck he is so hard, and the friction is perfect. Perfect angle, it’s hot, Cas’s hair is sticking to the base of his neck and there’s a prickling warmth flushing Dean’s chest. He deserves this. He deserves this last thing.
Dean pushes Cas’s feet apart and pushes their crotches tighter, harder and so much closer. Dean has to pull away from the kiss and leaves Cas leaning forwards, lips parted and tongue still poised between them. It’s enough to make Dean want to lunge forward again, but he needs to gulp down the oxygen he’s losing.
They’re at a steady rhythm, pushing their groins together in long, languorous strokes; choked moans and hot gasps filling the stifling, humid kitchen. Dean has no idea what he’s doing and he’s sure Cas doesn’t know either - it’s new to both of them, but fuck it’s good.
Cas’s hands have retreated to the edge of the counter and he’s leaning backwards, hips pushed outwards and head tilted back. God, his creased forehead and bobbing throat was too much. Dean removes his hands from the underneath of Cas’s shirt and leans forwards to press his hands over Cas’s on the counter, pushing their chests together.
It’s intimate, and their warmth merges. They’re heaving with breaths, swallowed moans, covered erections pushing almost painfully together.
“Cas,” Dean says as he sucks in a breath. There’s pinpricks, a pressure that’s building and building and building and then there’s Cas, who chokes out Dean’s name before tensing up and letting out one of the dirtiest groans Dean has ever heard.
He comes in his jeans with a taut moan and has to press his hands harder into Cas’s to make sure he stays on his feet. His forehead finds Cas’s shoulder again and they stand like that for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath.
“Don’t, Cas,” his voice is gravelly and broken, like it had been at the hospital after Alistair, when Cas has said it was him. It always had to be him. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I wouldn’t leave you, Dean. I’ll be Castiel again. An angel of the Lord.” Cas is breathless and his hands find Dean’s face. He lifts Dean’s head away from his shoulder and Dean slides his hands back to his side, looking at Cas, whose eyes are open. They can’t see him though. They can’t see him.
That’s how they stand, time moving around them. Then Dean swallows, his vision blurred. The base of his eyelid tugs and two tears drop evenly and silently to the floor.
“Go,” he croaks.
Castiel goes rigid and slowly removes his hands from Dean’s face, fingers brushing his jawline. He nods and then the space in front of Dean is empty and cold and his hands find the edge of the kitchen counter again. He leans forwards and closes his eyes, allowing two more tears to drop onto the tiled floor and wishing - for what could have been the thousandth time - that he couldn’t feel a damn thing.
-
A few days have passed by and Sam’s still not talking to Dean.
They’re still being chased by creatures - Bobby calls frequently to tell them to move their asses. They’re running from incubuses, vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, demons, changelings, crocottas - any frickin’ thing Dean can think of. They’ve lessened, though. Half has gone after Cas… wherever it is that Cas had gone.
Dean spends most of his time trying not to think about a blind Castiel wandering around on the streets, hopelessly lost and utterly depressed.
Because he knows that’s not the case. The angels would have stepped in, no doubt. Found him a safe little place in the middle of nowhere and they’d keep him there until he had his Grace back. Then he’d fly back up to Heaven and that would be it.
No more Cas.
Dean lets out an angry growl and swipes an arm across the table in their motel room, sending books and plastic plates to the floor. Sam doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t even spare him a glance. He’s still ignoring him.
“Sammy, come on, man. You’re not even a little pissed at Cas?” Dean had said to him earlier. Sam had shrugged and went back to reading his book.
Dean’s sick of this silence, sick of this guilt, sick of this undying urge to call one of the dicks from above so he can ask them to get Cas back to him. He refuses to admit he was wrong, but he knows, fuck, he knows he should never have told Cas to go. So what if Cas went back to being an angel? Damn it, wouldn’t it be a good thing?
It was the lying. Why hadn’t Cas just told them?
Because he knew you’d react like this. You’d get angry, you’d yell at him, you’d tell him to go. You’d order him to leave when he had nowhere else to go.
Dean curls his hand around the edges of the table and tilts his head forwards, screwing his eyes shut.
Fuck.
-
Castiel is in a motel room - he has no idea where - and he’s sitting in front of the television. Since Balthazar dropped him off inside the room and told him he was not to leave, it was all he did. He listened to movie after movie, television show after television show and tried to convince himself that he was just waiting in a motel room for Dean and Sam to get back.
And when night fell and his head drooped with sleepiness, he told himself that it was okay, Dean and Sam just hadn’t gotten back yet.
But he knows he’s just telling himself that. It’s silly really, but becoming human had only weakened his resistance to emotions and feelings that he couldn’t describe. Like his need to be close to Dean, to kiss Dean, the overwhelming burst of something he had experienced with Dean the night he’d left, the ache in the pool of his stomach when Dean twisted against him in just the right way.
Or the empty hole in his chest that he knew wasn’t really there, because he’d checked. Or the way his eyes stung when he remembered Dean’s broken ‘go’.
He just had to wait. In a few hours, he would have his Grace.
He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes - they’re closed, but they’re drying out and itching - and gently plucks at his eyelashes to relive some of the prickling. It’s an accident; he pulls his eyelid open as he pulls an eyelash away and the sudden spark of light makes him jerk. His eyes snap open and then he’s overwhelmed by brightness.
He grimaces and holds a hand over his eyes, but then it clears. It clears.
And the television in front of him is showing a man singing to a woman on a plane.
“I wanna grow old with you…”
Cas blinks. He blinks. And then he smiles. It widens, a grin, and he lets out a breathless huff. There’s a table in the corner of his room, the bedsheets are blue, his tie is red, the floor is dirty, the wallpaper is coated in flowers. He can see.
“You okay, bro?”
Gabriel is standing in the centre of the room, a funny frown on his forehead.
“I… I can see.”
Gabriel looks stunted for a moment, eyebrows rising into his forehead with surprise. Then a genuine smile spreads over his face and he opens his arms.
“Hey, I guess all you had to do was wait.”
Castiel nods gently at his brother, his smile still brushing about his lips, but when he looks back at the television, it turns wistful. There’s no proof, but he just knows.
He looks upwards towards the ceiling and thanks his Father. Then he stands with purpose and looks around.
“Send me to Dean.”
When Gabriel snorts, Cas’s gaze snaps to him, all sharp blue eyes and confusion.
“You think being able to see is going to make Deano suddenly forgive you?” Gabriel’s voice is tight and disapproving underneath the mockery and jeer. Castiel narrows his eyes and tilts his head.
“What is it about Dean that angers you, Gabriel? You seem to have taken to Sam, so it is not the Winchesters you have a problem with.”
Gabriel’s jaw is throbbing and he seems stiff, like he’s inwardly warring with himself. Then he loosens and he throws out his arms.
“That Dean kid has probably slept with more women than I have. You think I want him messing around with my little brother, when he just leaves his fuck buddies all hung out to dry?”
Oh. Gabriel was… being protective. Castiel can’t help sending him a gentle smile and Gabriel rolls his eyes, flapping a hand through the air.
“Don’t smile at me like that. It makes me want to gag.”
“You can see into his soul, Gabriel. You know where his true intentions lie.”
Gabriel returns his gaze back to Castiel and lets out a defeated sigh.
“Hey, I know. Damn it, I don’t how a soul that bright can belong to such a dick. He’s confused and in denial, Cassie. That’s only bad news for you,” Gabriel smirks a little, “You’ve made the world’s straightest man turn homo, bro. That’s an achievement to be proud of.”
Castiel doesn’t see why he should be proud of Dean being attracted to him. He just nods like he understands and steps forwards.
“Will you send me to him?”
Gabriel seems to have loosened up after their talk and there’s no hesitation in his eyes when he nods.
“Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He reaches out, presses two fingers to Cas’s forehead and then he’s gone, leaving Gabriel alone. Gabriel stares around the hotel room dumbly for a few moments, then - after receiving a hasty message from Balthazar - flies away to Purgatory.
-
Dean and Sam are fighting.
They’re fighting for their God damn lives, wounded and cut and covered in dirt, shooting and slashing wherever they can. They’d been ambushed the moment they’d finished off a crocotta in the depths of the woods. There’d been none of the tell-tale signs that demons were in the area - or maybe there had been, but Sam was too busy ignoring Dean and Dean was too busy thinking about Cas to notice.
“Sam!” Dean throws the demon knife over the head of an elderly man and Sam catches it, slashing the throat of a girl. Dean splashes holy water across the face of a man in front of him, the droplets catching in his blood-soaked beard (Dean had knocked out one of his teeth).
“Where is he?” A red-haired, busty woman strolls through the small crowd and they part like she’s a frickin’ queen. Dean elbows a teenage girl in the face and twists away from the grip of a fat middle-aged woman.
“Where’s who?” Dean snarls, finally freeing himself of the demons. There’s more heading towards him, but the woman holds up a hand. The one’s attacking Sam back down too.
“You know who we’re talking about. The little fallen angel. We’ve got something to settle with him.”
“You’re pissed because he killed your king, huh? Don’t you guys have free will now? Why not go make the most of it, before some other douche takes the crown.” Dean doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want demons, not right now.
The woman lets out a humourless laugh that twists her pretty face into an ugly expression.
“Free will? Oh no, Dean. You see, Hell needs a leader. Without a leader, demons kill… they kill each other. They’re tearing each other apart down there-”
“Yeah, tell us something we’re supposed to care about,” Sam quips from behind her. Dean snorts and readjusts his footing, smirking at the rage showing through the woman’s face.
“Yeah, what he said. Why should we give a crap? You think killing our angel is gonna make it better?”
The woman’s expression contorts and changes and now she’s smiling.
“No, but it’ll make me feel a whole of lot better. It might even be enough to ease the naughty little souls down below,” she takes a step forwards, red heels delving into the dirt, “So you will tell me where he is, Dean Winchester, or I’ll tear your guts out and feed them to your brother.”
Dean swallows, but stays rigid and proud.
“Bite me, you filthy son of a bitch.”
The woman’s smile falters a fraction, but she shrugs casually.
“Fine. Get him, boys,”
And then he’s being attacked from all directions and the tall, bright, singular lamppost that’s giving them a little broken light through the trees starts to flicker. He casts his eyes towards it at every chance he gets. No. Don’t you fucking dare. No-
It’s dark. Pitch black, almost. Dean can only see vague black figures in front of him.
There’s a sharp pain in his jaw and he falls to the floor, the force of the demon’s punch stunning his entire body. He blanks out for a few moments on the forest floor and when he comes back around, he feels a pang of worry for his brother.
“Sam!” He calls anxiously. He can still hear punching and grunting in the distance.
“Dean, we’re-” Sam stops. There’s still smacks and shouts and growls coming from his vague direction, so Dean allows himself to sigh in relief. It doesn’t last long - there’s feet kicking his ribs and legs and he stumbles to his feet as quick as he can, countering each lunge towards him. He’d practised in the dark a few times, but not like this. Not when there were more than ten demons to fight off.
He salts a few and he can hear the sizzling of others in the distance - Sam’s finishing them off with the demon knife. Dean manages to hold his bunch off long enough for Sam to come over to assist him, slashing his way through the crowd. Dean feels a rush of hope - were they actually winning? - but it’s soon shot down when he’s pushed with so much force, he flies backwards and crashes into a tree. The bark crackles a little and Dean actually thinks for a minute that it’s his back that makes the sound - the rush of pain is so intense, he sees white.
It’s the woman. She’s coming towards him, murderous and grinning. In her hand is a silver knife, bent into a curve, and it looks so fucking threatening, Dean actually feels a chill run up his spine. He tries to call out for Sam, but his brother is cutting his way through the demon’s Dean had been fighting previously.
“Where’s your angel now, Winchester?” She’s close, stretching out with the knife. She’s going to slice my throat. Damn it, of all the ways to go-
A dark figure emerges from the side of the tree and kicks her away. She stumbles to the ground and then the dark figure is on top of her and she’s screaming. Dean has enough energy to stand once her screams die out and he glances at the figure warily, until it straightens up. He’d notice that silhouette anywhere.
“Cas,” Dean sighs in relief. Then he seems to remember himself and goes rigid. Castiel’s head turns towards him and notices his stiff posture.
“I’m not an angel, Dean. I came to tell you…” Castiel’s voice trails off in Dean’s mind the moment he sees the woman rise from the floor behind Cas, arm outstretched and no. No, no, no, no, no.
“Move!” Dean yells, but Cas turns too late. There’s a sickly sound of a knife ripping through skin and then Castiel is hunched, hand pressed to his stomach, collapsing to his knees on the floor in front of him.
Dean can’t breathe.
Sam’s with them now, and thrusts the knife into the woman’s back. But it’s too late. It’s too fucking late.
“Cas, no,” Dean moves forwards and catches him before he can hit the floor. It’s dramatic, Dean kneeling on the floor and Cas’s head resting atop his thighs, but Dean doesn’t care. Damn it, he doesn’t care. Because Cas is bleeding, there’s a red smudge seeping through the white shirt and everything in his head tells him there’s no way a human can survive a wound like that. Too much blood, stomach wound, thirty minutes at most.
“Cas, no,” he repeats and then the lamppost flickers back on.
Blue, bright eyes are delving deep into his. Nostalgia, confusion, agony and grief hit him all at once. He gulps down air that he forgets to take in and he hears Sam sniffing above him.
“I can see you, Dean,” Cas whispers, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. His hand comes up to cup Dean’s face. “I can see you.”
Dean’s expression twists and his lip trembles. No.
“You’re not gonna die, Cas. We’ll get your mojo back. Come on,” Dean shakes Cas when his eyes start to close, “Stay with us, Castiel, you son of a bitch-” He chokes on his words.
Cas’s head is settled on his thighs, one of Dean’s hand is clutching onto the front of his bloodied shirt and the other is entwined around the back of his neck. Dean rises his head to the sky, glittering eyes staring pleadingly at the stars.
“Please,” his voice comes out unbearably quiet, “please..”
“Dean. Come on, we can’t leave him like this. Let’s take him back to the motel.” Sam’s voice is hurried and strained. He’s not ready to give up yet. The limp body in Dean’s arms feels too heavy, too defeated, but the sound of his brother’s voice sends an unexpected surge of hope through him. He looks back at Cas, whose expression seems almost peaceful.
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll patch him up. He’ll be fine.”
Lies. Of course it’s a lie. There’s too much blood. Too much blood.
Sam makes a quiet, pained sound of agreement and helps Dean to haul Cas into his arms. Dean bends his head down, closes his eyes and presses his nose into Cas’s forehead. He breathes in. He doesn’t want to forget this; this smell, this warmth. Like he’s saying goodbye before it’s over.
“Dean.”
Dean pulls away and nods stiffly at Sam.
They get Cas into the back of the Impala and Dean takes a blanket off of the floor, pressing it into the stomach wound. Blood pumps and flows around his hands, sucking into the material hungrily.
“You can’t die, Cas. She was just a demon,” Dean brushes a hot palm across Cas’s sweaty forehead, watching the erratic pulse throb on Cas’s neck. “If you’re gonna die, die with some style. Come on, man.”
Sam clambers into the driver’s seat, so Dean slips into the back with Cas, lifting his head to settle it in his lap. Cas’s skin is paling - ‘your skin looks sorta smooth’ - and his hair is sticky with sweat - ‘sex hair. Like you’ve just come out of some heavy make-out session’.
They’re just pulling into the motel parking lot when Cas lets out a whimper - ‘you’re like a lost puppy’ - and Dean swallows thickly, refusing to let himself cry.
He’ll be fine. Cas will be fine.
Dean notices Sam’s expression when he opens the door, leaning over to help get Cas out. He seems to be having trouble composing himself too - he looks so fucking frightened, it sends Dean back to the time they had Dean’s first-class ticket to Hell looming over them.
“He’ll be okay,” Dean croaks, eyes steadily focused on his brothers face. Sam stops moving, hands pressed to Cas’s arms, and meets his brothers eyes.
Dean doesn’t know if he’s reassuring himself or Sam.
Sam nods and his jaw is taut as he pulls Cas out of the car, wincing at the groan of pain Cas expels. Dean watches Sam take Cas into his arms and carry him hurriedly into their room. When they’re inside, Sam lowers Cas onto Dean’s bed and both brothers avoid looking at the blood-sodden blanket that’s resting atop Cas’s stomach.
There’s a moment of silence where they just stand, watching him die.
Dean thinks back to sharing pizza crusts; sleeping on Cas’s shoulder; laughing harder than he ever had. He can’t do it. He can’t live without Cas. He can’t.
He turns with a furious, ruined yell, and slams his fist into the wall. It crunches - broken, maybe - and then his other hand finds the wall. His forearms collapse against it and then he slides down, further and further, until his knees find the carpet. His head falls forwards.
“Damn it, Cas,” And the hope that he’d felt is gone. His mantra of it’ll be okay won’t work. It won’t heal him.
I forgive you, Cas, you bastard. I forgive you.
There’s a choked sound behind him - Sam.
“Dean,” his brother rasps brokenly. Dean’s eyes are closed so fucking tightly and he just wants the world to go away.
There’s ten minutes of complete silence. Neither of the brothers move. They just wait, listening to the broken moans coming from Cas. Dean can’t look at his slowly deteriorating body, so remains with his forehead pressed into the wall, arms limp at his side. They’re waiting for the last breath.
It never comes.
There’s a flap of wings and then Gabriel is there. Dean can’t get to his feet fast enough, face damp with tears he could have sworn he hadn’t shed.
“Have you got it?” he says, moving forwards. Gabriel digs into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a necklace - it’s glowing and it’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen.
Gabriel looks down at Castiel sadly for a minute, taking in his sweating, pale skin and small whimpers of pain.
“We couldn’t get all of it. The souls had chewed through it like it was a piece of meat. It’s not enough to make him an angel,” Gabriel says briskly and slightly miserably before going to edge of the bed. He unplugs the cork from the top of the bottle and then tips the white, glowing spectrum into Castiel’s mouth. He hastily pulls it back, leaving a little in the bottom of the bottle.
Dean and Sam are standing and waiting in anticipation. Dean looks over to Sam, whose red-rimmed eyes are deep and wide with worry.
“Fix Cas up,” Dean orders Gabriel, because he can’t be shot down again. Not when he’s just been given more hope. Cas has to live.
But when he looks back over to the angel, he realises his skin has a little more colour to it and his breathing has slowed down - the Grace had done something.
“Cool it, hothead. He’s gonna be fine. That little bit of Grace in there should give him a little extra strength. A wound like that should take about a week to heal.”
Castiel’s eyes open before Dean can fully register that everything’s going to be fine. Dean’s reply sticks in his throat and he watches Gabriel crouch down over Cas, frowning slightly in confusion when he hears Gabriel whisper;
“For the husband,”
Then he straightens up, winks at Dean, smiles warmly at Sam and he’s gone. Dean’s at Castiel’s side almost immediately.
“Cas,”
Castiel turns his head and he looks. Jesus, he actually looks at him. Dean lets out a breath of relief and reaches forwards to push Cas’s hair back from his forehead.
“You son of a bitch, I thought I’d lost you,”
Castiel smiles and captures Dean’s hand with his own, pulling it away. Something warm is pressed into his palm. When Dean takes his hand back, the little bottle on the necklace is sitting in it. It’s glowing gently and the warmth is soothing. Cas smiles at him.
“For you. A piece of me,”
And then Cas is out cold again.
Epilogue
TITLE: What I've Overcome [3/4]
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’s diving for the knife under his pillow the moment the wolf moves forwards. Sam stands boldly in front of the animal, creating a barrier between it and Cas.
“Sam!” Dean shouts, throwing the knife across the room. It’s silver - should be enough to slow it down, maybe even kill it. Sam catches it easily and thrusts forwards, catching the arm of the wolf. A tuft of fur wilts to the floor and the wolf lets out a howl of pain, swiping forwards with a big claw. It wallops against Sam’s side, but doesn’t slice the skin. Sam flies through the air and collides with the wall, the force of the impact sending a picture hanging from the dank wallpaper to the floor.
It shatters noisily and then it’s Dean’s turn. He leaps in front of the monster, eyes scouring the floor quickly for the knife that Sam had dropped. It’s there, next to the furry paw on the floor.
Shit, Dean curses to himself, eyes darting up to the animal looming over him. Its saliva is dribbling out onto the floor of the motel, dampening the stained carpet.
“Cool it, beasty,” Dean holds up both of his hands in a sign of surrender. It actually seems to perplex the wolf for a moment and Dean takes the opportunity to lunge forward and grab the hilt of the knife.
A bristly paw comes out and pushes him in the chest, sending him backwards. The room flies around him and comes to an abrupt halt when he hits the wall. A flash of pain sparks up his spine and he grunts, collapsing to the floor in a heap. But he can’t afford to be disorientated - Sam’s still recovering.
He pushes himself to his feet slowly, but freezes when Cas steps in front of him.
“Cas, get out of the way!” Dean exclaims hoarsely, his voice tinged with pain. Castiel remains in front of him and Dean knows he can hear the wolf stepping closer.
He’s on his feet in a flash, ignoring the rush of giddiness that renders him immobile for a second. Then he’s next to Cas, gripping hold of the sleeve of his coat and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the wolf.
They’re blocked in - a wall to their far left, a table to their far right.
“Castiel,” the growl of the wolf is almost unintelligible, but the name is so familiar, Dean can hear it. You’re not getting to Cas, you son of a bitch.
And then he’s steaming forwards, knife clutched tightly in his hand, head filled with a surge of overwhelming protectiveness.
The wolf is quicker. There’s a brief brush of coarse fur against his face, then a searing pain down his cheek. The room is soaring past him again and then he lands on the top of the table in a crumpled heap. It collapses under his weight with a hefty crunch and then a smooth, watery warmth spreads down his brow. He’s blinking blood out of his eye when he sees Cas facing off to the wolf again, sturdy and strong.
“Cas,” he croaks, but his voice is a whisper - he’s still winded. He’s helpless, scrambling atop the splinters of wood painfully, blood seeping down his face and dripping off of his jawline onto the smooth, crushed planks beneath him.
The wolf is prowling forwards and Dean freezes when a paw rises. But Cas blocks it from coming into contact with his head, faster than Sam or Dean could have ever managed. Dean can’t help the wave of pride that makes his mouth fall open.
He’s blind and he still kicks more ass than me and Sam put together.
Sam’s still trying to come round on the other side of the room, but Dean can’t spare him more than a worried glance. Cas is still fighting against the wolf - and winning - and Dean just can’t tear his eyes away.
It’s when the wolf manages to cut in a sideswipe and Cas lets out a grunt of pain, Dean decides to get his act together. He clambers to his feet, swiping his sleeve across the gash on his forehead to stop the flow of blood. Then, he draws his arm back and tightens his grip on the knife.
“Move, Cas!” He shouts and Castiel is out of the way before the words have even left his mouth. Dean throws the knife and it twirls, over and over through the air, until it buries itself into the werewolf’s chest, past the fur and straight into the heart.
The wolf lets out a groan, a howl, a guttural snarl and then falls forwards. The fur begins to travel inside the body and then they’re left with an ugly looking man who has a gaping hole in his chest. The room smells of blood, wet dog, and fear.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean calls over his shoulder as he approaches Cas. There’s a little blood seeping through the space in between Cas’s hand, which is placed lightly over his lip.
“Yeah,” his brother groans in reply. Dean doesn’t look back to see if he’s telling the truth. He places both hands on Cas’s shoulders and when it’s clear he’s not going to do it himself, Dean grasps hold of Castiel’s wrist and forcefully pulls his hand away from his mouth.
His lip has welled up a little, split, but it’s nothing major.
Dean smacks him on the arm.
“The hell, dude? You could have been killed!”
“But I wasn’t,” Cas says bluntly, “and I am more than capable of looking after myself.”
Dean looks at both of Cas’s closed eyelids in turn and holds back a sigh, letting his hand drop from his shoulder. He notices he’s still holding Cas’s wrist and quickly releases it. He’s frighteningly disturbed over the spike of whatever that was that had coursed through his body at the sight of Cas’s blood and Cas’s pale skin.
Dean sweeps his gaze over the room, blanching at the sight of it. He doesn’t want to see what the motel manager thinks of the mess - if they’re still alive. Quite frankly, he’s surprised a wolf managed to walk through the front door without causing more of a commotion.
“We better go,” Sam voices Dean’s thoughts and Dean nods in agreement. “You wanna clear up a bit before we leave?”
Dean’s about to say that tidying it up before running was kind of counterproductive, when he realises that Sam is talking about him. His cheek is still stinging and he turns to look at himself in a small mirror on the wall. He’s got a shallow gash travelling from the edge of his brow to the tip of his left cheekbone.
Great.
“How am I gonna get chicks with a frickin’ slice through my beautiful face?” Dean jokes, touching a hand delicately to the cut. Sam snorts and looks over to Cas.
“Cas looks like a kicked puppy. Women are gonna be buzzing around him like flies.”
Dean’s gaze moves to Cas in the mirror and he finds himself silently agreeing. His chin has a little blood on it, but once he’s all cleaned up, Cas will probably just have a little bruise near his lip and on his cheekbone.
“Lucky asshole,” Dean mutters to himself, reaching forwards to grasp a handful of tissues from a nearby box. He wipes off the blood as best as he can and shoves it into his pocket.
“Better leave before the rest of the rabid dogs get here,” Dean says, stepping over a table leg towards the bed and his bags. They gather up their stuff, and then they’re on the road again.
-
It’s a day later when Dean loses it again.
It’s just him and Cas. Cas is listening to the television - some animated girl with ridiculously long blonde hair is singing with a douche-y looking dude. Dean’s just lying on his bed, pretending not to be interested, though he finds himself swaying slowly to the tune.
Sam’s out, probably talking a little more than necessary to a woman who was ‘happy to tell the FBI about any strange occurrences’ that were going on in the area. They’d asked a few other people, but when a hairy biker had hilariously quipped that Dean and Cas must be into some kinky shit - clearly their wounds were misinterpreted - Sam had sent Dean back to the motel.
And they were alone.
Cas is shifting uncomfortably - it would have been unusual, but since his battle with the wolf, his fidgeting had stopped. Now, just a day later and he’s back at it again. It’s bugging the hell out of Dean, who’s trying to ignore the fact he’s enjoying the prissy Disney song playing out of the television.
He hauls himself off of the bed and heads over to the couch - fuck yes, their new motel room actually had one - and that’s when Cas freezes. Just stops moving entirely, index finger twitching once before falling still.
The characters have stopped singing now. Dean clears his throat, just making his presence obvious in case Cas hadn’t noticed him sitting next to him.
“You doing okay?” Dean asks him warily, eyes fastened on the red blip on Cas’s pale lips. What would it taste like…
“Fine,” Cas replies, his knee beginning to jitter up and down. It thumps on the hollow floor and Dean bristles. He’s clearly not fine and he’s just keeping it in and for God sake.
Dean clamps a hand down onto Cas’s thigh and all air is sucked out of the room. His leg has stopped moving, but Dean doesn’t notice. There’s firm muscle and a torturous heat warming his palm. His fingers twitch and Castiel sucks in a breath.
He turns his head towards him and Dean lifts his up simultaneously.
“Dean, I-” Cas stops, like he can’t quite think about how to word the next sentence. Instead of continuing, the angel leans forwards, swooping dangerously close. “I would like to try the… kissing. Again.”
There’s no embarrassment behind his words. Just curiosity. Dean’s hand slides down the warm thigh towards Castiel’s knee and he squeezes it gently.
“So would I,” And then Dean’s hands are cupping Cas’s face, lips crushed against a surprised, open mouth. It’s messy and inexperienced and Dean is once again the only one contributing. But after he nibbles on Cas’s bottom lip, over the welt, Cas is there again, lips moving just as fervently as Dean’s.
Hands are pressing into Dean’s back and fingers are woven in Cas’s soft hair as they tug and meld their mouths together in every possible way, heavy exhalation coming from their noses and wet sounds filling the silence. There’s no tongues, just a furious, unrelenting press of the lips and Dean’s pretty damn sure that Cas had to have learnt that from somewhere.
Dean pulls back, chest heaving and cheeks burning. Cas seems equally flushed, his lips swollen and parted.
“I think I like… this,” Cas whispers, a little lost. Dean mentally pats himself on the back for managing to render an angel almost incoherent, then realises he’s having trouble forming a reasonable response.
“Well, I am pretty experienced,” Dean says, chest filled with pride. But he’s jerked out of his arrogant show when hands bunch themselves up in the front of his jacket. After a blur of movement, he finds himself on his feet and against the wall, Cas’s lips on his again.
They’re smooth and wild and if this carries on, Dean won’t be able to stop. He tries to push Cas away, but then there’s a swift lick along his bottom lip and that’s Cas’s tongue. Fuck.
Cas hooks Dean’s tongue with his own and sucks it into his mouth, his hands rubbing up and down along Dean’s chest, rough and demanding. Cas is out of control - total sensory overload. Dean can’t break off to tell him he needs to slow the fuck down, because Dean’s getting hard and there is no way in hell he is going to admit to himself that a guy is turning him on.
He’s still having his sexual identity crisis, for God’s sake.
The door opens and neither of them realise - Dean hand has wound itself under Cas’s shirt and he’s too intrigued by the smooth skin on Cas’s back to give a shit about doors opening.
It’s the choked, disgusted sound that makes them pull apart. Or rather, make Dean release Cas’s lips with a frightened gasp, leaving Cas perplexed. Sam’s standing in the doorway, dressed in his suit, with an utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.
“Dude, were you and Cas getting off to a Disney movie?”
Of all the things for Sam to say, he goes for a frickin’ joke?
Dean’s too busy opening and closing his mouth, so any responses that come to mind blow away in wispy defeat.
“Me and Dean were trying out kissing. It’s… interesting.”
Dean closes his eyes and decides to just ride through the immense surge of humiliation that smacks him upside the head. God, Cas, you could have told him I was giving you CPR or something…
“Really?” There’s a smile in Sam’s voice, “Looked more than interesting-”
“Sammy, really, just clam it.”
There’s something in Dean’s voice that actually makes Sam fall silent. Dean’s eyes are still closed - he doesn’t think he can deal with Sam’s over-expressive face right now.
“Cas, can you give us a minute?” Sam actually sounds kind of sincere and serious, so Dean opens his eyes. His brother is looking at Cas fondly, no sign of teasing on his face whatsoever.
“Of course,” And then Cas fumbles towards the door, exiting it smoothly. Dean and Sam stand in silence. Dean’s hoping it won’t turn into a chick flick moment - the last thing he wanted was the ‘The Talk’ from his own younger brother.
“I already knew,” Sam’s seated himself on a shabby chair, his head ducked and fingers fiddling with each other. Dean stares at him, confusion twisting his brow.
“What?”
“I already knew. About you and Cas. A couple of weeks back.”
“There is no me and Cas. I’m just… sexually frustrated. Having a bit of a crisis. No biggie - not the first time I’ve thought about it,” Dean shrugs off casually, heading towards his bag that’s beside his bed. He’s sure there’s a warm beer tucked away in it somewhere. Hopefully it’d quench back the dangerous urges he’s still got to kiss Cas senseless.
“But this is Cas, Dean. Not some random biker in a bar that looks like Doctor Sexy. And that didn’t look like thinking to me.” Sam’s looking up now and he’s serious, his eyes aflame with that protectiveness from all those weeks back. Dean looks away from his brother when he finds the beer in his bag, smirking in victory.
“Hey, the same thing would happen if some other pretty guy was travelling with us. Like I said, not the first time.” Dean’s still treating the conversation as if it’s a nuisance and Sam doesn’t seem to like it. He’s on his feet now.
“Cas is an ex-angel. He’s almost as old as the Earth itself and is probably one of the most naïve men on the planet. It’s the first time.”
Dean’s smirk falls and he meets Sam’s eyes. He looks pissed.
“Who’s stolen your cupcakes?”
“Dean, he’s not someone you can just mess with. If you’re gonna have a sexual identity crisis, have it with some guy we meet at a roadhouse. Not a blind ex-angel who’s still learning how to dress properly,” Sam’s voice is steel and the words actually get to Dean.
He tries, just briefly, imaging himself with a faceless guy. He jolts out of the daydream, mild repulsion spreading over his face. Sam sees it.
“There is no way I’m gonna get into bed with some airy fairy,” Dean states, making his way across the hotel room and attempting to hold back another appalled shudder. He picks up a bottle opener and plucks the top off of the beer bottle, taking a large glug from it.
He can still taste Cas in his mouth.
It’s when he sees Sam smiling at him - a complete one-eighty from his previous expression - that he realises he must have said something. He thinks back on his words, but can’t see what he could have said to make his brother grin like an idiot.
“So, you’re saying you’re not into guys?” Sam prods. Dean can hear his calculating mind whirring, but doesn’t know why he’s overthinking everything. His brother was an enigma.
“Dude, no, gross. Just thinking about it makes me want to gag.”
“…But you didn’t mind doing it with Cas?”
The vivid imagery of their previous make-out session hammers into Dean’s mind and he flushes. No, he certainly hadn’t minded that. But he’d be damned if he’d admit that to Sam.
“You know what? I think you just cleared up my little bi-curious problem. There’s nothing. Nada. Zilch. Guess it was a fluke,” Dean actually smirks at the crestfallen expression that befalls on his brothers face. It doesn’t last long - his eyes are twinkling again.
“You’re a terrible liar. You know, denial makes the feelings grow stronger-”
“We’re done talking.” Dean storms towards the door of the motel and hauls it open. Cas is standing outside, patient, and lifts his head up the moment Dean opens the door.
Dean actually feels his cheeks grow hot at the sight of him - he’s just standing there and it’s enough to make his head spin.
“Sam’s finished with his pep talk. Get your ass back inside, hot stuff.”
He says it jokingly, to press Sam’s buttons, but he finds himself blushing embarrassingly at his own corniness. After Cas enters, Dean closes the door behind him and stares at the back of Cas’s head, wondering whether or not he had imagined the small, gentle smile on the ex-angels face.
-
Every two days, Balthazar appears and takes Castiel away.
Sam’s not suspicious at all and Dean tries not to be, but that trust which he had in Castiel has evaporated. He doesn’t trust angels, with their disappearing and sly, knowing smiles.
He blinks down at the ketchup he’s holding when it shifts in his hand. Then he lets out a yelp of alarm and drops what is now a frickin’ turtle.
Dean’s eyes immediately snap up to meet Gabriel’s gaze and he does not like his smile. Sam hasn’t realised yet, so Dean kicks him under the table. Sam lifts his head to glare at him in confusion, before noticing his distant gaze. Soon, he’s staring down Gabriel too.
“Hello boys,” he sweeps his gaze around the hotel room with searching eyes and Dean unclenches his teeth.
“He’s showering.”
Gabriel’s eyes snap back to Dean, head still turned. Then his lip quirks up at one edge.
“Oh, I know. I thought we could have some precious bonding time before he comes out.”
The water stops in the other room. Dean hides his sag of relief - the last thing he wanted was ‘bonding’ time with Gabriel. He smirks at the angel until Cas opens the bathroom door and emerges, puffs of steam curling around his form. Instinctively, his eyes snap over to him, but they don’t flicker back to Gabriel. No, they stay there.
Cas is clenching the edge of a small towel around his waist, muscles tensed in his arm and his skin, fuck, it’s damp and there are droplets of hot water trickling down his chest. Then there’s his hair, ruffled and slick, sticking to the edges of that face.
Dean closes his mouth when he realises its jerked open and then shifts in his seat, trying hard not to clear his throat though he really needs to. His eyes dart around the room, looking at everything in the room that’s not Cas; unfortunately, that includes Gabriel. His gaze freezes on him and Dean stiffens.
Gabriel is smirking. It’s that you-may-know-I’m-an-angel-now-but-I’m-still-as-tricky-as-the-fucking-trickster kind of smirk. He’s seen something and Dean’s damn sure it’s something he didn’t want him to see.
“Castiel,” Gabriel calls, never taking his eyes off of Dean’s, “I’d put some clothes on if I were you.”
Dean’s jaw is clenched again, firm and tight. Shit…
Sam looks confused at the warning tone in Gabriel’s voice, until he sees Dean staring down the angel with a furious vehemence. Sam’s invisible to them in that moment. It’s just them.
“Good to see you’re warming back up to him, Dean,” Gabriel’s voice sounds slightly mocking, “Though it looks like you’ve taken a bigger leap than I thought you would.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Dean manages to grind out, casting Castiel a wary glance. His furtive glimpse sticks and he finds himself following a trail of hair at the base of Cas’s chest, licking his lips as it reaches the edge of the towel-
“Someone get this kid a bucket,” Gabriel’s voice is mocking, but he sounds pissed. He kicks Dean in the shin. “Eyes up front, soldier.”
Dean tears his gaze away, guilt flashing in his eyes before being rapidly replaced with annoyance. Gabriel glares back, though his teasing smile remains tightly on his face. He lifts his hand and clicks and for a moment, Dean thinks he’s going to do something crazy, like stick him back in TV land.
But no, instead there’s a rustle and then Castiel is dressed.
“Time to go, bro,” There’s another click and then Cas and Gabriel are gone. Dean slumps backwards in his seat and runs his hands over his face, letting out a slow breath. Sam sniffs behind him.
“I think you got slobber on your jeans.”
Great. Now Sam was at it. Dean casts him a blank glance with a tilt of his head. Sam’s fighting back a smile and throws up his hands.
“Alright, sorry. Whatever.”
Then Dean turns back and rests his hands in his lap, wincing when they brush against his too-tight jeans. He grits his teeth and turns back to his meal on the table, refusing to acknowledge the obvious arousal between his legs.
He can’t find it in himself to feel happy that the ketchup is back. He squirts it over his meal and begins to stuff his face, willing away the heat on his cheeks and repeating - for what could have been the thousandth time - that he did not want Cas.
-
Two months since Cas lost his Grace and fell from Heaven, he makes his first mistake.
They’re at a rather luscious hotel and Cas is tired - grumpy, secluded, quiet. So he tells Gabriel to speak to him outside the room, instead of flying them someplace remote and Dean, well, his suspicions have only been rising throughout the weeks of jumping to and fro, so he waits.
They leave the room, Gabriel pinning him with a hard glare as they do so. Dean ignores the warm smile that the prick gives Sam - Dean had no idea when they’d become close enough for smiles, but he doesn’t care at the moment. He innocently wipes the handle of his gun, gives it a few minutes and then jumps to his feet.
“Dean.” Sam knows, of course. He could probably see it in the way his eyes had kept flickering to the door and back. Dean holds up a hand.
“Nothing you say is gonna stop me.” Dean’s across the room and through the door before Sam can get out another word. He instinctively hunches his back and makes his way along the wall until he reaches the corner. He can hear jumbled words coming from just beyond it and then listens.
“… dangerous, but hey, what are brothers for, right?”
“How many days?”
“About three. Maybe less. Balthazar’s pretty feisty, I’m sure he’s looking forward to tearing into a couple o’ souls.”
Dean frowns and his stomach drops, just slightly. It doesn’t sound like they’re gabbling on about Heaven, but it doesn’t sound like they’re not either.
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
“No problem, bro,” and then Gabriel’s voice raises a little, “Think of this little expedition into Purgatory for your Grace as a… thank you, of sorts. You did save the entire world and Heaven.”
His breath sticks, his head swims and his legs weaken. He slams a hand hard against the wall and then it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s seeing red, then white, then black, then red again.
Purgatory. Grace.
They were going to get Cas’s Grace back.
“No.” He speaks to himself, voice low and hoarse and full of betrayal. Cas had lied to him. Again.
He vaguely acknowledges a rustle of feathers and approaching footsteps. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s swinging around the corner and grasping Cas by the lapels of his coat.
“Dean,” Cas’s voice is surprised and concerned, but Dean doesn’t fucking care. He drags Cas behind him, ignoring his fumbling footsteps and the pair of hands that grasp his forearm, attempting to tear away the grip.
Dean kicks the hotel room door open and Sam jolts to his feet, looking really scared.
“Get out,” he growls to his brother. Sam just stands there, blankly staring between his brother and the tight clasp he has on Castiel’s coat. Dean’s breathing erratically, tick in his jaw, eyes cold as steel and loose hand trembling with anger. Cas actually looks a little frightened, hunched over and hands only gently clawing at Dean’s sleeve.
“Dean-”
“I said get out, Sammy!” Dean yells and Sam jerks into movement, fleeing from the room, sparing them one last glance before shutting the door. Dean doesn’t waste time - he shoves Cas against a beam, hard, and smashes his fist across his face, sending him to the floor.
“You son of a bitch, you lied to us!”
Cas has a hand pressed to his cheekbone, but looks stoically calm. Deadly calm. Dean lurches forwards and catches his fingers in the collar of his coat again, hauling him back to his feet and pressing him into the beam.
“Me and Sam, we’re doing everything we can for you. And this is what you give to us?” Dean’s face is dangerously close to Castiel’s, breathing hot, angry air over his face. “You’ve been lying through your teeth this whole time, you bastard. Were you going to disappear on us once you had your mojo back, huh? Just leave me and Sam to tear apart the world looking for you?”
Cas’s hands fly up to rest on Dean’s, not trying to pull them away nor trying to pull them closer. Then they’re flipped, and Dean sees red when Cas pushes him into the beam, anger flittering through the calm expression.
“I can’t, Dean,” he speaks for the first time, “I can’t live like this. I have been an angel for as long as the Earth has existed. I have seen things that you can’t even imagine,” he’s close, pressing closer, “To give it all away. I can’t.”
Dean scours the ex-angel’s face, jaw tight and arms tense. Then he’s pushing Cas away, pulling back his arm and hitting him across the face again. His knuckle breaks and a splatter of blood decorates the angel’s face. Cas slumps against the kitchen counter he has fallen against and presses a finger to the small cut on his cheek, wincing.
Then Dean is in front of him, hands framing his face and thumb pressing to the trickle of blood. Pale skin, my blood, so fucking beautiful.
There is something worth being human for, Cas.
He surges forward and smashes his lips to Castiel, teeth and tongue and mess. It’s smooth and fluid, a kiss filled with bites and passion. Castiel makes a noise in the back of his throat and starts to reciprocate. Then he’s reaching towards Dean’s waist and hot hands find their way under the tight, black t-shirt. Dean exhales a gasp of air into the kiss and pulls away, just a little, so he can press their foreheads together, their breath dancing and blending together.
They stand, panting, Cas’s hands inching along smooth skin to Dean’s back and when his fingers tantalisingly dance right there at the base of his spine, Dean loses it. He tears his hands away from Cas’s face and presses them into the kitchen counter behind him, pushing a knee between Cas’s legs. When the angel hitches in a breath, he rolls his own hips forwards and then the room is filled with two sharp, desperate groans. Dean’s forehead collides with Cas’s shoulder.
He tilts his head and captures the edge of Cas’s neck with his lips, sucking hard on the skin. The sound Cas makes is heavenly and Dean catches his waist with his hands, untucking the shirt. Then he thrusts his hands underneath the silky fabric, hands travelling upwards until they reach hardening nipples.
“Dean,” Cas hisses, grinding his hips in one slow movement over Dean’s. The friction makes Dean release the puckered skin of Cas’s neck and let out a hearty growl into the crook. He moves, capturing Cas’s open, desperate mouth with his, pushing his tongue deep into the crevice of Cas’s lips. Their tongues brush and stroke against each other, and Dean finds a spot, just under the tight muscle of it, that makes Cas suck in a harsh breath and push his hips more into Dean’s.
It’s too much for Dean. He’s hard, fuck he is so hard, and the friction is perfect. Perfect angle, it’s hot, Cas’s hair is sticking to the base of his neck and there’s a prickling warmth flushing Dean’s chest. He deserves this. He deserves this last thing.
Dean pushes Cas’s feet apart and pushes their crotches tighter, harder and so much closer. Dean has to pull away from the kiss and leaves Cas leaning forwards, lips parted and tongue still poised between them. It’s enough to make Dean want to lunge forward again, but he needs to gulp down the oxygen he’s losing.
They’re at a steady rhythm, pushing their groins together in long, languorous strokes; choked moans and hot gasps filling the stifling, humid kitchen. Dean has no idea what he’s doing and he’s sure Cas doesn’t know either - it’s new to both of them, but fuck it’s good.
Cas’s hands have retreated to the edge of the counter and he’s leaning backwards, hips pushed outwards and head tilted back. God, his creased forehead and bobbing throat was too much. Dean removes his hands from the underneath of Cas’s shirt and leans forwards to press his hands over Cas’s on the counter, pushing their chests together.
It’s intimate, and their warmth merges. They’re heaving with breaths, swallowed moans, covered erections pushing almost painfully together.
“Cas,” Dean says as he sucks in a breath. There’s pinpricks, a pressure that’s building and building and building and then there’s Cas, who chokes out Dean’s name before tensing up and letting out one of the dirtiest groans Dean has ever heard.
He comes in his jeans with a taut moan and has to press his hands harder into Cas’s to make sure he stays on his feet. His forehead finds Cas’s shoulder again and they stand like that for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath.
“Don’t, Cas,” his voice is gravelly and broken, like it had been at the hospital after Alistair, when Cas has said it was him. It always had to be him. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I wouldn’t leave you, Dean. I’ll be Castiel again. An angel of the Lord.” Cas is breathless and his hands find Dean’s face. He lifts Dean’s head away from his shoulder and Dean slides his hands back to his side, looking at Cas, whose eyes are open. They can’t see him though. They can’t see him.
That’s how they stand, time moving around them. Then Dean swallows, his vision blurred. The base of his eyelid tugs and two tears drop evenly and silently to the floor.
“Go,” he croaks.
Castiel goes rigid and slowly removes his hands from Dean’s face, fingers brushing his jawline. He nods and then the space in front of Dean is empty and cold and his hands find the edge of the kitchen counter again. He leans forwards and closes his eyes, allowing two more tears to drop onto the tiled floor and wishing - for what could have been the thousandth time - that he couldn’t feel a damn thing.
-
A few days have passed by and Sam’s still not talking to Dean.
They’re still being chased by creatures - Bobby calls frequently to tell them to move their asses. They’re running from incubuses, vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, demons, changelings, crocottas - any frickin’ thing Dean can think of. They’ve lessened, though. Half has gone after Cas… wherever it is that Cas had gone.
Dean spends most of his time trying not to think about a blind Castiel wandering around on the streets, hopelessly lost and utterly depressed.
Because he knows that’s not the case. The angels would have stepped in, no doubt. Found him a safe little place in the middle of nowhere and they’d keep him there until he had his Grace back. Then he’d fly back up to Heaven and that would be it.
No more Cas.
Dean lets out an angry growl and swipes an arm across the table in their motel room, sending books and plastic plates to the floor. Sam doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t even spare him a glance. He’s still ignoring him.
“Sammy, come on, man. You’re not even a little pissed at Cas?” Dean had said to him earlier. Sam had shrugged and went back to reading his book.
Dean’s sick of this silence, sick of this guilt, sick of this undying urge to call one of the dicks from above so he can ask them to get Cas back to him. He refuses to admit he was wrong, but he knows, fuck, he knows he should never have told Cas to go. So what if Cas went back to being an angel? Damn it, wouldn’t it be a good thing?
It was the lying. Why hadn’t Cas just told them?
Because he knew you’d react like this. You’d get angry, you’d yell at him, you’d tell him to go. You’d order him to leave when he had nowhere else to go.
Dean curls his hand around the edges of the table and tilts his head forwards, screwing his eyes shut.
Fuck.
-
Castiel is in a motel room - he has no idea where - and he’s sitting in front of the television. Since Balthazar dropped him off inside the room and told him he was not to leave, it was all he did. He listened to movie after movie, television show after television show and tried to convince himself that he was just waiting in a motel room for Dean and Sam to get back.
And when night fell and his head drooped with sleepiness, he told himself that it was okay, Dean and Sam just hadn’t gotten back yet.
But he knows he’s just telling himself that. It’s silly really, but becoming human had only weakened his resistance to emotions and feelings that he couldn’t describe. Like his need to be close to Dean, to kiss Dean, the overwhelming burst of something he had experienced with Dean the night he’d left, the ache in the pool of his stomach when Dean twisted against him in just the right way.
Or the empty hole in his chest that he knew wasn’t really there, because he’d checked. Or the way his eyes stung when he remembered Dean’s broken ‘go’.
He just had to wait. In a few hours, he would have his Grace.
He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes - they’re closed, but they’re drying out and itching - and gently plucks at his eyelashes to relive some of the prickling. It’s an accident; he pulls his eyelid open as he pulls an eyelash away and the sudden spark of light makes him jerk. His eyes snap open and then he’s overwhelmed by brightness.
He grimaces and holds a hand over his eyes, but then it clears. It clears.
And the television in front of him is showing a man singing to a woman on a plane.
“I wanna grow old with you…”
Cas blinks. He blinks. And then he smiles. It widens, a grin, and he lets out a breathless huff. There’s a table in the corner of his room, the bedsheets are blue, his tie is red, the floor is dirty, the wallpaper is coated in flowers. He can see.
“You okay, bro?”
Gabriel is standing in the centre of the room, a funny frown on his forehead.
“I… I can see.”
Gabriel looks stunted for a moment, eyebrows rising into his forehead with surprise. Then a genuine smile spreads over his face and he opens his arms.
“Hey, I guess all you had to do was wait.”
Castiel nods gently at his brother, his smile still brushing about his lips, but when he looks back at the television, it turns wistful. There’s no proof, but he just knows.
He looks upwards towards the ceiling and thanks his Father. Then he stands with purpose and looks around.
“Send me to Dean.”
When Gabriel snorts, Cas’s gaze snaps to him, all sharp blue eyes and confusion.
“You think being able to see is going to make Deano suddenly forgive you?” Gabriel’s voice is tight and disapproving underneath the mockery and jeer. Castiel narrows his eyes and tilts his head.
“What is it about Dean that angers you, Gabriel? You seem to have taken to Sam, so it is not the Winchesters you have a problem with.”
Gabriel’s jaw is throbbing and he seems stiff, like he’s inwardly warring with himself. Then he loosens and he throws out his arms.
“That Dean kid has probably slept with more women than I have. You think I want him messing around with my little brother, when he just leaves his fuck buddies all hung out to dry?”
Oh. Gabriel was… being protective. Castiel can’t help sending him a gentle smile and Gabriel rolls his eyes, flapping a hand through the air.
“Don’t smile at me like that. It makes me want to gag.”
“You can see into his soul, Gabriel. You know where his true intentions lie.”
Gabriel returns his gaze back to Castiel and lets out a defeated sigh.
“Hey, I know. Damn it, I don’t how a soul that bright can belong to such a dick. He’s confused and in denial, Cassie. That’s only bad news for you,” Gabriel smirks a little, “You’ve made the world’s straightest man turn homo, bro. That’s an achievement to be proud of.”
Castiel doesn’t see why he should be proud of Dean being attracted to him. He just nods like he understands and steps forwards.
“Will you send me to him?”
Gabriel seems to have loosened up after their talk and there’s no hesitation in his eyes when he nods.
“Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He reaches out, presses two fingers to Cas’s forehead and then he’s gone, leaving Gabriel alone. Gabriel stares around the hotel room dumbly for a few moments, then - after receiving a hasty message from Balthazar - flies away to Purgatory.
-
Dean and Sam are fighting.
They’re fighting for their God damn lives, wounded and cut and covered in dirt, shooting and slashing wherever they can. They’d been ambushed the moment they’d finished off a crocotta in the depths of the woods. There’d been none of the tell-tale signs that demons were in the area - or maybe there had been, but Sam was too busy ignoring Dean and Dean was too busy thinking about Cas to notice.
“Sam!” Dean throws the demon knife over the head of an elderly man and Sam catches it, slashing the throat of a girl. Dean splashes holy water across the face of a man in front of him, the droplets catching in his blood-soaked beard (Dean had knocked out one of his teeth).
“Where is he?” A red-haired, busty woman strolls through the small crowd and they part like she’s a frickin’ queen. Dean elbows a teenage girl in the face and twists away from the grip of a fat middle-aged woman.
“Where’s who?” Dean snarls, finally freeing himself of the demons. There’s more heading towards him, but the woman holds up a hand. The one’s attacking Sam back down too.
“You know who we’re talking about. The little fallen angel. We’ve got something to settle with him.”
“You’re pissed because he killed your king, huh? Don’t you guys have free will now? Why not go make the most of it, before some other douche takes the crown.” Dean doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want demons, not right now.
The woman lets out a humourless laugh that twists her pretty face into an ugly expression.
“Free will? Oh no, Dean. You see, Hell needs a leader. Without a leader, demons kill… they kill each other. They’re tearing each other apart down there-”
“Yeah, tell us something we’re supposed to care about,” Sam quips from behind her. Dean snorts and readjusts his footing, smirking at the rage showing through the woman’s face.
“Yeah, what he said. Why should we give a crap? You think killing our angel is gonna make it better?”
The woman’s expression contorts and changes and now she’s smiling.
“No, but it’ll make me feel a whole of lot better. It might even be enough to ease the naughty little souls down below,” she takes a step forwards, red heels delving into the dirt, “So you will tell me where he is, Dean Winchester, or I’ll tear your guts out and feed them to your brother.”
Dean swallows, but stays rigid and proud.
“Bite me, you filthy son of a bitch.”
The woman’s smile falters a fraction, but she shrugs casually.
“Fine. Get him, boys,”
And then he’s being attacked from all directions and the tall, bright, singular lamppost that’s giving them a little broken light through the trees starts to flicker. He casts his eyes towards it at every chance he gets. No. Don’t you fucking dare. No-
It’s dark. Pitch black, almost. Dean can only see vague black figures in front of him.
There’s a sharp pain in his jaw and he falls to the floor, the force of the demon’s punch stunning his entire body. He blanks out for a few moments on the forest floor and when he comes back around, he feels a pang of worry for his brother.
“Sam!” He calls anxiously. He can still hear punching and grunting in the distance.
“Dean, we’re-” Sam stops. There’s still smacks and shouts and growls coming from his vague direction, so Dean allows himself to sigh in relief. It doesn’t last long - there’s feet kicking his ribs and legs and he stumbles to his feet as quick as he can, countering each lunge towards him. He’d practised in the dark a few times, but not like this. Not when there were more than ten demons to fight off.
He salts a few and he can hear the sizzling of others in the distance - Sam’s finishing them off with the demon knife. Dean manages to hold his bunch off long enough for Sam to come over to assist him, slashing his way through the crowd. Dean feels a rush of hope - were they actually winning? - but it’s soon shot down when he’s pushed with so much force, he flies backwards and crashes into a tree. The bark crackles a little and Dean actually thinks for a minute that it’s his back that makes the sound - the rush of pain is so intense, he sees white.
It’s the woman. She’s coming towards him, murderous and grinning. In her hand is a silver knife, bent into a curve, and it looks so fucking threatening, Dean actually feels a chill run up his spine. He tries to call out for Sam, but his brother is cutting his way through the demon’s Dean had been fighting previously.
“Where’s your angel now, Winchester?” She’s close, stretching out with the knife. She’s going to slice my throat. Damn it, of all the ways to go-
A dark figure emerges from the side of the tree and kicks her away. She stumbles to the ground and then the dark figure is on top of her and she’s screaming. Dean has enough energy to stand once her screams die out and he glances at the figure warily, until it straightens up. He’d notice that silhouette anywhere.
“Cas,” Dean sighs in relief. Then he seems to remember himself and goes rigid. Castiel’s head turns towards him and notices his stiff posture.
“I’m not an angel, Dean. I came to tell you…” Castiel’s voice trails off in Dean’s mind the moment he sees the woman rise from the floor behind Cas, arm outstretched and no. No, no, no, no, no.
“Move!” Dean yells, but Cas turns too late. There’s a sickly sound of a knife ripping through skin and then Castiel is hunched, hand pressed to his stomach, collapsing to his knees on the floor in front of him.
Dean can’t breathe.
Sam’s with them now, and thrusts the knife into the woman’s back. But it’s too late. It’s too fucking late.
“Cas, no,” Dean moves forwards and catches him before he can hit the floor. It’s dramatic, Dean kneeling on the floor and Cas’s head resting atop his thighs, but Dean doesn’t care. Damn it, he doesn’t care. Because Cas is bleeding, there’s a red smudge seeping through the white shirt and everything in his head tells him there’s no way a human can survive a wound like that. Too much blood, stomach wound, thirty minutes at most.
“Cas, no,” he repeats and then the lamppost flickers back on.
Blue, bright eyes are delving deep into his. Nostalgia, confusion, agony and grief hit him all at once. He gulps down air that he forgets to take in and he hears Sam sniffing above him.
“I can see you, Dean,” Cas whispers, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. His hand comes up to cup Dean’s face. “I can see you.”
Dean’s expression twists and his lip trembles. No.
“You’re not gonna die, Cas. We’ll get your mojo back. Come on,” Dean shakes Cas when his eyes start to close, “Stay with us, Castiel, you son of a bitch-” He chokes on his words.
Cas’s head is settled on his thighs, one of Dean’s hand is clutching onto the front of his bloodied shirt and the other is entwined around the back of his neck. Dean rises his head to the sky, glittering eyes staring pleadingly at the stars.
“Please,” his voice comes out unbearably quiet, “please..”
“Dean. Come on, we can’t leave him like this. Let’s take him back to the motel.” Sam’s voice is hurried and strained. He’s not ready to give up yet. The limp body in Dean’s arms feels too heavy, too defeated, but the sound of his brother’s voice sends an unexpected surge of hope through him. He looks back at Cas, whose expression seems almost peaceful.
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll patch him up. He’ll be fine.”
Lies. Of course it’s a lie. There’s too much blood. Too much blood.
Sam makes a quiet, pained sound of agreement and helps Dean to haul Cas into his arms. Dean bends his head down, closes his eyes and presses his nose into Cas’s forehead. He breathes in. He doesn’t want to forget this; this smell, this warmth. Like he’s saying goodbye before it’s over.
“Dean.”
Dean pulls away and nods stiffly at Sam.
They get Cas into the back of the Impala and Dean takes a blanket off of the floor, pressing it into the stomach wound. Blood pumps and flows around his hands, sucking into the material hungrily.
“You can’t die, Cas. She was just a demon,” Dean brushes a hot palm across Cas’s sweaty forehead, watching the erratic pulse throb on Cas’s neck. “If you’re gonna die, die with some style. Come on, man.”
Sam clambers into the driver’s seat, so Dean slips into the back with Cas, lifting his head to settle it in his lap. Cas’s skin is paling - ‘your skin looks sorta smooth’ - and his hair is sticky with sweat - ‘sex hair. Like you’ve just come out of some heavy make-out session’.
They’re just pulling into the motel parking lot when Cas lets out a whimper - ‘you’re like a lost puppy’ - and Dean swallows thickly, refusing to let himself cry.
He’ll be fine. Cas will be fine.
Dean notices Sam’s expression when he opens the door, leaning over to help get Cas out. He seems to be having trouble composing himself too - he looks so fucking frightened, it sends Dean back to the time they had Dean’s first-class ticket to Hell looming over them.
“He’ll be okay,” Dean croaks, eyes steadily focused on his brothers face. Sam stops moving, hands pressed to Cas’s arms, and meets his brothers eyes.
Dean doesn’t know if he’s reassuring himself or Sam.
Sam nods and his jaw is taut as he pulls Cas out of the car, wincing at the groan of pain Cas expels. Dean watches Sam take Cas into his arms and carry him hurriedly into their room. When they’re inside, Sam lowers Cas onto Dean’s bed and both brothers avoid looking at the blood-sodden blanket that’s resting atop Cas’s stomach.
There’s a moment of silence where they just stand, watching him die.
Dean thinks back to sharing pizza crusts; sleeping on Cas’s shoulder; laughing harder than he ever had. He can’t do it. He can’t live without Cas. He can’t.
He turns with a furious, ruined yell, and slams his fist into the wall. It crunches - broken, maybe - and then his other hand finds the wall. His forearms collapse against it and then he slides down, further and further, until his knees find the carpet. His head falls forwards.
“Damn it, Cas,” And the hope that he’d felt is gone. His mantra of it’ll be okay won’t work. It won’t heal him.
I forgive you, Cas, you bastard. I forgive you.
There’s a choked sound behind him - Sam.
“Dean,” his brother rasps brokenly. Dean’s eyes are closed so fucking tightly and he just wants the world to go away.
There’s ten minutes of complete silence. Neither of the brothers move. They just wait, listening to the broken moans coming from Cas. Dean can’t look at his slowly deteriorating body, so remains with his forehead pressed into the wall, arms limp at his side. They’re waiting for the last breath.
It never comes.
There’s a flap of wings and then Gabriel is there. Dean can’t get to his feet fast enough, face damp with tears he could have sworn he hadn’t shed.
“Have you got it?” he says, moving forwards. Gabriel digs into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a necklace - it’s glowing and it’s the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen.
Gabriel looks down at Castiel sadly for a minute, taking in his sweating, pale skin and small whimpers of pain.
“We couldn’t get all of it. The souls had chewed through it like it was a piece of meat. It’s not enough to make him an angel,” Gabriel says briskly and slightly miserably before going to edge of the bed. He unplugs the cork from the top of the bottle and then tips the white, glowing spectrum into Castiel’s mouth. He hastily pulls it back, leaving a little in the bottom of the bottle.
Dean and Sam are standing and waiting in anticipation. Dean looks over to Sam, whose red-rimmed eyes are deep and wide with worry.
“Fix Cas up,” Dean orders Gabriel, because he can’t be shot down again. Not when he’s just been given more hope. Cas has to live.
But when he looks back over to the angel, he realises his skin has a little more colour to it and his breathing has slowed down - the Grace had done something.
“Cool it, hothead. He’s gonna be fine. That little bit of Grace in there should give him a little extra strength. A wound like that should take about a week to heal.”
Castiel’s eyes open before Dean can fully register that everything’s going to be fine. Dean’s reply sticks in his throat and he watches Gabriel crouch down over Cas, frowning slightly in confusion when he hears Gabriel whisper;
“For the husband,”
Then he straightens up, winks at Dean, smiles warmly at Sam and he’s gone. Dean’s at Castiel’s side almost immediately.
“Cas,”
Castiel turns his head and he looks. Jesus, he actually looks at him. Dean lets out a breath of relief and reaches forwards to push Cas’s hair back from his forehead.
“You son of a bitch, I thought I’d lost you,”
Castiel smiles and captures Dean’s hand with his own, pulling it away. Something warm is pressed into his palm. When Dean takes his hand back, the little bottle on the necklace is sitting in it. It’s glowing gently and the warmth is soothing. Cas smiles at him.
“For you. A piece of me,”
And then Cas is out cold again.
Epilogue