Fic: Peace is Just About the Strangest Thing of All (for takadainmate)
Title: Peace is Just About the Strangest Thing of All.
Artist: 9_of_Clubs
Recipient:takadainmate
Rating: PG/PG-13 for dirty mouths, implications of sex, and minor whump
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas/Balthazar - fluff with angst to flavor :)
Spoilers: Blanket for season 6 - especially the finale
Warnings: None really
Word Count: 2667
Prompt: I ended up combining the prompts, but they weren't filled in a completely literal sense, this story ended up being more of a loose interpretation of them, but they were the guiding inspiration for all of it! I hope the recipient enjoys all the same! ^.^ The prompts I used were a) Balthazar wants a threesome with Cas and Dean. He tries everything to convince them. Whether they eventually decide to let him join in or not is up to you! and b) Balthazar is tired of Dean and Cas mooning over one another. He decides it's time to get them together. Balthazar's idea of matchmaking is a different and special thing. (In this fic that means joining in ;) )
Summary: Whoever said "two's a company and three's a crowd" obviously never gave it a shot. (Or how after the events of 6.22, somewhere in between the fighting and the healing, they all found each other, and there's no going back now.)
A/N: A big thank you to c00kie for being an awesome beta and dehavilland for being amazingly encouraging :D
Sometimes it’s hard for Dean to figure out exactly how he got here, lazily blinking away sleep, early afternoon sunlight flooding through the windows, tucked between two warm, naked bodies.
It’s just...this quiet (well not so quiet sometimes, if you catch his drift,) pretty damn happy existence seems like an impossibility all around; not that his life hasn’t had it’s fair share of the weird, the insane, and the flat out nutty, rabid fangirls anyone? But peace is just about the strangest thing of all.
Okay, so it’s not like Dean sits around on his ass all day, sipping margaritas on some tropical island; much as Balth tries to convince him it’s the way to go. He’s still, you know, saving people, hunting things, the same old song and dance...it’s just considerably easier to do when he has two kick-ass angels, stronger than just about everything else, to help him smite the hell out of the big bads.
He does make them stay home though, more often than not, when he wants the thrill of the chase back, to feel some danger at his heels, the tension of possible disaster. Cas doesn’t like that much and frowns, does that worried forehead crinkle and pulls out his super angel voice to say, “You know I do not approve of your recklessness.” Balth makes the “oh you cute human, you” face, the one that makes Dean have to count to ten to resist smacking him. (Though he always gets even eventually, the angel’s masochistic tendencies and his endless ability to exasperate Dean matching well together. Cas likes to pretend to frown at that too, but his expression always manages to change...pretty quickly.)
Dean always goes in the end.
He appreciates the concern and knows that they’ve almost lost each other too many times to count, more times than anyone should have to. But this is his thing, he’s a hunter, not the person who tags along and watches everyone else do the work. Besides, it’s not like Cas can’t swoop in to save the day whenever he damn well wants to. He never does though and Dean appreciates that, even when his ribs are cracked and his nose is bleeding.
It hasn’t been all smooth sailing relationship wise either. They’ve had their fair share of bad fights - too many open wounds still festering, much as they’d like them to just go away; and it goes even beyond their own control, unconscious sabotage and subconscious tortures.
Dean still dreams, well dreams is too nice a word for it, about the hollow smile and blank eyes of a Cas that thought he was God, of a Cas that says harsh things and makes him scream with a wave of his hand. He always wakes up, sheets a mess at his ankles, struggling against invisible phantoms - pleading frantically for him to just let the souls go, the pillow wet with sweat. And Cas, his Cas, is always awake, sitting at the edge of the mattress, hunched over small, watching him guiltily until he calms down. He waits until he’s sure Dean’s breathing normally before disappearing from the room, refusing to return no matter how loud Dean calls. Balthazar watches too, silently, then turns around, and pretends to go back to sleep. Even in the barely there glow of the streetlamps, the scar on his back is visible, knotted and ugly, a wound that never quite healed right.
By morning, Cas is always back, gruff and affectionate as ever, and Dean lets him be, prefers to settle back and listen as Balth makes flippant comments about the ugliness of the newscaster’s suit than to press the issue. They’ll eventually have to talk about how Cas can’t just run away every time someone remembers something ugly, but Dean’s willing to give it some more time for now. It’s not like he’s ever been good at letting go of guilt.
But thankfully no nightmares have reared their useless heads in a few days and Dean doesn’t particularly want to dwell on them right now, enough time has been spent on dark moments. Especially when Cas moves closer against his back, arm sleepily finding it’s way across his chest, bumping slightly against the one already there; Dean has so many better things to think about.
He lets his eyes drift shut again and enjoys the comfortable heat surrounding him; yawning slightly, he falls back into a light sleep - it’s probably too early to be awake yet anyway and really, what’s the rush?
______________________________________________________________________________
Castiel places full responsibility on his brother, though really he mostly has himself to blame, for this relationship, this crazy clashing of personalities in which he regularly finds himself to be the only sane one. (At least when he goes insane too, he’ll be in good company). Half the time he’s not sure how they haven’t all just destroyed each other yet, Dean and Balthazar fighting like cats and dogs, each pulling their own way, pushing each other’s buttons until they want to throttle each other. And then somehow it all gets flipped around and Dean is winking at the blonde angel and they’re sharing their “let’s get him” look, as Dean terms it, and have somehow decided, without speaking, that it’s time to gang up on him.
Though there are those rare, but getting to be more frequent, times where everyone's guard is down and they’re all getting along, laughing, teasing, just being. He likes those times.
It all started sometime after...after...the whole soul debacle, a time that he really prefers not to think about. Just around when he’d finally come back to himself enough to be sorry, but to not know how to possibly to express it. He’d been staying with the Winchesters then, at Bobby’s, too weak to go anywhere else, but even at such close proximity, they’d managed to not speak at all, or even see each other. Dean avoided his room and he avoided Dean... and he would not blamed Dean if he wanted nothing more to do with him, ever. Once again Cas felt that cold crushing realization, the one that had driven him to play God in the first place, except he would never want that again, he would prefer to simply be put out of his misery and be done with it.
It had been Balthazar though, who reappeared shortly after Cas himself was conscious again, Balthazar with his humor and his snark and his ability to drive Dean mad, that finally got them together. He’d taken one look at Cas, with his tired eyes, rubbed red and raw, his shoulders slumped in defeat and went, “Oh Cassy,” and then flew off, came back a minute later, depositing a rather disgruntled Dean in the room, before fading out again, the door locking before either of them had a chance to protest.
And so, stiltedly, awkwardly, with a lot of almost arguments and quite a bit of not looking at each other - they’d eventually made up... more than made up...
And it had been just the two of them for a while, happy in their relationship, even with the haunting specters of recent events still hanging over their heads. Whenever things somehow threatened to get too bad though, they’d always wake up to find themselves mysteriously locked in a room together, forced to work it out. Often there was pie in there with them too.
Dean appreciated the pie.
He’d appreciated the whole getting them together thing too.
Which is probably why he hadn’t stormed out angrily a year and a half later when Cas told him that he might be a little in love with the other angel too. Well he had stormed out, but not for good, had come back, Balthazar in tow, and they still won’t tell him what went on in that conversation but whatever happened, Dean calmly told him that he loved him enough to give this a go, but he didn’t like and it certainly wouldn’t be easy.
He remembers how terrified he had been that night, because he loves Balthazar, he does, but without Dean...
He doesn’t get to go down that awful train of thought though, because he gets forced back into reality as the bickering around him gets louder.
“But why can’t we have burgers?”
“Because, I want hot dogs, god dammit.”
“Well who cares what you want?”
And then a surprised yelp as Dean chucks some of the coleslaw, sitting out on the counter, at Balthazar’s face, the other’s eyes narrowing as he looks down in horror at his v-neck and reaches for his own handful and Cas figures he really should intervene before their whole kitchen, him included, becomes one big sticky mess.
“Okay children,” He starts, shaking his head...
(but really, this is perfect. They’ve come a long way.)
______________________________________________________________________________
It’s a chilly night, summer fading away slowly, but he stays outside - impervious to the cold, wrapped up in a blanket he doesn’t really need. But he’s a creature of habit, Balthazar is, and he likes the, rather human, comfort the material gives.
It’s been a good day, one of the quiet ones he thinks they all love best. A lazy morning, an argument over lunch that ended in the kitchen turning into a war zone - Cas splattered in salad and ketchup, and then a lot of nothing. Dean left to work on some cars with Sam, Cas picked up a book and Balthazar, well he’d sat outside in the sun, eyes closed, thinking of nothing.
But now the sun has gone and Cas asked him hours ago if he wanted to come in and go to bed; Dean said he’d be late. It’s not like they have to sleep or anything, but the clock has long since ticked past three and again - habits.
Balthazar told him no, that he just wanted to stay outside a little longer and to stop looking at him like that, he just likes to see nighttime every so often. Cas shrugged, looking half convinced and gone back inside, but Balth can still hear him moving around the kitchen, restless, and for good reason, Balthazar supposes, he should know he can never fully lie to Cas, yeah he should know that better than anyone.
Right, not going down that path. But it’s hard when the reason he’s still sitting on his chair instead of lying in bed, arms wrapped around the angel he’d give anything for, is the fact that the damned scar on his back won’t stop hurting. He doesn’t know if it’s the position he was in all afternoon that set it off or if it just decided to act up randomly, but it won’t stop aching. And he really, really, doesn’t want to ruin today with more of this nonsense.
Not that it matters to him much, he’d promised Cassy it didn’t matter and he’d meant it. But he knows things like this still torment Cas and he won’t cause him any more pain. His brother has been through enough, thank you very much.
As he thinks, the roar of an engine sounds closer and closer and soon after the sleek black Impala appears and pulls into the driveway. Dean parking and walking towards the house, humming an off key tune to himself. He strolls along and almost goes right past Balthazar but does a double take just as he reaches for the door.
“Balth?” He asks, “it’s pretty friggen late.”
The angel only shrugs and Dean’s eyes narrow as he looks over at the other, takes in the blanket and the curled legs and shakes his head, crossing the porch. “You are impossible. Now move over.” He nudges gently at Balthazar and makes him shift so they can both fit on the wicker chair. Balth grumbles at having to move, but lets Dean slide on all the same.
“Now what’s wrong?” Dean tries again.
“My heart,” the other deadpans, “it’s been aching since you left.”
The hunter rolls his eyes. “It’s late, okay? And I for one am tired and I’m sure Cas is hovering somewhere and would like to go to bed and I know for a fact you’d rather be lying on your mountain of pillows than sitting on this hard ass chair. So will you fucking tell me? Pretty please.”
Blue eyes look down at the ground and back up and Balthazar shrugs again, “Nothing, it’s just been...bothering me, for a few hours now...” He shrugs.
Cas doesn’t know that the scar hurts him, it’s one of the few things they’ve kept hidden, but he told Dean. It slipped out that night when the hunter had summoned him and demanded to know what was what; was blurted out in a fit of anger between defending himself from over exaggerated (okay not that exaggerated) accusations and trying to explain that his feelings were genuine while being cut off every five damned seconds.
He just snapped, never being particularly good at checking himself, and yelled something about loving Cas even though he’d killed him over nothing, even though the scar still hurt whenever it damned well felt like it - just to remind him how little he fucking meant, but that it didn’t even matter because dammit, he loved Cas.
Dean had gone quiet then, agitatedly rubbed his hands over his face and when he looked back at the angel, there had been something like respect, maybe, and a little understanding. He’d quietly said, well I guess we could give it a go. And that had been that.
He’s glad that someone else knows though, no he’s glad that Dean knows, because it had driven him crazy for the first couple of weeks, crazy with memories he didn’t want and the nagging voice in his head that Cas had been Cas, completely, when he’d done it, so maybe he’d meant all of it. And Dean...well Dean is particularly good at being distracting and frustrating, sexually and otherwise, when he wants to be... when Balthazar needs him to be. (and he maybe understands what it’s like to love without having, how it feels to lose what matters most.)
Right now, the hunter is slowly pulling the blanket off of Balthazar’s shoulder, he’s handily shirtless underneath, and if it were any other time, he’d make some lewd comment and pull Dean down on top of him. But instead, he stays quiet as Dean turns him around, runs his fingers gently along the gash.
“Bad enough not to be able to lie down on it?” It usually isn’t massive pain, but there was that one time where it sent a crippling burst of agony down his spine and all he could do was curl up, wait for it to pass, his cells on fire. Thankfully Cas had been out at the time, but Dean had been there. he kind of hates that Dean had been there...he kind of loves that Dean had been there.
His bare shoulders move up and down again. “C’mon,” Dean says letting his fingers drift off and he gets up, “We’ll go to bed, you’ll feel better, better than out here anyway.” He turns away without waiting to see if Balthazar will follow, but he does.
It’s nicer inside, Dean greets Cas with a kiss and throws off his shoes heading upstairs. Cas comes up to him, still sensing something’s not quite right and kisses Balthazar on the cheek,
“Hi darling,” he smiles and Cas smiles back, blue eyes still scanning and searching for the problem, but when he can’t seem to find it, he settles on grabbing Balthazar’s arm and leading him after Dean.
A few hours later, they’re all asleep, Dean snoring lightly, arms all over the place, Balthazar on his front, curled slightly inwards and Cas on the other edge, pressed in close.
Maybe it’s not flawless, but it’s good, it’s really damned good.
Artist: 9_of_Clubs
Recipient:takadainmate
Rating: PG/PG-13 for dirty mouths, implications of sex, and minor whump
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas/Balthazar - fluff with angst to flavor :)
Spoilers: Blanket for season 6 - especially the finale
Warnings: None really
Word Count: 2667
Prompt: I ended up combining the prompts, but they weren't filled in a completely literal sense, this story ended up being more of a loose interpretation of them, but they were the guiding inspiration for all of it! I hope the recipient enjoys all the same! ^.^ The prompts I used were a) Balthazar wants a threesome with Cas and Dean. He tries everything to convince them. Whether they eventually decide to let him join in or not is up to you! and b) Balthazar is tired of Dean and Cas mooning over one another. He decides it's time to get them together. Balthazar's idea of matchmaking is a different and special thing. (In this fic that means joining in ;) )
Summary: Whoever said "two's a company and three's a crowd" obviously never gave it a shot. (Or how after the events of 6.22, somewhere in between the fighting and the healing, they all found each other, and there's no going back now.)
A/N: A big thank you to c00kie for being an awesome beta and dehavilland for being amazingly encouraging :D
Sometimes it’s hard for Dean to figure out exactly how he got here, lazily blinking away sleep, early afternoon sunlight flooding through the windows, tucked between two warm, naked bodies.
It’s just...this quiet (well not so quiet sometimes, if you catch his drift,) pretty damn happy existence seems like an impossibility all around; not that his life hasn’t had it’s fair share of the weird, the insane, and the flat out nutty, rabid fangirls anyone? But peace is just about the strangest thing of all.
Okay, so it’s not like Dean sits around on his ass all day, sipping margaritas on some tropical island; much as Balth tries to convince him it’s the way to go. He’s still, you know, saving people, hunting things, the same old song and dance...it’s just considerably easier to do when he has two kick-ass angels, stronger than just about everything else, to help him smite the hell out of the big bads.
He does make them stay home though, more often than not, when he wants the thrill of the chase back, to feel some danger at his heels, the tension of possible disaster. Cas doesn’t like that much and frowns, does that worried forehead crinkle and pulls out his super angel voice to say, “You know I do not approve of your recklessness.” Balth makes the “oh you cute human, you” face, the one that makes Dean have to count to ten to resist smacking him. (Though he always gets even eventually, the angel’s masochistic tendencies and his endless ability to exasperate Dean matching well together. Cas likes to pretend to frown at that too, but his expression always manages to change...pretty quickly.)
Dean always goes in the end.
He appreciates the concern and knows that they’ve almost lost each other too many times to count, more times than anyone should have to. But this is his thing, he’s a hunter, not the person who tags along and watches everyone else do the work. Besides, it’s not like Cas can’t swoop in to save the day whenever he damn well wants to. He never does though and Dean appreciates that, even when his ribs are cracked and his nose is bleeding.
It hasn’t been all smooth sailing relationship wise either. They’ve had their fair share of bad fights - too many open wounds still festering, much as they’d like them to just go away; and it goes even beyond their own control, unconscious sabotage and subconscious tortures.
Dean still dreams, well dreams is too nice a word for it, about the hollow smile and blank eyes of a Cas that thought he was God, of a Cas that says harsh things and makes him scream with a wave of his hand. He always wakes up, sheets a mess at his ankles, struggling against invisible phantoms - pleading frantically for him to just let the souls go, the pillow wet with sweat. And Cas, his Cas, is always awake, sitting at the edge of the mattress, hunched over small, watching him guiltily until he calms down. He waits until he’s sure Dean’s breathing normally before disappearing from the room, refusing to return no matter how loud Dean calls. Balthazar watches too, silently, then turns around, and pretends to go back to sleep. Even in the barely there glow of the streetlamps, the scar on his back is visible, knotted and ugly, a wound that never quite healed right.
By morning, Cas is always back, gruff and affectionate as ever, and Dean lets him be, prefers to settle back and listen as Balth makes flippant comments about the ugliness of the newscaster’s suit than to press the issue. They’ll eventually have to talk about how Cas can’t just run away every time someone remembers something ugly, but Dean’s willing to give it some more time for now. It’s not like he’s ever been good at letting go of guilt.
But thankfully no nightmares have reared their useless heads in a few days and Dean doesn’t particularly want to dwell on them right now, enough time has been spent on dark moments. Especially when Cas moves closer against his back, arm sleepily finding it’s way across his chest, bumping slightly against the one already there; Dean has so many better things to think about.
He lets his eyes drift shut again and enjoys the comfortable heat surrounding him; yawning slightly, he falls back into a light sleep - it’s probably too early to be awake yet anyway and really, what’s the rush?
______________________________________________________________________________
Castiel places full responsibility on his brother, though really he mostly has himself to blame, for this relationship, this crazy clashing of personalities in which he regularly finds himself to be the only sane one. (At least when he goes insane too, he’ll be in good company). Half the time he’s not sure how they haven’t all just destroyed each other yet, Dean and Balthazar fighting like cats and dogs, each pulling their own way, pushing each other’s buttons until they want to throttle each other. And then somehow it all gets flipped around and Dean is winking at the blonde angel and they’re sharing their “let’s get him” look, as Dean terms it, and have somehow decided, without speaking, that it’s time to gang up on him.
Though there are those rare, but getting to be more frequent, times where everyone's guard is down and they’re all getting along, laughing, teasing, just being. He likes those times.
It all started sometime after...after...the whole soul debacle, a time that he really prefers not to think about. Just around when he’d finally come back to himself enough to be sorry, but to not know how to possibly to express it. He’d been staying with the Winchesters then, at Bobby’s, too weak to go anywhere else, but even at such close proximity, they’d managed to not speak at all, or even see each other. Dean avoided his room and he avoided Dean... and he would not blamed Dean if he wanted nothing more to do with him, ever. Once again Cas felt that cold crushing realization, the one that had driven him to play God in the first place, except he would never want that again, he would prefer to simply be put out of his misery and be done with it.
It had been Balthazar though, who reappeared shortly after Cas himself was conscious again, Balthazar with his humor and his snark and his ability to drive Dean mad, that finally got them together. He’d taken one look at Cas, with his tired eyes, rubbed red and raw, his shoulders slumped in defeat and went, “Oh Cassy,” and then flew off, came back a minute later, depositing a rather disgruntled Dean in the room, before fading out again, the door locking before either of them had a chance to protest.
And so, stiltedly, awkwardly, with a lot of almost arguments and quite a bit of not looking at each other - they’d eventually made up... more than made up...
And it had been just the two of them for a while, happy in their relationship, even with the haunting specters of recent events still hanging over their heads. Whenever things somehow threatened to get too bad though, they’d always wake up to find themselves mysteriously locked in a room together, forced to work it out. Often there was pie in there with them too.
Dean appreciated the pie.
He’d appreciated the whole getting them together thing too.
Which is probably why he hadn’t stormed out angrily a year and a half later when Cas told him that he might be a little in love with the other angel too. Well he had stormed out, but not for good, had come back, Balthazar in tow, and they still won’t tell him what went on in that conversation but whatever happened, Dean calmly told him that he loved him enough to give this a go, but he didn’t like and it certainly wouldn’t be easy.
He remembers how terrified he had been that night, because he loves Balthazar, he does, but without Dean...
He doesn’t get to go down that awful train of thought though, because he gets forced back into reality as the bickering around him gets louder.
“But why can’t we have burgers?”
“Because, I want hot dogs, god dammit.”
“Well who cares what you want?”
And then a surprised yelp as Dean chucks some of the coleslaw, sitting out on the counter, at Balthazar’s face, the other’s eyes narrowing as he looks down in horror at his v-neck and reaches for his own handful and Cas figures he really should intervene before their whole kitchen, him included, becomes one big sticky mess.
“Okay children,” He starts, shaking his head...
(but really, this is perfect. They’ve come a long way.)
______________________________________________________________________________
It’s a chilly night, summer fading away slowly, but he stays outside - impervious to the cold, wrapped up in a blanket he doesn’t really need. But he’s a creature of habit, Balthazar is, and he likes the, rather human, comfort the material gives.
It’s been a good day, one of the quiet ones he thinks they all love best. A lazy morning, an argument over lunch that ended in the kitchen turning into a war zone - Cas splattered in salad and ketchup, and then a lot of nothing. Dean left to work on some cars with Sam, Cas picked up a book and Balthazar, well he’d sat outside in the sun, eyes closed, thinking of nothing.
But now the sun has gone and Cas asked him hours ago if he wanted to come in and go to bed; Dean said he’d be late. It’s not like they have to sleep or anything, but the clock has long since ticked past three and again - habits.
Balthazar told him no, that he just wanted to stay outside a little longer and to stop looking at him like that, he just likes to see nighttime every so often. Cas shrugged, looking half convinced and gone back inside, but Balth can still hear him moving around the kitchen, restless, and for good reason, Balthazar supposes, he should know he can never fully lie to Cas, yeah he should know that better than anyone.
Right, not going down that path. But it’s hard when the reason he’s still sitting on his chair instead of lying in bed, arms wrapped around the angel he’d give anything for, is the fact that the damned scar on his back won’t stop hurting. He doesn’t know if it’s the position he was in all afternoon that set it off or if it just decided to act up randomly, but it won’t stop aching. And he really, really, doesn’t want to ruin today with more of this nonsense.
Not that it matters to him much, he’d promised Cassy it didn’t matter and he’d meant it. But he knows things like this still torment Cas and he won’t cause him any more pain. His brother has been through enough, thank you very much.
As he thinks, the roar of an engine sounds closer and closer and soon after the sleek black Impala appears and pulls into the driveway. Dean parking and walking towards the house, humming an off key tune to himself. He strolls along and almost goes right past Balthazar but does a double take just as he reaches for the door.
“Balth?” He asks, “it’s pretty friggen late.”
The angel only shrugs and Dean’s eyes narrow as he looks over at the other, takes in the blanket and the curled legs and shakes his head, crossing the porch. “You are impossible. Now move over.” He nudges gently at Balthazar and makes him shift so they can both fit on the wicker chair. Balth grumbles at having to move, but lets Dean slide on all the same.
“Now what’s wrong?” Dean tries again.
“My heart,” the other deadpans, “it’s been aching since you left.”
The hunter rolls his eyes. “It’s late, okay? And I for one am tired and I’m sure Cas is hovering somewhere and would like to go to bed and I know for a fact you’d rather be lying on your mountain of pillows than sitting on this hard ass chair. So will you fucking tell me? Pretty please.”
Blue eyes look down at the ground and back up and Balthazar shrugs again, “Nothing, it’s just been...bothering me, for a few hours now...” He shrugs.
Cas doesn’t know that the scar hurts him, it’s one of the few things they’ve kept hidden, but he told Dean. It slipped out that night when the hunter had summoned him and demanded to know what was what; was blurted out in a fit of anger between defending himself from over exaggerated (okay not that exaggerated) accusations and trying to explain that his feelings were genuine while being cut off every five damned seconds.
He just snapped, never being particularly good at checking himself, and yelled something about loving Cas even though he’d killed him over nothing, even though the scar still hurt whenever it damned well felt like it - just to remind him how little he fucking meant, but that it didn’t even matter because dammit, he loved Cas.
Dean had gone quiet then, agitatedly rubbed his hands over his face and when he looked back at the angel, there had been something like respect, maybe, and a little understanding. He’d quietly said, well I guess we could give it a go. And that had been that.
He’s glad that someone else knows though, no he’s glad that Dean knows, because it had driven him crazy for the first couple of weeks, crazy with memories he didn’t want and the nagging voice in his head that Cas had been Cas, completely, when he’d done it, so maybe he’d meant all of it. And Dean...well Dean is particularly good at being distracting and frustrating, sexually and otherwise, when he wants to be... when Balthazar needs him to be. (and he maybe understands what it’s like to love without having, how it feels to lose what matters most.)
Right now, the hunter is slowly pulling the blanket off of Balthazar’s shoulder, he’s handily shirtless underneath, and if it were any other time, he’d make some lewd comment and pull Dean down on top of him. But instead, he stays quiet as Dean turns him around, runs his fingers gently along the gash.
“Bad enough not to be able to lie down on it?” It usually isn’t massive pain, but there was that one time where it sent a crippling burst of agony down his spine and all he could do was curl up, wait for it to pass, his cells on fire. Thankfully Cas had been out at the time, but Dean had been there. he kind of hates that Dean had been there...he kind of loves that Dean had been there.
His bare shoulders move up and down again. “C’mon,” Dean says letting his fingers drift off and he gets up, “We’ll go to bed, you’ll feel better, better than out here anyway.” He turns away without waiting to see if Balthazar will follow, but he does.
It’s nicer inside, Dean greets Cas with a kiss and throws off his shoes heading upstairs. Cas comes up to him, still sensing something’s not quite right and kisses Balthazar on the cheek,
“Hi darling,” he smiles and Cas smiles back, blue eyes still scanning and searching for the problem, but when he can’t seem to find it, he settles on grabbing Balthazar’s arm and leading him after Dean.
A few hours later, they’re all asleep, Dean snoring lightly, arms all over the place, Balthazar on his front, curled slightly inwards and Cas on the other edge, pressed in close.
Maybe it’s not flawless, but it’s good, it’s really damned good.