A Synonym for 'Okay' [dean/castiel][s/a]
Title: A Synonym for 'Okay'
Pairing/Character(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: R (hand job)
Summary: “I feel happy,” he says, and he means it, which is another oddity - but in this dreamlike state he can’t think of it like that. Just thinks about how good and normal he feels, how at peace with Castiel standing across from him. “I think it’s because you’re here.”
Warning: None
Beta: N/A
Word Count: 4,4,97
A/N: For the d_hearts_c challenge prompt 29. “You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” ~ Dr. Seuss
They way that Dean suffers is as quietly as possible. He’s pretty sure that everyone knows that he’s a very fucked up individual but he likes to keep it to himself, anyway. He likes to at least have the comfort of being able to pretend that no one knows just how damaged he is. And it’s not that bad, at least. Sam knows, but it’s kind of hard to keep Sam from noticing, so he lets that go. Cas probably knows, too, though he doesn’t let on (besides the long stares that make Dean want to crawl out of his own skin and into a dark corner where Castiel can’t read him like an open book), never says anything on the subject. Dean takes that as permission that he’s allowed to be a screw up, and that Cas doesn’t mind.
The way that Dean appreciates is also as quietly as possible. He’s not a very physical man, unless it’s about sex. He doesn’t go for the hugs and touching each other’s shoulders, he doesn’t communicate well with touching unless it’s sex. It has to be sex or Dean just - he won’t do it. Of course, he’ll hug Sam, but it has to be a real moment. Sam would probably hug him every week if he could because that’s Sam, and Sam’s such a physical person (Dean is so used to the quick brushes of Sam’s hand against his back or when he reaches out meaning to squeeze Dean’s arm or shoulder but then realizes that Dean would just pull away). So Dean, Dean just mutters gruff ‘thank you’s to those who help him, to those people he cares about. He tries to communicate how he feels through his eyes and hopes that it can be that simple.
Dean thinks Sam knows how to read him, what his movements mean and how the look in his eyes says ‘I’m so sorry’.
Dean twitches, eyes flickering open as he wakes up from his own doze. His eyes adjust to the pitch of the motel room and he recognizes the cheap lights filtering through the curtains from outside. He turns his head to the side and recognizes Sam’s large figure on his side, facing away from Dean. Dean stares at his brother for a moment, sleeping soundly, and then he looks at the clock. It’s early, or late, or something, almost four in the morning and Dean wants to groan and just roll over and fall back asleep and never wake up. Ever. Again.
They always end up back at the motel late and Dean usually can’t sleep unless he’s showered and usually Sam gets all the hot water before he can get a chance and Dean hates cold water so he just crawls under the covers and hopes for the best. Of course, ‘hoping for the best’ is bullshit and Dean knows it. He also knows that his bitching about Sam ‘wasting the water’ is bullshit too and he’s pretty sure Sam’s figured it out as well by the way he just arches an eyebrow and rolls his eyes when Dean pretends to be indignant.
The whole situation is bullshit. But Dean is a good hider, so he doesn’t let anybody know about it. Not deliberately, at least.
Dean rolls over onto his back and feels under the pillow for his gun. He squeezes the hilt and it brings him a washing sense of security, and he sighs quietly, keeping his hand there. Dean isn’t an idiot - he knows that the safety is false, and chances are that whatever would attack them wouldn’t even be affected by a bullet, even a silver one. But he doesn’t care. He relishes in the false sense, pretending like he’s twenty three again and his father’s the one on the other bed, all low, heavy breathing and experience. Dean couldn’t count, couldn’t name all the times his father had saved his ass and thinking about it - reliving the memory of his father’s countless bruises and bleeding cuts - is beyond painful. It rips open a deep scab of guilt inside of Dean and leaves him breathless, holding the gun tightly enough to hurt.
Dean blinks back the tears, though one drips onto the pillow from his nose. He lets out the breath he’d been holding shakily and rolls over so he’s no longer facing Sam.
He finally falls asleep, restless but without any nightmares.
-
Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder and looks away. “I must go,” he says in that urgent sort of whisper that means something’s going wrong somewhere in this god damn universe. “I’m sorry.”
Dean would be annoyed, except that Castiel sounds strangely sincere. He lets the angel flutter away, where he had been standing just seconds ago replaced by distilled air. Dean steps into the space where the angel had stood and feels a strange sense of serenity barrel over him.
He blinks once, feels the sting in his eyes, and then he smiles.
-
When Dean sits up in the bed, the first thing he notices is that Sam isn’t in the room. It’s dark, but not dark enough that it takes Dean’s eyes more than a moment and a couple of blinks to adjust. He recognizes Castiel standing by the mini refrigerator and frowns. “A dream?” he grunts, sitting up, and Castiel looks at him with shadowed eyes. Cas nods and Dean’s a bit confused. “You haven’t used this method in a while. What’s wrong?”
Castiel looks down and then back at Dean and Dean knows that he should be worried, but he just feels calm and at ease. “I don’t know,” Castiel finally says, and a tiny corner in Dean’s brain is screaming at him, telling him that Castiel is having a breakdown, why is he just sitting there feeling happy? But he doesn’t move. It feels like the rational part of his mind is blanketed, covered by a dark, thick material, and he’s easily able to ignore it. Castiel’s eyes are still wandering and a little sad, but then he smiles and Dean smiles back. “You seem happy,” he says, and something about his voice is odd, but Dean doesn’t really catch on.
“I feel happy,” he says, and he means it, which is another oddity - but in this dreamlike state he can’t think of it like that. Just thinks about how good and normal he feels, how at peace with Castiel standing across from him. “I think it’s because you’re here.”
Castiel’s eyes flash and he jerks but the expression is gone before Dean can even recognize it. “That’s good,” Castiel murmurs, again smiling serenely. “I’m glad.”
Dean wakes up and everything feels foggy.
-
Dean gets stuck between ‘dreams’ and ‘reality’. The reason he uses quotations (in his brain he even thinks it with an awkward emphasis) is because he’s not really sure what’s what anymore. He’s beginning to think that his dreams aren’t part of reality anymore - that he’s dreaming up Castiel in the motel and Castiel’s not actually visiting him, because Cas doesn’t make a single mention of it, and never in his dreams brings up any of their hunts or any of his angel business. Dean doesn’t really think about it too often, except before he falls asleep when he wonders who he’ll see in his sleep tonight.
Castiel’s dream visits are pleasant, and they feel real enough so Dean holds onto them. He allows himself to believe, even if not completely, that they are real. That Castiel is coming to him at night when he can hardly see him at day, to give him a more intimate, happy surrounding in his dreams, as compared to the nightmares he has all too often. Dean thinks that’s a bit sappy so he doesn’t want to say it aloud, least it be true (which would actually leave him very pleased) or least it be stupid of him to assume. Why would Castiel protect him? Dean can’t find the sense on any of his stupid theories, so he considers just dropping everything.
-
Dean finds himself with a strange pining feeling. It takes him a couple of weeks to really confront it, to admit that he’s pining, and when he does he feels a deep self loathing. It’s bad enough that he’s pining like a sixteen year old, but for whom? For Castiel? It’s insane and it’s wrong and it’s so much worse than anything else he’s ever done. He was happy to go to Hell for saving his own brother, figured that was noble, but his attraction to the angel - it’s literally a ‘fatal attraction’. Dean can’t think of any situation in which the big man up in the sky would be okay with an angel and a human. Let alone an angel in a male body with a male human. There’s murder, there’s rape, there’s plagiarism and there’s vandalizing and then there’s pining for a God damned Angel of the Lord (the phrase in itself holding irony of a sort).
Dean thinks, after all he’s been through, that he shouldn’t he fazed. That he should except his crush on Castiel for what it is and roll with the punches - God’s given people who have done things wrong Heaven, and Dean helped stop the apocalypse so how the Hell (and Dean doesn’t want this to be a pun, but it is) could God send him to Hell for being…in love? Dean’s not sure what to call it. ‘In like’ reminds him too much of middle school and finding a card stuffed between the motel couch pillows that read ‘Do you like me?’ with two boxes, one labeled ‘yes’ and one labeled ‘no’ that had obviously been made for Sam. But while Dean can say he loves Castiel (he loves Cas like he loves any of his family members), there’s something inherently different about it, and Dean thinks there should be. Because Castiel isn’t family. Castiel isn’t flesh and blood, or even a friend of flesh and blood. Castiel is a separate entity, a creation that had chosen Dean and had done as told and then had stayed. And Dean - Dean finds this overwhelming because for whatever reason, Cas chose to stay. Said to himself, ‘These humans are right, and I will be loyal to them’ and stayed and protected Dean, despite what he had believed previously.
It’s mind blowing, and it scares the living shit out of Dean.
And Dean also knows that Castiel knows him. Probably knows parts of Dean that he’s never told Sam - probably knows about the guy he fucked somewhere in California, about how much he hated that Ben hadn’t been his son. Cas probably knew about all of the nights Dean had spent staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep while his father hunted and told him ‘keep watch’ like he was just a young soldier with nothing to offer, wondering ‘where’s Sammy? Is he safe? Is he happy?’ and wanting to cry, and that had been so long ago.
Dean thinks Castiel knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes. It’s those eyes - penetrating eyes that make Dean feel like someone’s just stretched out his soul and all of his secrets, a display for Castiel that’s lit up, specifically designed to draw the angel in. And something about that vulnerability makes Dean crazy, sends a jolt up his spine when he see Cas’ deep eyes and wonders ‘Can he hear my thoughts? Does he know?’
And how could Castiel not know, what with the way Dean feels when he’s around? There has to be some kind of angel sense that picks up on vibes, on the way Dean’s chest hurts when Castiel is next to him, begging for him to stay. Dean doesn’t want Castiel to assist them on a hunt and then disappear in a ‘whoosh’ of air, he wants Castiel to stay, to sit with Sam and Dean and crack open a celebratory beer and pretend to have fun, just let Dean stare at him.
That’s got to be communicated somehow.
And Dean thinks that the fierceness he feels is strange, probably makes things more complicated. It’s brutal, endless, it never stops and Dean feels completely overwhelmed by the sensation. It’s a type of protectiveness - when people hurt Cas he just gets so blindingly angry -- but it’s not the same as the way he feels about Sam. It’s similar, in ways, but again, it’s not familial. It feels almost primal, an instinct, this desperate want to protect Castiel, to keep him safe even though Cas is definitely the most prepared of all of them. And Dean’s not really sure what that means, and it scares the shit out of him.
But Dean also doesn’t want to fuck things up. He has figured by now that all of the Winchesters are cursed to never be happy and safe. He’s come to the conclusion that honestly - he’ll probably be a Hunter when he’s sixty, because he’ll never be able to have a family and normal friends. Not that he considers what most people consider normal to actually be normal, because it’s not. It’s a sham, and yes, there’s a part of Dean that craves domesticity, wants to be able to sit in a bedroom with Lisa (Cas?) and be kissed and kiss and just feel…like he’s just a piece of a huge puzzle that could easily disappear and be forgotten. He doesn’t want to be the center of attention, doesn’t want the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore but.
But he’ll always be restless, somewhere.
-
“You appear tired.”
Dean opens his eyes and looks at Castiel. “Is this a dream?” he asks, and usually Cas says ‘yes’ and they go on with whatever topic of conversation. But everything seems surprisingly sharp this time and Dean yawns and stretches.
“No,” Castiel answers and Dean slowly nods. “I’m sorry if I’ve been…missing in action, recently.”
Dean quirks a smile, amused. “You’ve been in my dreams quite a bit,” Dean points out and then bites his lip, realizing that maybe those dreams weren’t real. Maybe he’s just as delusional as he thinks.
But Castiel doesn’t say anything - doesn’t deny the dreams or look confused or confirm them as real. He just blinks, slow and purposeful and God, Dean needs to find some way to cleanse his mind or something, to make it so he doesn’t think these things around Castiel (the way his hands move, the way he parts his lips and obviously considers his words, the gravel tone of his voice like rough pavement) because God, Castiel knows. Dean just knows that he knows because it’s impossible not to just know these things.
Dean momentarily panics and his hands freeze and his body stiffens and he stares at Castiel who stares back with curious eyes.
“Cas,” Dean says and God, his voice is rough and trembling and he needs to get his head together.
Castiel sits besides Dean on the bed, curling his back forward and folding his hands between his legs. “Dean,” he says and Dean twitches, not sure if it’s a response to Dean saying ‘Cas’ or if it’s the beginning of something entirely new.
Cas turns his head and his eyes are still deeply curious. “I wish I could make you happy,” Cas says in that deep voice that makes Dean feels like he’s tumbling, and the words don’t help, either. “I’ve been trying but I can see that I’m not succeeding. Not really.”
Dean’s just confused now and he blinks, shoulder slumping, tenseness melting from his muscles replaced by bewilderment. “Wh-what?” he stammers.
Castiel again seems to be considering his words very seriously. He lowers his chin and stares at the floor and Dean can hear both of their breathing, the offset rhythm of two quiet souls in one quiet place. “I’ll admit it’s strange,” Castiel says after an infinite amount of time, “that I so severely want to protect you.”
Dean swallows, thinks, ‘Well, this is backwards,’ to himself but can’t come up with the words. What could he possibly say when Cas is saying everything he had ever wanted to confess?
Castiel seems to sag under some unseen pressure but he lifts himself to stare Dean in his eyes. Dean feels his body go hot, a jolt of electricity shiver through his back and it’s abnormal but it feels right and he just licks his lips and swallows and waits. He waits in silent anticipation for everything to change. For something to just happen.
“I don’t…know how to explain it. This feeling.” Castiel puts a hand slowly over his chest, purposely, with strict deliberation, and Dean feels his breath in his lungs, stuck there because there is something beautiful about what’s happening right in front of him. Castiel still looks unsure, but he presses his hand against his chest, over his heart. “It sort of hurts, but it’s not…it’s not a physical pain. It’s created by the brain, the human brain. In all my time I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”
“Cas,” Dean says, and his voice shouldn’t be that hoarse. He flicks his tongue over his lips to wet them and he can almost feel the quivering of his limbs. It’s not like anything he’s ever experienced - his stomach is twisting in knots and his hands feel cold but warm at the same time. His bones feel like they’re shaking in his body and he thinks if he stood up right now, he’d fall over backwards. Castiel looks at him again, blue eyes sharp and full of meaning. Dean swallows, realizing that Cas is waiting for him to go on. “That’s…” His voice still sounds strange, like the words are coming out of a different mouth. Familiar, but not his. “Cas, that’s what we call…” But the words fade, stuck in the lump in his throat. He swallows, and it hurts and he realizes Cas is blurring in front of him. He blinks and one tear falls down his cheek. Before he has time to swipe it away, Castiel is turning his body and touching Dean’s face. His hands are warm and Dean picks up his own to leave it over Cas’ on his face.
“I know what this is, Dean,” Cas says, his voice still low and rumbling but it washes over Dean like a wave of warm water and he feels suddenly much calmer, though he can still feel his bones and his sweat and everything that ever frightened him.
The first kiss is quick, an experimental touch of mouths and Dean doesn’t even have time to kiss Castiel back. Castiel kisses down his neck, using nothing but his chapped lips against Dean’s skin and Dean can’t help that he tilts his head backwards and moves a hand into Cas’ hair, tugging gently. Castiel stops at Dean’s collar, above his flannel shirt and then looks back up at Dean. Dean feels the strange sensation of ‘losing oneself in another’s eyes’ and God, that’s a fucked up cliché but it’s true.
Castiel kisses him again, quick and without fervor, but then Dean finds himself leaning into the kisses, getting to Cas before Cas can pull back. And it feels good - the rough rub of stubble and the taste of raw lips and mouth. Dean kisses Castiel harder, forces him to stay by gripping the hair at the nape of his neck and Castiel makes a soft noise, his fingers clenching into Dean’s shirt. They kiss and they kiss and God, Dean’s wanted to be kissed like this for so long, has wanted to kiss someone like this but never had the opportunity, never had the chance, and now…now it’s here and he’s safe and he licks into Cas’ mouth without hesitation, feeling like everything is finally falling into place. Like this all happened for some bizarre reason.
Dean rolls them over, pushing Castiel gently into the squeaky motel mattress. Cas looks odd there, trench coat hanging on his shoulders and tie hanging loosely around his neck, a couple of buttons undone on his shirt. Dean stares at him and sees nothing but Castiel, nothing but a shock of blue eyes and God’s grace hidden inside.
He kisses Castiel again and tries to communicate with his tongue and his lips how much this means to him. To kiss Cas.
And yeah, this means something.
Dean pulls the tie off, pulls Cas’ shirt out of the waistband of his black pants and unbuttons it with fingers he didn’t know could move so fast. Castiel looks awkward and a little abashed but he scrambles out of his trench coat and helps Dean slide the dress shirt off of his shoulders.
Dean looks at Cas’ chest, all lean muscle and perfect skin, unblemished, untouched. He shivers at how new Castiel is to this world, how raw and different. He kisses over Castiel’s bare skin, sucking against his hip when he reaches that far down and fuck, Castiel has the best hips, just barely protruding from his skin when he lies straight. But Cas lifts his hip, arches his back, and his hipbones push out more and Dean wants to moan just from being there. He feels a spark in the pit of his stomach, reaching down into his groin and of all the things he could be doing on a Friday night, this is probably the thing he least expected.
While simultaneously it’s what he’s wanted more than anything for a long time. Dean’s not sure how long exactly, can’t pinpoint that moment when he realized he wished he could have an angel in more than a metaphorical sense, and he really doesn’t see the point in trying to figure it out. He instead uses his precious time to open Cas’ mouth with his tongue, rocking his hips down against Cas’ as he fumbles with the button and zipper of Cas’ pants. Castiel jerks up and he scrambles again to get a tight grip on Dean, hissing under his breath. It’s the hottest thing Dean’s ever heard.
Dean fumbles because wow, this is reality, this is really happening to him. He’s still a bit shaky (which Dean finds kind of pathetic because -- come on!) but he’s too distracted by Cas’ open mouth and frantic breaths.
Dean licks his palm and pushes himself up so he’s no longer on top of Castiel, instead hovering over him. Dean uses the room to push his hand into Cas’ underwear (something he had never thought about), gripping his cock with sure fingers. He’s not sure if wetting his palm had actually made any difference, but he strokes Castiel slowly and carefully, eyeing him and waiting for a reaction. Cas’ breathing is still heavy but now his eyes are closed, tight and tense. Dean keeps his fingers in a loose grip and pulls at Cas’ cock, feeling the jerk of his hips and the catch on his breath.
Castiel may technically be a virgin, but his body knows what’s happening, knows what to do. He says Dean’s name, slow and coarse and it takes everything Dean has not to push his other hand into his jeans. Dean practices self restraint though and just continues to jack Castiel off, using his own experience with masturbation and hand jobs and hoping Cas likes some of the same things he does. By the sound of it and the way Cas is leaning his head back, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“Dean,” Castiel says again, and this time he sounds urgent, almost scared. Dean leans back over Cas’ body and hushes him with a warm kiss, running his tongue soothingly along Cas’. “Dean,” Castiel says again, almost reaching the level of a whine. Dean just murmurs a couple of soft, ‘It’s okay, you can let go,’s because he can feel the tenseness in Cas’ body and knows that’s all he needs. A moment later, with coaxing from Dean’s hand and his voice, Castiel finally comes, shuddering and letting out broken gasps and whimpers. There’s a long moment of Cas with his hips still arched and Dean’s hand still being loosely wrapped around his cock but then Castiel collapses back into the mattress and takes a long breath into his lungs.
Dean takes the moment to kiss Castiel again, to taste the sweat above his lip and against his jaw. Dean feels completely content, cradling Cas’ head in one hand and spreading cautious kisses along his jaw and over his forehead.
Cas seems to catch his breath and he reaches out and rests his hands on Dean’s throat, hitching a leg around Dean’s hips and rolling them over. Dean grunts and falls gracelessly against the bed, though they somehow manage to keep kissing through the whole thing. It feels good and normal and warm and Dean smiles against Cas’ mouth as it moves feverishly, frenzied and yet somehow completely unfazed.
“This is real,” Dean finally says when he manages to break the kiss, curling his fingers in Cas’ hair. “This is real, right?”
“Didn’t I already tell you?” Cas says and his voice is back to being rasping and calm. He smiles crookedly at Dean. “I’m right here.”
Dean looks at Cas and lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he says, pulling Castiel back down to kiss him. They keep kissing for a couple of minutes, solid and fluid at the same time, all these things Dean never thought he would be allowed to have.
They lie next to each other, the quiet leaving the room full and comfortable. Neither of them says anything for a long time and then Dean smiles. “Did you ask Sam to stay out for the night?” he mumbles, scraping his short fingernails against the bare skin of Cas’ shoulder, arm still around him. His shirt somehow got thrown to the ground too, though they’re both in their pants (Dean in jeans, Cas still in the black dress pants).
“I may have…given him the suggestion.”
Dean laughs at Cas’ slight guilt and looks at him. He can’t exactly say why, but Castiel looks different like this. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s gotten rid of the bulkiness of his clothes which had made him look stiff, or maybe it’s just the fucked out look in his eyes. Dean doesn’t even mind that he hasn’t gotten off because looking at Cas like this is enough to just make him happy.
“I don’t want to sleep,” Dean says, strangely softly, and he looks at Cas and wonders what he’ll say. If he’ll say anything. If he’ll know what Dean is implying.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Castiel says, an answer to Dean’s unspoken question. Dean stares and sees fire in Castiel’s eyes, an intensity that he’s only seen once or twice before.
He kisses Castiel and presses his nose into the crook of his neck. Sam’s not there to make fun of him for cuddling so he lets himself fall asleep like that, and he’s not afraid.
Pairing/Character(s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: R (hand job)
Summary: “I feel happy,” he says, and he means it, which is another oddity - but in this dreamlike state he can’t think of it like that. Just thinks about how good and normal he feels, how at peace with Castiel standing across from him. “I think it’s because you’re here.”
Warning: None
Beta: N/A
Word Count: 4,4,97
A/N: For the d_hearts_c challenge prompt 29. “You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” ~ Dr. Seuss
They way that Dean suffers is as quietly as possible. He’s pretty sure that everyone knows that he’s a very fucked up individual but he likes to keep it to himself, anyway. He likes to at least have the comfort of being able to pretend that no one knows just how damaged he is. And it’s not that bad, at least. Sam knows, but it’s kind of hard to keep Sam from noticing, so he lets that go. Cas probably knows, too, though he doesn’t let on (besides the long stares that make Dean want to crawl out of his own skin and into a dark corner where Castiel can’t read him like an open book), never says anything on the subject. Dean takes that as permission that he’s allowed to be a screw up, and that Cas doesn’t mind.
The way that Dean appreciates is also as quietly as possible. He’s not a very physical man, unless it’s about sex. He doesn’t go for the hugs and touching each other’s shoulders, he doesn’t communicate well with touching unless it’s sex. It has to be sex or Dean just - he won’t do it. Of course, he’ll hug Sam, but it has to be a real moment. Sam would probably hug him every week if he could because that’s Sam, and Sam’s such a physical person (Dean is so used to the quick brushes of Sam’s hand against his back or when he reaches out meaning to squeeze Dean’s arm or shoulder but then realizes that Dean would just pull away). So Dean, Dean just mutters gruff ‘thank you’s to those who help him, to those people he cares about. He tries to communicate how he feels through his eyes and hopes that it can be that simple.
Dean thinks Sam knows how to read him, what his movements mean and how the look in his eyes says ‘I’m so sorry’.
Dean twitches, eyes flickering open as he wakes up from his own doze. His eyes adjust to the pitch of the motel room and he recognizes the cheap lights filtering through the curtains from outside. He turns his head to the side and recognizes Sam’s large figure on his side, facing away from Dean. Dean stares at his brother for a moment, sleeping soundly, and then he looks at the clock. It’s early, or late, or something, almost four in the morning and Dean wants to groan and just roll over and fall back asleep and never wake up. Ever. Again.
They always end up back at the motel late and Dean usually can’t sleep unless he’s showered and usually Sam gets all the hot water before he can get a chance and Dean hates cold water so he just crawls under the covers and hopes for the best. Of course, ‘hoping for the best’ is bullshit and Dean knows it. He also knows that his bitching about Sam ‘wasting the water’ is bullshit too and he’s pretty sure Sam’s figured it out as well by the way he just arches an eyebrow and rolls his eyes when Dean pretends to be indignant.
The whole situation is bullshit. But Dean is a good hider, so he doesn’t let anybody know about it. Not deliberately, at least.
Dean rolls over onto his back and feels under the pillow for his gun. He squeezes the hilt and it brings him a washing sense of security, and he sighs quietly, keeping his hand there. Dean isn’t an idiot - he knows that the safety is false, and chances are that whatever would attack them wouldn’t even be affected by a bullet, even a silver one. But he doesn’t care. He relishes in the false sense, pretending like he’s twenty three again and his father’s the one on the other bed, all low, heavy breathing and experience. Dean couldn’t count, couldn’t name all the times his father had saved his ass and thinking about it - reliving the memory of his father’s countless bruises and bleeding cuts - is beyond painful. It rips open a deep scab of guilt inside of Dean and leaves him breathless, holding the gun tightly enough to hurt.
Dean blinks back the tears, though one drips onto the pillow from his nose. He lets out the breath he’d been holding shakily and rolls over so he’s no longer facing Sam.
He finally falls asleep, restless but without any nightmares.
-
Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder and looks away. “I must go,” he says in that urgent sort of whisper that means something’s going wrong somewhere in this god damn universe. “I’m sorry.”
Dean would be annoyed, except that Castiel sounds strangely sincere. He lets the angel flutter away, where he had been standing just seconds ago replaced by distilled air. Dean steps into the space where the angel had stood and feels a strange sense of serenity barrel over him.
He blinks once, feels the sting in his eyes, and then he smiles.
-
When Dean sits up in the bed, the first thing he notices is that Sam isn’t in the room. It’s dark, but not dark enough that it takes Dean’s eyes more than a moment and a couple of blinks to adjust. He recognizes Castiel standing by the mini refrigerator and frowns. “A dream?” he grunts, sitting up, and Castiel looks at him with shadowed eyes. Cas nods and Dean’s a bit confused. “You haven’t used this method in a while. What’s wrong?”
Castiel looks down and then back at Dean and Dean knows that he should be worried, but he just feels calm and at ease. “I don’t know,” Castiel finally says, and a tiny corner in Dean’s brain is screaming at him, telling him that Castiel is having a breakdown, why is he just sitting there feeling happy? But he doesn’t move. It feels like the rational part of his mind is blanketed, covered by a dark, thick material, and he’s easily able to ignore it. Castiel’s eyes are still wandering and a little sad, but then he smiles and Dean smiles back. “You seem happy,” he says, and something about his voice is odd, but Dean doesn’t really catch on.
“I feel happy,” he says, and he means it, which is another oddity - but in this dreamlike state he can’t think of it like that. Just thinks about how good and normal he feels, how at peace with Castiel standing across from him. “I think it’s because you’re here.”
Castiel’s eyes flash and he jerks but the expression is gone before Dean can even recognize it. “That’s good,” Castiel murmurs, again smiling serenely. “I’m glad.”
Dean wakes up and everything feels foggy.
-
Dean gets stuck between ‘dreams’ and ‘reality’. The reason he uses quotations (in his brain he even thinks it with an awkward emphasis) is because he’s not really sure what’s what anymore. He’s beginning to think that his dreams aren’t part of reality anymore - that he’s dreaming up Castiel in the motel and Castiel’s not actually visiting him, because Cas doesn’t make a single mention of it, and never in his dreams brings up any of their hunts or any of his angel business. Dean doesn’t really think about it too often, except before he falls asleep when he wonders who he’ll see in his sleep tonight.
Castiel’s dream visits are pleasant, and they feel real enough so Dean holds onto them. He allows himself to believe, even if not completely, that they are real. That Castiel is coming to him at night when he can hardly see him at day, to give him a more intimate, happy surrounding in his dreams, as compared to the nightmares he has all too often. Dean thinks that’s a bit sappy so he doesn’t want to say it aloud, least it be true (which would actually leave him very pleased) or least it be stupid of him to assume. Why would Castiel protect him? Dean can’t find the sense on any of his stupid theories, so he considers just dropping everything.
-
Dean finds himself with a strange pining feeling. It takes him a couple of weeks to really confront it, to admit that he’s pining, and when he does he feels a deep self loathing. It’s bad enough that he’s pining like a sixteen year old, but for whom? For Castiel? It’s insane and it’s wrong and it’s so much worse than anything else he’s ever done. He was happy to go to Hell for saving his own brother, figured that was noble, but his attraction to the angel - it’s literally a ‘fatal attraction’. Dean can’t think of any situation in which the big man up in the sky would be okay with an angel and a human. Let alone an angel in a male body with a male human. There’s murder, there’s rape, there’s plagiarism and there’s vandalizing and then there’s pining for a God damned Angel of the Lord (the phrase in itself holding irony of a sort).
Dean thinks, after all he’s been through, that he shouldn’t he fazed. That he should except his crush on Castiel for what it is and roll with the punches - God’s given people who have done things wrong Heaven, and Dean helped stop the apocalypse so how the Hell (and Dean doesn’t want this to be a pun, but it is) could God send him to Hell for being…in love? Dean’s not sure what to call it. ‘In like’ reminds him too much of middle school and finding a card stuffed between the motel couch pillows that read ‘Do you like me?’ with two boxes, one labeled ‘yes’ and one labeled ‘no’ that had obviously been made for Sam. But while Dean can say he loves Castiel (he loves Cas like he loves any of his family members), there’s something inherently different about it, and Dean thinks there should be. Because Castiel isn’t family. Castiel isn’t flesh and blood, or even a friend of flesh and blood. Castiel is a separate entity, a creation that had chosen Dean and had done as told and then had stayed. And Dean - Dean finds this overwhelming because for whatever reason, Cas chose to stay. Said to himself, ‘These humans are right, and I will be loyal to them’ and stayed and protected Dean, despite what he had believed previously.
It’s mind blowing, and it scares the living shit out of Dean.
And Dean also knows that Castiel knows him. Probably knows parts of Dean that he’s never told Sam - probably knows about the guy he fucked somewhere in California, about how much he hated that Ben hadn’t been his son. Cas probably knew about all of the nights Dean had spent staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep while his father hunted and told him ‘keep watch’ like he was just a young soldier with nothing to offer, wondering ‘where’s Sammy? Is he safe? Is he happy?’ and wanting to cry, and that had been so long ago.
Dean thinks Castiel knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes. It’s those eyes - penetrating eyes that make Dean feel like someone’s just stretched out his soul and all of his secrets, a display for Castiel that’s lit up, specifically designed to draw the angel in. And something about that vulnerability makes Dean crazy, sends a jolt up his spine when he see Cas’ deep eyes and wonders ‘Can he hear my thoughts? Does he know?’
And how could Castiel not know, what with the way Dean feels when he’s around? There has to be some kind of angel sense that picks up on vibes, on the way Dean’s chest hurts when Castiel is next to him, begging for him to stay. Dean doesn’t want Castiel to assist them on a hunt and then disappear in a ‘whoosh’ of air, he wants Castiel to stay, to sit with Sam and Dean and crack open a celebratory beer and pretend to have fun, just let Dean stare at him.
That’s got to be communicated somehow.
And Dean thinks that the fierceness he feels is strange, probably makes things more complicated. It’s brutal, endless, it never stops and Dean feels completely overwhelmed by the sensation. It’s a type of protectiveness - when people hurt Cas he just gets so blindingly angry -- but it’s not the same as the way he feels about Sam. It’s similar, in ways, but again, it’s not familial. It feels almost primal, an instinct, this desperate want to protect Castiel, to keep him safe even though Cas is definitely the most prepared of all of them. And Dean’s not really sure what that means, and it scares the shit out of him.
But Dean also doesn’t want to fuck things up. He has figured by now that all of the Winchesters are cursed to never be happy and safe. He’s come to the conclusion that honestly - he’ll probably be a Hunter when he’s sixty, because he’ll never be able to have a family and normal friends. Not that he considers what most people consider normal to actually be normal, because it’s not. It’s a sham, and yes, there’s a part of Dean that craves domesticity, wants to be able to sit in a bedroom with Lisa (Cas?) and be kissed and kiss and just feel…like he’s just a piece of a huge puzzle that could easily disappear and be forgotten. He doesn’t want to be the center of attention, doesn’t want the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore but.
But he’ll always be restless, somewhere.
-
“You appear tired.”
Dean opens his eyes and looks at Castiel. “Is this a dream?” he asks, and usually Cas says ‘yes’ and they go on with whatever topic of conversation. But everything seems surprisingly sharp this time and Dean yawns and stretches.
“No,” Castiel answers and Dean slowly nods. “I’m sorry if I’ve been…missing in action, recently.”
Dean quirks a smile, amused. “You’ve been in my dreams quite a bit,” Dean points out and then bites his lip, realizing that maybe those dreams weren’t real. Maybe he’s just as delusional as he thinks.
But Castiel doesn’t say anything - doesn’t deny the dreams or look confused or confirm them as real. He just blinks, slow and purposeful and God, Dean needs to find some way to cleanse his mind or something, to make it so he doesn’t think these things around Castiel (the way his hands move, the way he parts his lips and obviously considers his words, the gravel tone of his voice like rough pavement) because God, Castiel knows. Dean just knows that he knows because it’s impossible not to just know these things.
Dean momentarily panics and his hands freeze and his body stiffens and he stares at Castiel who stares back with curious eyes.
“Cas,” Dean says and God, his voice is rough and trembling and he needs to get his head together.
Castiel sits besides Dean on the bed, curling his back forward and folding his hands between his legs. “Dean,” he says and Dean twitches, not sure if it’s a response to Dean saying ‘Cas’ or if it’s the beginning of something entirely new.
Cas turns his head and his eyes are still deeply curious. “I wish I could make you happy,” Cas says in that deep voice that makes Dean feels like he’s tumbling, and the words don’t help, either. “I’ve been trying but I can see that I’m not succeeding. Not really.”
Dean’s just confused now and he blinks, shoulder slumping, tenseness melting from his muscles replaced by bewilderment. “Wh-what?” he stammers.
Castiel again seems to be considering his words very seriously. He lowers his chin and stares at the floor and Dean can hear both of their breathing, the offset rhythm of two quiet souls in one quiet place. “I’ll admit it’s strange,” Castiel says after an infinite amount of time, “that I so severely want to protect you.”
Dean swallows, thinks, ‘Well, this is backwards,’ to himself but can’t come up with the words. What could he possibly say when Cas is saying everything he had ever wanted to confess?
Castiel seems to sag under some unseen pressure but he lifts himself to stare Dean in his eyes. Dean feels his body go hot, a jolt of electricity shiver through his back and it’s abnormal but it feels right and he just licks his lips and swallows and waits. He waits in silent anticipation for everything to change. For something to just happen.
“I don’t…know how to explain it. This feeling.” Castiel puts a hand slowly over his chest, purposely, with strict deliberation, and Dean feels his breath in his lungs, stuck there because there is something beautiful about what’s happening right in front of him. Castiel still looks unsure, but he presses his hand against his chest, over his heart. “It sort of hurts, but it’s not…it’s not a physical pain. It’s created by the brain, the human brain. In all my time I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”
“Cas,” Dean says, and his voice shouldn’t be that hoarse. He flicks his tongue over his lips to wet them and he can almost feel the quivering of his limbs. It’s not like anything he’s ever experienced - his stomach is twisting in knots and his hands feel cold but warm at the same time. His bones feel like they’re shaking in his body and he thinks if he stood up right now, he’d fall over backwards. Castiel looks at him again, blue eyes sharp and full of meaning. Dean swallows, realizing that Cas is waiting for him to go on. “That’s…” His voice still sounds strange, like the words are coming out of a different mouth. Familiar, but not his. “Cas, that’s what we call…” But the words fade, stuck in the lump in his throat. He swallows, and it hurts and he realizes Cas is blurring in front of him. He blinks and one tear falls down his cheek. Before he has time to swipe it away, Castiel is turning his body and touching Dean’s face. His hands are warm and Dean picks up his own to leave it over Cas’ on his face.
“I know what this is, Dean,” Cas says, his voice still low and rumbling but it washes over Dean like a wave of warm water and he feels suddenly much calmer, though he can still feel his bones and his sweat and everything that ever frightened him.
The first kiss is quick, an experimental touch of mouths and Dean doesn’t even have time to kiss Castiel back. Castiel kisses down his neck, using nothing but his chapped lips against Dean’s skin and Dean can’t help that he tilts his head backwards and moves a hand into Cas’ hair, tugging gently. Castiel stops at Dean’s collar, above his flannel shirt and then looks back up at Dean. Dean feels the strange sensation of ‘losing oneself in another’s eyes’ and God, that’s a fucked up cliché but it’s true.
Castiel kisses him again, quick and without fervor, but then Dean finds himself leaning into the kisses, getting to Cas before Cas can pull back. And it feels good - the rough rub of stubble and the taste of raw lips and mouth. Dean kisses Castiel harder, forces him to stay by gripping the hair at the nape of his neck and Castiel makes a soft noise, his fingers clenching into Dean’s shirt. They kiss and they kiss and God, Dean’s wanted to be kissed like this for so long, has wanted to kiss someone like this but never had the opportunity, never had the chance, and now…now it’s here and he’s safe and he licks into Cas’ mouth without hesitation, feeling like everything is finally falling into place. Like this all happened for some bizarre reason.
Dean rolls them over, pushing Castiel gently into the squeaky motel mattress. Cas looks odd there, trench coat hanging on his shoulders and tie hanging loosely around his neck, a couple of buttons undone on his shirt. Dean stares at him and sees nothing but Castiel, nothing but a shock of blue eyes and God’s grace hidden inside.
He kisses Castiel again and tries to communicate with his tongue and his lips how much this means to him. To kiss Cas.
And yeah, this means something.
Dean pulls the tie off, pulls Cas’ shirt out of the waistband of his black pants and unbuttons it with fingers he didn’t know could move so fast. Castiel looks awkward and a little abashed but he scrambles out of his trench coat and helps Dean slide the dress shirt off of his shoulders.
Dean looks at Cas’ chest, all lean muscle and perfect skin, unblemished, untouched. He shivers at how new Castiel is to this world, how raw and different. He kisses over Castiel’s bare skin, sucking against his hip when he reaches that far down and fuck, Castiel has the best hips, just barely protruding from his skin when he lies straight. But Cas lifts his hip, arches his back, and his hipbones push out more and Dean wants to moan just from being there. He feels a spark in the pit of his stomach, reaching down into his groin and of all the things he could be doing on a Friday night, this is probably the thing he least expected.
While simultaneously it’s what he’s wanted more than anything for a long time. Dean’s not sure how long exactly, can’t pinpoint that moment when he realized he wished he could have an angel in more than a metaphorical sense, and he really doesn’t see the point in trying to figure it out. He instead uses his precious time to open Cas’ mouth with his tongue, rocking his hips down against Cas’ as he fumbles with the button and zipper of Cas’ pants. Castiel jerks up and he scrambles again to get a tight grip on Dean, hissing under his breath. It’s the hottest thing Dean’s ever heard.
Dean fumbles because wow, this is reality, this is really happening to him. He’s still a bit shaky (which Dean finds kind of pathetic because -- come on!) but he’s too distracted by Cas’ open mouth and frantic breaths.
Dean licks his palm and pushes himself up so he’s no longer on top of Castiel, instead hovering over him. Dean uses the room to push his hand into Cas’ underwear (something he had never thought about), gripping his cock with sure fingers. He’s not sure if wetting his palm had actually made any difference, but he strokes Castiel slowly and carefully, eyeing him and waiting for a reaction. Cas’ breathing is still heavy but now his eyes are closed, tight and tense. Dean keeps his fingers in a loose grip and pulls at Cas’ cock, feeling the jerk of his hips and the catch on his breath.
Castiel may technically be a virgin, but his body knows what’s happening, knows what to do. He says Dean’s name, slow and coarse and it takes everything Dean has not to push his other hand into his jeans. Dean practices self restraint though and just continues to jack Castiel off, using his own experience with masturbation and hand jobs and hoping Cas likes some of the same things he does. By the sound of it and the way Cas is leaning his head back, he doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“Dean,” Castiel says again, and this time he sounds urgent, almost scared. Dean leans back over Cas’ body and hushes him with a warm kiss, running his tongue soothingly along Cas’. “Dean,” Castiel says again, almost reaching the level of a whine. Dean just murmurs a couple of soft, ‘It’s okay, you can let go,’s because he can feel the tenseness in Cas’ body and knows that’s all he needs. A moment later, with coaxing from Dean’s hand and his voice, Castiel finally comes, shuddering and letting out broken gasps and whimpers. There’s a long moment of Cas with his hips still arched and Dean’s hand still being loosely wrapped around his cock but then Castiel collapses back into the mattress and takes a long breath into his lungs.
Dean takes the moment to kiss Castiel again, to taste the sweat above his lip and against his jaw. Dean feels completely content, cradling Cas’ head in one hand and spreading cautious kisses along his jaw and over his forehead.
Cas seems to catch his breath and he reaches out and rests his hands on Dean’s throat, hitching a leg around Dean’s hips and rolling them over. Dean grunts and falls gracelessly against the bed, though they somehow manage to keep kissing through the whole thing. It feels good and normal and warm and Dean smiles against Cas’ mouth as it moves feverishly, frenzied and yet somehow completely unfazed.
“This is real,” Dean finally says when he manages to break the kiss, curling his fingers in Cas’ hair. “This is real, right?”
“Didn’t I already tell you?” Cas says and his voice is back to being rasping and calm. He smiles crookedly at Dean. “I’m right here.”
Dean looks at Cas and lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he says, pulling Castiel back down to kiss him. They keep kissing for a couple of minutes, solid and fluid at the same time, all these things Dean never thought he would be allowed to have.
They lie next to each other, the quiet leaving the room full and comfortable. Neither of them says anything for a long time and then Dean smiles. “Did you ask Sam to stay out for the night?” he mumbles, scraping his short fingernails against the bare skin of Cas’ shoulder, arm still around him. His shirt somehow got thrown to the ground too, though they’re both in their pants (Dean in jeans, Cas still in the black dress pants).
“I may have…given him the suggestion.”
Dean laughs at Cas’ slight guilt and looks at him. He can’t exactly say why, but Castiel looks different like this. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s gotten rid of the bulkiness of his clothes which had made him look stiff, or maybe it’s just the fucked out look in his eyes. Dean doesn’t even mind that he hasn’t gotten off because looking at Cas like this is enough to just make him happy.
“I don’t want to sleep,” Dean says, strangely softly, and he looks at Cas and wonders what he’ll say. If he’ll say anything. If he’ll know what Dean is implying.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Castiel says, an answer to Dean’s unspoken question. Dean stares and sees fire in Castiel’s eyes, an intensity that he’s only seen once or twice before.
He kisses Castiel and presses his nose into the crook of his neck. Sam’s not there to make fun of him for cuddling so he lets himself fall asleep like that, and he’s not afraid.