SPN Fic: The Storm Is Rolling In
Rating: I dunno... hard "R"?
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Takes place between "When the Levee Breaks" and "Lucifer Rising"
Dean really feels like beating the shit out of something by the time he gets back to Bobby's. Sam is lost, possibly for good. It's the goddamn Apocalypse, and Dean feels broken. He has failed everyone who's ever meant anything to him and quite literally everyone else on the planet.
Bobby takes one look at him as he walks in the house, grabs his shoulders, shakes him gently and says, "Son, you need to get some sleep." He sends Dean to the couch and promises to wake him in an hour, sooner if anything changes. "At this point, there ain't nothin' going on that can't wait that long. Nothin' we can do anything about, anyway."
Dean is pretty much sure sleep is beyond him at this point, despite the fact that he's physically and emotionally exhausted. But he understands that it's important to rest, to be as alert as he can possibly be. He sinks into Bobby's old couch, his back to the room, and closes his eyes. This might be the only place left on Earth where he would do that, Bobby being the only one left he trusts to watch his back.
An odd, rushing sort of sound makes him open his eyes and he's pretty sure he's not in Kansas anymore. He's sitting in the middle of a large bed, in a room with white walls and wooden floors. There's a door and a window to his left, both open to admit a light breeze and the fresh, salty scent of the ocean. Sure enough, as he stands and walks towards the door, he sees the beach outside.
He steps out onto the sand, pleasantly hot from the sun and powdery-fine. He thinks he might be dreaming as the wind picks up and the white cotton skirt of the dress he's wearing flaps around his knees. At the same time, long strands of hair dance around his face and shoulders. So, definitely dreaming and a girl, apparently. Dean is strangely okay with this. It is freeing somehow, sort of like a flying. Like he's still himself, but without the weight of whatever was holding him down before. He has a niggling thought in the back of his mind that whatever it was is important. There's something he's supposed to be doing? But the thought slips away from him and he decides he doesn't really care. His apathy probably has something to do with the peace of the warm, deserted beach.
"It is very peaceful here." An echo of his thoughts.
Dean turns to find Castiel leaning against the doorway and Dean's not sure if it's the real Castiel, or if it is just a dream version. The leaning would indicate "dream," as Castiel doesn't really lean against stuff.
"I'm a girl," Dean says conversationally.
Castiel takes a moment to look at Dean's body before replying. "Yes, it would appear that way."
He hasn't actually checked a mirror or anything, but somehow he knows exactly what he looks like. Long, sandy blonde hair, his own features, but feminized. A smattering of freckles across his nose. "I'm a hot girl."
No comment from the peanut gallery on that one.
Dean tilts his head. "Why am I'm a girl?"
"Perhaps it is because you are feeling vulnerable and you associate that feeling with females," Castiel offers. "You are somewhat attached to your gender roles."
"First of all, thanks for that." Dean shakes his head, enjoys the feeling of his hair brushing against his bare shoulders. "I don't think that's it."
"Then perhaps your subconscious desires something you feel is more appropriate in a female form."
"Like, I have some secret cross-dressing desire?" His eyes narrow. "Why are you here, Cas?"
"I am here because you wish me to be here. It is your dream."
"Are you really here?"
Castiel looks away and half-shrugs as if to say, it is unimportant.
Dean raises his eyebrow and saunters past Castiel back into the room with the very large bed. When he turns back around, he finds Castiel watching him with an inscrutable look on his face, which is just so typical. He sighs.
"It is your dream, Dean."
"So I get to do whatever my little heart desires?"
Castiel nods.
There's never really been any attraction between them, conscious or otherwise that Dean knows of, and he can't even say that he wants to wipe the smug look off of Castiel's face, or make any other bullshit excuse because Castiel is just standing there looking as stoic as always. But for some reason, Dean is suddenly in front of Castiel, pulling him down into a kiss because as girl, Dean is the shorter one.
Castiel grabs Dean's hips almost reflexively , but he doesn't pull him closer or push him away. Instead he takes control of Dean's sudden attempt at seduction and turns it into something slow and intense and completely unexpected. Dean shivers in response and makes a noise of appreciation and, he hopes, encouragement.
When the kiss ends, Dean blinks, expecting everything to vanish, but Castiel is still there watching him, which is just as unnerving as it always has been. But here, in this place, instead of making Dean feel pissed off and defensive, it really just works for him.
"That, uh," Dean starts and then clears his throat. "You know how to do that."
The corner of Castiel's mouth twitches slightly. "I have been around since before the creation of mankind, Dean."
"So, you've had sex before?" That seems kind of wrong, but, then, going millenia without sex seems wrong to Dean, too.
"I have had nearly as much as you."
Dean laughs and this time Castiel actually smiles fully, seeming quite pleased with himself. "Did you just make a joke?"
"It would seem so."
Castiel's hands are still on his hips, and Dean's okay with that as long as he doesn't think about it too much. Except he can't not think about it, because there is nothing even remotely human about Castiel. There is a subtle thrumming of raw, divine power in Castiel's body, the air around them smells faintly of ozone. But, despite the otherness and the intense scrutiny with which Castiel is studying him, Dean wants this. Wants to touch even a little bit of that power, wants to claim some small part of Castiel for himself, maybe. Wants to know what sex is like from this side of the fence, definitely.
Castiel must sense his decision, because he starts skimming Dean's dress up his body and over his head, casting it aside without a sparing glance. Dean notes, as Castiel backs him towards the bed, that he is not wearing a bra, but he is wearing underwear. It seems odd until Castiel presses him down on the bed and pulls the underwear off, sliding his palms down Dean's legs as he does so.
Oh, Dean thinks distractedly. That's nice. It was really, really nice, in an "I'm about to have sex with an angel. Again. As a girl this time...Can I go back to hell for this?" sort of way. This is more of an abstract quandary at the moment
Castiel is all stoic intent as he crawls between Dean's legs, and still fully dressed. Trench coat included.
"You're still dressed," Dean points out helpfully.
"Yes." Castiel looks down. "I thought you might enjoy undressing me."
"I might--" Dean stops. "Actually, yeah." He grabs Castiel's tie, but instead of undoing it, he pulls him down into another kiss. And the thing is, Castiel is just really, really good with the kissing. It must be his crazy angel focus that allows him to kiss with such single-minded determination.
He pushes Castiel's coat from his shoulders, feels Castiel move to take it completely off, but he doesn't bother to check. Instead, he goes to work pulling off the shirt and tie without disturbing the make-out session now fully in progress. When the shirt and tie are finally gone, Dean sets on the pants and Castiel slides his hands under the small of Dean's back. His hands are hot and slightly callused.
Dean breaks the kiss, initially to do away with the zipper that is thwarting him, but when he wins that battle, he looks up to see feathers so white they almost look blue. Dean is impressed. Between the gender change, the angel sex, and now Castiel's wings surrounding them like a cocoon, he hadn't known his subconscious was capable of quite this level of kink.
Castiel's pants are gone, and Dean suspects that he simply made them disappear rather than going to the trouble of awkwardly kicking them off. For a brief moment, Castiel looks almost hesitant, so Dean hikes his knees up, pressing them against Castiel's sides and arches up as Castiel slides into him, hot and hard and being a girl really fucking rocks right about now. He crosses his heels behind Castiel's back and digs his fingers into his shoulders as Castiel starts to move.
"Dean."
He looks up as Castiel's voice scratches and breaks on his name to find him watching him with that look. The one that suggests that Dean is the only thing that exists in the universe. That what Castiel is witnessing is a miracle. Castiel's expression is a blasphemy to the god that Dean doesn't quite believe in, and he doesn't have the power to look away.
They stare at each other as Castiel thrusts into him, slow and deliberate, and Dean moves with him. Doesn't try to change the pace, despite the urgency thrumming through every cell of his body. He's pretty sure he's also making noises. Little throaty sounds of encouragement, because he can't quite catch his breath enough to say anything. He's not sure what he would say, even if he could. Not with Castiel watching him like that.
"Dean," Castiel says again. He strokes his fingers across Dean's cheek with a reverence that Dean could almost believe he deserves, if... If what?
He doesn't know. All he knows is the feeling of Castiel inside him, around him, through every part of him. The energy under Castiel's skin is under Dean's now too. Sweet buzzing pressure building inside of him until he feels like he could fly apart if not for Castiel's wings surrounding them. If not for Castiel holding him together through sheer force of will.
The expression on Castiel's face, though, is Dean's undoing. It seems to take Dean an eternity to realize the meaning. Because he has never been the recipient of something so pure, he almost thinks he's wrong. But there is no mistaking the love shining from Castiel's eyes and the love is without strings. There is nothing in the here and now that Castiel is asking of him. He is simply offering Dean this gift, this benediction. This forgiveness, and Dean comes apart, comes back together in a new way. He is not sure if Castiel comes too, but maybe that was never the point.
"Don't leave yet," Dean whispers, and is almost embarrassed, but he knows that Castiel wouldn't use this against him.
"I am here for as long as you wish me to be here," Castiel replies.
Dean sighs as Castiel's body settles against his once more. They are still enclosed in the intimate space of Castiel's wings and Dean feels happy. He is comfortable and safe, and he's just had some worldview-altering sex with his frickin' guardian angel. He laughs, pretty certain that telling Sam about that last thing would be over-sharing.
And just like that, everything clicks back into place. "Sam."
Castiel's sad expression hits along with all of Dean's memories and every bit of contentment he just felt is burnt away by the anger welling inside of him. Sam has gone demon and Castiel has gone Stepford and the world is about to end. So what the fuck was going on here?
"Get off of me, you sick sonofabitch!" He slaps ineffectually at Castiel's shoulders.
"Dean." Castiel presses Dean's hands still where they are pushing against his chest. "Dean! I did not force this on you."
The truth of that statement does nothing to abate Dean's anger. "What was the point of all this? What do you want?" He tries to pull his hands back. "Is this just another one of your holy mindfucks?" He realizes too late how apt that particular description is.
The determination leaves Castiel's eyes abruptly and he looks so profoundly sad. "Only a respite from everything," he says. "I wanted to provide you with some measure of peace. However temporary."
"Change me back," Dean says quietly. He can feel his throat start to close with the emotion of everything coming back to him with such a rush, and he needs some measure of his control back. He won't find it naked and female under Castiel's body.
"I did not choose this form for you, Dean." Castiel's grip on his wrists gentles. "You are dreaming. This is your mind. This was borne of your desire."
"So I chose to be a girl? I was just, what? Waiting for the right time to pounce?" Dean's voice sounds regrettably high-pitched. "The sex and all... you were just humoring me?"
"No. Not-- I did not plan for this. The situation did give me pause, but..." Castiel appears to be at a loss. "This physicality between you-- between humans. Sometimes it can express so much more than words." He sighs and then leans down, Dean's hands still pressed between them and kisses Dean, slow and soft, demanding nothing. At no point in all of this has Castiel demanded anything, which maybe makes it worse. "I just wanted you to know."
"Cas." Dean closes his eyes. The bitch of it is, part of Dean wants to forget everything again. To just stay here wrapped up in Castiel and to hell with everything else. "Change me back. Please."
He feels the loss as Castiel moves away, can see the light change from behind his eyelids, but doesn't feel his body change until he opens his eyes. Both he and Castiel are fully dressed, and he is himself. He feels both more and less than he was before as he rolls off the bed. At least he's taller again.
The awkwardness that he was expecting is somehow absent. Instead, Dean thinks about what Castiel said. About his desire, and Dean realizes that it is there, as intense as before. It's just different. He wants to trust Castiel. He wants to believe that Heaven has a plan for him. That everything that has happened since he was busted out of hell is not one epic clusterfuck with him in the center. He wants it so much he can hardly breathe.
But he doesn't trust Castiel. So here they are.
"Dean." Castiel startles him out of his mini-revelation. "I wanted you to know that, if I had the choice..."
Dean shakes his head. "I want to believe you. I just can't."
"You did. Before." It's half question, half statement.
"Before what? Before you got hauled back to bible camp? Yeah, sure. I thought-- Doesn't matter, that pretty much got shot to hell." Dean snorts. "No pun intended. I don't trust you, Cas. And it's going to take a little more than some dream nookie, granted very satisfying dream nookie, to change that." He hadn't meant to admit that last bit. "In fact, it's going to take a pretty huge fucking gesture at this point."
"I understand." Castiel bows his head, which seems wrong somehow. "I have-- I have added to your burden with this. I see that now. It is the opposite of what I intended."
Something about Castiel's rare show of humility creeps past Dean's defenses and he makes sure that Castiel is meeting his gaze before he speaks. "I rarely remember my dreams anymore."
Castiel's eyes widen slightly in understanding.
It is hardly a concession, what he is asking. Dean's distrust is too well-rooted for him to forget. All he needs is for Castiel to erase the rest, those new-found desires that just muddy the already murky waters.
"I am truly sorry. For everything." Castiel steps forward and reaches up, framing Dean's face in his hands. For a moment, Dean is afraid Castiel is going to kiss him again, but instead he tilts Dean's head down.
Dean feels the press of Castiel's soft, dry lips against his forehead in benediction. He closes his eyes and everything goes white.
"C'mon, son," Bobby says, shaking Dean gently. "I've let you sleep as long as I can."
"Hmm?" Dean opens his eyes and wipes his hand over his face. "Did I drift off?"
"You were out pretty good. Took me awhile to wake you up." Bobby looks worried. "How do you feel?"
Dean considers it a moment. Takes a mental and physical inventory and says, "Well, hell, Bobby. I practically feel like dancing a jig." He feels like he's been beaten with a sack of hammers.
Bobby rolls his eyes. "Come on, smartass. I made coffee. We need to talk about Sam."
"Yeah." Dean rubs his eyes with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay."
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Takes place between "When the Levee Breaks" and "Lucifer Rising"
Dean really feels like beating the shit out of something by the time he gets back to Bobby's. Sam is lost, possibly for good. It's the goddamn Apocalypse, and Dean feels broken. He has failed everyone who's ever meant anything to him and quite literally everyone else on the planet.
Bobby takes one look at him as he walks in the house, grabs his shoulders, shakes him gently and says, "Son, you need to get some sleep." He sends Dean to the couch and promises to wake him in an hour, sooner if anything changes. "At this point, there ain't nothin' going on that can't wait that long. Nothin' we can do anything about, anyway."
Dean is pretty much sure sleep is beyond him at this point, despite the fact that he's physically and emotionally exhausted. But he understands that it's important to rest, to be as alert as he can possibly be. He sinks into Bobby's old couch, his back to the room, and closes his eyes. This might be the only place left on Earth where he would do that, Bobby being the only one left he trusts to watch his back.
An odd, rushing sort of sound makes him open his eyes and he's pretty sure he's not in Kansas anymore. He's sitting in the middle of a large bed, in a room with white walls and wooden floors. There's a door and a window to his left, both open to admit a light breeze and the fresh, salty scent of the ocean. Sure enough, as he stands and walks towards the door, he sees the beach outside.
He steps out onto the sand, pleasantly hot from the sun and powdery-fine. He thinks he might be dreaming as the wind picks up and the white cotton skirt of the dress he's wearing flaps around his knees. At the same time, long strands of hair dance around his face and shoulders. So, definitely dreaming and a girl, apparently. Dean is strangely okay with this. It is freeing somehow, sort of like a flying. Like he's still himself, but without the weight of whatever was holding him down before. He has a niggling thought in the back of his mind that whatever it was is important. There's something he's supposed to be doing? But the thought slips away from him and he decides he doesn't really care. His apathy probably has something to do with the peace of the warm, deserted beach.
"It is very peaceful here." An echo of his thoughts.
Dean turns to find Castiel leaning against the doorway and Dean's not sure if it's the real Castiel, or if it is just a dream version. The leaning would indicate "dream," as Castiel doesn't really lean against stuff.
"I'm a girl," Dean says conversationally.
Castiel takes a moment to look at Dean's body before replying. "Yes, it would appear that way."
He hasn't actually checked a mirror or anything, but somehow he knows exactly what he looks like. Long, sandy blonde hair, his own features, but feminized. A smattering of freckles across his nose. "I'm a hot girl."
No comment from the peanut gallery on that one.
Dean tilts his head. "Why am I'm a girl?"
"Perhaps it is because you are feeling vulnerable and you associate that feeling with females," Castiel offers. "You are somewhat attached to your gender roles."
"First of all, thanks for that." Dean shakes his head, enjoys the feeling of his hair brushing against his bare shoulders. "I don't think that's it."
"Then perhaps your subconscious desires something you feel is more appropriate in a female form."
"Like, I have some secret cross-dressing desire?" His eyes narrow. "Why are you here, Cas?"
"I am here because you wish me to be here. It is your dream."
"Are you really here?"
Castiel looks away and half-shrugs as if to say, it is unimportant.
Dean raises his eyebrow and saunters past Castiel back into the room with the very large bed. When he turns back around, he finds Castiel watching him with an inscrutable look on his face, which is just so typical. He sighs.
"It is your dream, Dean."
"So I get to do whatever my little heart desires?"
Castiel nods.
There's never really been any attraction between them, conscious or otherwise that Dean knows of, and he can't even say that he wants to wipe the smug look off of Castiel's face, or make any other bullshit excuse because Castiel is just standing there looking as stoic as always. But for some reason, Dean is suddenly in front of Castiel, pulling him down into a kiss because as girl, Dean is the shorter one.
Castiel grabs Dean's hips almost reflexively , but he doesn't pull him closer or push him away. Instead he takes control of Dean's sudden attempt at seduction and turns it into something slow and intense and completely unexpected. Dean shivers in response and makes a noise of appreciation and, he hopes, encouragement.
When the kiss ends, Dean blinks, expecting everything to vanish, but Castiel is still there watching him, which is just as unnerving as it always has been. But here, in this place, instead of making Dean feel pissed off and defensive, it really just works for him.
"That, uh," Dean starts and then clears his throat. "You know how to do that."
The corner of Castiel's mouth twitches slightly. "I have been around since before the creation of mankind, Dean."
"So, you've had sex before?" That seems kind of wrong, but, then, going millenia without sex seems wrong to Dean, too.
"I have had nearly as much as you."
Dean laughs and this time Castiel actually smiles fully, seeming quite pleased with himself. "Did you just make a joke?"
"It would seem so."
Castiel's hands are still on his hips, and Dean's okay with that as long as he doesn't think about it too much. Except he can't not think about it, because there is nothing even remotely human about Castiel. There is a subtle thrumming of raw, divine power in Castiel's body, the air around them smells faintly of ozone. But, despite the otherness and the intense scrutiny with which Castiel is studying him, Dean wants this. Wants to touch even a little bit of that power, wants to claim some small part of Castiel for himself, maybe. Wants to know what sex is like from this side of the fence, definitely.
Castiel must sense his decision, because he starts skimming Dean's dress up his body and over his head, casting it aside without a sparing glance. Dean notes, as Castiel backs him towards the bed, that he is not wearing a bra, but he is wearing underwear. It seems odd until Castiel presses him down on the bed and pulls the underwear off, sliding his palms down Dean's legs as he does so.
Oh, Dean thinks distractedly. That's nice. It was really, really nice, in an "I'm about to have sex with an angel. Again. As a girl this time...Can I go back to hell for this?" sort of way. This is more of an abstract quandary at the moment
Castiel is all stoic intent as he crawls between Dean's legs, and still fully dressed. Trench coat included.
"You're still dressed," Dean points out helpfully.
"Yes." Castiel looks down. "I thought you might enjoy undressing me."
"I might--" Dean stops. "Actually, yeah." He grabs Castiel's tie, but instead of undoing it, he pulls him down into another kiss. And the thing is, Castiel is just really, really good with the kissing. It must be his crazy angel focus that allows him to kiss with such single-minded determination.
He pushes Castiel's coat from his shoulders, feels Castiel move to take it completely off, but he doesn't bother to check. Instead, he goes to work pulling off the shirt and tie without disturbing the make-out session now fully in progress. When the shirt and tie are finally gone, Dean sets on the pants and Castiel slides his hands under the small of Dean's back. His hands are hot and slightly callused.
Dean breaks the kiss, initially to do away with the zipper that is thwarting him, but when he wins that battle, he looks up to see feathers so white they almost look blue. Dean is impressed. Between the gender change, the angel sex, and now Castiel's wings surrounding them like a cocoon, he hadn't known his subconscious was capable of quite this level of kink.
Castiel's pants are gone, and Dean suspects that he simply made them disappear rather than going to the trouble of awkwardly kicking them off. For a brief moment, Castiel looks almost hesitant, so Dean hikes his knees up, pressing them against Castiel's sides and arches up as Castiel slides into him, hot and hard and being a girl really fucking rocks right about now. He crosses his heels behind Castiel's back and digs his fingers into his shoulders as Castiel starts to move.
"Dean."
He looks up as Castiel's voice scratches and breaks on his name to find him watching him with that look. The one that suggests that Dean is the only thing that exists in the universe. That what Castiel is witnessing is a miracle. Castiel's expression is a blasphemy to the god that Dean doesn't quite believe in, and he doesn't have the power to look away.
They stare at each other as Castiel thrusts into him, slow and deliberate, and Dean moves with him. Doesn't try to change the pace, despite the urgency thrumming through every cell of his body. He's pretty sure he's also making noises. Little throaty sounds of encouragement, because he can't quite catch his breath enough to say anything. He's not sure what he would say, even if he could. Not with Castiel watching him like that.
"Dean," Castiel says again. He strokes his fingers across Dean's cheek with a reverence that Dean could almost believe he deserves, if... If what?
He doesn't know. All he knows is the feeling of Castiel inside him, around him, through every part of him. The energy under Castiel's skin is under Dean's now too. Sweet buzzing pressure building inside of him until he feels like he could fly apart if not for Castiel's wings surrounding them. If not for Castiel holding him together through sheer force of will.
The expression on Castiel's face, though, is Dean's undoing. It seems to take Dean an eternity to realize the meaning. Because he has never been the recipient of something so pure, he almost thinks he's wrong. But there is no mistaking the love shining from Castiel's eyes and the love is without strings. There is nothing in the here and now that Castiel is asking of him. He is simply offering Dean this gift, this benediction. This forgiveness, and Dean comes apart, comes back together in a new way. He is not sure if Castiel comes too, but maybe that was never the point.
"Don't leave yet," Dean whispers, and is almost embarrassed, but he knows that Castiel wouldn't use this against him.
"I am here for as long as you wish me to be here," Castiel replies.
Dean sighs as Castiel's body settles against his once more. They are still enclosed in the intimate space of Castiel's wings and Dean feels happy. He is comfortable and safe, and he's just had some worldview-altering sex with his frickin' guardian angel. He laughs, pretty certain that telling Sam about that last thing would be over-sharing.
And just like that, everything clicks back into place. "Sam."
Castiel's sad expression hits along with all of Dean's memories and every bit of contentment he just felt is burnt away by the anger welling inside of him. Sam has gone demon and Castiel has gone Stepford and the world is about to end. So what the fuck was going on here?
"Get off of me, you sick sonofabitch!" He slaps ineffectually at Castiel's shoulders.
"Dean." Castiel presses Dean's hands still where they are pushing against his chest. "Dean! I did not force this on you."
The truth of that statement does nothing to abate Dean's anger. "What was the point of all this? What do you want?" He tries to pull his hands back. "Is this just another one of your holy mindfucks?" He realizes too late how apt that particular description is.
The determination leaves Castiel's eyes abruptly and he looks so profoundly sad. "Only a respite from everything," he says. "I wanted to provide you with some measure of peace. However temporary."
"Change me back," Dean says quietly. He can feel his throat start to close with the emotion of everything coming back to him with such a rush, and he needs some measure of his control back. He won't find it naked and female under Castiel's body.
"I did not choose this form for you, Dean." Castiel's grip on his wrists gentles. "You are dreaming. This is your mind. This was borne of your desire."
"So I chose to be a girl? I was just, what? Waiting for the right time to pounce?" Dean's voice sounds regrettably high-pitched. "The sex and all... you were just humoring me?"
"No. Not-- I did not plan for this. The situation did give me pause, but..." Castiel appears to be at a loss. "This physicality between you-- between humans. Sometimes it can express so much more than words." He sighs and then leans down, Dean's hands still pressed between them and kisses Dean, slow and soft, demanding nothing. At no point in all of this has Castiel demanded anything, which maybe makes it worse. "I just wanted you to know."
"Cas." Dean closes his eyes. The bitch of it is, part of Dean wants to forget everything again. To just stay here wrapped up in Castiel and to hell with everything else. "Change me back. Please."
He feels the loss as Castiel moves away, can see the light change from behind his eyelids, but doesn't feel his body change until he opens his eyes. Both he and Castiel are fully dressed, and he is himself. He feels both more and less than he was before as he rolls off the bed. At least he's taller again.
The awkwardness that he was expecting is somehow absent. Instead, Dean thinks about what Castiel said. About his desire, and Dean realizes that it is there, as intense as before. It's just different. He wants to trust Castiel. He wants to believe that Heaven has a plan for him. That everything that has happened since he was busted out of hell is not one epic clusterfuck with him in the center. He wants it so much he can hardly breathe.
But he doesn't trust Castiel. So here they are.
"Dean." Castiel startles him out of his mini-revelation. "I wanted you to know that, if I had the choice..."
Dean shakes his head. "I want to believe you. I just can't."
"You did. Before." It's half question, half statement.
"Before what? Before you got hauled back to bible camp? Yeah, sure. I thought-- Doesn't matter, that pretty much got shot to hell." Dean snorts. "No pun intended. I don't trust you, Cas. And it's going to take a little more than some dream nookie, granted very satisfying dream nookie, to change that." He hadn't meant to admit that last bit. "In fact, it's going to take a pretty huge fucking gesture at this point."
"I understand." Castiel bows his head, which seems wrong somehow. "I have-- I have added to your burden with this. I see that now. It is the opposite of what I intended."
Something about Castiel's rare show of humility creeps past Dean's defenses and he makes sure that Castiel is meeting his gaze before he speaks. "I rarely remember my dreams anymore."
Castiel's eyes widen slightly in understanding.
It is hardly a concession, what he is asking. Dean's distrust is too well-rooted for him to forget. All he needs is for Castiel to erase the rest, those new-found desires that just muddy the already murky waters.
"I am truly sorry. For everything." Castiel steps forward and reaches up, framing Dean's face in his hands. For a moment, Dean is afraid Castiel is going to kiss him again, but instead he tilts Dean's head down.
Dean feels the press of Castiel's soft, dry lips against his forehead in benediction. He closes his eyes and everything goes white.
"C'mon, son," Bobby says, shaking Dean gently. "I've let you sleep as long as I can."
"Hmm?" Dean opens his eyes and wipes his hand over his face. "Did I drift off?"
"You were out pretty good. Took me awhile to wake you up." Bobby looks worried. "How do you feel?"
Dean considers it a moment. Takes a mental and physical inventory and says, "Well, hell, Bobby. I practically feel like dancing a jig." He feels like he's been beaten with a sack of hammers.
Bobby rolls his eyes. "Come on, smartass. I made coffee. We need to talk about Sam."
"Yeah." Dean rubs his eyes with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay."