Supernatural fic - "Saving Grace" (Part Twelve)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
A/N: I’m baaaaack! The SPN con was awesome… I met some really cool people and of course got to see the Boys, but I have to say the two highlights for me were getting to hug Misha (twice! Squeee!!!!) and the Jensen Ackles and Jason Manns jam session. *remembers dreamily*
Now back to the fic, for which you have all waited so patiently… or maybe not so patiently ;)
***************
Dean was a little annoyed at how easy it was to make Sam believe that him and Cas were totally gay for each other.
“For the record,” Sam had said, breaking a sullen silence that lasted for the better part of an hour while they drove, “you didn’t have to hide it from me. You can fuck whoever you want to, Dean. I don’t care.”
“And with a sunny attitude like that, I can’t imagine why I didn’t tell you.”
That was pretty much the end of it, and while it was a thorn in Dean’s side to go along with the charade that he was Castiel’s mud monkey lover, it did get Sam off his back, and that was a load off.
That was pretty much the only good news in a string of letdowns. The quest to resoul Sam was getting nowhere, the monsters were still collectively drinking from the special kool-aid, and the jackassery of Samuel Campbell just amped up and up the more Dean got to know him. All that, and there was no contact from Cas for weeks. That might not have bothered Dean so much if it wasn’t for the agitated feeling in his chest that he was convinced meant things were really rough up there for Castiel. When the not knowing became unbearable, Dean would call out for Castiel to show up for an ‘I’m not dead’ visit, but the angel was a no-show. Dean was getting worried, and apparently it made him short-tempered. Not that Dean noticed himself… not until Sam snapped at him. “Just because you haven't gotten any from your angel boyfriend in a while, it’s no reason to bitch at me!”
Which was absolutely not the case, but Dean did clam up after that and tended to stew silently instead of heckle and hound the closest target… namely, Sam.
He might not say anything about it, but the longer the disquieted feeling in his chest persisted, and the more time that passed without Dean hearing from Castiel, the more he worried about the angel.
***************
They were somewhere in the Midwest, and Dean was having a nightmare.
Dean was in Hell again, being tortured. He was on the rack, splayed open. His guts were everywhere but where they should be, but he would not die. He screamed and choked on his own blood.
The figure holding the knife circled him, all shadow and the gleam of the blade.
Dean coughed to clear his throat. His lungs were long gone, so no telling how he could draw breath, but he drew one. Then he cried, “Sam!” His Hell-borne mantra, a word he’d screamed so many times it went from a plea for salvation to a curse to senseless sound.
“Sam!!”
The dark figure stopped circling and stepped toward Dean. Stepped into the fiery light. Lit up features so familiar and eyes utterly void of life.
“Right here, Dean,” his tormenter answered. With a vicious smile, Sam hefted the blade for another slice.
Dean lurched away from the attack and woke himself with a start as he nearly threw himself off the bed. He gasped for air while he braced himself on one elbow, angled face-down just in case he threw up. It was a distinct possibility; his stomach was swimming with nausea.
When he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to hurl, after the room stopped heaving and spinning, Dean lifted one hand and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Then he looked toward the dark corner of the room. A figure stood in the shadows, light barely touching the sharp angles of his face as he stared silently at Dean in the dead of night.
Still entangled in the distress of his dream, Dean’s reaction wasn’t very friendly. “Damnit, Cas… haven’t I told you that’s creepy?” he growled, his voice raw and gravelly.
Castiel stepped closer to the bed, the light picking up the outlines of coat and shoulders. Castiel’s face was grim and severe.
Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position and peered in Castiel’s direction. “What are you doing here?”
Nothing.
Dean’s annoyance dissipated, making way for concern. “You okay?”
The angel didn’t answer. He just moved closer to the bed. Without a word, Castiel walked right up to the bed and sat down on the side opposite Dean.
The creep-factor of Castiel watching Dean sleep forgotten, Dean studied Castiel a moment. “What’s wrong?” Dean’s chest was beginning to hum pleasantly in response to Castiel’s presence… but it had been a slow burn. Never before had the effect of Cas being close needed time to warm up before Dean felt it. Never had Castiel’s arrival preceded Dean feeling it in his borrowed grace. He didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.
Castiel huffed out a short breath, but it left him no more relaxed afterward. He sat stiffly, almost curled like he was wounded.
Dean reached out and rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.
Castiel jerked away, body tensing like a dog on the ragged edge of lashing out and biting.
“Hey…” Dean said gently, sliding closer. “Cas? Come on, man… it’s okay. You’re okay.” Which might have been a complete lie, but Dean was just trying to speak calmly and soothingly.
It felt like an hour before anything changed. Cas sat taut and radiating dark, angry things while Dean (in boxer briefs and a t-shirt cooling in the night from drying sweat) sat behind him, watching and waiting with bated breath for Castiel to do something… say something.
Finally, at last, Castiel croaked, “Dean…”
“Yeah, Cas. I’m right here.”
Castiel took in a stuttering breath that looked painful. The angel lifted his chin and closed his eyes wearily.
Dean inched closer. “What?”
“I almost… I think I almost lost myself.”
A chill went down Dean’s spine. “But you didn’t,” Dean reassured. “You’re right here with me.”
“How can I ever be redeemed?” Castiel asked, and he sounded so fucking broken that Dean wanted to hug him. Shit.
It might not have been a question asked of Dean, but Dean spoke anyway, “Hey, if I can be a ‘righteous man’ after the life I’ve led, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re going to be fine.”
“I don’t know…” Cas’s voice faded.
Dean tapped two fingers against his sternum. “I do.”
Castiel turned on the mattress to better face Dean and gaze at him. It was disconcerting, almost enough to make Dean squirm. Slowly, Castiel’s eyes dropped to where Dean still lightly rested two fingers against his chest. There Cas’s gaze held even longer.
Without warning, Castiel reached for him, gathered the hem of Dean’s shirt in both hands, and lifted. Too surprised to resist, Dean raised his arms and let Cas strip him of his shirt.
In the next moment, Castiel’s hand was on Dean’s bare chest. The skin on skin contact made Dean gasp at the unexpected intensity it triggered. The grace in his chest was flaring, filling him until his skin didn’t seem big enough to contain it.
Slowly, traces of peace began to steal over Castiel’s face as he stared down at his hand splayed on Dean’s chest. Dean breathed heavily, certain the grace would burst out of him any moment, but he held still because damn did it look like it was the only thing holding Cas together.
Castiel finally seemed to notice the physical reaction he was causing in Dean and started to move away. Oh hell no. Dean clamped down on Castiel’s hand with his own, trapping it against his chest and preventing Castiel from going anywhere. Dean had no idea what was going on in him, but he could see that Cas needed this.
Castiel basked in being so near to his unmarred grace. Bit by bit, he scooted closer until Dean and Cas were thigh to thigh. If he had a mind to, Dean could have dropped his forehead onto Castiel’s shoulder. Not that it was tempting. Not in the least.
Stiff muscles were what told Dean just how long they sat like that, though he was loathe to do anything to break the contact between them.
“You have to go?” Dean asked in a whisper.
“Not just yet.”
“Then get in the bed.”
Castiel’s eyes flew up to Dean’s in the darkness. Maybe it was the darkness that made Dean brave enough to say it. Whatever, he didn’t care. He just didn’t want Castiel to leave him. That moment was the first time in too long when the grace in him hadn’t felt like one big ache.
It must have been a respite for Castiel, too, because this time he didn’t argue. He withdrew his hand (to Dean’s silent chagrin) and stood. Then he started to undress.
Dean’s eyes widened.
At the look on Dean’s face, Castiel froze with his trench coat halfway off. “Do you… will this upset you?”
“Huh?”
“I need- want… the closer I can be…” Castiel got a look on his face like someone kicked his puppy. “I’m sorry,” Castiel grumbled as he started to pull the coat back on. “I have overstepped.”
“No.” Dean was probably about as surprised as Castiel by that outburst. But he didn’t take it back. “It’s okay.”
For a moment, Castiel just looked down at Dean, measuring his honesty. Then he sagged and let his trench coat drop to the floor. “Thank you, Dean.”
He thanked Dean like it was all for Castiel’s benefit... as if Dean didn’t need it just as much.
Castiel undressed down to his underwear (maybe copying Dean’s sleep attire) before he got under the covers with Dean. Dean laid down on the bed, flat on his back, unsure what to do. Castiel was lying on his side facing Dean, and those last few inches separating them seemed the most difficult to bridge. Dean just lay there feeling the distance between their bodies like a fucking canyon, but damned if he didn’t know quite how to fix it.
Mercifully, Castiel made the first move. His hand, like before, found its way to rest atop Dean’s chest, lingering above his grace. The tide of relief it sent through Dean loosened muscles he didn’t even know were tight.
Dean flipped on to his side so he was facing Cas. Castiel’s hand stayed firmly in place on Dean’s chest, as if unable to bear leaving that spot. Dean lay quietly as he looked closely at the angel barely six inches from him. Cas looked almost like a different person, his features so drawn and hard. Once, Dean would have found it hard to picture adorable, innocent Castiel as a soldier… not anymore. It made Dean’s chest ache, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the Cas part inside of him.
He slid an arm up and around Castiel’s side, just happening to draw their two bodies closer together in the process. His fingers walked the smooth, bare skin of Castiel’s shoulder. Cas looked questioningly into his eyes.
“Wondered if my stitches left a scar,” Dean explained. Yeah… that was the only reason his hand was back there. Because they were totally not snuggling.
“I scar differently than you do,” Castiel answered softly, and as he spoke his hand on Dean’s chest slid up to Dean’s shoulder, where the angel fitted his fingers over the handprint scar on Dean’s shoulder. It might have been intended to make a point, but all it accomplished was making Dean shiver.
“You rescued me from Hell, you know,” Dean quipped.
“I was there… it’s not something I’m likely to ever forget.”
Dean chuckled. “No, I mean, just now. I was dreaming.”
“Oh.” Castiel didn’t have anything else to say to that. He did shift a tad closer to Dean. When he resettled, they were so close they could feel each other’s breath, and Castiel’s hand had repositioned from Dean’s shoulder to his side. Dean understood now what Cas had been saying about being close… it felt like they were pulling together, like the grace in Dean was trying to reach out and rejoin with the grace in Castiel. Without layers of clothes to separate them, it was even stronger. The grace that was Cas and the piece of angel in Dean were two parts of a whole, after all, and for clothes to come between them seemed unnatural. Dean figured he should probably be freaking out about that, but he chose not to. The feeling of connection, of being bound to the other, was wildly comforting.
Which reminded Dean…
“Uh… just so you know, Sam thinks we’re having sex.”
That made Castiel’s face screw. “Why would he think that?”
“I sort of told him we were.”
“I see.” A completely unreadable pause. “Why?”
Confession time. “It was that or tell him the truth about your grace tucked away in me, which didn’t seem like a smart idea, all things considered.” Dean braced himself. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Castiel sounded sleepy, which was doing weird things to Dean’s insides.
“Just… I know religion’s not very approving of that, so I’m sorry for involving you in it, even if it is just a ruse to throw Sam off the scent.”
If anything, the angel only looked more baffled. “I don’t understand. What exactly is it you think I would consider my involvement in abominable?”
“You know… homosexuality,” Dean whispered it like a grade school kid learning to cuss for the first time. Or in Dean’s case, kindergarten, but whatever.
Expression shifting from confused to irritated, Castiel burrowed closer to Dean, the harbor of his grace. “God’s love and humanity’s interpretation of God’s love are two entirely different things.”
“Oh… so, two dudes or two chicks together isn’t a one-way ticket to Hell?”
Castiel made a scornful sound. “Don’t you think there are more fitting reasons to condemn a soul to eternal damnation than for loving someone?”
“Yeah…” Dean felt himself relaxing (he didn’t realize he’d been so concerned about Castiel’s reaction to the lie he’d been telling Sam until Castiel mocked him for it). “Yeah, whenever I saw two women together, I couldn’t understand why anyone would be against it.”
Castiel almost chuckled. “You shouldn’t be so narrow-minded, Dean. God doesn’t hate or fear how people love… people do. If He didn’t approve of it, He wouldn’t have made it part of you. You are made in His image.”
That sounded so much better, that settled in his bones so right… more so than all that hateful crap religious nuts liked to spout. “Wait, so is God gay?”
The only answer Dean got was Castiel making an exasperated noise against his collar bone.
Dean smiled to himself and started to fall back to sleep.
He knew he wouldn’t dream of Hell this time.
Part Thirteen
A/N: I’m baaaaack! The SPN con was awesome… I met some really cool people and of course got to see the Boys, but I have to say the two highlights for me were getting to hug Misha (twice! Squeee!!!!) and the Jensen Ackles and Jason Manns jam session. *remembers dreamily*
Now back to the fic, for which you have all waited so patiently… or maybe not so patiently ;)
***************
Dean was a little annoyed at how easy it was to make Sam believe that him and Cas were totally gay for each other.
“For the record,” Sam had said, breaking a sullen silence that lasted for the better part of an hour while they drove, “you didn’t have to hide it from me. You can fuck whoever you want to, Dean. I don’t care.”
“And with a sunny attitude like that, I can’t imagine why I didn’t tell you.”
That was pretty much the end of it, and while it was a thorn in Dean’s side to go along with the charade that he was Castiel’s mud monkey lover, it did get Sam off his back, and that was a load off.
That was pretty much the only good news in a string of letdowns. The quest to resoul Sam was getting nowhere, the monsters were still collectively drinking from the special kool-aid, and the jackassery of Samuel Campbell just amped up and up the more Dean got to know him. All that, and there was no contact from Cas for weeks. That might not have bothered Dean so much if it wasn’t for the agitated feeling in his chest that he was convinced meant things were really rough up there for Castiel. When the not knowing became unbearable, Dean would call out for Castiel to show up for an ‘I’m not dead’ visit, but the angel was a no-show. Dean was getting worried, and apparently it made him short-tempered. Not that Dean noticed himself… not until Sam snapped at him. “Just because you haven't gotten any from your angel boyfriend in a while, it’s no reason to bitch at me!”
Which was absolutely not the case, but Dean did clam up after that and tended to stew silently instead of heckle and hound the closest target… namely, Sam.
He might not say anything about it, but the longer the disquieted feeling in his chest persisted, and the more time that passed without Dean hearing from Castiel, the more he worried about the angel.
***************
They were somewhere in the Midwest, and Dean was having a nightmare.
Dean was in Hell again, being tortured. He was on the rack, splayed open. His guts were everywhere but where they should be, but he would not die. He screamed and choked on his own blood.
The figure holding the knife circled him, all shadow and the gleam of the blade.
Dean coughed to clear his throat. His lungs were long gone, so no telling how he could draw breath, but he drew one. Then he cried, “Sam!” His Hell-borne mantra, a word he’d screamed so many times it went from a plea for salvation to a curse to senseless sound.
“Sam!!”
The dark figure stopped circling and stepped toward Dean. Stepped into the fiery light. Lit up features so familiar and eyes utterly void of life.
“Right here, Dean,” his tormenter answered. With a vicious smile, Sam hefted the blade for another slice.
Dean lurched away from the attack and woke himself with a start as he nearly threw himself off the bed. He gasped for air while he braced himself on one elbow, angled face-down just in case he threw up. It was a distinct possibility; his stomach was swimming with nausea.
When he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to hurl, after the room stopped heaving and spinning, Dean lifted one hand and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
Then he looked toward the dark corner of the room. A figure stood in the shadows, light barely touching the sharp angles of his face as he stared silently at Dean in the dead of night.
Still entangled in the distress of his dream, Dean’s reaction wasn’t very friendly. “Damnit, Cas… haven’t I told you that’s creepy?” he growled, his voice raw and gravelly.
Castiel stepped closer to the bed, the light picking up the outlines of coat and shoulders. Castiel’s face was grim and severe.
Dean pushed himself up to a sitting position and peered in Castiel’s direction. “What are you doing here?”
Nothing.
Dean’s annoyance dissipated, making way for concern. “You okay?”
The angel didn’t answer. He just moved closer to the bed. Without a word, Castiel walked right up to the bed and sat down on the side opposite Dean.
The creep-factor of Castiel watching Dean sleep forgotten, Dean studied Castiel a moment. “What’s wrong?” Dean’s chest was beginning to hum pleasantly in response to Castiel’s presence… but it had been a slow burn. Never before had the effect of Cas being close needed time to warm up before Dean felt it. Never had Castiel’s arrival preceded Dean feeling it in his borrowed grace. He didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.
Castiel huffed out a short breath, but it left him no more relaxed afterward. He sat stiffly, almost curled like he was wounded.
Dean reached out and rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.
Castiel jerked away, body tensing like a dog on the ragged edge of lashing out and biting.
“Hey…” Dean said gently, sliding closer. “Cas? Come on, man… it’s okay. You’re okay.” Which might have been a complete lie, but Dean was just trying to speak calmly and soothingly.
It felt like an hour before anything changed. Cas sat taut and radiating dark, angry things while Dean (in boxer briefs and a t-shirt cooling in the night from drying sweat) sat behind him, watching and waiting with bated breath for Castiel to do something… say something.
Finally, at last, Castiel croaked, “Dean…”
“Yeah, Cas. I’m right here.”
Castiel took in a stuttering breath that looked painful. The angel lifted his chin and closed his eyes wearily.
Dean inched closer. “What?”
“I almost… I think I almost lost myself.”
A chill went down Dean’s spine. “But you didn’t,” Dean reassured. “You’re right here with me.”
“How can I ever be redeemed?” Castiel asked, and he sounded so fucking broken that Dean wanted to hug him. Shit.
It might not have been a question asked of Dean, but Dean spoke anyway, “Hey, if I can be a ‘righteous man’ after the life I’ve led, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re going to be fine.”
“I don’t know…” Cas’s voice faded.
Dean tapped two fingers against his sternum. “I do.”
Castiel turned on the mattress to better face Dean and gaze at him. It was disconcerting, almost enough to make Dean squirm. Slowly, Castiel’s eyes dropped to where Dean still lightly rested two fingers against his chest. There Cas’s gaze held even longer.
Without warning, Castiel reached for him, gathered the hem of Dean’s shirt in both hands, and lifted. Too surprised to resist, Dean raised his arms and let Cas strip him of his shirt.
In the next moment, Castiel’s hand was on Dean’s bare chest. The skin on skin contact made Dean gasp at the unexpected intensity it triggered. The grace in his chest was flaring, filling him until his skin didn’t seem big enough to contain it.
Slowly, traces of peace began to steal over Castiel’s face as he stared down at his hand splayed on Dean’s chest. Dean breathed heavily, certain the grace would burst out of him any moment, but he held still because damn did it look like it was the only thing holding Cas together.
Castiel finally seemed to notice the physical reaction he was causing in Dean and started to move away. Oh hell no. Dean clamped down on Castiel’s hand with his own, trapping it against his chest and preventing Castiel from going anywhere. Dean had no idea what was going on in him, but he could see that Cas needed this.
Castiel basked in being so near to his unmarred grace. Bit by bit, he scooted closer until Dean and Cas were thigh to thigh. If he had a mind to, Dean could have dropped his forehead onto Castiel’s shoulder. Not that it was tempting. Not in the least.
Stiff muscles were what told Dean just how long they sat like that, though he was loathe to do anything to break the contact between them.
“You have to go?” Dean asked in a whisper.
“Not just yet.”
“Then get in the bed.”
Castiel’s eyes flew up to Dean’s in the darkness. Maybe it was the darkness that made Dean brave enough to say it. Whatever, he didn’t care. He just didn’t want Castiel to leave him. That moment was the first time in too long when the grace in him hadn’t felt like one big ache.
It must have been a respite for Castiel, too, because this time he didn’t argue. He withdrew his hand (to Dean’s silent chagrin) and stood. Then he started to undress.
Dean’s eyes widened.
At the look on Dean’s face, Castiel froze with his trench coat halfway off. “Do you… will this upset you?”
“Huh?”
“I need- want… the closer I can be…” Castiel got a look on his face like someone kicked his puppy. “I’m sorry,” Castiel grumbled as he started to pull the coat back on. “I have overstepped.”
“No.” Dean was probably about as surprised as Castiel by that outburst. But he didn’t take it back. “It’s okay.”
For a moment, Castiel just looked down at Dean, measuring his honesty. Then he sagged and let his trench coat drop to the floor. “Thank you, Dean.”
He thanked Dean like it was all for Castiel’s benefit... as if Dean didn’t need it just as much.
Castiel undressed down to his underwear (maybe copying Dean’s sleep attire) before he got under the covers with Dean. Dean laid down on the bed, flat on his back, unsure what to do. Castiel was lying on his side facing Dean, and those last few inches separating them seemed the most difficult to bridge. Dean just lay there feeling the distance between their bodies like a fucking canyon, but damned if he didn’t know quite how to fix it.
Mercifully, Castiel made the first move. His hand, like before, found its way to rest atop Dean’s chest, lingering above his grace. The tide of relief it sent through Dean loosened muscles he didn’t even know were tight.
Dean flipped on to his side so he was facing Cas. Castiel’s hand stayed firmly in place on Dean’s chest, as if unable to bear leaving that spot. Dean lay quietly as he looked closely at the angel barely six inches from him. Cas looked almost like a different person, his features so drawn and hard. Once, Dean would have found it hard to picture adorable, innocent Castiel as a soldier… not anymore. It made Dean’s chest ache, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the Cas part inside of him.
He slid an arm up and around Castiel’s side, just happening to draw their two bodies closer together in the process. His fingers walked the smooth, bare skin of Castiel’s shoulder. Cas looked questioningly into his eyes.
“Wondered if my stitches left a scar,” Dean explained. Yeah… that was the only reason his hand was back there. Because they were totally not snuggling.
“I scar differently than you do,” Castiel answered softly, and as he spoke his hand on Dean’s chest slid up to Dean’s shoulder, where the angel fitted his fingers over the handprint scar on Dean’s shoulder. It might have been intended to make a point, but all it accomplished was making Dean shiver.
“You rescued me from Hell, you know,” Dean quipped.
“I was there… it’s not something I’m likely to ever forget.”
Dean chuckled. “No, I mean, just now. I was dreaming.”
“Oh.” Castiel didn’t have anything else to say to that. He did shift a tad closer to Dean. When he resettled, they were so close they could feel each other’s breath, and Castiel’s hand had repositioned from Dean’s shoulder to his side. Dean understood now what Cas had been saying about being close… it felt like they were pulling together, like the grace in Dean was trying to reach out and rejoin with the grace in Castiel. Without layers of clothes to separate them, it was even stronger. The grace that was Cas and the piece of angel in Dean were two parts of a whole, after all, and for clothes to come between them seemed unnatural. Dean figured he should probably be freaking out about that, but he chose not to. The feeling of connection, of being bound to the other, was wildly comforting.
Which reminded Dean…
“Uh… just so you know, Sam thinks we’re having sex.”
That made Castiel’s face screw. “Why would he think that?”
“I sort of told him we were.”
“I see.” A completely unreadable pause. “Why?”
Confession time. “It was that or tell him the truth about your grace tucked away in me, which didn’t seem like a smart idea, all things considered.” Dean braced himself. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Castiel sounded sleepy, which was doing weird things to Dean’s insides.
“Just… I know religion’s not very approving of that, so I’m sorry for involving you in it, even if it is just a ruse to throw Sam off the scent.”
If anything, the angel only looked more baffled. “I don’t understand. What exactly is it you think I would consider my involvement in abominable?”
“You know… homosexuality,” Dean whispered it like a grade school kid learning to cuss for the first time. Or in Dean’s case, kindergarten, but whatever.
Expression shifting from confused to irritated, Castiel burrowed closer to Dean, the harbor of his grace. “God’s love and humanity’s interpretation of God’s love are two entirely different things.”
“Oh… so, two dudes or two chicks together isn’t a one-way ticket to Hell?”
Castiel made a scornful sound. “Don’t you think there are more fitting reasons to condemn a soul to eternal damnation than for loving someone?”
“Yeah…” Dean felt himself relaxing (he didn’t realize he’d been so concerned about Castiel’s reaction to the lie he’d been telling Sam until Castiel mocked him for it). “Yeah, whenever I saw two women together, I couldn’t understand why anyone would be against it.”
Castiel almost chuckled. “You shouldn’t be so narrow-minded, Dean. God doesn’t hate or fear how people love… people do. If He didn’t approve of it, He wouldn’t have made it part of you. You are made in His image.”
That sounded so much better, that settled in his bones so right… more so than all that hateful crap religious nuts liked to spout. “Wait, so is God gay?”
The only answer Dean got was Castiel making an exasperated noise against his collar bone.
Dean smiled to himself and started to fall back to sleep.
He knew he wouldn’t dream of Hell this time.
Part Thirteen