Kiss Your Cass

[writtenbyheart]

Title: Kiss Your Cass
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Cassie Robinson
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through season 6. Cassie is from 1x13 "Route 666."
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Warnings: Dubcon, possibly triggery. And Sam's not doing so great.
Summary: While on a well-deserved vacation, the boys run into an old flame of Dean's.
Author's notes: This may or may not be rendered obsolete by the season 7 premiere tonight. It's been a struggle to finish it by now...I haven't seen the episode as of this posting, so fingers crossed...

Dean drummed his fingers on the marble counter. He kept one eye on Sam, next to him; his brother seemed fine for the moment, if a little unfocused. His mind was a wreck, though, Dean knew, and there was no telling what might set him off, so Dean watched him carefully.

The girl on the other side of the desk tapped away at her keyboard efficiently, focused on her screen. "Okay, Mister Gilmour," she said, holding up a folder made of glossy paper, the kind that stuck to your fingers. "Here are your keycards. Complimentary continental breakfast is from seven to ten. You'll find a catalogue of our spa offerings in your room. May I recommend the Couple's Moonlight Massage?"

"No," Dean cut her off mid-spiel, unable to find the energy for even so much explanation as We're brothers. He reached out and plucked the folder from between her fingers. "Thanks. Come on, Sammy." He grabbed Sam's elbow and guided him across the spacious lobby toward the bank of elevators.

The resort was a bit more grandiose than the accommodations they were accustomed to, but after everything that had happened, Dean figured they could really use a vacation. Somewhere relaxing and calm, where maybe Sam could take some time to recover from what had been done to his mind, and Dean could decompress from...everything. So they had come here, to a remote resort in the mountains of southwestern Pennsylvania, surrounded by forest and springs and nature.

Dean thrust the keycard into the slot and shouldered the door open. Behind him, Sam murmured, "Wow." Dean had to agree; the room was gorgeous and incredibly luxurious. It was spacious, richly decorated; a carved mahogany armoire concealed a wide TV against one wall, and Dean had never seen so many pillows on one bed. In a corner, a table bore the catalogue the desk clerk had mentioned, a thick leather-bound room service menu, and a plate of delicate-looking cookies.

Sam dropped his bag on a bed before striding across the room to grab a cookie. He drew back the curtains as he bit the pastry, revealing a sliding glass door and a large balcony beyond, walled off on either side for privacy so the only view was straight out at the mountains. "Mmf," he said, "I think this cookie is made entirely of butter, and holy shit, Dean, we have a hot tub!" He pointed out at the balcony with the hand holding the cookie, shaking loose a few flaky crumbs.

Dean laughed. "You're like a little kid," he said affectionately. "Don't spoil your appetite for supper." He set his own bag down on the other bed, opened it, and began to dig through it for clothes to wear to dinner.

The restaurant was as posh as the rest of the place, hence the dress code. Dean got a sinking feeling as soon as he stepped over the threshold; the lights were dim, and each table had a candle in the middle of its white linen tablecloth. He could sense without looking Sam shifting awkwardly beside him. As if the atmosphere on its own weren't bad enough, every other patron in the place seemed to be a couple. At the closest table, a young man and a woman were feeding each other bites of their desserts; judging by their rings and the besotted way their eyes were locked with each other, Dean guessed they were honeymooners.

"No," Dean decided. "Can't do this. Come on." Across the second-floor lobby was a bar, equally dimly lit but with a far less romantic atmosphere. There were even TVs showing some baseball game, the volume turned down low but it was better than nothing.

"What'd I bother changing clothes for?" Sam complained, tugging at his starched collar, but he led the way into the bar, clearly as eager to get away from the lovebird-filled restaurant as Dean was.

The bartender nodded at them as they seated themselves on a couple barstools. "Evening," he said, "what can I get for you?" He was wearing a black shirt and tie, his hair was neatly combed, and Dean was pretty sure his hands had been recently manicured.

"Dinner menu, please," Sam said, "and..." He glanced toward the wooden handles of the draft beers. Dean looked, too, and saw nothing he recognised. "Yuengling," Sam decided. Dean wondered if he'd just chosen at random, or was actually familiar with that brew.

"Me, too," Dean said. Sam sometimes had unusual taste, but his opinion on beers was generally pretty reliable. Of course, that was assuming he knew what he was ordering, but Dean was used to living dangerously.

"Coming right up." The bartender set the menus in front of them and grabbed two glasses. The menus were a single long page, laminated in plastic; Dean breathed a sigh of relief. This, at least, was comfortingly familiar.

Until he began to read it. "Ground Angus prime, local organic cheddar, applewood smoked--how many words does it take to say 'bacon cheeseburger'?" he grumbled.

"I'll have the arugula salad, please," Sam told the bartender.

"What the fuck is arugula?" Dean demanded.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's a vegetable. I'm not surprised you wouldn't know what it is."

Dean lightly kicked Sam's shin. "I'll have the bacon cheeseburger," he said, as the bartender set their beers down in front of them. "Thanks."

At the other end of the bar, an older man directed a stream of quiet curses at the TV. Dean glanced at the game; one of the teams was getting thoroughly creamed by the other. It was the seventh inning, and the score was 12-0. "Poor guy," the bartender commented. "Doesn't know better than to root for the Pirates."

Dean sipped his beer. It wasn't bad. He glanced at his brother, to find Sam staring absently into his glass. "Hey." He nudged Sam's ankle with his foot.

Sam looked up at him and gave him a brief smile. "Yeah. Still here, Dean."

Dean relaxed a fraction, relieved of tension he was loath to even admit. Sam had been shattered and put back together, but neither of them knew how well the repairs would hold. Dean watched him like a hawk whenever he could, making sure Sam was still in one piece, waiting to catch him if he fell. He didn't know what he could do to help if Sam broke again, but he knew he couldn't do nothing. He felt almost like they were kids again, Dean looking after his baby brother.

So far, the only symptom had been nightmares. Dean had had enough of those of his own, after his forty years in Hell; he couldn't imagine what Sam had endured during his aeons in the Cage. Sam shook and sweated and screamed in his sleep, and Dean held him and soothed him until he woke, stroked his hair and kissed his brother's forehead until he calmed and quieted and slept once more.

A waitress brought their meals in from the restaurant. Dean muttered his thanks; Sam, jolted from his reverie, turned on his seat to offer the same. Dean, watching him out of the corner of his eye, saw him go still. Dean's nerves were on edge even before Sam urgently hissed his name. "Dean!"

Dean spun around, heart in his throat, and felt it skip a beat. She was standing in the doorway, silhouetted in the light from the hallway, so Dean couldn't see her face. He would know that lithe, slender figure anywhere, though, and that cascade of dark curls that framed her face and tumbled down to tease at her collarbones was unmistakable. "Dean," she murmured, her voice surprised but sure, rich and full.

Cassie Robinson walked toward him, unhesitating. Dean felt as though all his will were sapped; he could do little more than watch her approach. His face felt strange, and it took him a moment to realise it was because he was grinning like a fool. Cassie. Beautiful, sexy, gorgeous Cassie, the first woman he'd spent more than a single night with, the first woman he'd allowed himself to admit he loved. For her to find him here, now, when he most needed it...

Sam kicked him. "Buy her a drink," he muttered.

"Huh?" Dean looked at him, saw him fingering the flask Dean knew held holy water. Shit. What were the chances of her just happening to find him here, now, when he most needed it? She was a demon, a shifter, someone who knew his weaknesses and knew how to find him. Sam was right. They had to test her. "Yeah," he murmured, "can you...?" Something inside him seemed to collapse. He almost couldn't bear it--something horrible wearing Cassie's beautiful face, he couldn't bring himself to dispel the illusion--but he couldn't put it all on Sam's shoulders, either, couldn't rely on his brother for everything, not when Sam relied so heavily on Dean.

Cassie stood before him, her eyes alight with a joy that mirrored Dean's. "Dean, is it really you? I can't believe it," she said. She reached out and touched his face lightly, fingers skating over his cheekbone.

"Yeah," he breathed, "me either." He wanted to believe it, so badly, and he smiled wide to hide his uncertainty. "How long's it been?"

"Must be six years now," she said. She looked past him to Sam. "It's Sam, right? How are you doing?"

"I've been worse," Sam said lightly. "Good to see you again, Cassie."

"Yeah--hey, do you want a drink?" Dean signalled the bartender. "God, who'd have thought, here...of all the gin joints in all the world, right? What brings you here, Cass?"

"Work, if you can believe that," she told him, easing herself onto the next barstool over. "I'm interviewing a guy for an article, meeting him here tomorrow. Thought I'd come up a day early, enjoy the amenities." She glanced at the bartender. "Margarita on the rocks, please."

"Salt?" the bartender asked.

"Yes, please," she told him.

"The amenities of this place are fantastic," Dean said as though he knew, though he hadn't actually had time to experience any for himself. "I hear the Couple's Moonlight Massage is particularly good."

She laughed. "You haven't changed a bit, Dean," she observed. "Still don't waste any time."

The bartender set the glass down on the bar as Dean leaned in toward Cassie, grinning. "Not at all," he agreed, and kissed her. He kept his eyes open long enough to see hers slide shut; behind him, he heard Sam unscrewing the cap of the flask. Dean brought a hand up to cup the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the edge of her jaw, and her lips parted under his, deepening the kiss. The silver ring on Dean's finger was laid against her bare skin, and she did not burn.

After a moment, Sam cleared his throat, and Cassie broke the kiss, laughing. "And your brother's still a prude," she declared.

Dean turned ostensibly to glare at Sam, but Sam patted his pocket and gave the tiniest of nods. "Ignore him," Dean said loftily, "he's just jealous." He slid her drink toward her, then raised his own half-empty glass of beer. "Here's to old acquaintances renewed."

She grinned and clinked her glass with his. "Hear, hear," she agreed, and sipped her drink. Dean watched with bated breath; the salted rim of the glass posed no obstacle, and the splash of holy water in the drink seemed to go down just as smoothly as the tequila. Apparently, sometimes good things really did happen to him.

As the evening drew on, Dean found himself in Cassie's room, breaking the seal on a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket. The cork came out with a pop, and Cassie was there with a pair of crystal flutes to catch the spill of foam from the lip of the bottle. "To you, Dean," she said, lifting the glass in salute. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

That caught Dean by surprise, even as he touched his own glass to hers and drank. His feelings for Cassie had burned hot, once, but when he's said goodbye to her six years ago, he was sure it was for good. He'd tried to forget how his heart ached for her the first time they'd parted, when she broke up with him; the second time, it had been easier to give her up, like a half-remembered song, a puzzle he'd put together before: set down this piece, then that. Had she really been carrying a torch for him this whole time?

"Cassie," he began, but she was looking at him with such fire in her eyes that he had to bend down and kiss her. She responded eagerly, her tongue slipping past his lips, seeking, claiming. A rush of heat flooded him, and he forced himself to step back, breaking the kiss, because had had been going to say something, hadn't he? "Wait," he mumbled, "I need..." He took a breath collecting himself. "Wait, Cassie, listen."

"What is it?" she asked, so concerned and caring that Dean wanted to fall into her arms and stay there for the rest of eternity.

"Cass, the reasons we couldn't be together before, the reasons it wouldn't have worked...they're still there. I'm still the same man, I still live the same life." He thought of Lisa and winced, but soldiered on. "I tried a relationship with someone, recently, and it didn't work. I just don't want to give you any illusions about--"

She stopped him with a finger on his lips. "It's okay, Dean," she said. "I don't have any expectations. I just want to enjoy this, whatever it can be, while we're together. And after that..." She shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Is that all right?"

The fact was, it had worked with Lisa, until Dean had gone vamp and lost control, and if that wasn't fully Dean's fault then it most definitely wasn't Lisa's. In any case, a weekend together at a resort in the mountains was considerably less of a commitment than even the "come when you can" arrangement he'd had with Lisa, and Dean was fairly sure he could manage this much with Cassie. Any remaining doubts were erased when he looked at her, dark doe eyes and full lips, cocoa butter skin and soft curves. He'd been half-hard just looking at her almost from the moment he saw her tonight, and his whole body was humming with desire. "Fuck yes, it's all right," he breathed.

The next kiss was slow, long and sweet. Cassie took the glass from his hand and set it on the sideboard, then set to work on the buttons of his shirt, pulling him gently toward the bed. It was torturously slow, each button slipping free of its hole to expose another couple inches of skin to the cool air. Dean groaned his frustration against her lips and dropped his hands to his belt buckle, trying to speed up the process, kicking off his shoes and stumbling as Cassie pulled him down onto the bed.

He caught himself from falling on top of her with his hands on either side of her shoulders and dropped his head to kiss her neck, sucking gently over her pulse point. She moaned, her body arching up beneath him, her hands running over his chest, up over his shoulders to push his shirt off. His skin tingled everywhere she touched and he groaned, wanting more.

He dropped a hand to just above her knee and stroked up her thigh, marvelling at the smoothness of her skin. His hand slipped under her dress unimpeded, drawing her skirt up to her hip, his fingers skating over her hipbone. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and he closed his eyes against the wave of desire that washed over him.

"Touch me, Dean," she begged. "I want your hands on me, everywhere." She caught the hem of her dress, drawing it up and over her head, leaving her body gloriously bare, her skin flushed dark and shining slightly with sweat.

Dean couldn't think, his brain completely switched off in favour of instinct and lust. "God, yes, Cass," he groaned. He pressed a kiss to her clavicle as he brought his hand up along the concave curve of her waist, her abdominal muscles jumping under his teasing caress. The soft weight of her breast was exquisite and familiar, the give of her flesh as he gently squeezed it, her nipple hard between his fingers. He caught the other in his mouth, drawing moans with lips and teeth and tongue.

"Dean--oh, yes," Cassie gasped. Her fingers carded through his hair, pushing his head down. He nipped at her skin, then kissed it, soothing the sting. Cassie moaned, writhing beneath him. "Dean, touch me, I need you, need your hands..."

Dean's cock was throbbing in his pants, pushing out the seam of his trousers. The top button was undone but the zipper resisted, and he spared a moment to reach down and free himself from the constricting garment. The front of his boxers was sticky with precome, but he knew he could wait. Cassie was whimpering, and he slipped his hand between her legs, finally, and she cried out in relief as his fingers traced through the wetness there, teasing at first, then pressing more firmly, slipping inside her. His thumb found her clit, circled it and rubbed, and her hips bucked as she clenched around his hand.

"Fuck, yes, Dean, there, just like that," she moaned, encouraging and directing, "harder, like that, yes, more." He shifted down her body, gently pushing her thighs apart as he kissed the hollow of her hip, then down, his tongue pressing between her folds. She tasted musky, erotically female, and Dean closed his eyes as he buried his face between her legs, grinding his own hips into the mattress for some semblance of relief. "Fuck, Dean, so good," Cassie gasped. Her hips rocked rhythmically, fucking herself on his fingers as he sucked at her clit. "Dean, so good, fuck--stop, stop, I want to come with you inside me, Dean."

His cock twitched in fervent agreement as he raised his head, pulling his hand free. "God, yes." He licked his fingers clean, crawling back up her body as he shoved down his slacks and underwear, kicking them away. She kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He felt her hand on his cock, rolling on a condom as she licked her taste from his lips, moaning into his mouth.

She wrapped her legs around his hips as she guided him with her hand, pressed the head of his cock against her slick opening and he slid inside, shuddering. She was so hot, throbbing around him, tight even after he'd fingered her open. "Dean," she breathed, "you feel incredible, so good, fuck me..." He rolled his hips, gently at first, but she groaned and rocked up to meet him, grabbed his ass and squeezed, driving him faster, harder. He bit his lip on a moan, but Cassie had no such restraint, urging him on, cursing and praising, breathless and wanton beneath him.

Dean had been so hard already, so ready, and she felt so good around him, the way her muscles fluttered when he thrust at just the right angle. Each movement shot sparks along his spine. The tension crept in along the backs of his thighs, spreading across his belly and up between his shoulderblades. He could hear it in Cassie's voice, too, the pitch of her cries, shortened syllables and desperate moans. She was close, as close as he was and he couldn't hold on, felt himself slipping and gasped, "Cass, oh God, Cass, gonna..."

"Dean, yes, come for me," she cried, something wild and frantic in her eyes, "come with me, Dean, love me!" Her body spasmed beneath him, seizing around him and she screamed his name once more as she came. Her nails scraped his back, a sharp pain counterpoint to ecstasy, and it dragged him over the edge into orgasm, whiting out his vision.

When he came back down to Earth, Cassie was kissing his face gently, looking as blissed-out as he felt. "God," he murmured, "that was..."

She giggled and kissed him silent, sweet and slow. "Yeah, it was."

"Mmm." He disentangled himself and rolled off her, but not far. He kept an arm around her, and she snuggled against him, tucking herself against his body, her head pillowed on his chest. "How long did you say you're here for?"

"Well," she began, "I can finish this article I'm working on from here and email it in. After that, I'm not sure. I'll call the office tomorrow and see how long I can telecommute for." She smiled up at him. "What about you? How long are you and Sam planning on staying?"

Dean shrugged. "Didn't really have a specific time in mind. As long as we need to." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm thinking now, though, as long as you're here."

She stretched, covering a yawn with her hand. "That sounds like a wonderful plan."

Reluctantly, Dean pulled away from her and sat up. "I should get back to my room," he said, hating every word.

"Can't you stay the night?" Cassie asked.

He shook his head. "Sam went through some stuff recently, and..." He paused, wondering how the hell to explain that he didn't want to leave his brother alone for too long for fear his nightmares would kill him.

Cassie nodded. "I understand. You're a good brother, Dean. Go." She caught him for one last kiss before shooing him away.

When Dean returned to his and Sam's room, he found it empty. He fought down a rising tide of panic and called, "Sam?"

"Out here," his brother's voice returned, faint through the closed glass door, and Dean breathed again as he pushed it open and stepped out onto the balcony.

The evening air was cool, but steam rose from the surface of the water in which Sam was submerged up to his neck. He grinned at Dean over the side of the hot tub.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," Dean told him, grateful nonetheless that he had.

Sam shrugged. "Yes, I did. Besides, I wanted to try out the hot tub. It feels great, Dean. The hot water's so soothing. And the jets are placed really well."

Dean blinked. "Let's skip right over the part where you explain exactly what that means. Sam, what if you'd had a seizure or passed out? You could have drowned!" Part of him realised he was overreacting, but he had come way to close to losing his brother way too many times for him to overlook this kind of carelessness.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said, even though they both knew it was a lie. "If it makes you feel better, next time I'll make sure you're here to be my lifeguard."

"Damn right you will," Dean asserted, for some reason thinking of Baywatch for a moment before shaking his head to clear away the mental images. "Come on, let's go inside. Unless you feel the need to boil yourself a bit longer."

"Nah," Sam said, but he didn't move. "Er..."

"What?"

Sam cleared his throat. "I don't have a bathing suit. You might want to look away when I climb out and grab my towel--"

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, turning away and striding back inside. "Don't come in until you're decent!"

His brother followed a moment later, towel wrapped around his waist. "By the way, I did some research while you were out," he said.

Dean boggled at him. "The fuck? Sam, we're on vacation! What the hell could you possibly be researching? And so help me God if you say you've found a case--"

"I haven't," Sam reassured him hastily. "I was just checking--I know she passed all our tests, but I just wanted to be sure Cassie is really Cassie."

"And?" Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

Sam shrugged. "And nothing. From all I could find, she's absolutely who she seems to be. So you can relax, I'm still the only one of us who's banged a demon." He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on a fresh pair of boxers under his towel.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You're joking about Ruby, now?" He scrutinised Sam carefully, but his brother didn't seem to be showing any other signs of insanity.

Sam shrugged. "Look, Dean. I freed Lucifer from Hell. I very nearly let him destroy the planet. I murdered innocent people and tried to kill Bobby to keep out my soul so, yeah, in perspective, a bit of unholy sex doesn't seem so horrible anymore."

Dean stared. "Okay," he said, because Sam sort of had a point and Dean couldn't really think of any other response to that. He wondered if those were the things that made Sam scream in his sleep, that he could talk about so calmly while awake.

"Besides, even you have to admit she was kinda hot. Even Padalecki thought so. He married her."

"Which only goes to show how screwed up both he and you are," Dean argued. "He's probably been corrupted from spending too much time playing you."

Sam smirked. "Yeah. Poor guy. He doesn't have you to look after him like I do."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Poor Jared Padalecki, his whole house is fancier than this fucking place," he muttered, but without much venom. He took Sam's thanks for what it was, smiling as he sat down on his own bed and reached to turn off the lamp. "Goodnight, Sammy."

Cassie joined them for breakfast the next morning. Sam suggested the three of them check out the resort's disc golf course; remembering how he'd been scoffed at for taking up golf, Dean was set to refuse until Sam explained that disc golf was played with frisbees, not clubs. At that point, Cassie declared that she would beat both their scores by half, and it was on.

The game was easy and fun, all the more enjoyable for the company. There was something incredibly soothing to Dean about playing a laid-back game in the bright sunshine with his brother and his...whatever Cassie was to him, besides gorgeous and witty and an absolute joy to be around.

Cassie touched Dean every chance she got, it seemed. She wasn't clingy, by any means, but she'd brush casually against him while walking to the next "hole" on the course, or lay a hand on his arm in congratulations when he made a difficult shot. Dean thought maybe he be more jumpy--he didn't usually like to be touched without warning, certainly not being grabbed from behind, no matter how affectionately or how deeply the grabber in question had kissed him the night before--but he wasn't jumpy at all. He was relaxed, familiar with Cassie, and it felt as though she'd been with him all along, rather than not having seen her for years.

Sam had a tendency to overshoot the target with his throws. Dean did reasonably well, his limited experience with real golf giving him some idea of how to compensate for the wind. Cassie, though, was impossibly good. She didn't just beat Dean and Sam's scores, she shattered them.

"Are you letting her win?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean gave him a look of exaggerated despair. "No. She is legitimately kicking my ass, purely on her own skill."

"She's controlling the wind," Sam declared petulantly, after a sudden gust knocked Cassie's disc sideways, directly into the target.

"I--no, I'm not!" Cassie protested, suddenly shifty, for all the world as though she'd been caught cheating.

Dean laughed. "It's a good thing we didn't bet against you, Cass!" he said, pulling her against his side and kissing her cheek.

She smiled. "I wouldn't take your money, Dean," she said. "What would I do with it?"

Sam was frowning at her. "Relax, Sammy, it's just a game," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, visibly shaking it off, but there was an odd tone to his voice, a tone that Dean knew to mean something is not right with this.

Cassie turned to look at Sam, concern on her face. "Are you okay, Sam?" she asked.

He cocked his head, regarding her silently for a moment before answering. "Yeah, Cassie. Thanks for your concern. Why do you ask?"

She hesitated. "Dean told me you had been through some stuff. I know that can be tough to deal with."

His eyes narrowed. "He say what kind of stuff?"

"Easy, Sam," Dean said quickly, laying a calming hand on his brother's shoulder. "I didn't go into specifics."

"Right," Sam said, and Dean could feel some of the tension leave him, the set of his shoulders softening slightly. "Good. Okay." He picked up his own disc and threw it clumsily. The wind caught and carried it, and it looked as though it were going to overshoot again, but at the last moment the wind died to nothing, and the frisbee dropped like a stone into the target.

"Hey, good shot!" Cassie exclaimed, smiling--not at Sam, but at the green, where her own disc lay only feet away from Sam's.

Sam beat both their scores on that hole, but it wasn't enough to catch up by the end of the game. When they finished the eighteenth hole, Cassie's score was less than a third of Dean's, and less than a quarter of Sam's. Sam hung back a little from the other two as they strolled back toward the resort's main hotel. He was probably just trying to give Dean and Cassie space to be couple-y, Dean thought, but he might also be sore about losing the game to both of them. He knew Sam didn't want to be babied because of what had happened to him, and Dean wasn't one to let anyone win if he wasn't trying to hustle them, but he still felt a little bad that he might have hurt Sam's feelings by beating him.

With a promise to catch up with Cassie at lunch, Dean dropped back too, falling in beside his brother. They walked in silence at a leisurely pace, waiting until Cassie was out of earshot ahead before Dean asked, "So what's up, Sam?"

Sam shrugged, looking disquieted. "I don't know," he said. "Cassie. Just...little things, you know? Why did she ask me if I was okay?"

"Because I mentioned to her that you weren't," Dean said. "She asked me why I wasn't staying the night last night, and I said I didn't want to leave you alone because you'd been through some stuff. Almost those exact words, no more detail than that."

"Fine," Sam said, "I'm not worried about the detail. You want to tell her my soul was stuck in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer, fine, see if she believes you but I don't much mind her knowing. But why did she hesitate before she said you told her about me?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, because she could tell it was a sensitive topic, and she wasn't sure it was okay to talk about?"

"She hesitated like she was lying," Sam said flatly, "same way she hesitated when she said she wasn't fucking with the wind."

Dean stared at him blankly. "She was joking," he said. "And why would she lie? I did tell her about you. Sam, we gave her silver and holy water and salt--hell, she ordered the salt herself. You said last night, you checked anyway and she's clean, so what is it exactly you're bothered by?"

Sam shook his head. "You're right," he said, without much conviction. "I'm overreacting. I'm just on edge, you know, since Cas knocked my wall down."

On edge didn't quite cover it. Dean could tell there was something else, some fear that Sam wasn't voicing, something that he was, for whatever reason, reluctant to even mention. Dean didn't push it. He wouldn't, not now, when Sam was still shattered inside.

He didn't mention the weird feeling he got when Sam mentioned Cas, how it made the back of his neck prickle because it almost sounded like he said Cass.

After lunch they parted ways, Sam heading to their sun-drenched balcony with a book while Dean and Cassie went back to her room. Cassie couldn't keep her hands off him; during lunch she'd played footsie with him under the table, as though they were teenagers again. Afterward she casually tucked an arm around Dean's waist as they walked, keeping the pressure firm so it almost felt sometimes like she was dragging him bodily across the lobby. In the elevator she backed him against the wall and kissed him soundly, her hands fisted in his short hair, until he was breathless and rock-hard in his pants. By the time her hotel room door swung shut behind them, Dean was half-mad with arousal.

She stripped him, pushed him down on the bed and rode him, gasping his name, her back arched and her left hand everywhere on his body, fingers pushing against his lips, pinching his nipples, nails scratching down his belly. Her right hand gripped his shoulder, fingers pressing into the scar, and Dean had thought her hand too small and delicate to match the print branded on his skin, but it fit perfectly. Her skin gleamed like some erotic bronze statue above him, and the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the wide windows caught her hair, gilding the edges of her curls like a halo. She was something divine, Dean thought wildly, something holy, and he wanted to worship her.

It was incredible, like being chained to a comet. Dean felt like he was glowing, brilliant white light exuding from every pore, but it all came from her, from their joining, and he wondered if she could see it, if she knew the way she was making him feel, like he could combust at any moment. He wondered if she felt like that too, if her screams of pleasure were of agony too, and when she cried, "Love me, Dean, love me!" as she came, he knew he did, he had loved her since he met her and had never really stopped, even in the time they'd been apart, so he gasped, "Yes, Cass, yes," and seized up, pulsing in her heat.

She collapsed, half on top of him, and pulled him to her, laying gentle kisses along his neck. "Thank you, Dean," she managed, still breathing hard. "That was all I wanted. All I ever wanted."

Blissed-out, still glowing, it took a moment for her words to register in his mind. "You're welcome," he mumbled, "what? You wanted what?"

"Your love, Dean," she told him.

He glanced down at her. From this angle, with her head tucked under his chin like that, he couldn't really see her face. Something about her words rang strangely in his ears. He frowned. "I loved you," he said, "even before we broke up...I thought you knew that." He tried to remember if he'd ever actually said the words aloud, to her. He didn't think it mattered; he'd thought she knew anyway...

Cassie sighed, her breath warm on his chest. "I'm sorry, Dean," she murmured.

This was not what Dean was expecting, from pillowtalk in general or from Cassie, at all. "What for?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"For everything, Dean," she said, lifting her head to look down at him. "For Sam. For deceiving you. I only wish you'd given me your love when I asked you to."

Deceiving him? He shook his head, less out of confusion than out of a refusal to allow himself to even entertain what he was hearing. His heart, which had begun to slow to its normal pace, was now pounding, hard enough that he could see his own pulse throbbing in his whole body. He felt cold. His limbs tingled, as though his blood didn't quite fit his veins properly. "No," he heard himself say, and his voice didn't sound like him.

"I thought you recognised me," she was saying, "when you saw me in the bar, and called me Cass. But you didn't, did you. What is Cas short for, Dean?"

"Cassie," he said, with difficulty. His throat felt stiff. "Cassandra Robinson. Please..." He didn't know what he was begging for.

"No," she admonished gently, smiling a terrifyingly knowing smile that was almost a smirk. "What is Cas short for?"

He moved without conscious thought, sudden and jerky, throwing her body off him. She'd pulled him up to her room but he was bigger than her, twice her weight in muscle, and he rolled off the bed, dove for his jeans and stepped into them, didn't manage to fasten them before she spun him around and pinned him against the wall without touching him. The impact jarred his bones and knocked the breath from his lungs. "How?" he gasped.

"Say my name, Dean," she ordered, still smiling, still gloriously nude with the sun in her hair.

He tried to move, wanting to thrash, his muscles bunching under his skin, but she held him fast, one hand extended almost lazily toward him. He swallowed hard, painfully, not wanting to give her--him--the satisfaction, not when she'd already taken so much from him, but there was a very real possibility she would crush him into a pulp if he didn't. He felt sick. "Castiel."

"I know," she said, "you want to know how I got my divine hands on your ladyfriend's meatsuit. She was more than willing, Dean. I didn't lie to her or trick her to get her consent. I told her I wanted to go see you, and she gave it up for me, just like that." She glanced down at her body, ran her other hand down her torso. "Beautiful, isn't it? I rather like it in here. It's so..." Her hand slipped down toward her pelvis. "Responsive."

Dean gritted his teeth, tried to squirm out of her grasp. Maybe, while her attention was divided...

Cas seemed to grow abruptly bored. Her smile vanished as she dropped her hand. Dean fell from the wall, landing on hands and knees. "Fine," she snapped. "If you don't want to stay, I won't force you. I still believe in free will, Dean. But I won't forget that you gave me your love, you worshipped me, by your own choice."

Dean staggered to his feet, zipping and buttoning his jeans as he did. "Get out of her," he growled. "Leave Cassie alone. She's not part of this, this is about you and me and Sam."

For a moment, Cas looked truly thoughtful. "Tell Sam that I'll accept his love, too, whenever he's ready," she said. "I'll see if I can't find another sweet, pretty vessel...Jessica should be easy to bring back..."

Howling, Dean swung at her. He'd never in his life tried to hit a woman, but that was no woman, that was an angel playing God. He found himself on his arse on the ground, flung across the room with a gesture.

"After all I've done for you, Dean," Castiel snarled. "That's enough. I've got what I came for. Go."

In the blink of an eye the room was empty. Dean scrambled to his feet again and ran, bypassing the elevator to trip down three flights of stairs. He slammed into his and Sam's room, shaking. The noise brought his brother in from the balcony, a look of alarm painted across his face. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but he tasted bile in the back of his throat and he ducked into the bathroom. His knees smarted from striking the hard tile in front of the toilet and he retched.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam uttered from the doorway. Dean heard water running in the sink, then a cool washcloth was pressed to the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, steadying, and lifted his head; Sam held a glass of water out in front of him. Dean took it, rinsed his mouth, spat into the toilet bowl and flushed the whole mess.

When his legs stopped shaking enough to stand again, he turned and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "Sam. Next time you have some idea about any sort of fucked-up situation like this, don't fucking keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said, then, hesitantly, "what happened?"

"Cas happened," Dean snapped, "what the fuck do you think?" Sam looked distressed but unsurprised and Dean, angry, barrelled on. "He fucking took Cassie's body, Sam! He tricked me into fucking her! Do you know what that makes me, Sam? A rapist!" His stomach lurched again and he fought down the nausea.

"No, Dean," Sam told him firmly, "it doesn't. This is on Cas, not you. He's the one who hurt you, hurt Cassie--this is not your fault."

Dean closed his eyes, breathing hard through his nose, and nodded. "Yeah. Okay." He rubbed a hand over his face; his skin felt clammy. "Let's go. I don't want to stay here." He didn't mention what Castiel had said about Jessica--he'd warn Sam, of course, but later, once they were away from this place and had left it behind.

Sam nodded. "I'm still mostly packed," he said. "I'll call the front desk and check out."

Grateful, Dean waved him away. He went to his own bag, found another shirt; the clothes he'd left in Cassie's--Castiel's--room would have to be left behind.

He looked around the lavish hotel room with regret. It had been foolish to think he and Sam could really have a break. The Winchesters didn't get vacations.