Fic: In Four Dimensions 1/2
Title: In Four Dimensions 1/2
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel/Sam/Gabriel
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 5x08
Word Count: 15,000
Warnings: Incest, rimming, double penetration, discussions of genderswap
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: It was easy to gloss over what they were doing when it was the end of the world. Where exactly do they go from here.
AN: Written for zeitheist 's birthday. The continuing adventures of Team Free Love, just for you, because you're awesome. I hope you like it.
Sam's asleep. He likes being asleep. He's warm and he's comfortable and he's not mad about changing that any time soon.
Which is why the sudden staccato vibration of someone's phone across the night table is so annoying. There's a heavy, irritating insistence to the noise that suggests the phone is Dean's. Only Dean's phone could ever be that obnoxious.
Sam makes a protesting noise, garbled and messy, that could be translated as 'not it' and then turns his head further into the hair he currently has his face pressed into. It's a soft mess of disarranged strands that smells like Castiel. He's planning to stay there until the phone stops, or falls on the floor and breaks. Thank you very much.
"Goddamn it," Dean complains, from what sounds like half-way inside a pillow and a foot away. "Someone shut that thing up."
A second later there's the rattling clank of someone reaching in the dark for technology and then something lands on bare skin with a thud - before vibrating again, much closer than before.
"Really not what I had in mind," Dean grumbles.
He gets a huff of shameless and unapologetic laughter in response, that's trademark Gabriel.
Sam grumbles general protest at the world into Castiel's cheek because he's way more awake than he was a moment ago and he's not at all happy about it.
There's the faint clack of a phone opening. The shifting, muttered complaint when Dean manages to get it somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth.
"M'lo?.........Hey Bobby."
Sam sighs and listens, but he's not close enough to hear Bobby's end of the conversation, just Dean's yawn and the quiet slide of sheets on skin.
"Yeah, we're good. I think - yeah."
The bed makes a noise when someone moves and Sam stretches his left leg and listens to it click, before twining it through Castiel's.
"We can do that. Just tell us where."
Sam breathes out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Something strangely easy. They have technically been on an overlong vacation. Putting the devil and his armies of darkness back in hell, and the righteous and persistent armies of heaven back upstairs takes a lot out of you. If anyone deserves a vacation - if anyone in the whole world deserves a vacation. It's probably them. But they knew damn well that it was only a matter of time before the dust settled. Before things started creeping out of the woodwork. Things they didn't quite catch. That they missed when the fires went out. Things were never going to stay quiet for long, they knew enough to be sure of that.
But, Sam's surprisingly ok with that. He has an interesting perspective on things now.
"Yeah," Dean says quietly. "We'll be there. Thanks Bobby. You too."
The phone clicks and judging by the creak of mattress and the muted 'thud' Dean has just dropped it on the floor.
A minute after that it's all quiet again. Though Sam knows for a fact that everyone's awake now. It wasn't like they hadn't been expecting this. That they hadn't been waiting for it.
Sam wraps an arm round Castiel's bare waist. He's still a little surprised that he can do that, that he's allowed. Since, not so long ago he was fairly sure Castiel was his brother's one great, epic romance. They've fought over a lot of things in their life, but girls - and ok, apparently guys now - had never been one of them.
But then, they're not exactly fighting - and sharing is too simple a word for whatever it is they're doing. There's something about stopping an apocalypse together that could be considered a bonding experience. And Dean would bitch at him for using the word 'bonding' but he's damned if he can think of a better on. Because hell, they did some pretty messy things to accomplish what they did. Things they couldn't have done if they hadn't trusted each other. Things no one else is ever going to understand. Things that maybe left them in a weird mess. Human and angel twisted up together in impossible ways. Sam doesn't know what's going to happen when they eventually have to take a step back and look at this. But what he does know, is that this is as close to content as he's been for years.
"Stop thinking so hard," Dean complains, voice an irritated slur. "I swear I can hear your brain from over here."
"I actually can hear his brain," Gabriel provides, and judging by the slow, messy drawl he's using Dean as a pillow. "It's like a lifetime movie, I'm genuinely touched."
"Stop listening to my brain," Sam says. Though the complaint manages to lack an ounce of heat. "I do very important and secret thinking in there."
Dean grunts like he disputes that fact.
The sheet moves when someone stretches a leg out, trails down Sam's waist in slow, distracting shifts. Like it's trying to tempt him into something.
"Bobby's got a hunt for us," Dean says quietly.
Sam grunts something that manages to give the impression he's listening without moving his head far enough to actually look at him. They all knew this was coming. They all knew they'd have to step back into their old lives eventually.
"It's not far, I figure it can wait a few hours."
The bed shifts under him again and Dean's arm joins Sam's curled round Castiel's waist. Castiel sighs softly. Like this was his plan all along and he's satisfied that laying very still and doing nothing has proven effective.
That might actually be true. Castiel's a lot craftier than he looks. Of course, Castiel's also an angel again. All shiny-bright and spilling over with righteous angel power.
So he doesn't need to sleep.
He doesn't need to do a lot of things.
Sam had originally thought that humanity and its occasional strange idiosyncrasies was addictive. But he's starting to think that this, the four of them sharing heat and skin and closeness is important enough that the long periods of inactivity just don't matter. He doesn't know what they do all night. Count the molecules in their bodies maybe, or have long and interesting angel discussions about the nature of the universe. Sam just knows that they're always there. Sam doesn't know if there's any sort of angelic equivalent, but they never bother to look like they're sleeping when they're on their own.
Sam knows he definitely sleeps though. Because the next thing he registers is the fact that he has an Archangel sprawled half over his chest and Castiel's arm is looped round Gabriel's waist from behind. Sam has no idea how they do that. He swears it just happens. Even Dean doesn't wake up when they move. Sam's chalking it up to their freakish angel powers.
Either way Gabriel is, as always, blazingly hot and Sam can't help throwing an arm round him and pulling just a little. Which gets him a huff of something that isn't protest and a complicated tangling of legs - he's fairly sure there's one of Castiel's there too, because two people do not have five legs between them.
It says something that he can so calmly think about there being three other people in bed with him. One of which is his brother. But then it's amazing what you can get used to when you live through an apocalypse. When you survive an apocalypse.
He never expected to come out the other side like this though.
The next time he wakes up Gabriel and Castiel have switched places again. Like they're never entirely satisfied for long. Castiel's fingers are shifting on the edge of his knee, a drag-slide-press that stops and repeats slow and hypnotic.
The sheet moves again, like a constant referee in their bed wrestling match. Sam can hear Dean sigh with more than a touch of irritation.
"Gabriel, move."
"Why?"
Dean makes a rough noise of amusement.
"Because I'm going to get up and shower and I can't do that if you're sprawled the hell all over me."
There's a chuckle and a considering noise like Gabriel's thinking about it. Then a second of abrupt movement, chased by a gasp and a shaky, wet moan.
"You can come too," Dean says eventually, and then his voice breaks off for a sound that Sam knows well enough. All wet crush of mouth, soft, half-smothered breaths and a slithering rearrangement of limbs.
Enough to make sure Sam is most definitely awake.
Then bed shudders with the weight of two people leaving it, and it's barely a few seconds before the bathroom door shuts.
Sam would be more irritated about that if they hadn't already worked out that the shower only holds two people.
Instead he takes advantage of the extra space to slide a leg between Castiel's and push them apart, just a little. Castiel's hums quietly, a noise Sam knows well enough that he presses up out of the sheets and finds Castiel's mouth. Still soft and relaxed from all that 'pretending to be asleep.'
Castiel's already hard against the edge of his waist, a greedy shove-slide of skin that makes the kiss maybe a little messier than Sam intends.
It doesn't take long before Sam's as hard as him.
"Sam," Castiel says simply, and that tone is a million miles away from the one that once referred to him as an abomination.
"Cas," Sam tells him right back. Which gets him a smile, a half-smile. A Castiel smile that's somehow twice as much with half the obviousness.
He turns Castiel's smile into noise when he kicks the sheet down the bed and tips the angel's head back. Then opens his mouth on the warmth of Castiel's throat.
There's a low growl that's deep enough to slide through him in one hard vibration. Sam loves Castiel's voice, low and harsh and demanding. He loves the way he has a tendency to command, to push, to take what he wants. To be completely and shamelessly filthy without protest or even encouragement.
But tangled up in that he still feels like he comes from somewhere else completely. The way he still manages to react to every sensation like it unravels him completely. The way he sometimes treats them both like they're made of glass. And the fact that occasionally Castiel will slip and call him 'Samuel' and there's no way Sam's going to admit that he likes it.
He's all demand and greed, mixed with a strange sort of gentle reverence that Sam thinks will never, never stop killing him. It will never stop leaving him helpless to do anything but catch him and hold him and do anything Castiel wants.
Castiel's hand tangles in his hair, pushes him down with carefully controlled determination. Sam makes a noise, soft and agreeable, leaves a trail of warm breath down Castiel's abdomen. Until it flares over the weight at his groin. Then the hand in Sam's hair tightens, one quick expectant clench and Sam trails his tongue across the soft-hard length of him.
The way Castiel's breath draws in is familiar already, and yet Sam's still greedy for it. For the way the angel twitches and shifts under every curl of tongue, every flat slide and slow drag of lips. Like this is new, every time. Like Castiel is saving every sensation.
Sam waits for the slow tightening in Castiel's thighs when he slides back up to curl his tongue over the head. When it comes he moves back down. Tongue wet and slow against the delicate softness of Castiel's balls.
Castiel gasps and growls a protest at the flagrant teasing. Until Sam gently pushes his thighs apart and slides his tongue all the way down. Finds tightness and warmth and there are nails in his scalp and a sharp draw of breath.
He digs his fingers into Castiel's flexing thighs, tongue sliding over and then pushing just inside. Castiel makes a noise in his throat that's half-animal, thighs spreading, hips tilting and the incessant angry thud of Sam's own arousal is cranked up hard enough to hurt.
There's a tiny stutter of breath and one more fiercely demanding clench. There's a brief little spike of pain when Castiel's insistence turns into a tug, pulling Sam's wet mouth back where the angel needs it. Sam obediently opens him mouth and lets the gentle tilt of Castiel's hips take him inside. Sam groans, lets Castiel’s thighs slip over his shoulders and tries to take more, a wet slide that leaves pressure at the back of his throat and a constant thump in his groin.
He reaches up and Castiel's handing him a bottle without having to be asked, already uncapped and it's far too easy to slick up his fingers and work them inside the angel, bottle tumbling into the sheets when he dares to push them in quick and deep on every wet drag of his mouth. Finds just the right angle and speed to pull a strangled gasp out of Castiel's throat.
Castiel's thighs tense and then fall apart, leaving him open and relaxed and easy. A perfect and completely unselfconscious display of wantonness and Sam's fingers dig into this thighs, trying to press marks into that impossible skin. Trying to push down some of his own need, trying to quiet the heavy thump in his groin that demands he take everything. That he open Castiel up quickly and dirty, make him loose and wet and greedy. Before he wrecks him.
He's up to three fingers now and Castiel is already breathless, hips shifting, fingers digging and tangling in Sam's hair, over and over like he can't stop.
Sam's mouth is a wet mess of saliva and pre-come and it's shifting tight and hard on Castiel's cock. Slippery and steady and deep.
"Sam, Sam, please -" the words break, shatter apart when Sam pushes in hard. There's just breath and the quick, endless trembles that runs through Castiel. The way he's groaning in one long constant noise, getting lower and harder and Sam knows he's close. Pushes him all the way there, all the way over, feeling the clench around his fingers when Castiel comes in his mouth, on one stuttering slide.
Sam slides his mouth away, kisses the soft curve of Castiel's pelvis, gets a weak little twitching moan for it. Then he's shifting up the bed, Castiel's thighs opening and sliding round his waist. Castiel's easy and so relaxed that Sam's cock just slides all the way inside him, in one movement. He listens to the rush of stunned air and the groan that sounds too blissed-out to be real. Castiel spreads his legs wider, like it doesn’t ache at all. Like he doesn’t need any time to get used to the sensation. He digs his heel in Sam's back, demands the movement and the pressure and the weight of him.
"Harder," Castiel says. Voice sounding like darkness and filth and Sam's breathing out the angel's name as he braces himself on one arm and slams in hard enough to make his thighs ache.
It's too good and it's not going to last long. Can't last long, not with how demanding Castiel can be. All hard fingers and intensity, pushing back, making desperate little sounds that end in something close to a whine. Like he needs this.
"Sam." His voice is too low to be real and Sam is shaking and coming and gasping out words that catch in his throat and come out broken. Words that he means, every damn time. He's left listening to Castiel's soft little noises as Sam stutters and jerks and dies his way through orgasm.
Castiel's more than strong enough to take his weight afterwards. Legs relaxing either side of him when Sam slides out and groans into the curve of his throat.
Castiel's fingers slide across the damp skin of his back, then he shifts his thighs and rolls them. Leaving Sam panting on his back and the weight of Castiel in his lap.
The angel is wearing his unnecessarily serious expression, which he shouldn't be able to make work while he's naked. But it makes Sam catch the hard juts of his hips and pull him up, just a little.
"Stay," Castiel says simply. Though there's more than a hint of angelic command there. Castiel's insistence is a force to be reckoned with. Sam's gotten far too used to obeying that voice. But usually it's because something will eat him if he doesn't.
It's worryingly Pavlovian that Castiel seems to be reprogramming him.
Sam raises an eyebrow. He's about to ask why he has to stay put when he gets his answer. The bed shudders and an arm slides round Castiel's waist from behind.
"Cas." Dean slides in close, knees placed round Sam's thighs.
Castiel's eyes slide shut, head tipping to the side to give Dean as much room as he wants.
Gabriel sprawls untidily next to them all, expression full of sharp mischief. He looks tempted to put his hands all over everything. But then Sam thinks he kind of always looks a little bit like that.
"I thought we were supposed to be getting up?" Sam asks when Dean slips a hand down to coax the angel back past 'interested' and all the way into 'ready.'
Dean just looks up at him and grins, like the answer to that should be obvious. Before he pulls gently. Castiel's weight leaving him in a collection of indulgent and teasing slides.
Sam's lap isn't empty for long though. Gabriel's shifts a knee up and over, settles his weight where Sam really shouldn't be interested yet, but absolutely is. His waist is soft and far too easy to grab and pull and hold on to. Sam should know by now that smothering the Archangel's laughter with his mouth is almost impossible but he can't help trying.
~~~~~
One of the things Dean is not ashamed to admit is that there are some pretty sweet bonuses in having Gabriel around. Even before they all started sleeping together, and he got to know about all the other awesome bonuses in having an Archangel who'd learned every filthy trick the human body could perform in his bed.
The food. Dear God, the food is awesome. Having someone who can pretty much magic up whatever he wants, whenever he wants is like another sort of porn, a special food-porn. Seriously, Dean's not above showing his appreciation for the food, and he doesn't even care if that makes him a slut. Especially when Gabriel suggests combining the food with his appreciation. Which Dean's totally behind.
If he ever stops killing things for a living he's going to gain 200 pounds.
So when he stumbles out of the bathroom and discovers the whole room smells like pancakes he makes a low, greedy sound of bliss and follows the smell all the way to the small table. Then drops himself into it.
Sam's already hiding behind the internet, Gabriel is digging his fingers into everything and Castiel is quietly absorbing everything like a visitor from space. Considering the pretty damn human noises they spent last night - and this morning - dragging out of him it's amazing the way he can just throw that 'I am quietly interested but not emotionally involved' face back on. Especially when Gabriel's face is so ludicrously expressive.
Still, breakfast is currently more important than who's emoting over the table. So Dean fills his mouth without stopping to breathe. He gets the feeling Sam's laughing at the noises he's making, but then that's not exactly new. He can't be expected to have coherent thoughts while he's starving to death though.
When he looks up again Gabriel's artistically constructing a pancake tower, with fruit windows and cream pillars.
Sam steals a window when he's not looking.
Castiel is still sat staring at the blank space in front of him. He's still not exactly down with the whole 'food is delicious' idea. But he still makes that peeved, left-out face whenever they end up stuffing their faces around him. He has been known to make exceptions though. Like whenever Dean takes matters into his own hands. Though the last time he did that Castiel ended up with cream all down his throat and the kitchen in an unholy mess.
Literally.
"Dude, are you ever not going to make porn noises at breakfast?" Sam says. It's more amusement than disapproval. Which is good. Sam disapproves a lot less than he used to. But still, if he stopped doing it completely Dean would have to cry pod person and knock him out, pretty much on principle. Gabriel would probably help. Dean thinks Gabriel secretly likes Sam's disapproval.
Dean chews just enough that he can make words.
"There's always awesome breakfast. Awesome breakfast which deserves porn noises."
Gabriel makes a satisfied noise across the table, always willing to admit to his shameless bribery. Not that the bribery's necessary any more. Dean still appreciates it though, he really appreciates it.
"We can't expect Gabriel to make breakfast for us all the time," Sam says suddenly.
Dean pauses in the act of eviscerating foodstuffs.
"Why not?"
"We should take it in turns," Sam says. Like he's suddenly the boy scout of democracy town.
Dean tries to convey the badness of this with a mouth full of delicious goodness. It comes out like some sort of sad animal noise which he should probably be ashamed of.
"He's an Archangel," Dean's forced to point out.
"Which is exactly my point, we shouldn’t be abusing his powers for delicious pancakes." Sam manages to make 'delicious pancakes sound like some sort of terrible crime.
Gabriel makes a noise and stops eating maple syrup off of his thumb.
"No, by all means, abuse my powers for delicious pancakes, then thank me in adventurous ways while still ever so slightly sticky."
Dean gestures with his fork at Gabriel.
"See, I'm totally behind that!"
Sam's wearing his 'sensible adult' face now. Like they're having a family meeting or something. It'd be just like Sam to spring a family meeting on them unexpectedly. Sam's crafty like that.
"We shouldn’t get used to -"
Sam gestures like he's lost the rest of the sentence. But Dean knows exactly what he was going to say 'we shouldn’t get used to getting whatever we want.' But Dean figures, what the hell, maybe they should get used to exactly that. They're overdue after all. It's not like Gabriel minds. Angel-ing stuff up is probably easier than reminding himself not to do it.
Sam sighs.
"Wow," Dean says. "You really are the sensible adult in this relationship."
They all look at Castiel who's prodding the pancake Dean stealth-added to his plate with a sort of dubious mistrust.
"To be fair this relationship probably needs a sensible adult," Gabriel offers.
Sam grits his teeth and mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely blasphemous considering.
"Just - we should take turns doing stuff. Just because we're..."
"Banging angels," Gabriel offers, in that subtle and tactful way he has.
Sam sighs.
"God, I really am the sensible adult in this relationship."
He pulls a hand down his face.
"Look, can we just try?"
Gabriel's making eyebrows at his brother which mean 'do you really want to go there?' Sam should know by now that those eyebrows never lead anywhere good.
Though they can occasionally be distracted with nudity.
"It's fair," Sam adds. Like that somehow makes it better. Like he isn't digging himself a hole. Gabriel's quit using the eyebrows. Now he's using that amused curl of mouth that's the 'you realise now you've dug the hole that I have to push you in it, right?'
Gabriel shifts his boots under the table with a rubbery squeak.
"Fine, next time, little bro can make breakfast and you can cry over the burnt remains of something that used to be a pig."
Castiel cuts Gabriel such a dirty look that Dean nearly chokes on what he's eating.
Maybe their angel's learning after all?
"I am perfectly capable of making breakfast," Castiel provides grimly.
"Though whether it would be edible," Gabriel counters.
The angels glare at each other while Dean steals the last of the pancakes and Sam finishes his delicious and brightly coloured fruit thing which is horribly lacking in tasty syrup.
Dean's tempted to accuse him of ruining breakfast for everyone. But he holds his tongue, hell maybe Castiel wants to make them pancakes too, what does he know.
~~~~~
Sam and Castiel are still loading the car when Dean does a final check of the room.
Gabriel's sitting on one of the beds, pushed apart now and looking all the more weirdly out of place for it. Gabriel disapproves of heavy lifting, or lifting, or just generally moving things. He claimed it stemmed from a traumatic childhood experience when Sam asked. Leading to much confused staring from Castiel. Dean kind of likes the way Castiel stares at Gabriel sometimes, like he can never understand where all his bullshit comes from, or why he uses it.
Yeah, that's one of the things Gabriel and Dean actually have in common.
Dean shoves his hands in his pockets.
"So, we got what looks like a ghost at a hotel, nothing too heavy. We've done ghosts a thousand times."
"We could come," Gabriel says casually, far too casually.
"We're not the only people that have been putting off stuff," Dean says flatly.
Gabriel goes very still. Then he shrugs, gives one careful jerk of his head. Like they're pretending he hadn't thought about it at all. Dean doesn’t blame him. He knows Gabriel is in no rush to go back to heaven. He knows there are only a few Archangels left, and apparently putting Lucifer in hell twice hasn't exactly left Michael in a good place. Dean thinks maybe Gabriel's afraid it will be too much, or maybe not enough. Or maybe that the bastards will make him stay.
Hell, Dean doesn't know what Gabriel's afraid of. But he knows he's been stalling just as much as they have. this is the perfect opportunity to sort their shit out. If they're going to do this. If they're going to keep doing this, it won't be to avoid anything else.
Dean knows Gabriel's head is a huge complicated mess, that he's probably never going to understand. But, like it or not, Sam and him are part of that mess now. And he thinks maybe he's the only one willing to risk the angelic fury by opening his mouth and saying something.
"You have to go back and you know it."
The look Gabriel throws him is somewhere between hurt and angry.
"You know Sam won't say anything, even if he thinks it's the right thing to do. Hell, we're all so damn protective it's almost a mental illness for us. But we've all got our own shit to deal with, and yours is pretty much all past due ."
Gabriel's mouth twists into something Dean can't quite work out. But he doesn't protest.
"And you know Cas won't leave without you."
Gabriel sighs and rolls his eyes.
"Normally I like his wide-eyed obedient streak."
"I think they're long past making you do things you don't want to do Gabriel."
Gabriel taps his boots together and Dean has to wonder exactly how much of his fidgeting is fake and how much of it's real.
"I don't particularly want to go back." It's a brief, pointed flare of honesty with history behind it. Because, yeah, the apocalypse left them all with scars that are still bleeding a little. Scars they don't compare. But they're all aware they're there. They've pressed up against enough of them in the middle of the night.
Some of Dean's are even on his skin.
Gabriel shoots him a second unreadable look.
"You never know, Dean, give the world five minutes to make sense and you might decide you're fine on your own."
Dean glares at him.
"You really think that?"
Gabriel shrugs.
"You can get away with some stupendously crazy shit when you have Armageddon hanging over your head," he says flatly.
Dean grits his teeth, stops himself from snapping something back. Stops himself from fighting because it's not just him. It's all of them, it's every one of them that's feeling the edge. Where something's going to change.
He snatches his coat off the bed, leans in far enough to grab Gabriel's shirt and hauls him forward in a mess of rucked up sheets.
He kisses him and there's nothing nice about it. It's all barely restrained desperation and angry frustration. Then Dean lets him go, jabs him in the chest with a finger.
"You better fucking come back," he says. And if he sounds furious against Gabriel's mouth then so be it.
When he goes to move back he finds Gabriel's sharp fingers in his hair.
"Be careful what you ask for."
"Like I don't know what an exhausting little bitch you are already," Dean huffs, and gets a messy little bark of laughter for it.
He shakes Gabriel's hand off and pretends he doesn’t instantly miss it.
"Now, go tell Sam you'll miss him forever so he can cry about it or they'll charge us for another day."
Gabriel snorts and raises a hand, disappears in one lazy snap.
Dean blows out a breath and pulls a hand down his face and sits down on the bed. He doesn’t exactly know why he's always forced to skirt that line of 'fucking himself over.' Maybe he's been doing it so long it's like second nature now. He should stop. It's a bad habit. It's one of the bad habits he needs to break.
It takes Castiel another minute and a half to appear back in the room. Dean hasn't moved, doesn’t move until Castiel reaches out, lays a hand on his shoulder.
"Gabriel tells me he's ready."
Dean grunts agreement, because it's either that or some form of goodbye. Hell, if he's saying goodbye.
Castiel smiles at him, a faint curve of mouth that Dean hasn't developed an immunity too yet, and maybe hopes he never does. Because that expression always makes him feel like he's done something awesome.
He'd quite like to know what he did to put it there this time. Because today feels pretty crappy to him. He lets his head tip forward and rests it against Castiel’s stomach, warm through the shirt and Dean's briefly tempted to shove all that irritating white cotton out of the way and press his face into skin.
Instead he tugs on the shirt, pulls until Castiel is low enough to breathe into.
He kisses him for as long as he can get away with. Then lets him go.
"Dean -"
He tightens his fingers.
"Don't stay away too long, ok, and check your damn messages."
He feels the soft, slow tilt and shift of Castiel nodding.
Then the weight is gone and his fingers are slipping free. Before the dry rip of feathers fills the room - and leaves it completely empty.
There's a sudden, bright thread of panic that claws up Dean's throat. He holds it until it eases, until he can breathe again.
They'd fought so fucking hard not to get separated, for months and months. To keep each other no matter what. Since the end, and longer. They've been close enough to pretty much be sharing body heat for weeks now.
And now suddenly there's nothing.
He stands there, feeling weirdly adrift. Trying to kid himself into thinking he can still feel them, both of them, vast and cold and electric, names carved under the skin too deep to scrub out.
It doesn't exactly help. It's like an ache half way between reassuring and unbearable.
~~~~~
The car feels empty.
Every time Dean looks in the mirror, the backseat stares back, almost accusing in its emptiness, and he has to wonder why he isn't worrying about where Castiel and Gabriel are. About who has them.
But then no one has them. They're upstairs, which isn't the fucked up nest of angel bastards it used to be.
The Winchesters are officially heroes under a 'keep your fucking hands off of them' decree that's carved into the angel equivalent of holy tablets. Thanks to the fact that they defeated the armies of heaven and hell. The fucking armies of heaven and hell.
Yeah, Dean's still not sure how they did that.
Thanks to the fact that they sided with them Gabriel and Castiel can do whatever the fuck they like, even if they do still technically have angel duties. Though in Gabriel's case they're a few thousand years overdue. It all sounds so good. But Dean still feels like he should be somewhere punching something to get his angels back. It's like post-traumatic stress disorder and phantom limb syndrome at the same time.
Dean's fairly sure Sam's noticed, that he's feeling exactly the same way, because he's been sitting perfectly still in the passenger seat with that same uncomfortable look on his face since they left the motel.
He also knows Sam's going to break the silence before him.
"We have been kind of living in each other's pockets for months," Sam says quietly. "It's understandable that it'd take us a while to get used to not being together all the time. That it'd feel -"
"Like your skin is going to vibrate off?" Dean says sharply.
Sam drops his head back in the passenger seat.
"Yeah, something like that."
The car eats up the miles and the silence hangs there like a constant reminder that they're short two people. Phrasing it like that makes something jerk in his chest. He tells his body to shut the fuck up, because they're not dead.
"It's too quiet," Dean mutters. Because not talking is suddenly worse.
Sam sighs like he's been thinking exactly the same thing
"That's because Gabriel's always talking, and your tapes got eaten by that thing that lived in the well."
"Well that didn't matter when Gabriel made the radio actually play something I wanted to listen to."
Sam's legs shift, like he can't get comfortable, can't stop fidgeting, can't stop moving, all confused adrenaline.
"I told you we shouldn’t take them for granted. You protested it was just breakfast."
"Alright, fine, we'll let Cas cook something next time. Though you realise then we'll actually have to eat it so his feelings won't be hurt."
"He's a warrior of God, I'm sure he won't take the success or failure of breakfast too hard."
There's another silence.
Dean fidgets with the radio but it only offers up static, and the half-audible, droning voices from local stations. Talking about things he's not interested in. The thing flatly refuses to help distract him from his restless misery.
"How long do you think they'll be gone," Sam says stiffly.
"I don't know."
"You think they'll tell us if it's going to be a while."
"I don't know," Dean says again, harder than before.
But, God, he hopes so. Any other day he'd take the piss out of Sam something fierce for being such a girl. But this is too close, Castiel and Gabriel. At the beginning there'd been a line, there'd been a separation there. But that had been smeared out weeks ago. They lost it somewhere in a huge bed with Gabriel leaking angel all over the sheets and all of them trying their damnedest to hold him together. That was when they stopped doing it for the magic, when it wasn't about bonding or rituals to save the world. Or any of that other crap. That had been the moment when they decided it was all of them.
Or maybe they hadn't decided, maybe it had just happened.
It had definitely been when they started shoving both beds together. The night Gabriel nearly died. And they were all so fucked up and messy in love with each other already, it was like the whole damn world was ending all over again.
Dean hadn't even known it at the time.
"There's still stuff to be done," Sam says quietly. His fingers are pressing and shifting on the window. "There are still stragglers from the apocalypse and I feel like hunting them down is a good thing. That it's doing the job right."
Sam clears his throat.
"It's like them, we have things we're good at. People we need to see. While we - not work things out, just y'know pass the time. While they're gone."
Dean's squeezing the wheel again because God, Sam sounds for all the world like he's wading his way through the first stage of grief and fuck
Sam makes a noise like he hasn't heard the squeak of Dean's tightening fingers.
"Our lives aren't exactly normal, I mean what do we do apart from hunt monsters. We don't do anything. We have like one special skill and when we're not doing that we're eating crappy diner food and talking about where we're going next. The apocalypse kind of made everything life or death and y'know, stuff happens when there's that much adrenaline."
Sam shifts and looks at Dean, strange and sort of desperate, like he thinks maybe Dean has all the answers.
"I know this is the right thing to so, that they have things to do and they need to do them. There's no apocalypse any more so it's not like they need to be with us all the time."
Sam's fingers are tapping out some strange rhythm now, discordant and annoying.
"We can't expect to understand the angel part of their lives. Maybe they need something we can't give them, something that's complicated. Something they can't do with us, when they're inside vessels."
There's a long, taut moment of silence.
"Dean?"
Dean tries to think of something to say which isn't 'shut up, Sam.'
"Dean? What do you think?"
"I think I'd feel a lot freakin' better if you weren't reeling off all the different ways they were going to leave us," Dean says through his teeth. Because, Jesus, he's got a headache starting right behind his eyeballs now. One of those vicious bastards that's half stress and half too much sleep. It's not his fault he's had incentives to not get up lately. He should have known better than to think his body wasn't going to bitch at him for it.
He was doing fine as an insomniac alcoholic and now his body's loudly protesting that it doesn’t know how to hunt things when it's full of delicious pancakes and still kind of loose and half blissed out from having sex twice this morning.
Sam's gone quiet now, forehead all messed up with angst that Dean hasn't seen since the last time Lucifer showed up like a pestilent gatecrasher at a birthday party.
He sighs and squeezes the wheel, squeezes it hard enough to make his knuckles hurt.
"You think I'm not thinking exactly the same thing. For fuck's sake Sam, I don't even know how we ended up with the both of them, ok. I don't know why they apparently think we're worth a permanent vacation. you think I haven't taken a good hard look at what our lives are like. Even if heaven's a bust they have a million other places they could be. You think I haven't forced myself to wonder what the hell we're all doing. How this can ever actually work in the real world. My longest relationship was like two weeks and you - I'm fairly sure you never even looked at a guy before the apocalypse."
Sam grunts out something that wants to be protesting. But Dean knows better.
"Suddenly we're playing tag team with two male angels and we've saved the world and now we have to get on with the whole 'living in the world we saved' thing. It's like coming out the world's worst bad trip. Only, I don't know how to do it. This isn't moving the posts, this is - I don't freakin' know - someone coming and stealing the posts and sticking them in a wood chipper so there are no posts. And I'm aware I just fucked up that analogy. But I don't have a clue what we're doing. And I'm scared to death that they won't come back."
Dean hits the breaks, hard enough that the car slams to a stop, then he leans back in the seat and swears, one, twice, three times. Can't bring up any more air to talk with.
"Yeah," Sam says quietly. "That's pretty much what I was going for too."
"Not to mention the fact that we're pretty far over the line of 'acceptable touching' now too," Dean adds. Because one of them has to say it.
"You slept with twins once," Sam says in slow measured tones. "I figure it's a lot like that."
"So, what? It's acceptable as long as it's hot incest with other people around?"
"I do not think you're hot," Sam says, in a purposeful sort of way.
"Liar," Dean protests. Because seriously, he's the hot brother, he's always been the hot brother. Sam's the tall gangly one with the dorky smile and the silly hair that filled out ok.
Sam frowns at him.
"I'm not lying, you have a weird face, freckles and stuff - and your legs are weird."
"You're just reaching now," Dean says and starts the car again. "So, have we shared enough now? Can we go back to killing things and repressing our feelings like Winchesters." Because there's only so much Dean can talk about his feelings before he starts to feel the terrible urge to punch something or get very drunk.
Sam looks at him.
"If you start drinking again we're talking about our feelings again."
"Fine, you bitch."
"Jerk."
~~~~~
The one good thing about the apocalypse. Both of them have better defences than they used to. More tattoos, more stray jewellery and angelic script carved all the way down to the bone.
They've gotten used to punching above their weight.
The ghost in the hotel is an angry one, broken furniture, smashed windows, blood through the ceiling.
Dean fully expects one of them to get tossed into a wall.
But it goes down quick and easy, barely even hampers their efforts to dig its bones out of an air shaft.
~~~~~
Bobby sends them after a bunch of vampires holed up under a bar after that.
It's messy and it's something like what Dean thinks he needs, all grit and adrenaline. But it's over quick and they both come out without a bruise. Dirty as hell, hearts pounding, blood everywhere.
They order pizza and it tastes maybe half as good as the pizza Dean's gotten used to.
He eats two thirds of one anyway and then feels disgusting for the rest of the night.
He catches Sam looking at him. If he even thinks about giving him one of his own 'the pizza isn't love' speeches he's going to punch him in the freakin' kidney.
They stay in town for a while to make sure they've gotten them all.
Dean sleeps maybe two hours the next few nights, nearly gets hypnotised by the neon sign flashing outside. He has one of the twin beds all to himself and it feels like he's being punished for something.
Part Two......
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel/Sam/Gabriel
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 5x08
Word Count: 15,000
Warnings: Incest, rimming, double penetration, discussions of genderswap
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: It was easy to gloss over what they were doing when it was the end of the world. Where exactly do they go from here.
AN: Written for zeitheist 's birthday. The continuing adventures of Team Free Love, just for you, because you're awesome. I hope you like it.
Sam's asleep. He likes being asleep. He's warm and he's comfortable and he's not mad about changing that any time soon.
Which is why the sudden staccato vibration of someone's phone across the night table is so annoying. There's a heavy, irritating insistence to the noise that suggests the phone is Dean's. Only Dean's phone could ever be that obnoxious.
Sam makes a protesting noise, garbled and messy, that could be translated as 'not it' and then turns his head further into the hair he currently has his face pressed into. It's a soft mess of disarranged strands that smells like Castiel. He's planning to stay there until the phone stops, or falls on the floor and breaks. Thank you very much.
"Goddamn it," Dean complains, from what sounds like half-way inside a pillow and a foot away. "Someone shut that thing up."
A second later there's the rattling clank of someone reaching in the dark for technology and then something lands on bare skin with a thud - before vibrating again, much closer than before.
"Really not what I had in mind," Dean grumbles.
He gets a huff of shameless and unapologetic laughter in response, that's trademark Gabriel.
Sam grumbles general protest at the world into Castiel's cheek because he's way more awake than he was a moment ago and he's not at all happy about it.
There's the faint clack of a phone opening. The shifting, muttered complaint when Dean manages to get it somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth.
"M'lo?.........Hey Bobby."
Sam sighs and listens, but he's not close enough to hear Bobby's end of the conversation, just Dean's yawn and the quiet slide of sheets on skin.
"Yeah, we're good. I think - yeah."
The bed makes a noise when someone moves and Sam stretches his left leg and listens to it click, before twining it through Castiel's.
"We can do that. Just tell us where."
Sam breathes out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Something strangely easy. They have technically been on an overlong vacation. Putting the devil and his armies of darkness back in hell, and the righteous and persistent armies of heaven back upstairs takes a lot out of you. If anyone deserves a vacation - if anyone in the whole world deserves a vacation. It's probably them. But they knew damn well that it was only a matter of time before the dust settled. Before things started creeping out of the woodwork. Things they didn't quite catch. That they missed when the fires went out. Things were never going to stay quiet for long, they knew enough to be sure of that.
But, Sam's surprisingly ok with that. He has an interesting perspective on things now.
"Yeah," Dean says quietly. "We'll be there. Thanks Bobby. You too."
The phone clicks and judging by the creak of mattress and the muted 'thud' Dean has just dropped it on the floor.
A minute after that it's all quiet again. Though Sam knows for a fact that everyone's awake now. It wasn't like they hadn't been expecting this. That they hadn't been waiting for it.
Sam wraps an arm round Castiel's bare waist. He's still a little surprised that he can do that, that he's allowed. Since, not so long ago he was fairly sure Castiel was his brother's one great, epic romance. They've fought over a lot of things in their life, but girls - and ok, apparently guys now - had never been one of them.
But then, they're not exactly fighting - and sharing is too simple a word for whatever it is they're doing. There's something about stopping an apocalypse together that could be considered a bonding experience. And Dean would bitch at him for using the word 'bonding' but he's damned if he can think of a better on. Because hell, they did some pretty messy things to accomplish what they did. Things they couldn't have done if they hadn't trusted each other. Things no one else is ever going to understand. Things that maybe left them in a weird mess. Human and angel twisted up together in impossible ways. Sam doesn't know what's going to happen when they eventually have to take a step back and look at this. But what he does know, is that this is as close to content as he's been for years.
"Stop thinking so hard," Dean complains, voice an irritated slur. "I swear I can hear your brain from over here."
"I actually can hear his brain," Gabriel provides, and judging by the slow, messy drawl he's using Dean as a pillow. "It's like a lifetime movie, I'm genuinely touched."
"Stop listening to my brain," Sam says. Though the complaint manages to lack an ounce of heat. "I do very important and secret thinking in there."
Dean grunts like he disputes that fact.
The sheet moves when someone stretches a leg out, trails down Sam's waist in slow, distracting shifts. Like it's trying to tempt him into something.
"Bobby's got a hunt for us," Dean says quietly.
Sam grunts something that manages to give the impression he's listening without moving his head far enough to actually look at him. They all knew this was coming. They all knew they'd have to step back into their old lives eventually.
"It's not far, I figure it can wait a few hours."
The bed shifts under him again and Dean's arm joins Sam's curled round Castiel's waist. Castiel sighs softly. Like this was his plan all along and he's satisfied that laying very still and doing nothing has proven effective.
That might actually be true. Castiel's a lot craftier than he looks. Of course, Castiel's also an angel again. All shiny-bright and spilling over with righteous angel power.
So he doesn't need to sleep.
He doesn't need to do a lot of things.
Sam had originally thought that humanity and its occasional strange idiosyncrasies was addictive. But he's starting to think that this, the four of them sharing heat and skin and closeness is important enough that the long periods of inactivity just don't matter. He doesn't know what they do all night. Count the molecules in their bodies maybe, or have long and interesting angel discussions about the nature of the universe. Sam just knows that they're always there. Sam doesn't know if there's any sort of angelic equivalent, but they never bother to look like they're sleeping when they're on their own.
Sam knows he definitely sleeps though. Because the next thing he registers is the fact that he has an Archangel sprawled half over his chest and Castiel's arm is looped round Gabriel's waist from behind. Sam has no idea how they do that. He swears it just happens. Even Dean doesn't wake up when they move. Sam's chalking it up to their freakish angel powers.
Either way Gabriel is, as always, blazingly hot and Sam can't help throwing an arm round him and pulling just a little. Which gets him a huff of something that isn't protest and a complicated tangling of legs - he's fairly sure there's one of Castiel's there too, because two people do not have five legs between them.
It says something that he can so calmly think about there being three other people in bed with him. One of which is his brother. But then it's amazing what you can get used to when you live through an apocalypse. When you survive an apocalypse.
He never expected to come out the other side like this though.
The next time he wakes up Gabriel and Castiel have switched places again. Like they're never entirely satisfied for long. Castiel's fingers are shifting on the edge of his knee, a drag-slide-press that stops and repeats slow and hypnotic.
The sheet moves again, like a constant referee in their bed wrestling match. Sam can hear Dean sigh with more than a touch of irritation.
"Gabriel, move."
"Why?"
Dean makes a rough noise of amusement.
"Because I'm going to get up and shower and I can't do that if you're sprawled the hell all over me."
There's a chuckle and a considering noise like Gabriel's thinking about it. Then a second of abrupt movement, chased by a gasp and a shaky, wet moan.
"You can come too," Dean says eventually, and then his voice breaks off for a sound that Sam knows well enough. All wet crush of mouth, soft, half-smothered breaths and a slithering rearrangement of limbs.
Enough to make sure Sam is most definitely awake.
Then bed shudders with the weight of two people leaving it, and it's barely a few seconds before the bathroom door shuts.
Sam would be more irritated about that if they hadn't already worked out that the shower only holds two people.
Instead he takes advantage of the extra space to slide a leg between Castiel's and push them apart, just a little. Castiel's hums quietly, a noise Sam knows well enough that he presses up out of the sheets and finds Castiel's mouth. Still soft and relaxed from all that 'pretending to be asleep.'
Castiel's already hard against the edge of his waist, a greedy shove-slide of skin that makes the kiss maybe a little messier than Sam intends.
It doesn't take long before Sam's as hard as him.
"Sam," Castiel says simply, and that tone is a million miles away from the one that once referred to him as an abomination.
"Cas," Sam tells him right back. Which gets him a smile, a half-smile. A Castiel smile that's somehow twice as much with half the obviousness.
He turns Castiel's smile into noise when he kicks the sheet down the bed and tips the angel's head back. Then opens his mouth on the warmth of Castiel's throat.
There's a low growl that's deep enough to slide through him in one hard vibration. Sam loves Castiel's voice, low and harsh and demanding. He loves the way he has a tendency to command, to push, to take what he wants. To be completely and shamelessly filthy without protest or even encouragement.
But tangled up in that he still feels like he comes from somewhere else completely. The way he still manages to react to every sensation like it unravels him completely. The way he sometimes treats them both like they're made of glass. And the fact that occasionally Castiel will slip and call him 'Samuel' and there's no way Sam's going to admit that he likes it.
He's all demand and greed, mixed with a strange sort of gentle reverence that Sam thinks will never, never stop killing him. It will never stop leaving him helpless to do anything but catch him and hold him and do anything Castiel wants.
Castiel's hand tangles in his hair, pushes him down with carefully controlled determination. Sam makes a noise, soft and agreeable, leaves a trail of warm breath down Castiel's abdomen. Until it flares over the weight at his groin. Then the hand in Sam's hair tightens, one quick expectant clench and Sam trails his tongue across the soft-hard length of him.
The way Castiel's breath draws in is familiar already, and yet Sam's still greedy for it. For the way the angel twitches and shifts under every curl of tongue, every flat slide and slow drag of lips. Like this is new, every time. Like Castiel is saving every sensation.
Sam waits for the slow tightening in Castiel's thighs when he slides back up to curl his tongue over the head. When it comes he moves back down. Tongue wet and slow against the delicate softness of Castiel's balls.
Castiel gasps and growls a protest at the flagrant teasing. Until Sam gently pushes his thighs apart and slides his tongue all the way down. Finds tightness and warmth and there are nails in his scalp and a sharp draw of breath.
He digs his fingers into Castiel's flexing thighs, tongue sliding over and then pushing just inside. Castiel makes a noise in his throat that's half-animal, thighs spreading, hips tilting and the incessant angry thud of Sam's own arousal is cranked up hard enough to hurt.
There's a tiny stutter of breath and one more fiercely demanding clench. There's a brief little spike of pain when Castiel's insistence turns into a tug, pulling Sam's wet mouth back where the angel needs it. Sam obediently opens him mouth and lets the gentle tilt of Castiel's hips take him inside. Sam groans, lets Castiel’s thighs slip over his shoulders and tries to take more, a wet slide that leaves pressure at the back of his throat and a constant thump in his groin.
He reaches up and Castiel's handing him a bottle without having to be asked, already uncapped and it's far too easy to slick up his fingers and work them inside the angel, bottle tumbling into the sheets when he dares to push them in quick and deep on every wet drag of his mouth. Finds just the right angle and speed to pull a strangled gasp out of Castiel's throat.
Castiel's thighs tense and then fall apart, leaving him open and relaxed and easy. A perfect and completely unselfconscious display of wantonness and Sam's fingers dig into this thighs, trying to press marks into that impossible skin. Trying to push down some of his own need, trying to quiet the heavy thump in his groin that demands he take everything. That he open Castiel up quickly and dirty, make him loose and wet and greedy. Before he wrecks him.
He's up to three fingers now and Castiel is already breathless, hips shifting, fingers digging and tangling in Sam's hair, over and over like he can't stop.
Sam's mouth is a wet mess of saliva and pre-come and it's shifting tight and hard on Castiel's cock. Slippery and steady and deep.
"Sam, Sam, please -" the words break, shatter apart when Sam pushes in hard. There's just breath and the quick, endless trembles that runs through Castiel. The way he's groaning in one long constant noise, getting lower and harder and Sam knows he's close. Pushes him all the way there, all the way over, feeling the clench around his fingers when Castiel comes in his mouth, on one stuttering slide.
Sam slides his mouth away, kisses the soft curve of Castiel's pelvis, gets a weak little twitching moan for it. Then he's shifting up the bed, Castiel's thighs opening and sliding round his waist. Castiel's easy and so relaxed that Sam's cock just slides all the way inside him, in one movement. He listens to the rush of stunned air and the groan that sounds too blissed-out to be real. Castiel spreads his legs wider, like it doesn’t ache at all. Like he doesn’t need any time to get used to the sensation. He digs his heel in Sam's back, demands the movement and the pressure and the weight of him.
"Harder," Castiel says. Voice sounding like darkness and filth and Sam's breathing out the angel's name as he braces himself on one arm and slams in hard enough to make his thighs ache.
It's too good and it's not going to last long. Can't last long, not with how demanding Castiel can be. All hard fingers and intensity, pushing back, making desperate little sounds that end in something close to a whine. Like he needs this.
"Sam." His voice is too low to be real and Sam is shaking and coming and gasping out words that catch in his throat and come out broken. Words that he means, every damn time. He's left listening to Castiel's soft little noises as Sam stutters and jerks and dies his way through orgasm.
Castiel's more than strong enough to take his weight afterwards. Legs relaxing either side of him when Sam slides out and groans into the curve of his throat.
Castiel's fingers slide across the damp skin of his back, then he shifts his thighs and rolls them. Leaving Sam panting on his back and the weight of Castiel in his lap.
The angel is wearing his unnecessarily serious expression, which he shouldn't be able to make work while he's naked. But it makes Sam catch the hard juts of his hips and pull him up, just a little.
"Stay," Castiel says simply. Though there's more than a hint of angelic command there. Castiel's insistence is a force to be reckoned with. Sam's gotten far too used to obeying that voice. But usually it's because something will eat him if he doesn't.
It's worryingly Pavlovian that Castiel seems to be reprogramming him.
Sam raises an eyebrow. He's about to ask why he has to stay put when he gets his answer. The bed shudders and an arm slides round Castiel's waist from behind.
"Cas." Dean slides in close, knees placed round Sam's thighs.
Castiel's eyes slide shut, head tipping to the side to give Dean as much room as he wants.
Gabriel sprawls untidily next to them all, expression full of sharp mischief. He looks tempted to put his hands all over everything. But then Sam thinks he kind of always looks a little bit like that.
"I thought we were supposed to be getting up?" Sam asks when Dean slips a hand down to coax the angel back past 'interested' and all the way into 'ready.'
Dean just looks up at him and grins, like the answer to that should be obvious. Before he pulls gently. Castiel's weight leaving him in a collection of indulgent and teasing slides.
Sam's lap isn't empty for long though. Gabriel's shifts a knee up and over, settles his weight where Sam really shouldn't be interested yet, but absolutely is. His waist is soft and far too easy to grab and pull and hold on to. Sam should know by now that smothering the Archangel's laughter with his mouth is almost impossible but he can't help trying.
~~~~~
One of the things Dean is not ashamed to admit is that there are some pretty sweet bonuses in having Gabriel around. Even before they all started sleeping together, and he got to know about all the other awesome bonuses in having an Archangel who'd learned every filthy trick the human body could perform in his bed.
The food. Dear God, the food is awesome. Having someone who can pretty much magic up whatever he wants, whenever he wants is like another sort of porn, a special food-porn. Seriously, Dean's not above showing his appreciation for the food, and he doesn't even care if that makes him a slut. Especially when Gabriel suggests combining the food with his appreciation. Which Dean's totally behind.
If he ever stops killing things for a living he's going to gain 200 pounds.
So when he stumbles out of the bathroom and discovers the whole room smells like pancakes he makes a low, greedy sound of bliss and follows the smell all the way to the small table. Then drops himself into it.
Sam's already hiding behind the internet, Gabriel is digging his fingers into everything and Castiel is quietly absorbing everything like a visitor from space. Considering the pretty damn human noises they spent last night - and this morning - dragging out of him it's amazing the way he can just throw that 'I am quietly interested but not emotionally involved' face back on. Especially when Gabriel's face is so ludicrously expressive.
Still, breakfast is currently more important than who's emoting over the table. So Dean fills his mouth without stopping to breathe. He gets the feeling Sam's laughing at the noises he's making, but then that's not exactly new. He can't be expected to have coherent thoughts while he's starving to death though.
When he looks up again Gabriel's artistically constructing a pancake tower, with fruit windows and cream pillars.
Sam steals a window when he's not looking.
Castiel is still sat staring at the blank space in front of him. He's still not exactly down with the whole 'food is delicious' idea. But he still makes that peeved, left-out face whenever they end up stuffing their faces around him. He has been known to make exceptions though. Like whenever Dean takes matters into his own hands. Though the last time he did that Castiel ended up with cream all down his throat and the kitchen in an unholy mess.
Literally.
"Dude, are you ever not going to make porn noises at breakfast?" Sam says. It's more amusement than disapproval. Which is good. Sam disapproves a lot less than he used to. But still, if he stopped doing it completely Dean would have to cry pod person and knock him out, pretty much on principle. Gabriel would probably help. Dean thinks Gabriel secretly likes Sam's disapproval.
Dean chews just enough that he can make words.
"There's always awesome breakfast. Awesome breakfast which deserves porn noises."
Gabriel makes a satisfied noise across the table, always willing to admit to his shameless bribery. Not that the bribery's necessary any more. Dean still appreciates it though, he really appreciates it.
"We can't expect Gabriel to make breakfast for us all the time," Sam says suddenly.
Dean pauses in the act of eviscerating foodstuffs.
"Why not?"
"We should take it in turns," Sam says. Like he's suddenly the boy scout of democracy town.
Dean tries to convey the badness of this with a mouth full of delicious goodness. It comes out like some sort of sad animal noise which he should probably be ashamed of.
"He's an Archangel," Dean's forced to point out.
"Which is exactly my point, we shouldn’t be abusing his powers for delicious pancakes." Sam manages to make 'delicious pancakes sound like some sort of terrible crime.
Gabriel makes a noise and stops eating maple syrup off of his thumb.
"No, by all means, abuse my powers for delicious pancakes, then thank me in adventurous ways while still ever so slightly sticky."
Dean gestures with his fork at Gabriel.
"See, I'm totally behind that!"
Sam's wearing his 'sensible adult' face now. Like they're having a family meeting or something. It'd be just like Sam to spring a family meeting on them unexpectedly. Sam's crafty like that.
"We shouldn’t get used to -"
Sam gestures like he's lost the rest of the sentence. But Dean knows exactly what he was going to say 'we shouldn’t get used to getting whatever we want.' But Dean figures, what the hell, maybe they should get used to exactly that. They're overdue after all. It's not like Gabriel minds. Angel-ing stuff up is probably easier than reminding himself not to do it.
Sam sighs.
"Wow," Dean says. "You really are the sensible adult in this relationship."
They all look at Castiel who's prodding the pancake Dean stealth-added to his plate with a sort of dubious mistrust.
"To be fair this relationship probably needs a sensible adult," Gabriel offers.
Sam grits his teeth and mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely blasphemous considering.
"Just - we should take turns doing stuff. Just because we're..."
"Banging angels," Gabriel offers, in that subtle and tactful way he has.
Sam sighs.
"God, I really am the sensible adult in this relationship."
He pulls a hand down his face.
"Look, can we just try?"
Gabriel's making eyebrows at his brother which mean 'do you really want to go there?' Sam should know by now that those eyebrows never lead anywhere good.
Though they can occasionally be distracted with nudity.
"It's fair," Sam adds. Like that somehow makes it better. Like he isn't digging himself a hole. Gabriel's quit using the eyebrows. Now he's using that amused curl of mouth that's the 'you realise now you've dug the hole that I have to push you in it, right?'
Gabriel shifts his boots under the table with a rubbery squeak.
"Fine, next time, little bro can make breakfast and you can cry over the burnt remains of something that used to be a pig."
Castiel cuts Gabriel such a dirty look that Dean nearly chokes on what he's eating.
Maybe their angel's learning after all?
"I am perfectly capable of making breakfast," Castiel provides grimly.
"Though whether it would be edible," Gabriel counters.
The angels glare at each other while Dean steals the last of the pancakes and Sam finishes his delicious and brightly coloured fruit thing which is horribly lacking in tasty syrup.
Dean's tempted to accuse him of ruining breakfast for everyone. But he holds his tongue, hell maybe Castiel wants to make them pancakes too, what does he know.
~~~~~
Sam and Castiel are still loading the car when Dean does a final check of the room.
Gabriel's sitting on one of the beds, pushed apart now and looking all the more weirdly out of place for it. Gabriel disapproves of heavy lifting, or lifting, or just generally moving things. He claimed it stemmed from a traumatic childhood experience when Sam asked. Leading to much confused staring from Castiel. Dean kind of likes the way Castiel stares at Gabriel sometimes, like he can never understand where all his bullshit comes from, or why he uses it.
Yeah, that's one of the things Gabriel and Dean actually have in common.
Dean shoves his hands in his pockets.
"So, we got what looks like a ghost at a hotel, nothing too heavy. We've done ghosts a thousand times."
"We could come," Gabriel says casually, far too casually.
"We're not the only people that have been putting off stuff," Dean says flatly.
Gabriel goes very still. Then he shrugs, gives one careful jerk of his head. Like they're pretending he hadn't thought about it at all. Dean doesn’t blame him. He knows Gabriel is in no rush to go back to heaven. He knows there are only a few Archangels left, and apparently putting Lucifer in hell twice hasn't exactly left Michael in a good place. Dean thinks maybe Gabriel's afraid it will be too much, or maybe not enough. Or maybe that the bastards will make him stay.
Hell, Dean doesn't know what Gabriel's afraid of. But he knows he's been stalling just as much as they have. this is the perfect opportunity to sort their shit out. If they're going to do this. If they're going to keep doing this, it won't be to avoid anything else.
Dean knows Gabriel's head is a huge complicated mess, that he's probably never going to understand. But, like it or not, Sam and him are part of that mess now. And he thinks maybe he's the only one willing to risk the angelic fury by opening his mouth and saying something.
"You have to go back and you know it."
The look Gabriel throws him is somewhere between hurt and angry.
"You know Sam won't say anything, even if he thinks it's the right thing to do. Hell, we're all so damn protective it's almost a mental illness for us. But we've all got our own shit to deal with, and yours is pretty much all past due ."
Gabriel's mouth twists into something Dean can't quite work out. But he doesn't protest.
"And you know Cas won't leave without you."
Gabriel sighs and rolls his eyes.
"Normally I like his wide-eyed obedient streak."
"I think they're long past making you do things you don't want to do Gabriel."
Gabriel taps his boots together and Dean has to wonder exactly how much of his fidgeting is fake and how much of it's real.
"I don't particularly want to go back." It's a brief, pointed flare of honesty with history behind it. Because, yeah, the apocalypse left them all with scars that are still bleeding a little. Scars they don't compare. But they're all aware they're there. They've pressed up against enough of them in the middle of the night.
Some of Dean's are even on his skin.
Gabriel shoots him a second unreadable look.
"You never know, Dean, give the world five minutes to make sense and you might decide you're fine on your own."
Dean glares at him.
"You really think that?"
Gabriel shrugs.
"You can get away with some stupendously crazy shit when you have Armageddon hanging over your head," he says flatly.
Dean grits his teeth, stops himself from snapping something back. Stops himself from fighting because it's not just him. It's all of them, it's every one of them that's feeling the edge. Where something's going to change.
He snatches his coat off the bed, leans in far enough to grab Gabriel's shirt and hauls him forward in a mess of rucked up sheets.
He kisses him and there's nothing nice about it. It's all barely restrained desperation and angry frustration. Then Dean lets him go, jabs him in the chest with a finger.
"You better fucking come back," he says. And if he sounds furious against Gabriel's mouth then so be it.
When he goes to move back he finds Gabriel's sharp fingers in his hair.
"Be careful what you ask for."
"Like I don't know what an exhausting little bitch you are already," Dean huffs, and gets a messy little bark of laughter for it.
He shakes Gabriel's hand off and pretends he doesn’t instantly miss it.
"Now, go tell Sam you'll miss him forever so he can cry about it or they'll charge us for another day."
Gabriel snorts and raises a hand, disappears in one lazy snap.
Dean blows out a breath and pulls a hand down his face and sits down on the bed. He doesn’t exactly know why he's always forced to skirt that line of 'fucking himself over.' Maybe he's been doing it so long it's like second nature now. He should stop. It's a bad habit. It's one of the bad habits he needs to break.
It takes Castiel another minute and a half to appear back in the room. Dean hasn't moved, doesn’t move until Castiel reaches out, lays a hand on his shoulder.
"Gabriel tells me he's ready."
Dean grunts agreement, because it's either that or some form of goodbye. Hell, if he's saying goodbye.
Castiel smiles at him, a faint curve of mouth that Dean hasn't developed an immunity too yet, and maybe hopes he never does. Because that expression always makes him feel like he's done something awesome.
He'd quite like to know what he did to put it there this time. Because today feels pretty crappy to him. He lets his head tip forward and rests it against Castiel’s stomach, warm through the shirt and Dean's briefly tempted to shove all that irritating white cotton out of the way and press his face into skin.
Instead he tugs on the shirt, pulls until Castiel is low enough to breathe into.
He kisses him for as long as he can get away with. Then lets him go.
"Dean -"
He tightens his fingers.
"Don't stay away too long, ok, and check your damn messages."
He feels the soft, slow tilt and shift of Castiel nodding.
Then the weight is gone and his fingers are slipping free. Before the dry rip of feathers fills the room - and leaves it completely empty.
There's a sudden, bright thread of panic that claws up Dean's throat. He holds it until it eases, until he can breathe again.
They'd fought so fucking hard not to get separated, for months and months. To keep each other no matter what. Since the end, and longer. They've been close enough to pretty much be sharing body heat for weeks now.
And now suddenly there's nothing.
He stands there, feeling weirdly adrift. Trying to kid himself into thinking he can still feel them, both of them, vast and cold and electric, names carved under the skin too deep to scrub out.
It doesn't exactly help. It's like an ache half way between reassuring and unbearable.
~~~~~
The car feels empty.
Every time Dean looks in the mirror, the backseat stares back, almost accusing in its emptiness, and he has to wonder why he isn't worrying about where Castiel and Gabriel are. About who has them.
But then no one has them. They're upstairs, which isn't the fucked up nest of angel bastards it used to be.
The Winchesters are officially heroes under a 'keep your fucking hands off of them' decree that's carved into the angel equivalent of holy tablets. Thanks to the fact that they defeated the armies of heaven and hell. The fucking armies of heaven and hell.
Yeah, Dean's still not sure how they did that.
Thanks to the fact that they sided with them Gabriel and Castiel can do whatever the fuck they like, even if they do still technically have angel duties. Though in Gabriel's case they're a few thousand years overdue. It all sounds so good. But Dean still feels like he should be somewhere punching something to get his angels back. It's like post-traumatic stress disorder and phantom limb syndrome at the same time.
Dean's fairly sure Sam's noticed, that he's feeling exactly the same way, because he's been sitting perfectly still in the passenger seat with that same uncomfortable look on his face since they left the motel.
He also knows Sam's going to break the silence before him.
"We have been kind of living in each other's pockets for months," Sam says quietly. "It's understandable that it'd take us a while to get used to not being together all the time. That it'd feel -"
"Like your skin is going to vibrate off?" Dean says sharply.
Sam drops his head back in the passenger seat.
"Yeah, something like that."
The car eats up the miles and the silence hangs there like a constant reminder that they're short two people. Phrasing it like that makes something jerk in his chest. He tells his body to shut the fuck up, because they're not dead.
"It's too quiet," Dean mutters. Because not talking is suddenly worse.
Sam sighs like he's been thinking exactly the same thing
"That's because Gabriel's always talking, and your tapes got eaten by that thing that lived in the well."
"Well that didn't matter when Gabriel made the radio actually play something I wanted to listen to."
Sam's legs shift, like he can't get comfortable, can't stop fidgeting, can't stop moving, all confused adrenaline.
"I told you we shouldn’t take them for granted. You protested it was just breakfast."
"Alright, fine, we'll let Cas cook something next time. Though you realise then we'll actually have to eat it so his feelings won't be hurt."
"He's a warrior of God, I'm sure he won't take the success or failure of breakfast too hard."
There's another silence.
Dean fidgets with the radio but it only offers up static, and the half-audible, droning voices from local stations. Talking about things he's not interested in. The thing flatly refuses to help distract him from his restless misery.
"How long do you think they'll be gone," Sam says stiffly.
"I don't know."
"You think they'll tell us if it's going to be a while."
"I don't know," Dean says again, harder than before.
But, God, he hopes so. Any other day he'd take the piss out of Sam something fierce for being such a girl. But this is too close, Castiel and Gabriel. At the beginning there'd been a line, there'd been a separation there. But that had been smeared out weeks ago. They lost it somewhere in a huge bed with Gabriel leaking angel all over the sheets and all of them trying their damnedest to hold him together. That was when they stopped doing it for the magic, when it wasn't about bonding or rituals to save the world. Or any of that other crap. That had been the moment when they decided it was all of them.
Or maybe they hadn't decided, maybe it had just happened.
It had definitely been when they started shoving both beds together. The night Gabriel nearly died. And they were all so fucked up and messy in love with each other already, it was like the whole damn world was ending all over again.
Dean hadn't even known it at the time.
"There's still stuff to be done," Sam says quietly. His fingers are pressing and shifting on the window. "There are still stragglers from the apocalypse and I feel like hunting them down is a good thing. That it's doing the job right."
Sam clears his throat.
"It's like them, we have things we're good at. People we need to see. While we - not work things out, just y'know pass the time. While they're gone."
Dean's squeezing the wheel again because God, Sam sounds for all the world like he's wading his way through the first stage of grief and fuck
Sam makes a noise like he hasn't heard the squeak of Dean's tightening fingers.
"Our lives aren't exactly normal, I mean what do we do apart from hunt monsters. We don't do anything. We have like one special skill and when we're not doing that we're eating crappy diner food and talking about where we're going next. The apocalypse kind of made everything life or death and y'know, stuff happens when there's that much adrenaline."
Sam shifts and looks at Dean, strange and sort of desperate, like he thinks maybe Dean has all the answers.
"I know this is the right thing to so, that they have things to do and they need to do them. There's no apocalypse any more so it's not like they need to be with us all the time."
Sam's fingers are tapping out some strange rhythm now, discordant and annoying.
"We can't expect to understand the angel part of their lives. Maybe they need something we can't give them, something that's complicated. Something they can't do with us, when they're inside vessels."
There's a long, taut moment of silence.
"Dean?"
Dean tries to think of something to say which isn't 'shut up, Sam.'
"Dean? What do you think?"
"I think I'd feel a lot freakin' better if you weren't reeling off all the different ways they were going to leave us," Dean says through his teeth. Because, Jesus, he's got a headache starting right behind his eyeballs now. One of those vicious bastards that's half stress and half too much sleep. It's not his fault he's had incentives to not get up lately. He should have known better than to think his body wasn't going to bitch at him for it.
He was doing fine as an insomniac alcoholic and now his body's loudly protesting that it doesn’t know how to hunt things when it's full of delicious pancakes and still kind of loose and half blissed out from having sex twice this morning.
Sam's gone quiet now, forehead all messed up with angst that Dean hasn't seen since the last time Lucifer showed up like a pestilent gatecrasher at a birthday party.
He sighs and squeezes the wheel, squeezes it hard enough to make his knuckles hurt.
"You think I'm not thinking exactly the same thing. For fuck's sake Sam, I don't even know how we ended up with the both of them, ok. I don't know why they apparently think we're worth a permanent vacation. you think I haven't taken a good hard look at what our lives are like. Even if heaven's a bust they have a million other places they could be. You think I haven't forced myself to wonder what the hell we're all doing. How this can ever actually work in the real world. My longest relationship was like two weeks and you - I'm fairly sure you never even looked at a guy before the apocalypse."
Sam grunts out something that wants to be protesting. But Dean knows better.
"Suddenly we're playing tag team with two male angels and we've saved the world and now we have to get on with the whole 'living in the world we saved' thing. It's like coming out the world's worst bad trip. Only, I don't know how to do it. This isn't moving the posts, this is - I don't freakin' know - someone coming and stealing the posts and sticking them in a wood chipper so there are no posts. And I'm aware I just fucked up that analogy. But I don't have a clue what we're doing. And I'm scared to death that they won't come back."
Dean hits the breaks, hard enough that the car slams to a stop, then he leans back in the seat and swears, one, twice, three times. Can't bring up any more air to talk with.
"Yeah," Sam says quietly. "That's pretty much what I was going for too."
"Not to mention the fact that we're pretty far over the line of 'acceptable touching' now too," Dean adds. Because one of them has to say it.
"You slept with twins once," Sam says in slow measured tones. "I figure it's a lot like that."
"So, what? It's acceptable as long as it's hot incest with other people around?"
"I do not think you're hot," Sam says, in a purposeful sort of way.
"Liar," Dean protests. Because seriously, he's the hot brother, he's always been the hot brother. Sam's the tall gangly one with the dorky smile and the silly hair that filled out ok.
Sam frowns at him.
"I'm not lying, you have a weird face, freckles and stuff - and your legs are weird."
"You're just reaching now," Dean says and starts the car again. "So, have we shared enough now? Can we go back to killing things and repressing our feelings like Winchesters." Because there's only so much Dean can talk about his feelings before he starts to feel the terrible urge to punch something or get very drunk.
Sam looks at him.
"If you start drinking again we're talking about our feelings again."
"Fine, you bitch."
"Jerk."
~~~~~
The one good thing about the apocalypse. Both of them have better defences than they used to. More tattoos, more stray jewellery and angelic script carved all the way down to the bone.
They've gotten used to punching above their weight.
The ghost in the hotel is an angry one, broken furniture, smashed windows, blood through the ceiling.
Dean fully expects one of them to get tossed into a wall.
But it goes down quick and easy, barely even hampers their efforts to dig its bones out of an air shaft.
~~~~~
Bobby sends them after a bunch of vampires holed up under a bar after that.
It's messy and it's something like what Dean thinks he needs, all grit and adrenaline. But it's over quick and they both come out without a bruise. Dirty as hell, hearts pounding, blood everywhere.
They order pizza and it tastes maybe half as good as the pizza Dean's gotten used to.
He eats two thirds of one anyway and then feels disgusting for the rest of the night.
He catches Sam looking at him. If he even thinks about giving him one of his own 'the pizza isn't love' speeches he's going to punch him in the freakin' kidney.
They stay in town for a while to make sure they've gotten them all.
Dean sleeps maybe two hours the next few nights, nearly gets hypnotised by the neon sign flashing outside. He has one of the twin beds all to himself and it feels like he's being punished for something.
Part Two......