Kiss you When it's Dangerous - Part 4
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Dean’s gonna open a can of whoop-ass on his brother.
Sam had texted Dean saying that he’d taken the car to go check them into a motel, but he was sure Dean could get a ride with Castiel.
And then he’d added one of those stupid winky faces.
Dean’s going to kill him.
Sure, he likes Cas. In that general ‘dude’s a good guy’ kind of way.
And maybe he’s had some… thoughts about some… extracurricular activities with the guy.
Whatever.
It’s not any of his sasquatch brother’s business.
Dean had time to think about it on the car ride back into town and although the list of reason’s he and Cas are a bad idea is short, it’s compelling.
Cas is a fed.
Dean works… outside the law.
Cas is apparently on the straight and narrow.
Dean’s world is all about the crooked and ugly.
The car ride back to Cas’ place is mostly silent. Cas doesn’t seem to be a music kind of guy. Dean had flipped the radio on and couldn’t find any preset stations. No cds, no mp3 player. Nothing. Dean tries not to stare at Castiel’s long fingers or slight wrists as he turns the steering wheel to make a turn.
Normally he doesn’t put this much thought into things. If he likes someone and there’s an opportunity, he’ll sleep with them. Maybe that makes him promiscuous or maybe it makes him a ‘seize the day’ kind of man. Doesn’t matter. In his line of work, there’s not a lot of time for anything so you gotta grab things while the getting is good.
But with Cas…
It’s weird, because he’s gotten to know him. They’ve talked on the phone. Texted. Emailed. If Dean thinks about it, it might be the first time in his life that getting to know someone hadn’t consisted of only time spent in the sack.
He knows that Cas takes long pauses to think things over and won’t say something unless he’s sure. He knows that Cas sometimes doesn’t have dinner until late at night if he’s been at the office too long. He knows Cas is smart - able to teach himself a shitload of Enochian without assistance from Bobby. He knows there’s no time of day when Cas’ voice doesn’t sound sleep-roughened and deep, always like he just rolled out of bed.
But he also knows that Cas is not all that savvy when it comes to flirting.
If there’s one thing Dean is absolutely sure he’s good at, it’s flirting.
Cas seems somewhat… perplexed when Dean flirts. Hell, it’s a lot better than getting socked in the face, which has only happened to Dean twice (and that one time didn’t count - seriously, no one was that grabby when they were drunk unless they want to be grabbing something. Dean tries to steer clear of dudes that can’t admit what they like especially when what they like is other dudes, but sometimes one manages to slip through his radar).
With Cas, though, Dean’s spidey sense is confused. He’s pretty sure Cas likes him. Although he’s not sure if that translates into Cas likes him. When he’s talking to Cas on the phone, he gets the impression he has all of Cas’ attention, all his focus. Which may be just because of the case they are working regarding Uriel but maybe not. Cas talks to him about other stuff, asks him questions and Jesus this sounds like a chick flick moment, but Cas values Dean’s opinion and Dean’s knowledge. He listens when Dean talks.
Dean will chew off his own hand before saying any of this out loud.
So yeah, he’s pretty sure Cas likes him in a general sense. He just can’t figure out if he tried something if he’d get the response he’s hoping for.
He kinda doesn’t want to fuck up what they’ve got either. He likes talking to Cas. Likes hearing his brain work, figuring shit out. He likes being the guy that can answer Cas’ questions.
Cas steers the car deftly into a small space in an underground parking garage and they take the elevator up to the floor his apartment is on. Dean looks around as Cas lets him in. The furniture looks comfortable, the place is clean, but there’s not a lot of personal shit around - a degree on the wall, a few awards from the FBI and then, affixed with a thumbtack is a picture of Gabriel and Cas. Cas is in jeans and a sweater, Gabriel is in a leather jacket and leather chaps (and Christ Dean didn’t need to see that). They’re standing in front of a dilapidated building, Cas with his hands in his pockets, Gabriel doing some kind of complicated gesture with his hands. Dean flicks the picture and Cas looks over.
“What’s this from?” he asks - it’s the only personal item on the wall so he feels compelled to ask.
“Gabriel’s first club. It was… a distinct location.”
“Seedy joint?” Dean asks.
Castiel nods as he carefully takes off his shoes and coat. “Yes. Fortunately, he’s moved on since then. Gabriel once remarked I didn’t have any photos of him and he came over one day and tacked that up.”
Yeah, sounds like a brother thing to do, Dean thinks, thinking of all the shit he does to Sammy.
“You guys close?” Dean asks.
Castiel shrugs. “We are brothers. We know the best and worst of each other.”
Dean nods. “Yeah, I get that.” He feels a little weird standing there in his coat and shoes after watching Cas take off so he hurriedly kicks his own shoes off and drops his jacket on the floor.
“‘s nice place,” he says, looking around at the subdued tones. It’s nicer than most of places Dean’s been in since… well since he can remember.
“It suffices,” Castiel replies. He leads the way from the front door, past a sort of TV living area and small kitchen to a smaller room in the back. Cas flicks on two small lamps and the room is bathed in a gentle, yellowish light. It’s clearly an office with a desk that looks well used and a cork board with paper tacked to every square inch. It reminds Dean a lot of the case walls that he and Sam put together on their hunts.
Cas’ board is dedicated to Enochian, Phoenician, Greek, Latin, verses from biblical texts and ancient tomes. Dean immediately gravitates toward it and starts taking in the information, agreeing with Cas’ Greek and Latin on some translations but noting others for debate.
He pokes at one symbol immediately.
“This is one of the ones from… well, you,” Dean says awkwardly. It’s one of the symbols he remembers seeing carved into Cas’ chest. Bobby hasn’t had much luck with deciphering anything that was actually carved into Cas but Cas clearly has this one marked. He’s got it broken out into pie sections, each one with a notation next to it in what Dean’s sure is Enochian. He’s been learning from Bobby but unfortunately hunting doesn’t leave much time for him to devote to it.
He taps the paper. “What have you got here?” he asks.
http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Angel_Banishing_Sigil
Cas invades Dean’s personal space like he has no concept of the term, his fingers trailing over the drawing.
“Each symbol separately has its own unique meaning, of course, but when they are put together, such as they were on my chest, they also take on a comprehensive meaning that is … more than the sum of their individual translations. Also, the placement of the symbol in relation to the others gives it another layer of meaning. The symbols themselves are quite easy to translate, or at least, the general idea of them is. All of them have several… interpretations of translation but the main idea is the same. Here,” says Castiel, running his fingers to the first quadrant, one of the ‘N’ symbols, “is the symbol for allowance or permission. It is mirrored here,” Castiel points his finger to the other ‘N’ symbol. “This mirroring of the symbols, I believe, is representative of the two sides of the portal that Uriel was trying to open.”
“What about the one near the bottom?” Dean asks, pointing at the other ‘N’ symbol.
“Ah, that one I believe is actually a different symbol. Yes, it looks like an ‘n’ but if that is what they were trying to use it as, they wouldn’t have turned it on its side. I believe that one is the symbol for transmutation, in which one thing becomes another. Essentially, the transmutation of myself, a man, into a key. The key meant to open the portal.”
“What about the squiggly bits?” Dean asks, waving his hand in front of the other symbols.
“I am not sure. I’m still working on those.”
“You sent this to Bobby yet?” Dean asks, pulling out his phone and taking a snapshot.
He swears he can hear Cas frown. “No, not yet. I was hoping to get further along.”
Dean nods absently and when he turns around to say something, Cas is still right there, all in his space.
Normally, when someone is in your personal space and you turn and face them, they back off immediately.
Not Cas, apparently.
This close, in the low light of his office, Cas’ eyes are dark blue. He stares unabashedly at Dean and Dean can’t help but want to crack a deflective joke or make some self-deprecating remark under the scrutiny of Cas’ gaze.
He manages to keep his mouth shut and stay still.
Cas’ eyes sort of flicker over Dean’s face, as though he’s cataloguing or taking stock or… something. Dean’s not sure. He definitely feels as though he’s being measured somehow.
It’s slightly heady. Dean spends a lot of his life trying not to be noticed - trying to duck under the radar of the local authorities or sneak into a house or creep up on demons. But with Cas, it’s like he’s really being noticed, but there’s nothing negative or derogatory about it. It’s inquisition and curiosity.
The way Cas just stares at him with no ego, no hesitation, unrepentantly is…
Well, it’s pretty fucking sexy.
Dean licks his lips, almost nervously and Cas’ eyes dart down towards the movement and back up again to Dean’s eyes. Before he can think about it too much, Dean closes the minute distance between them and presses his lips against Castiel’s. Cas’ lips are slightly chapped, warm and dry and Dean freezes as he realizes he’s getting nothing back from Cas. No movement, no tilt of the head. Nothing.
He pulls back and Cas is still staring at him intently and Dean wants to fidget but forces himself still. He manages a wry smile. It’s fine. It’s all fine. He’ll make as good of an exit as he can and that’ll be that.
“Well, I guess I read this totally wrong,” he says, his voice low and a little shaky. “Uh, sorry.”
Cas still doesn’t move back or away from Dean. He tilts his head, birdlike. His eyes flick down to Dean’s lips again and then Cas is the one moving forward and Dean is a little unsure of what’s going on and then Cas’ lips are against his and this time it’s not some kind of chaste, ‘let me just try this out kiss’ like the one he’d been going for.
Cas is invading Dean’s space unapologetically and Dean finds himself pushed up against the cork board, his hands coming up and gripping Cas’ shoulders, his lips opening under Cas’ and then Cas’ tongue is in his mouth and it’s hot and wet and slick and fuck Cas has that whole sexy librarian thing going on with the uptight personality and repressed expressions and then this kiss underneath it all.
He’s a lot stronger than he looks. Dean wouldn’t have pegged him as all that muscular - and he’s not - but there’s a lean, leashed strength to him. He’s got Dean pressed up against the wall, his hands curling around Dean’s neck and Dean can’t keep his own hands still, clutching any place he can get a good grip on - arms, shoulders, back and then he’s grabbing Castiel’s hips and jerking him closer, pressing their groins together.
Dean starts tugging at Castiel’s shirt and Cas freezes for a moment, body going stock still, until Dean runs his hand under the shirt, up Castiel’s back. The skin on his back is smooth and hot. It’s been a while since Dean’s been with someone, longer still since that someone was a man. Dean had forgotten how men run hotter than women - how their muscles shift and move underneath their skin differently.
The kiss breaks and Cas is staring at Dean again, the same unblinking studying stare that Dean finds… well not nerve-wracking but… piercing. Like Cas can see past all of Dean’s bullshit. They’re both breathing hard, their hips pressed together and Dean can feel the hard length of Cas’ erection against his leg just as he’s sure Cas can feel his. There’s a subtle rock and sway of their bodies, both of them still shifting against one another. It’s almost careless and lazy, or at least it could be if not for the way Cas looks like he’s trying to read Dean’s mind.
“You’re very surprising,” Cas murmurs lowly, eyes trailing over Dean’s face, his hair, his jaw and back up to his eyes.
Dean smiles. “What you see is what you get,” he says with a half shrug.
Cas continues to stare at him, eyes roving. Dean can almost see his brain working behind the blue irises. “No,” says Cas in reply. “No, I don’t think so.”
Dean feels uncomfortable now, under Cas’ eyes, like they’re seeing too far into him, into who he pretends to be and what he pretends he needs to get by. He’s just about to make a smart-ass comment when Cas moves and they’re kissing again.
He gets his hands down the back of Cas’ pants and really wishes he had the foresight to get them undone first because he doesn't’ want to abandon the supple skin under his hands now. Cas’ hands tug Dean’s shirt out of his pants and with a deceptively quick and ruthless motion, Cas rips it open, sending some buttons flying.
It’s both sexy and funny and Dean laughs into Castiel’s mouth.
“I would have taken it off if you asked,” he murmurs against Cas lips.
“It was in the way,” Castiel answers back simply.
Dean laughs again and hopes his pants fare better than his button-down just did. He’s pretty glad he’s got a t-shirt on underneath. He’ll at least have something that wasn’t ripped open to wear in the morning.
Castiel mouths at Dean’s neck and he obligingly tips his head back, baring it for Cas, feeling the rough drag of Cas’ stubble against his own. Cas’ deft fingers are slipping under Dean’s t-shirt and pulling it up and over his head. There’s a dizzying moment when Dean’s encased in fabric and darkness and then Cas’ lips are on his neck again and Dean wants to purr like a cat.
“You, uh,” Dean stammers, “you got a bed around here somewhere?”
Castiel pulls back and does his freaky staring thing again and Dean works hard not to fidget.
“Don’t you?” Dean manages, feeling pinned by Castiel’s gaze.
Cas’ hands slide down Dean’s arms, land on his hips and he jerks Dean away from the wall and turns him, walking him backward out of the study. Dean tries hard not to stumble, fights the urge to turn around and look where he’s going, but he manages to let Cas direct him down a short hall and into his bedroom.
It’s dark, the only illumination coming from the open door and the lights in the study filtering hazily down the hall. Dean kinda wishes he could stop and turn some lights on - he’s always been a lights on kind of guy - but Cas has already got him backed up against the bed and tumbling down on it. He pulls Cas down on top of him and when he slips his hands under Cas’ shirt, Cas freezes again, like he did before. He pulls back slightly, kneeling partially on the bed, and takes off the overshirt he’s wearing, leaving him in a plain white tank.
“This,” Castiel says, his voice hesitant and strange - something in it Dean’s never heard before. “This stays on,” he finishes, tugging slightly at the tank.
As he tugs at it, Dean sees the top of the scars peeking out over the edge of fabric and he suddenly gets it. He sits up a bit, reaches for Cas, runs his hands over Cas’ hip.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Cas still seems unsure, his gaze slightly wary until Dean grins at him and leans forward a bit more, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Cas’ pants.
“But these,” Dean says, his grin widening, “these really should come off.”
They pull and tug at their own pants, at each other’s pants and Dean manages to get Cas down on the bed and under him and it’s fantastic. He wishes the press of soft fabric against his chest was the press of skin but he’s not about to suggest anything that Cas is uncomfortable with. He maps Castiel’s body with his fingers, his lips, mouthing over Cas’ collar bone, dipping his tongue into Cas’ clavicle. Cas hands are strong, firm against Dean’s flesh - fingers pressing into Dean’s glutes, pulling him harder against Cas’ hips as they rock and thrust against each other. Dean sucks on Cas’ lower lip and then pulls back, a soft sucking sound when his mouth breaks its seal against Cas’.
“Can I…?” Dean starts and then trails off. It’s dark, but his eyes have adjusted. Cas is staring up at him, body undulating beneath him and Dean wants so badly. Cas’ erection is pressing into his hip, his own cock thick and hard - his balls tight and heavy. “Do you…” he starts again and his words trail off on a groan as Cas’ hips jerk up quick. He bites his lip and drops his head against Cas’ neck, breathing in the scent of him, hearing Cas breathe in his ear and say his name.
Castiel noses against Dean’s ear for a second and then one of his hands disappears and Dean feels Cas’ body stretch and strain beneath him as Cas reaches over to his nightstand and slides on of the drawers open. A quick glance shows Dean exactly what he needs.
“Is this… I mean… Okay?” he manages.
The cords in Cas neck flex and strain as he lifts his head to catch Dean’s lips in a hard, wet kiss, tongue sweeping into Dean’s mouth hotly before he pulls back and shifts again under Dean, this time turning onto his stomach. Dean has to exhale hard and grasp the base of his cock at the sight of Cas’ stretching out underneath him, bringing one knee up and out to the side, and then looking over his shoulder at Dean, eyes lidded. His shoulder blades are sharp pyramids underneath the soft cotton fabric of his shirt, his shoulders rounding out nicely to his arms. His waist is lean and the dip at the small of his back is just…
Dean leans forward and mouths at the soft skin right above the swell of Cas’ buttocks, taking a moment to map the area with his tongue. Cas lets out a long sigh of pleasure and Dean’s lips press against Cas’ skin in a smile. Dean sits back on his heels and fumbles in the unfamiliar drawer. He tries not to take his eyes off Cas but after grabbing a pen twice and poking the sharp corner of a book under his nail once, he curses and has to peer inside to see the contents.
Cas laughs at him and then takes the finger that Dean impaled on the book cover and sucks on it slowly. It shoots straight to Dean’s dick and his hips jerk unconsciously.
“This is going to be over real quick if you keep that up,” Dean says, voice rough and low. Castiel gives Dean’s finger one more dirty swipe of his tongue and then lets it go.
He’s quick prepping Castiel - quicker than he’d like to be but the sounds Cas is making - the sighs, the groans, the long drawn out way he says Dean’s name - are pushing Dean to the edge and he’s just a little nervous that this will all be over before it starts.
And then he’s pushing into Cas and Cas reaches behind and clutches at him. Cas presses his face to the mattress and moans longingly as Dean pushes into him slowly. The angle is not for harsh, quick thrusts; Cas is still on his stomach on the mattress, leg frogged out to the side. But it’s fantastic for a slow, luscious fuck and that’s what Dean tries to do. Tries to push in deep and firm and then pull out slow and lazily even though every muscle, every fiber in his body is screaming at him to grab Cas’ hips as hard as he can and just thrust.
He can hear Cas saying his name over and over interspersed with breathless ‘yeses’ and gasps and Dean wants to keep fucking Cas like this forever. Wants to feel the drag of his skin against Cas’, hear Cas breathing hard, hear his own heart thudding madly in his ears, but his body starts winning - pushing in harder, pulling out faster. Cas groans and grunts, his hands fisting into the sheets, urging him on saying ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘please’ and each one of them goes through Dean like a shot of lightening.
Dean reaches a hand under Cas and hauls him up to his knees and Cas braces his head and forearms on the mattress as Dean starts slamming into him. He can still hear Cas repeating his name, can hear himself saying Cas’ name as he thrusts, trying to get as deep as he can. He grasps Cas’ hard length in his hand and starts jacking him off to the rhythm of his thrusting and fuck, he’s not going to make it. He can feel his balls tightening up, can feel his orgasm pooling in his spine - bubbling and roiling, spilling through his groin and his blood is on fire.
Cas shifts a bit underneath him, knees going out wider and on Dean’s next thrust, Cas shouts Dean’s name and Dean tries to keep the same angle, thrust the same way and manages to wring out four more shouts from Cas before he feels Cas’ body tighten up and then Cas is coming and it’s hot and wet over Dean’s hand and so tight around his cock and Dean manages half of one more thrust before he’s coming too. His breath locks up in his lungs and his hips jerk with tiny thrusts and fuck he never wants it to end and he tries to chase it as it tapers off, leaving him gasping for air, head resting against the dry fabric of Cas’ shirt.
He rests there for a moment, forehead against Cas’ back, feeling Cas’ lungs expand and contract as he catches his breath. Dean spans his hands over Cas’ waist, rubs small circles with his thumbs over his back, trying to catch his own breath. He indulges himself in a few more inhales, breathing in the scent of Cas and Cas’ shirt - a heady combination of sex, clean sweat and laundry detergent - before pulling out carefully, slowly, and getting up on shaky legs. He wobble-walks to the bathroom, discarding the condom and getting a washcloth from Cas’ pristine laundry pile on a shelf and cleans himself of quickly and efficiently. He tries not to curse when he stumbles over their clothing on his way back to the bed in the dark.
He ends up tripping and falls the last few steps, landing on the bed with a thud and making the whole think shimmy and shake.
“I had imagined you much more suave and seductive,” Cas says, his voice well-fucked out and low. He’s turned himself over on the bed, seemingly unabashed at his partial nudity. He’s loose-limbed and relaxed, head on the pillow, arms haphazardly at his side, cock resting soft and almost vulnerable against his leg.
Dean manages a wry grin at himself as he gives Cas’ body a few swipes with the washcloth before making a motion to chuck it off to the side. Cas snatches it from him deftly and overhands it over to the closet where it lands easily in his laundry basket.
“I’m suave,” Dean protests, kneeling over Cas and bending down to kiss him lushly on the lips. “Seductive,” he whispers, his lips moving over Cas’ jaw and then he noses at Cas’ ear a bit.
Cas surrenders to the attention in a simple, unhindered way, baring his neck for Dean and relaxing further into the pillows. Dean’s chest clenches at the sight and he brackets Cas with his elbows, lowering his upper body down to rest against Cas’. The feel of cotton instead of warm skin is not what he’s used to, but he likes it. He likes the heat of Cas’ body, the way he’s all noodle-relaxation and supine skin.
Dean’s never really been for ‘after-play’, he thinks - not until now. He’s generally all for foreplay because it leads up to the big event and hey, the big event is pretty fucking nice. But at times, he’s also been known to leap-frog right over foreplay, provided everyone’s on board with that idea.
But this… this is completely out of his normal repertoire. He’s running his lips over Cas’ stubble, not even really kissing him, just learning the texture of his face. He can feel Cas’ long, deft fingers running over Dean’s back, down to cup his ass and back up again. Dean feels sleepy and kind of dreamy, oddly content to stay in a bizarre, slightly uncomfortable position of half-crouching over Cas while he runs his nose against the soft lobe of Cas’ ear and then across Cas’ cheek and then against Cas’ nose.
“I saw a cat like you once, in the pet store,” Cas murmurs. He’s falling asleep even as Dean nuzzles him and the drowsy, slightly dopey look on his face makes Dean want to nuzzle him even more. “He was scrappy, standoffish until this little girl picked him up and then he rubbed his face all over her.”
“‘m not a cat,” Dean says, kissing Cas on the lips once, and then again. He should totally be offended by that. Those are almost fighting words.
“He was a very handsome cat,” Cas adds, apropos of nothing.
“Mm-hmm.” Dean’s knees and arms finally make their displeasure at their awkward position well-known and he shifts and stretches out on his side next to Cas. Castiel turns slightly toward Dean and it’s effortless for Dean to wrap his arm around Cas’ waist and tug him a little closer. He hitches up one of his legs and swings that over Cas too, effectively trapping him with his body to the bed. Cas lets out a kind of sigh, his eyes blinking shut drowsily and Dean has this urge to pull him even closer.
So he does.
He should get up. He shouldn’t stay. He should get dressed, call a cab or catch a bus or just fucking walk. He shouldn’t be curled up in Cas’ bed, eyes getting heavy, body feeling weighted and sleepy.
Cas is an FBI agent. He has a real badge and a registered gun. He puts his laundry in the laundry basket and probably uses fabric softener. He pays utility bills and buys groceries - probably eats vegetables and free range chicken or some shit like that. He doesn’t live out of a duffle bag, in run down motel rooms. He doesn’t drive from state to state, endless city after endless city hunting things that go bump in the night. He doesn’t dodge law enforcement at every turn.
He is law enforcement.
Dean should get up. He should ignore the way Cas has turned his face into Dean’s neck, his nose almost touching Dean’s skin, each exhale creating a hot, slightly damp patch, each inhale making feeling a little cool. He should slide out of bed without waking Cas - he’s good enough at it that it wouldn't be a problem - get dressed and walk out the door.
Instead he manages to hook one of the bed blankets with his foot and then reaches down to grab at it, pulling it over them both.
***
These strange dreams are almost normal to Castiel now. He’s sure it’s just his subconscious’ way of dealing with all the information he’s been taking in lately regarding supernatural creatures and Enochian translations. Like a giant computer, his brain is cataloging and organizing the information and it only makes sense that the result would be a strange mish-mash of lore, myth and reality.
He just wishes he didn’t find them increasingly disturbing.
They are back in the deserted house where Uriel tried to open his portal to hell.
Where Uriel tried to kill him.
Castiel is stretched out again on the altar, arms and legs bound. Uriel stands above him with the knife he used to carve symbols into Castiel’s chest. He runs his thumb over the blade of the knife, wincing slightly when it slices the soft skin open.
“Brother, I’m sorry it came to this.”
“We are not brothers,” Castiel says.
“Brothers in arms. Comrades. We’ve shared much over the years.”
“We’ve shared nothing but lies and duplicity,” Castiel replies and Uriel sighs.
“I suppose you would see it that way.”
“What other way can I see it?”
“There is a purpose to what I’m trying to do here, brother. A noble purpose.”
“How can it possibly be noble for you to kill me?”
“Is it any better that the world is falling into chaos? Into anarchy? Without God present, there is no order, no structure. We need a ruler, a leader, to call us to arms, to unite us.”
It baffles Castiel at times that Uriel could have been so blinded, so misled, and Castiel never saw it.
There is a sound from the corner and both men turn and look. Dean stands off to one side, bathed in an unnatural light, looking like some kind of vicious savior with his torn jeans, bloodied knife of his own and dark expression.
Castiel blinks and Dean is suddenly beside him, cutting his right arm free.
Uriel is gone.
“He sought to make me his key,” Castiel says to Dean, his own words sounding strange and unusual - the words of dreams.
“Well, it’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Dean says with a shrug, leaning over Castiel’s body to free his left hand. “The thing about keys is, anyone can use them.”
Castiel can feel his eyebrows come together in a frown. Dean helps him off the altar and he stands on shaky legs. Dean’s arms come around him, warm and secure.
“I don’t understand.”
Castiel feels the motion of Dean’s shoulders, of his back, as he shrugs. He pulls Castiel close, their chests pressed against one another - Cas’ scarred and bleeding one to Dean’s cotton-covered one. Castiel wants to curl away, aware that he’s bleeding all over Dean, imprinting him with a reverse stain of the symbols on his chest. Dean’s arms tighten around Castiel, keeping him close. “Keys are pretty neutral. Open a lock, close a lock. The key doesn’t care.”
“But I’m not just a key,” Castiel protests. Dean turns his head and Castiel can feel Dean’s soft lips against the cartilage of his ears, can hear the inhale and exhale of Dean breathing.
“No, you’re not.”
He awakes with a start, arms and legs jerking sharply. He immediately feels something constrict around him and his first response is to start struggling, trying to pull away.
“Easy, Cas, you’re okay, you’re fine.”
It takes him another moment to recognize Dean’s voice, close in his ear, just like it was in the dream. He forces his body to relax and takes stock of where he is.
He’s safe, in his bedroom in his bed. Dean is curled up behind him, arm slung over him, his chest pressed up against Castiel’s back. He can feel the naked warm length of Dean’s body against his own, Dean’s knees behind his, Dean’s thighs against the back of his legs. He relaxes a bit more, minute movements of his muscles, letting himself sink back into bed.
“I was dreaming,” he says simply, not sure what else to add.
“I got that much,” Dean replies, his voice low and deep. “About what?”
Castiel doesn’t say anything at first, not sure he wants to answer truthfully but not able to think of anything quickly enough to fill the silence. He can feel Dean breathing easily, his chest rising and falling softly as he waits.
“Uriel. You. That night.”
Dean doesn’t offer any platitudes or meaningless comfort. He hums a bit, a sort of affirmative ‘hmmm’ sound. Castiel feels his thumb rub along the seam of the shirt he’s still wearing.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Castiel says bluntly and feels Dean chest huff with laughter.
“Way to make a guy feel welcome, Cas.” Dean’s tone is wry and amused.
Castiel shifts and manages to flip himself over, onto his back. Dean props himself up on an elbow, dropping his head into his open palm.
“I would have thought that I made my feelings on your presence well known last night.”
Dean’s eyes rake over him and Castiel stares openly back in return.
“I guess you did,” Dean murmurs. He starts to lean in, somewhat hesitant, like he’s not sure what Castiel’s response will be. Castiel is amazed that there is anything unsure or tentative about Dean. He reaches out, threads one hand around Dean’s neck, fingers slipping up into the short hair at his nape and pulls him closer. He kisses Dean as deep as he can manage, loving the feeling of Dean’s tongue wet and slick against his own. Dean shifts his weight, lining his body up on top of Castiel, matching their hips together. Castiel rocks his hips up, slowly, gently and Dean matches his movement, licking at Castiel’s mouth. Castiel has to break the kiss to breathe, his lungs needing more oxygen and he has to see Dean. He stares up at him, eyes wide, unblinking and when Dean makes a movement to dip back down to kiss him again Cas stops him.
“No, like this. I want to see you.”
Dean blushes and looks slightly uncomfortable - a small, embarrassed smile touching his lips, but he doesn't stop, doesn't try to lean down again. Castiel thinks of them last night, thinks of how Dean fucked him deep and slow at first and then harder and faster. Dean rocks against him now, their cocks rubbing against each other, the smell of sex in the air and he watches Dean’s eyes, his face. Watches as his mouth opens slightly more, feels him gasp for air, feels his body start to tighten against Castiel’s.
Dean’s face is open and rapturous and Cas never wants to stop looking at him. Dean stills for a moment and Castiel is fascinated by the way his eyes crinkle at the corner a bit, the way he sucks his own lip between his teeth and bites down hard and then he feels Dean come hot and wet against his stomach and Dean’s eyes finally close, his face stunning and euphoric.
“You’re beautiful,” Castiel gasps and then he feels his own orgasm overtake him, his hips pushing up against Dean and he comes with a sigh, feeling warm and weighted down by Dean’s body.
He cradles Dean as he slumps down and to the side a bit, wanting him close, reveling in the feeling of Dean’s body limp and relaxed against his own. Dean sighs against Castiel’s neck and Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s hair.
“Let’s never leave this bed,” Dean mumbles.
“It will be difficult to procure supplies from here,” Cas says absently, fingers threading through Dean’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly.
“I don’t care. Make it happen.”
Castiel feels a smile tugging at his own lips at Dean’s lazy tone. “Maybe your brother will bring us food.”
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean says and rolls away from Castiel and paws at the floor for something. Castiel side feels cold and chilled without the warm press of Dean against him.
Dean’s back a moment later, scrubbing his face with one hand and checking his phone with the other. He flops down on the bed again, against Castiel and Cas feels the brief panic that surged up recede.
Dean makes no motion to hide the phone’s screen from Cas as he reads and Cas unashamedly reads the messages over his shoulder.
Sooooooo u got a ride from Cas?
And when I say ride I mean actual drive.
I want no details. Let me know ure alive and leave it at that.
Srsly no details!
Dean smirks and Castiel watches his fingers type quickly on the phone. “I’m tempted to scar him for life, but it’s a little too easy with that boy,” Dean says.
At Cas’. Am fine.
He flicks the phone off and tosses it down on the pile of clothes on the floor. “What do you have for food in here?”
Castiel raises and lowers one shoulder as he thinks. He’s not sure the last time he went grocery shopping. He stumbles out of bed, thinking to head for the kitchen but at the sticky feeling on his skin decides to head for the shower first. Without a word, he grabs Dean’s fingers and pulls him along, leading him to the bathroom.
“Sexy shower time,” Dean says with a grin. “I like.”
Cas flicks on the shower and then stops stock still as he realizes he has to take his shirt off to get in. It’s ridiculous for him to be standing there in his undershirt and nothing else but the coverage it offers more than makes up for how foolish he feels. He’s got Dean’s fingers in one hand and the hem of his shirt in the other and doesn’t know what to do.
“You know, I should probably call Sammy. See if Bobby’s touched base with him and make sure that nothing weird happened last night,” Dean says and his tone is so casual and incidental that Castiel could almost believe that Dean didn’t notice the fact that Cas is standing there like a mannequin, half facing the shower, conflicted about what to do. Like it wasn’t completely obvious that he was suddenly uncomfortable.
Dean tugs his fingers free from Castiel’s grip and heads back into the bedroom.
“Dean,” Castiel calls, voice low and soft. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t turn around but he swears he can hear Dean’s smile. “You can thank me after I make breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”
Dean pulls the door shut behind him and Castiel is left alone in the bathroom. He can finally tug his shirt off and he feels doubly naked with out when he sees the familiar scars on his fair skin framed by beard-burn on his neck and a little on his shoulder.
His shower is quick, perfunctory and he’s wrapped in his bathrobe and back out in his bedroom in minutes. Dean’s on the bed, sheet casually draped over him, on the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll get some pics of what Cas has translated and maybe send an email or something off to Bobby.” Dean looks up at him and winks boyishly and all Castiel can do is stare at him. The lines of Dean’s face are incredible. Proportioned and cut without being overly angular or sharp. Castiel wants to stare at him endlessly, trying to figure out the exact proportions of his face. “We can meet up for lunch or something and see what’s up and where we’re at.” Dean listens for a moment and then rolls his eyes. “What did I tell you about that Dr. Phil crap? Jesus, I’d kick your ass but my dad told me not to hit girls.” Dean pauses again, then rolls his eyes again at what he hears and hangs up without saying goodbye. He tosses his phone down and rolls off the bed easily, wearing his boxers from yesterday.
“Is everything all right with your brother?” Castiel asks.
“Yeah, he just… likes to pretend he’s a tele-shrink or something,” Dean says with a shake of his head and Castiel wonders what it was that Sam was saying to Dean. Dean leans into his space and kisses him quick on the lips once and then passes by him heading into the bathroom. Castiel hears the water start up and takes the opportunity to get dressed quickly, knowing he won’t be seen.
He feels like he’s got his armor on again once he’s safely clothed in his usual attire of an undershirt and a button down over top. The scars are much better than they were but the angry red of them still stands out sharply on his chest and he wonders if he’ll ever have a day when he doesn’t think of them. He doesn’t consider himself vain and he’s been scarred in the line of duty before - a bullet graze on one of his arms, a knife wound on his hip - but there’s something so precise and… insidious about the sigils.
Malevolent.
He tries to push them out of his head as he hears the shower stop. He belatedly realizes that perhaps Dean would like some privacy as well and nearly scurries out of his bedroom to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
He surveys the meager offerings of his fridge and sighs somewhat forlornly at the contents. By the time Dean comes out of his bedroom - hair darkly damp, sharp and pointy at the ends - Castiel has made buttered toast and set it out on the table with two mostly empty jam jars.
“Hey, I thought I was going to make you scrambled eggs?” Dean said, sitting down at the table and stuffing a whole piece of toast in his mouth.
Castiel puts a cup of coffee in front of him and raises an eyebrow while offering a can of powdered creamer. Dean shakes his head and swishes back some of his toast with black coffee.
“That would necessitate me having eggs, I’m afraid,” Castiel replies, snagging his own piece of toast and trying to decide between the dregs of the strawberry jam or the dregs of the apricot jelly.
“Not much for groceries, huh,” Dean asks, snatching the apricot jelly out from under Cas’ fingertips with a smile.
“No.” Castiel ponders the question for a moment. “Buying groceries is a tiresome chore.”
Dean snorts in laughter. “I wouldn’t exactly know.”
“Do you tire of it?” asks Cas, thinking of Dean’s life on the road, the endless stream of motel rooms and diners.
Dean takes another hot sip of his coffee and Castiel can tell he’s not so much thinking about his answer as thinking about how to phrase it.
“Been doing it so long, I don’t know how to do anything else.”
Castiel nods at Dean’s words. He thinks he understands. He’s about to ask Dean another question when his cell phone rings from the bedroom. It takes him a few rings to get up and retrieve it, noting it’s another FBI number calling him as he does.
“Novak,” he answers.
“Castiel, it’s Rachel. Listen, I know you’re just back to active duty and… well, it’s pretty much a given they won’t give you this case anyway due to the circumstances but I thought you should know.”
“What are you referring to, Rachel?” Castiel asks, meeting Dean’s inquisitive eyes from the kitchen table.
“We’ve got a body,” Rachel starts, her voice somewhat hesitant. “It’s been… well, the same thing that was done to you was done to it, to him I mean.”
“Uriel,” Castiel says lowly and at the name, Dean stands up and steps closer to Cas. Cas holds a few fingers over the phone, “A body has been found… similar to… what was done to me.” He tips the phone so that Dean can hear Rachel as well. Dean leans in close to him, the sudden heat of him making Castiel realize he’s gone cold.
“Looks like,” Rachel continues. “This guy wasn’t so lucky to have an eleventh hour intervention. He bled out.”
“Where are you?” asks Castiel. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Dean’s expression - grim and serious.
“East village, Lealand street. In the old King Phillip hotel, the one they’re tearing down for condos. Second floor. Same set up as the farm house where you were found. Symbols, carvings… hoping to hell that’s animal blood all over the walls but not holding out too much hope.”
“I am on my way,” Castiel replies and Dean makes a motion with his hands and mouths the words ‘we’re on the way.’ Castiel shakes his head once and Dean’s eyes narrow.
Oblivious to the exchange, Rachel continues, “I’ll tell the beat cops to let you in. You’re not officially on this case but I figured… well.”
“I appreciate it, Rachel. Thank you.”
He hangs up and Dean’s already talking, heading to the front door and stuffing his feet in his shoes.
“We’re going with you. Me and Sam.”
Castiel shakes his head. “You’re wanted by the authorities, Dean. Accompanying me is remarkably stupid.”
Dean grins confidently. “No one is gonna look twice at us, you watch.”
***
They’d ended up waiting for Sam to come get them from Cas’ apartment, Dean making ‘get out of the car’ gestures with his hands as soon as he pulled up. With a roll of his eyes, Sam relinquishes the driver seat to Dean.
“‘nother body?” Sam asks, getting into the passenger side.
Dean slides into the driver side of his baby, feeling the urge to check her over for dents, scratches and iPods after Sam’s been at the wheel. “Ya, one of Cas’ fed buddies called.”
Cas gets into the backseat, sitting somewhat awkwardly. Dean adjusts the mirror a bit so he can get a better view of Cas, straight-backed and solemn in the reflection. He hears Sam snicker at him.
“What?” Dean scowls.
“Nothing,” Sam says with a laugh, shaking his head.
Thanks to Cas’ precise directions, they’re at the crime scene less than thirty minutes later. Dean pulls a spare sport jacket out of the trunk to match Sam’s business casual attire and Cas’ suit. He tucks his fake badge in one of the inside pockets and, feeling Cas’ eyes on him, turns to face him.
“I would reiterate that it would be a better idea for me to go in alone,” Cas says lowly.
“Look, I get that you’re… worried or whatever. But trust me, Sammy and I can handle ourselves. Feds at a crime scene are usually too busy taking notes and doing their jobs to notice other feds.”
“But you’re not other feds. You’re criminals.”
Dean glances around, feeling his heart thud, but thankfully, the real feds are all inside the building and no one seems to be about.
“Jesus, Cas, a little louder next time, so all the cops can hear you.”
Castiel frowns. “You know what I mean.”
Dean glares at Sam who jerks slightly and then seems to realize that Dean wants to discuss something with Cas alone.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll… uh.. Well,” is all Sam manages before taking a few steps away.
Dean takes Cas’ elbow and turns him slightly, putting his back to his brother.
“I told you, you don't have to worry about us and frankly, we’re better suited to being here than you. We see this kind of stuff a lot.”
“As do I, Dean.”
Dean makes a kind of ‘yeah but’ gesture and then follows up with the actual words. “Yeah, but usually, you’re not a-”
“I’m not a victim,” Castiel interrupts.
Dean winces because that’s exactly what he was going to say but from the cold look in Cas’ eyes he clearly has baggage with that word.
“Hey, man, I wasn’t going to say that you were. As involved. I was going to say normally you’re not as involved.”
Cas’ eyes kind of drift over Dean’s shoulder to the building and Dean thinks that maybe he might be getting somewhere but then Cas seems to harden his jaw slightly and turn back to Dean.
“We’re wasting time,” Cas says and steps past Dean, past Sam and enters the building, leaving them both behind. Sam wisely keeps his lips zipped as Dean adjusts the cuffs of his coat, steels his own jaw and follows behind.
True to Dean’s word before, the other agents, the real agents, take no note of Dean and Sam - they are just additional suits in a room full of agents.
Most of them take notice of Cas though.
Dean’s not sure if Cas notices how the other agents are watching him. He’s sure that the details of Uriel’s betrayal were the topic of many meetings, water cooler gatherings and idle chit chat. It’s not every day that an FBI agent takes one of his own and carves him up. A few conversations dry up as soon as Cas enters the scene of the crime. If Dean and Sam had been worried about being spotted it would have been a moot point as soon as Cas arrived.
Cas’ expression never changes as he enters the room, his eyes taking in the surroundings, somehow bypassing actually looking at the agents and instead cataloguing everything else. Dean watches as Cas goes immediately to the bloodiest spot in the room where a body is covered by a red-spattered sheet. Cas looks down at the symbology on the floor and then he tilts his head upward.
Dean sees the sigils on the ceiling above the body, the same as the ones that were above Cas when the Winchesters busted in and saved him. Cas kneels at the body, crouching down and Dean wants to rush forward and stop him, yank Cas back before he can pull back the sheet covering the body.
But he can’t draw attention to himself and he’s too late anyway.
Cas has already pulled the sheet up, his eyes flicking over the body beneath quickly at first and then… lingering for a moment.
He drops the sheet and Dean feels like he can breathe again. He feels like he’s able to move when Sam steps toward Castiel, following his brother.
“It is the same,” intones Cas lowly, somewhat unnecessarily. They knew before they arrived that it would be the same thanks to Rachel’s call but somehow, having it confirmed is still a blow. Cas steps away from the body toward an unoccupied corner and like he’s a gravity well, Dean feels compelled to follow him.
Castiel turns his intense blue gaze on Dean. “How do we know if it worked?” he asks.
Dean frowns. “What? You mean Uriel’s plan?”
“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes dart back and forth between Dean and Sam. “Has a portal been opened?”
Dean turns to his brother who unhelpfully shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says.
Castiel purses his lips together. “There would be signs, wouldn’t there? Some sort of disturbance?”
Again, Dean and Sam exchange glances and finally Sam pulls out his cell phone. “I’m gonna call Bobby and see if he’s got anything,” he says, stepping away from Dean and Cas to another area of the room, already dialing the number.
Dean waits for him to be a bit further away and then glances around to make sure no one’s in direct earshot.
“You okay?” he asks.
Castiel looks past Dean, over his shoulder to where the corpse is lying.
“I’m fine,” he replies, not looking at Dean.
“Really? How ‘bout you look me in the face when you say that?”
Cas’ eyes flick to Dean immediately. “I’m fine.”
Dean wants to curse. “Works in the movies,” he mutters. “I’m just… you know, it must be rough. Seeing that guy there.”
Cas is again staring over Dean’s shoulder, looking up to the ceiling and the floor, reading the symbols. “I’ve seen similar and much worse in my duties before.”
Jesus, thinks Dean, he suddenly gets why Sammy is always so frustrated with him when Sam’s trying to talk about something and Dean just refuses to. “Yeah, I get that. It’s just. You know, this one hits a little close to home.”
Cas’ eyes come back to Dean again. “I’m fine,” he says for the umpteenth time and Dean makes a vow to never say that to Sammy again.
Or at least this week.
Castiel suddenly steps past Dean and starts talking with another fed, asking if the coroner has already taken preliminary samples for a toxicology report and then following up by asking who the agent in charge is.
Dean can’t really follow him. If they hadn’t already been in this town and already fingerprinted and made by the feds it would be one thing. But they’re known. Sure he feels perfectly safe being a guy at a crime scene playing the role of just another fed doing his job, but it’s another thing to go up and start getting in people’s faces, having conversations and possibly being noticed.
He and Sam can’t take that kind of chance after they’ve already been noticed by local enforcement.
Sam sidles up to him casually, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
“What’s the word?” Dean asks, watching Cas move through the room speaking to agents. A lot of them seem to be a little nervous talking to him - their eyes flicking from the corpse on the ground to Cas and back again.
“Bobby says nothing strange about last night.”
“Really? All right,” Dean mumbles. “Gotta be good news, right?”
He can see Sam make a hesitant gesture out of the corner of his eye and he finally shifts his gaze from Cas to Sam.
“What?”
“We gotta get some good shots of the scene and the…” Sam hesitates and gestures to the body. “The… victim,” he finally finishes. “Bobby’s concerned about why there was no… disturbances.”
“What? Why? No news is good news.”
Again Sam hesitates. “In the grand scheme of things, yeah. No news is good. But… we need to figure out why.”
It takes Dean about three seconds to process that statement. “Wha-? Oh fuck.” He feels his stomach roll over and he again looks for Cas in the room, finding him standing with three other agents, two women and a man, by the entrance.
Sam grimaces. “Yeah. It could be the whole ceremony is bullshit from the get go or…”
“Or it could be the way our boy Uriel set it up…” Dean doesn’t even want to finish his thought.
“It will only work with Castiel now,” Sam finishes, staring at Castiel himself.
Dean can hear the grinding sound his teeth make as he clenches his jaw. “Motherfucker,” he curses.
“Well, if that’s the case,” starts Sam, “at least we can be pretty sure Uriel’s still in town.”
“Yeah,” Dean grouses. “And gunning for Cas.”
Cas is making his way back to them looking as somber and serious as he ever does. It’s completely inappropriate but Dean’s heart gives a few extra thumps watching Cas deftly make his way through the room.
“I have just spoken with some fellow agents and it turns out the local police have been inundated with a stream of missing persons in the last two weeks. The victim here was one of them,” Cas says, inclining his head toward the body. He glances around slightly and then moves a little further into the corner, placing his hand on Dean’s elbow and pulling him along and indicating with his eyes that Sam should follow. Once they are tucked into a corner, he continues. “It occurs to me that Uriel would have needed more bodies to host… well. To host,” Castiel finishes.
“What you mean the demons?” Dean asks lowly and Castiel nods once. Dean can see Sam nodding out of the corner of his eye as well.
“Yes. Two of the previous hosts are dead. Suicide. The remainder are still heavily involved in the legal proceedings as defendants. Uriel would be foolish to use them.”
“Too conspicuous,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Exactly,” agrees Castiel. “I believe you said it was demon possession. It seems likely that this recent string of missing persons is the result of those demons taking new hosts.”
“Shit,” Dean replies. He looks up at Sam whose face looks like Dean feels - a little sick and grim. Sam finally tilts his head a bit and speaks.
“The good news is, that much demon activity leaves traces or energy.”
Castiel turns to Dean seeking confirmation of this statement and Dean nods. “Yeah. Bringing a bunch of hell-suckers to one place tends to light up the supernatural world with a big spot light.”
“How do we make use of that? Is there a person we need to contact or some kind of spell or ritual we can use?”
“We can call Bobby again. See if there’s a local psychic that he knows of around these parts. Someone who’s probably already familiar with the way the energy of the town is laid out,” Sam says.
Dean looks at Cas and smiles. “If you’re a good little agent, we’ll even pony up and get your tarot cards read.”
The wry look Castiel gives him in return makes Dean’s heart give another few thumps again. He can feel his grin split wider.
“C’mon Cas, let’s get thee to the psychic.”
***
On to Part 5
Back to part 3
Dean’s gonna open a can of whoop-ass on his brother.
Sam had texted Dean saying that he’d taken the car to go check them into a motel, but he was sure Dean could get a ride with Castiel.
And then he’d added one of those stupid winky faces.
Dean’s going to kill him.
Sure, he likes Cas. In that general ‘dude’s a good guy’ kind of way.
And maybe he’s had some… thoughts about some… extracurricular activities with the guy.
Whatever.
It’s not any of his sasquatch brother’s business.
Dean had time to think about it on the car ride back into town and although the list of reason’s he and Cas are a bad idea is short, it’s compelling.
Cas is a fed.
Dean works… outside the law.
Cas is apparently on the straight and narrow.
Dean’s world is all about the crooked and ugly.
The car ride back to Cas’ place is mostly silent. Cas doesn’t seem to be a music kind of guy. Dean had flipped the radio on and couldn’t find any preset stations. No cds, no mp3 player. Nothing. Dean tries not to stare at Castiel’s long fingers or slight wrists as he turns the steering wheel to make a turn.
Normally he doesn’t put this much thought into things. If he likes someone and there’s an opportunity, he’ll sleep with them. Maybe that makes him promiscuous or maybe it makes him a ‘seize the day’ kind of man. Doesn’t matter. In his line of work, there’s not a lot of time for anything so you gotta grab things while the getting is good.
But with Cas…
It’s weird, because he’s gotten to know him. They’ve talked on the phone. Texted. Emailed. If Dean thinks about it, it might be the first time in his life that getting to know someone hadn’t consisted of only time spent in the sack.
He knows that Cas takes long pauses to think things over and won’t say something unless he’s sure. He knows that Cas sometimes doesn’t have dinner until late at night if he’s been at the office too long. He knows Cas is smart - able to teach himself a shitload of Enochian without assistance from Bobby. He knows there’s no time of day when Cas’ voice doesn’t sound sleep-roughened and deep, always like he just rolled out of bed.
But he also knows that Cas is not all that savvy when it comes to flirting.
If there’s one thing Dean is absolutely sure he’s good at, it’s flirting.
Cas seems somewhat… perplexed when Dean flirts. Hell, it’s a lot better than getting socked in the face, which has only happened to Dean twice (and that one time didn’t count - seriously, no one was that grabby when they were drunk unless they want to be grabbing something. Dean tries to steer clear of dudes that can’t admit what they like especially when what they like is other dudes, but sometimes one manages to slip through his radar).
With Cas, though, Dean’s spidey sense is confused. He’s pretty sure Cas likes him. Although he’s not sure if that translates into Cas likes him. When he’s talking to Cas on the phone, he gets the impression he has all of Cas’ attention, all his focus. Which may be just because of the case they are working regarding Uriel but maybe not. Cas talks to him about other stuff, asks him questions and Jesus this sounds like a chick flick moment, but Cas values Dean’s opinion and Dean’s knowledge. He listens when Dean talks.
Dean will chew off his own hand before saying any of this out loud.
So yeah, he’s pretty sure Cas likes him in a general sense. He just can’t figure out if he tried something if he’d get the response he’s hoping for.
He kinda doesn’t want to fuck up what they’ve got either. He likes talking to Cas. Likes hearing his brain work, figuring shit out. He likes being the guy that can answer Cas’ questions.
Cas steers the car deftly into a small space in an underground parking garage and they take the elevator up to the floor his apartment is on. Dean looks around as Cas lets him in. The furniture looks comfortable, the place is clean, but there’s not a lot of personal shit around - a degree on the wall, a few awards from the FBI and then, affixed with a thumbtack is a picture of Gabriel and Cas. Cas is in jeans and a sweater, Gabriel is in a leather jacket and leather chaps (and Christ Dean didn’t need to see that). They’re standing in front of a dilapidated building, Cas with his hands in his pockets, Gabriel doing some kind of complicated gesture with his hands. Dean flicks the picture and Cas looks over.
“What’s this from?” he asks - it’s the only personal item on the wall so he feels compelled to ask.
“Gabriel’s first club. It was… a distinct location.”
“Seedy joint?” Dean asks.
Castiel nods as he carefully takes off his shoes and coat. “Yes. Fortunately, he’s moved on since then. Gabriel once remarked I didn’t have any photos of him and he came over one day and tacked that up.”
Yeah, sounds like a brother thing to do, Dean thinks, thinking of all the shit he does to Sammy.
“You guys close?” Dean asks.
Castiel shrugs. “We are brothers. We know the best and worst of each other.”
Dean nods. “Yeah, I get that.” He feels a little weird standing there in his coat and shoes after watching Cas take off so he hurriedly kicks his own shoes off and drops his jacket on the floor.
“‘s nice place,” he says, looking around at the subdued tones. It’s nicer than most of places Dean’s been in since… well since he can remember.
“It suffices,” Castiel replies. He leads the way from the front door, past a sort of TV living area and small kitchen to a smaller room in the back. Cas flicks on two small lamps and the room is bathed in a gentle, yellowish light. It’s clearly an office with a desk that looks well used and a cork board with paper tacked to every square inch. It reminds Dean a lot of the case walls that he and Sam put together on their hunts.
Cas’ board is dedicated to Enochian, Phoenician, Greek, Latin, verses from biblical texts and ancient tomes. Dean immediately gravitates toward it and starts taking in the information, agreeing with Cas’ Greek and Latin on some translations but noting others for debate.
He pokes at one symbol immediately.
“This is one of the ones from… well, you,” Dean says awkwardly. It’s one of the symbols he remembers seeing carved into Cas’ chest. Bobby hasn’t had much luck with deciphering anything that was actually carved into Cas but Cas clearly has this one marked. He’s got it broken out into pie sections, each one with a notation next to it in what Dean’s sure is Enochian. He’s been learning from Bobby but unfortunately hunting doesn’t leave much time for him to devote to it.
He taps the paper. “What have you got here?” he asks.
http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Angel_Banishing_Sigil
Cas invades Dean’s personal space like he has no concept of the term, his fingers trailing over the drawing.
“Each symbol separately has its own unique meaning, of course, but when they are put together, such as they were on my chest, they also take on a comprehensive meaning that is … more than the sum of their individual translations. Also, the placement of the symbol in relation to the others gives it another layer of meaning. The symbols themselves are quite easy to translate, or at least, the general idea of them is. All of them have several… interpretations of translation but the main idea is the same. Here,” says Castiel, running his fingers to the first quadrant, one of the ‘N’ symbols, “is the symbol for allowance or permission. It is mirrored here,” Castiel points his finger to the other ‘N’ symbol. “This mirroring of the symbols, I believe, is representative of the two sides of the portal that Uriel was trying to open.”
“What about the one near the bottom?” Dean asks, pointing at the other ‘N’ symbol.
“Ah, that one I believe is actually a different symbol. Yes, it looks like an ‘n’ but if that is what they were trying to use it as, they wouldn’t have turned it on its side. I believe that one is the symbol for transmutation, in which one thing becomes another. Essentially, the transmutation of myself, a man, into a key. The key meant to open the portal.”
“What about the squiggly bits?” Dean asks, waving his hand in front of the other symbols.
“I am not sure. I’m still working on those.”
“You sent this to Bobby yet?” Dean asks, pulling out his phone and taking a snapshot.
He swears he can hear Cas frown. “No, not yet. I was hoping to get further along.”
Dean nods absently and when he turns around to say something, Cas is still right there, all in his space.
Normally, when someone is in your personal space and you turn and face them, they back off immediately.
Not Cas, apparently.
This close, in the low light of his office, Cas’ eyes are dark blue. He stares unabashedly at Dean and Dean can’t help but want to crack a deflective joke or make some self-deprecating remark under the scrutiny of Cas’ gaze.
He manages to keep his mouth shut and stay still.
Cas’ eyes sort of flicker over Dean’s face, as though he’s cataloguing or taking stock or… something. Dean’s not sure. He definitely feels as though he’s being measured somehow.
It’s slightly heady. Dean spends a lot of his life trying not to be noticed - trying to duck under the radar of the local authorities or sneak into a house or creep up on demons. But with Cas, it’s like he’s really being noticed, but there’s nothing negative or derogatory about it. It’s inquisition and curiosity.
The way Cas just stares at him with no ego, no hesitation, unrepentantly is…
Well, it’s pretty fucking sexy.
Dean licks his lips, almost nervously and Cas’ eyes dart down towards the movement and back up again to Dean’s eyes. Before he can think about it too much, Dean closes the minute distance between them and presses his lips against Castiel’s. Cas’ lips are slightly chapped, warm and dry and Dean freezes as he realizes he’s getting nothing back from Cas. No movement, no tilt of the head. Nothing.
He pulls back and Cas is still staring at him intently and Dean wants to fidget but forces himself still. He manages a wry smile. It’s fine. It’s all fine. He’ll make as good of an exit as he can and that’ll be that.
“Well, I guess I read this totally wrong,” he says, his voice low and a little shaky. “Uh, sorry.”
Cas still doesn’t move back or away from Dean. He tilts his head, birdlike. His eyes flick down to Dean’s lips again and then Cas is the one moving forward and Dean is a little unsure of what’s going on and then Cas’ lips are against his and this time it’s not some kind of chaste, ‘let me just try this out kiss’ like the one he’d been going for.
Cas is invading Dean’s space unapologetically and Dean finds himself pushed up against the cork board, his hands coming up and gripping Cas’ shoulders, his lips opening under Cas’ and then Cas’ tongue is in his mouth and it’s hot and wet and slick and fuck Cas has that whole sexy librarian thing going on with the uptight personality and repressed expressions and then this kiss underneath it all.
He’s a lot stronger than he looks. Dean wouldn’t have pegged him as all that muscular - and he’s not - but there’s a lean, leashed strength to him. He’s got Dean pressed up against the wall, his hands curling around Dean’s neck and Dean can’t keep his own hands still, clutching any place he can get a good grip on - arms, shoulders, back and then he’s grabbing Castiel’s hips and jerking him closer, pressing their groins together.
Dean starts tugging at Castiel’s shirt and Cas freezes for a moment, body going stock still, until Dean runs his hand under the shirt, up Castiel’s back. The skin on his back is smooth and hot. It’s been a while since Dean’s been with someone, longer still since that someone was a man. Dean had forgotten how men run hotter than women - how their muscles shift and move underneath their skin differently.
The kiss breaks and Cas is staring at Dean again, the same unblinking studying stare that Dean finds… well not nerve-wracking but… piercing. Like Cas can see past all of Dean’s bullshit. They’re both breathing hard, their hips pressed together and Dean can feel the hard length of Cas’ erection against his leg just as he’s sure Cas can feel his. There’s a subtle rock and sway of their bodies, both of them still shifting against one another. It’s almost careless and lazy, or at least it could be if not for the way Cas looks like he’s trying to read Dean’s mind.
“You’re very surprising,” Cas murmurs lowly, eyes trailing over Dean’s face, his hair, his jaw and back up to his eyes.
Dean smiles. “What you see is what you get,” he says with a half shrug.
Cas continues to stare at him, eyes roving. Dean can almost see his brain working behind the blue irises. “No,” says Cas in reply. “No, I don’t think so.”
Dean feels uncomfortable now, under Cas’ eyes, like they’re seeing too far into him, into who he pretends to be and what he pretends he needs to get by. He’s just about to make a smart-ass comment when Cas moves and they’re kissing again.
He gets his hands down the back of Cas’ pants and really wishes he had the foresight to get them undone first because he doesn't’ want to abandon the supple skin under his hands now. Cas’ hands tug Dean’s shirt out of his pants and with a deceptively quick and ruthless motion, Cas rips it open, sending some buttons flying.
It’s both sexy and funny and Dean laughs into Castiel’s mouth.
“I would have taken it off if you asked,” he murmurs against Cas lips.
“It was in the way,” Castiel answers back simply.
Dean laughs again and hopes his pants fare better than his button-down just did. He’s pretty glad he’s got a t-shirt on underneath. He’ll at least have something that wasn’t ripped open to wear in the morning.
Castiel mouths at Dean’s neck and he obligingly tips his head back, baring it for Cas, feeling the rough drag of Cas’ stubble against his own. Cas’ deft fingers are slipping under Dean’s t-shirt and pulling it up and over his head. There’s a dizzying moment when Dean’s encased in fabric and darkness and then Cas’ lips are on his neck again and Dean wants to purr like a cat.
“You, uh,” Dean stammers, “you got a bed around here somewhere?”
Castiel pulls back and does his freaky staring thing again and Dean works hard not to fidget.
“Don’t you?” Dean manages, feeling pinned by Castiel’s gaze.
Cas’ hands slide down Dean’s arms, land on his hips and he jerks Dean away from the wall and turns him, walking him backward out of the study. Dean tries hard not to stumble, fights the urge to turn around and look where he’s going, but he manages to let Cas direct him down a short hall and into his bedroom.
It’s dark, the only illumination coming from the open door and the lights in the study filtering hazily down the hall. Dean kinda wishes he could stop and turn some lights on - he’s always been a lights on kind of guy - but Cas has already got him backed up against the bed and tumbling down on it. He pulls Cas down on top of him and when he slips his hands under Cas’ shirt, Cas freezes again, like he did before. He pulls back slightly, kneeling partially on the bed, and takes off the overshirt he’s wearing, leaving him in a plain white tank.
“This,” Castiel says, his voice hesitant and strange - something in it Dean’s never heard before. “This stays on,” he finishes, tugging slightly at the tank.
As he tugs at it, Dean sees the top of the scars peeking out over the edge of fabric and he suddenly gets it. He sits up a bit, reaches for Cas, runs his hands over Cas’ hip.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Cas still seems unsure, his gaze slightly wary until Dean grins at him and leans forward a bit more, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Cas’ pants.
“But these,” Dean says, his grin widening, “these really should come off.”
They pull and tug at their own pants, at each other’s pants and Dean manages to get Cas down on the bed and under him and it’s fantastic. He wishes the press of soft fabric against his chest was the press of skin but he’s not about to suggest anything that Cas is uncomfortable with. He maps Castiel’s body with his fingers, his lips, mouthing over Cas’ collar bone, dipping his tongue into Cas’ clavicle. Cas hands are strong, firm against Dean’s flesh - fingers pressing into Dean’s glutes, pulling him harder against Cas’ hips as they rock and thrust against each other. Dean sucks on Cas’ lower lip and then pulls back, a soft sucking sound when his mouth breaks its seal against Cas’.
“Can I…?” Dean starts and then trails off. It’s dark, but his eyes have adjusted. Cas is staring up at him, body undulating beneath him and Dean wants so badly. Cas’ erection is pressing into his hip, his own cock thick and hard - his balls tight and heavy. “Do you…” he starts again and his words trail off on a groan as Cas’ hips jerk up quick. He bites his lip and drops his head against Cas’ neck, breathing in the scent of him, hearing Cas breathe in his ear and say his name.
Castiel noses against Dean’s ear for a second and then one of his hands disappears and Dean feels Cas’ body stretch and strain beneath him as Cas reaches over to his nightstand and slides on of the drawers open. A quick glance shows Dean exactly what he needs.
“Is this… I mean… Okay?” he manages.
The cords in Cas neck flex and strain as he lifts his head to catch Dean’s lips in a hard, wet kiss, tongue sweeping into Dean’s mouth hotly before he pulls back and shifts again under Dean, this time turning onto his stomach. Dean has to exhale hard and grasp the base of his cock at the sight of Cas’ stretching out underneath him, bringing one knee up and out to the side, and then looking over his shoulder at Dean, eyes lidded. His shoulder blades are sharp pyramids underneath the soft cotton fabric of his shirt, his shoulders rounding out nicely to his arms. His waist is lean and the dip at the small of his back is just…
Dean leans forward and mouths at the soft skin right above the swell of Cas’ buttocks, taking a moment to map the area with his tongue. Cas lets out a long sigh of pleasure and Dean’s lips press against Cas’ skin in a smile. Dean sits back on his heels and fumbles in the unfamiliar drawer. He tries not to take his eyes off Cas but after grabbing a pen twice and poking the sharp corner of a book under his nail once, he curses and has to peer inside to see the contents.
Cas laughs at him and then takes the finger that Dean impaled on the book cover and sucks on it slowly. It shoots straight to Dean’s dick and his hips jerk unconsciously.
“This is going to be over real quick if you keep that up,” Dean says, voice rough and low. Castiel gives Dean’s finger one more dirty swipe of his tongue and then lets it go.
He’s quick prepping Castiel - quicker than he’d like to be but the sounds Cas is making - the sighs, the groans, the long drawn out way he says Dean’s name - are pushing Dean to the edge and he’s just a little nervous that this will all be over before it starts.
And then he’s pushing into Cas and Cas reaches behind and clutches at him. Cas presses his face to the mattress and moans longingly as Dean pushes into him slowly. The angle is not for harsh, quick thrusts; Cas is still on his stomach on the mattress, leg frogged out to the side. But it’s fantastic for a slow, luscious fuck and that’s what Dean tries to do. Tries to push in deep and firm and then pull out slow and lazily even though every muscle, every fiber in his body is screaming at him to grab Cas’ hips as hard as he can and just thrust.
He can hear Cas saying his name over and over interspersed with breathless ‘yeses’ and gasps and Dean wants to keep fucking Cas like this forever. Wants to feel the drag of his skin against Cas’, hear Cas breathing hard, hear his own heart thudding madly in his ears, but his body starts winning - pushing in harder, pulling out faster. Cas groans and grunts, his hands fisting into the sheets, urging him on saying ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘please’ and each one of them goes through Dean like a shot of lightening.
Dean reaches a hand under Cas and hauls him up to his knees and Cas braces his head and forearms on the mattress as Dean starts slamming into him. He can still hear Cas repeating his name, can hear himself saying Cas’ name as he thrusts, trying to get as deep as he can. He grasps Cas’ hard length in his hand and starts jacking him off to the rhythm of his thrusting and fuck, he’s not going to make it. He can feel his balls tightening up, can feel his orgasm pooling in his spine - bubbling and roiling, spilling through his groin and his blood is on fire.
Cas shifts a bit underneath him, knees going out wider and on Dean’s next thrust, Cas shouts Dean’s name and Dean tries to keep the same angle, thrust the same way and manages to wring out four more shouts from Cas before he feels Cas’ body tighten up and then Cas is coming and it’s hot and wet over Dean’s hand and so tight around his cock and Dean manages half of one more thrust before he’s coming too. His breath locks up in his lungs and his hips jerk with tiny thrusts and fuck he never wants it to end and he tries to chase it as it tapers off, leaving him gasping for air, head resting against the dry fabric of Cas’ shirt.
He rests there for a moment, forehead against Cas’ back, feeling Cas’ lungs expand and contract as he catches his breath. Dean spans his hands over Cas’ waist, rubs small circles with his thumbs over his back, trying to catch his own breath. He indulges himself in a few more inhales, breathing in the scent of Cas and Cas’ shirt - a heady combination of sex, clean sweat and laundry detergent - before pulling out carefully, slowly, and getting up on shaky legs. He wobble-walks to the bathroom, discarding the condom and getting a washcloth from Cas’ pristine laundry pile on a shelf and cleans himself of quickly and efficiently. He tries not to curse when he stumbles over their clothing on his way back to the bed in the dark.
He ends up tripping and falls the last few steps, landing on the bed with a thud and making the whole think shimmy and shake.
“I had imagined you much more suave and seductive,” Cas says, his voice well-fucked out and low. He’s turned himself over on the bed, seemingly unabashed at his partial nudity. He’s loose-limbed and relaxed, head on the pillow, arms haphazardly at his side, cock resting soft and almost vulnerable against his leg.
Dean manages a wry grin at himself as he gives Cas’ body a few swipes with the washcloth before making a motion to chuck it off to the side. Cas snatches it from him deftly and overhands it over to the closet where it lands easily in his laundry basket.
“I’m suave,” Dean protests, kneeling over Cas and bending down to kiss him lushly on the lips. “Seductive,” he whispers, his lips moving over Cas’ jaw and then he noses at Cas’ ear a bit.
Cas surrenders to the attention in a simple, unhindered way, baring his neck for Dean and relaxing further into the pillows. Dean’s chest clenches at the sight and he brackets Cas with his elbows, lowering his upper body down to rest against Cas’. The feel of cotton instead of warm skin is not what he’s used to, but he likes it. He likes the heat of Cas’ body, the way he’s all noodle-relaxation and supine skin.
Dean’s never really been for ‘after-play’, he thinks - not until now. He’s generally all for foreplay because it leads up to the big event and hey, the big event is pretty fucking nice. But at times, he’s also been known to leap-frog right over foreplay, provided everyone’s on board with that idea.
But this… this is completely out of his normal repertoire. He’s running his lips over Cas’ stubble, not even really kissing him, just learning the texture of his face. He can feel Cas’ long, deft fingers running over Dean’s back, down to cup his ass and back up again. Dean feels sleepy and kind of dreamy, oddly content to stay in a bizarre, slightly uncomfortable position of half-crouching over Cas while he runs his nose against the soft lobe of Cas’ ear and then across Cas’ cheek and then against Cas’ nose.
“I saw a cat like you once, in the pet store,” Cas murmurs. He’s falling asleep even as Dean nuzzles him and the drowsy, slightly dopey look on his face makes Dean want to nuzzle him even more. “He was scrappy, standoffish until this little girl picked him up and then he rubbed his face all over her.”
“‘m not a cat,” Dean says, kissing Cas on the lips once, and then again. He should totally be offended by that. Those are almost fighting words.
“He was a very handsome cat,” Cas adds, apropos of nothing.
“Mm-hmm.” Dean’s knees and arms finally make their displeasure at their awkward position well-known and he shifts and stretches out on his side next to Cas. Castiel turns slightly toward Dean and it’s effortless for Dean to wrap his arm around Cas’ waist and tug him a little closer. He hitches up one of his legs and swings that over Cas too, effectively trapping him with his body to the bed. Cas lets out a kind of sigh, his eyes blinking shut drowsily and Dean has this urge to pull him even closer.
So he does.
He should get up. He shouldn’t stay. He should get dressed, call a cab or catch a bus or just fucking walk. He shouldn’t be curled up in Cas’ bed, eyes getting heavy, body feeling weighted and sleepy.
Cas is an FBI agent. He has a real badge and a registered gun. He puts his laundry in the laundry basket and probably uses fabric softener. He pays utility bills and buys groceries - probably eats vegetables and free range chicken or some shit like that. He doesn’t live out of a duffle bag, in run down motel rooms. He doesn’t drive from state to state, endless city after endless city hunting things that go bump in the night. He doesn’t dodge law enforcement at every turn.
He is law enforcement.
Dean should get up. He should ignore the way Cas has turned his face into Dean’s neck, his nose almost touching Dean’s skin, each exhale creating a hot, slightly damp patch, each inhale making feeling a little cool. He should slide out of bed without waking Cas - he’s good enough at it that it wouldn't be a problem - get dressed and walk out the door.
Instead he manages to hook one of the bed blankets with his foot and then reaches down to grab at it, pulling it over them both.
***
These strange dreams are almost normal to Castiel now. He’s sure it’s just his subconscious’ way of dealing with all the information he’s been taking in lately regarding supernatural creatures and Enochian translations. Like a giant computer, his brain is cataloging and organizing the information and it only makes sense that the result would be a strange mish-mash of lore, myth and reality.
He just wishes he didn’t find them increasingly disturbing.
They are back in the deserted house where Uriel tried to open his portal to hell.
Where Uriel tried to kill him.
Castiel is stretched out again on the altar, arms and legs bound. Uriel stands above him with the knife he used to carve symbols into Castiel’s chest. He runs his thumb over the blade of the knife, wincing slightly when it slices the soft skin open.
“Brother, I’m sorry it came to this.”
“We are not brothers,” Castiel says.
“Brothers in arms. Comrades. We’ve shared much over the years.”
“We’ve shared nothing but lies and duplicity,” Castiel replies and Uriel sighs.
“I suppose you would see it that way.”
“What other way can I see it?”
“There is a purpose to what I’m trying to do here, brother. A noble purpose.”
“How can it possibly be noble for you to kill me?”
“Is it any better that the world is falling into chaos? Into anarchy? Without God present, there is no order, no structure. We need a ruler, a leader, to call us to arms, to unite us.”
It baffles Castiel at times that Uriel could have been so blinded, so misled, and Castiel never saw it.
There is a sound from the corner and both men turn and look. Dean stands off to one side, bathed in an unnatural light, looking like some kind of vicious savior with his torn jeans, bloodied knife of his own and dark expression.
Castiel blinks and Dean is suddenly beside him, cutting his right arm free.
Uriel is gone.
“He sought to make me his key,” Castiel says to Dean, his own words sounding strange and unusual - the words of dreams.
“Well, it’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Dean says with a shrug, leaning over Castiel’s body to free his left hand. “The thing about keys is, anyone can use them.”
Castiel can feel his eyebrows come together in a frown. Dean helps him off the altar and he stands on shaky legs. Dean’s arms come around him, warm and secure.
“I don’t understand.”
Castiel feels the motion of Dean’s shoulders, of his back, as he shrugs. He pulls Castiel close, their chests pressed against one another - Cas’ scarred and bleeding one to Dean’s cotton-covered one. Castiel wants to curl away, aware that he’s bleeding all over Dean, imprinting him with a reverse stain of the symbols on his chest. Dean’s arms tighten around Castiel, keeping him close. “Keys are pretty neutral. Open a lock, close a lock. The key doesn’t care.”
“But I’m not just a key,” Castiel protests. Dean turns his head and Castiel can feel Dean’s soft lips against the cartilage of his ears, can hear the inhale and exhale of Dean breathing.
“No, you’re not.”
He awakes with a start, arms and legs jerking sharply. He immediately feels something constrict around him and his first response is to start struggling, trying to pull away.
“Easy, Cas, you’re okay, you’re fine.”
It takes him another moment to recognize Dean’s voice, close in his ear, just like it was in the dream. He forces his body to relax and takes stock of where he is.
He’s safe, in his bedroom in his bed. Dean is curled up behind him, arm slung over him, his chest pressed up against Castiel’s back. He can feel the naked warm length of Dean’s body against his own, Dean’s knees behind his, Dean’s thighs against the back of his legs. He relaxes a bit more, minute movements of his muscles, letting himself sink back into bed.
“I was dreaming,” he says simply, not sure what else to add.
“I got that much,” Dean replies, his voice low and deep. “About what?”
Castiel doesn’t say anything at first, not sure he wants to answer truthfully but not able to think of anything quickly enough to fill the silence. He can feel Dean breathing easily, his chest rising and falling softly as he waits.
“Uriel. You. That night.”
Dean doesn’t offer any platitudes or meaningless comfort. He hums a bit, a sort of affirmative ‘hmmm’ sound. Castiel feels his thumb rub along the seam of the shirt he’s still wearing.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Castiel says bluntly and feels Dean chest huff with laughter.
“Way to make a guy feel welcome, Cas.” Dean’s tone is wry and amused.
Castiel shifts and manages to flip himself over, onto his back. Dean props himself up on an elbow, dropping his head into his open palm.
“I would have thought that I made my feelings on your presence well known last night.”
Dean’s eyes rake over him and Castiel stares openly back in return.
“I guess you did,” Dean murmurs. He starts to lean in, somewhat hesitant, like he’s not sure what Castiel’s response will be. Castiel is amazed that there is anything unsure or tentative about Dean. He reaches out, threads one hand around Dean’s neck, fingers slipping up into the short hair at his nape and pulls him closer. He kisses Dean as deep as he can manage, loving the feeling of Dean’s tongue wet and slick against his own. Dean shifts his weight, lining his body up on top of Castiel, matching their hips together. Castiel rocks his hips up, slowly, gently and Dean matches his movement, licking at Castiel’s mouth. Castiel has to break the kiss to breathe, his lungs needing more oxygen and he has to see Dean. He stares up at him, eyes wide, unblinking and when Dean makes a movement to dip back down to kiss him again Cas stops him.
“No, like this. I want to see you.”
Dean blushes and looks slightly uncomfortable - a small, embarrassed smile touching his lips, but he doesn't stop, doesn't try to lean down again. Castiel thinks of them last night, thinks of how Dean fucked him deep and slow at first and then harder and faster. Dean rocks against him now, their cocks rubbing against each other, the smell of sex in the air and he watches Dean’s eyes, his face. Watches as his mouth opens slightly more, feels him gasp for air, feels his body start to tighten against Castiel’s.
Dean’s face is open and rapturous and Cas never wants to stop looking at him. Dean stills for a moment and Castiel is fascinated by the way his eyes crinkle at the corner a bit, the way he sucks his own lip between his teeth and bites down hard and then he feels Dean come hot and wet against his stomach and Dean’s eyes finally close, his face stunning and euphoric.
“You’re beautiful,” Castiel gasps and then he feels his own orgasm overtake him, his hips pushing up against Dean and he comes with a sigh, feeling warm and weighted down by Dean’s body.
He cradles Dean as he slumps down and to the side a bit, wanting him close, reveling in the feeling of Dean’s body limp and relaxed against his own. Dean sighs against Castiel’s neck and Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s hair.
“Let’s never leave this bed,” Dean mumbles.
“It will be difficult to procure supplies from here,” Cas says absently, fingers threading through Dean’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly.
“I don’t care. Make it happen.”
Castiel feels a smile tugging at his own lips at Dean’s lazy tone. “Maybe your brother will bring us food.”
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean says and rolls away from Castiel and paws at the floor for something. Castiel side feels cold and chilled without the warm press of Dean against him.
Dean’s back a moment later, scrubbing his face with one hand and checking his phone with the other. He flops down on the bed again, against Castiel and Cas feels the brief panic that surged up recede.
Dean makes no motion to hide the phone’s screen from Cas as he reads and Cas unashamedly reads the messages over his shoulder.
Sooooooo u got a ride from Cas?
And when I say ride I mean actual drive.
I want no details. Let me know ure alive and leave it at that.
Srsly no details!
Dean smirks and Castiel watches his fingers type quickly on the phone. “I’m tempted to scar him for life, but it’s a little too easy with that boy,” Dean says.
At Cas’. Am fine.
He flicks the phone off and tosses it down on the pile of clothes on the floor. “What do you have for food in here?”
Castiel raises and lowers one shoulder as he thinks. He’s not sure the last time he went grocery shopping. He stumbles out of bed, thinking to head for the kitchen but at the sticky feeling on his skin decides to head for the shower first. Without a word, he grabs Dean’s fingers and pulls him along, leading him to the bathroom.
“Sexy shower time,” Dean says with a grin. “I like.”
Cas flicks on the shower and then stops stock still as he realizes he has to take his shirt off to get in. It’s ridiculous for him to be standing there in his undershirt and nothing else but the coverage it offers more than makes up for how foolish he feels. He’s got Dean’s fingers in one hand and the hem of his shirt in the other and doesn’t know what to do.
“You know, I should probably call Sammy. See if Bobby’s touched base with him and make sure that nothing weird happened last night,” Dean says and his tone is so casual and incidental that Castiel could almost believe that Dean didn’t notice the fact that Cas is standing there like a mannequin, half facing the shower, conflicted about what to do. Like it wasn’t completely obvious that he was suddenly uncomfortable.
Dean tugs his fingers free from Castiel’s grip and heads back into the bedroom.
“Dean,” Castiel calls, voice low and soft. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t turn around but he swears he can hear Dean’s smile. “You can thank me after I make breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”
Dean pulls the door shut behind him and Castiel is left alone in the bathroom. He can finally tug his shirt off and he feels doubly naked with out when he sees the familiar scars on his fair skin framed by beard-burn on his neck and a little on his shoulder.
His shower is quick, perfunctory and he’s wrapped in his bathrobe and back out in his bedroom in minutes. Dean’s on the bed, sheet casually draped over him, on the phone.
“Yeah, I’ll get some pics of what Cas has translated and maybe send an email or something off to Bobby.” Dean looks up at him and winks boyishly and all Castiel can do is stare at him. The lines of Dean’s face are incredible. Proportioned and cut without being overly angular or sharp. Castiel wants to stare at him endlessly, trying to figure out the exact proportions of his face. “We can meet up for lunch or something and see what’s up and where we’re at.” Dean listens for a moment and then rolls his eyes. “What did I tell you about that Dr. Phil crap? Jesus, I’d kick your ass but my dad told me not to hit girls.” Dean pauses again, then rolls his eyes again at what he hears and hangs up without saying goodbye. He tosses his phone down and rolls off the bed easily, wearing his boxers from yesterday.
“Is everything all right with your brother?” Castiel asks.
“Yeah, he just… likes to pretend he’s a tele-shrink or something,” Dean says with a shake of his head and Castiel wonders what it was that Sam was saying to Dean. Dean leans into his space and kisses him quick on the lips once and then passes by him heading into the bathroom. Castiel hears the water start up and takes the opportunity to get dressed quickly, knowing he won’t be seen.
He feels like he’s got his armor on again once he’s safely clothed in his usual attire of an undershirt and a button down over top. The scars are much better than they were but the angry red of them still stands out sharply on his chest and he wonders if he’ll ever have a day when he doesn’t think of them. He doesn’t consider himself vain and he’s been scarred in the line of duty before - a bullet graze on one of his arms, a knife wound on his hip - but there’s something so precise and… insidious about the sigils.
Malevolent.
He tries to push them out of his head as he hears the shower stop. He belatedly realizes that perhaps Dean would like some privacy as well and nearly scurries out of his bedroom to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
He surveys the meager offerings of his fridge and sighs somewhat forlornly at the contents. By the time Dean comes out of his bedroom - hair darkly damp, sharp and pointy at the ends - Castiel has made buttered toast and set it out on the table with two mostly empty jam jars.
“Hey, I thought I was going to make you scrambled eggs?” Dean said, sitting down at the table and stuffing a whole piece of toast in his mouth.
Castiel puts a cup of coffee in front of him and raises an eyebrow while offering a can of powdered creamer. Dean shakes his head and swishes back some of his toast with black coffee.
“That would necessitate me having eggs, I’m afraid,” Castiel replies, snagging his own piece of toast and trying to decide between the dregs of the strawberry jam or the dregs of the apricot jelly.
“Not much for groceries, huh,” Dean asks, snatching the apricot jelly out from under Cas’ fingertips with a smile.
“No.” Castiel ponders the question for a moment. “Buying groceries is a tiresome chore.”
Dean snorts in laughter. “I wouldn’t exactly know.”
“Do you tire of it?” asks Cas, thinking of Dean’s life on the road, the endless stream of motel rooms and diners.
Dean takes another hot sip of his coffee and Castiel can tell he’s not so much thinking about his answer as thinking about how to phrase it.
“Been doing it so long, I don’t know how to do anything else.”
Castiel nods at Dean’s words. He thinks he understands. He’s about to ask Dean another question when his cell phone rings from the bedroom. It takes him a few rings to get up and retrieve it, noting it’s another FBI number calling him as he does.
“Novak,” he answers.
“Castiel, it’s Rachel. Listen, I know you’re just back to active duty and… well, it’s pretty much a given they won’t give you this case anyway due to the circumstances but I thought you should know.”
“What are you referring to, Rachel?” Castiel asks, meeting Dean’s inquisitive eyes from the kitchen table.
“We’ve got a body,” Rachel starts, her voice somewhat hesitant. “It’s been… well, the same thing that was done to you was done to it, to him I mean.”
“Uriel,” Castiel says lowly and at the name, Dean stands up and steps closer to Cas. Cas holds a few fingers over the phone, “A body has been found… similar to… what was done to me.” He tips the phone so that Dean can hear Rachel as well. Dean leans in close to him, the sudden heat of him making Castiel realize he’s gone cold.
“Looks like,” Rachel continues. “This guy wasn’t so lucky to have an eleventh hour intervention. He bled out.”
“Where are you?” asks Castiel. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Dean’s expression - grim and serious.
“East village, Lealand street. In the old King Phillip hotel, the one they’re tearing down for condos. Second floor. Same set up as the farm house where you were found. Symbols, carvings… hoping to hell that’s animal blood all over the walls but not holding out too much hope.”
“I am on my way,” Castiel replies and Dean makes a motion with his hands and mouths the words ‘we’re on the way.’ Castiel shakes his head once and Dean’s eyes narrow.
Oblivious to the exchange, Rachel continues, “I’ll tell the beat cops to let you in. You’re not officially on this case but I figured… well.”
“I appreciate it, Rachel. Thank you.”
He hangs up and Dean’s already talking, heading to the front door and stuffing his feet in his shoes.
“We’re going with you. Me and Sam.”
Castiel shakes his head. “You’re wanted by the authorities, Dean. Accompanying me is remarkably stupid.”
Dean grins confidently. “No one is gonna look twice at us, you watch.”
***
They’d ended up waiting for Sam to come get them from Cas’ apartment, Dean making ‘get out of the car’ gestures with his hands as soon as he pulled up. With a roll of his eyes, Sam relinquishes the driver seat to Dean.
“‘nother body?” Sam asks, getting into the passenger side.
Dean slides into the driver side of his baby, feeling the urge to check her over for dents, scratches and iPods after Sam’s been at the wheel. “Ya, one of Cas’ fed buddies called.”
Cas gets into the backseat, sitting somewhat awkwardly. Dean adjusts the mirror a bit so he can get a better view of Cas, straight-backed and solemn in the reflection. He hears Sam snicker at him.
“What?” Dean scowls.
“Nothing,” Sam says with a laugh, shaking his head.
Thanks to Cas’ precise directions, they’re at the crime scene less than thirty minutes later. Dean pulls a spare sport jacket out of the trunk to match Sam’s business casual attire and Cas’ suit. He tucks his fake badge in one of the inside pockets and, feeling Cas’ eyes on him, turns to face him.
“I would reiterate that it would be a better idea for me to go in alone,” Cas says lowly.
“Look, I get that you’re… worried or whatever. But trust me, Sammy and I can handle ourselves. Feds at a crime scene are usually too busy taking notes and doing their jobs to notice other feds.”
“But you’re not other feds. You’re criminals.”
Dean glances around, feeling his heart thud, but thankfully, the real feds are all inside the building and no one seems to be about.
“Jesus, Cas, a little louder next time, so all the cops can hear you.”
Castiel frowns. “You know what I mean.”
Dean glares at Sam who jerks slightly and then seems to realize that Dean wants to discuss something with Cas alone.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll… uh.. Well,” is all Sam manages before taking a few steps away.
Dean takes Cas’ elbow and turns him slightly, putting his back to his brother.
“I told you, you don't have to worry about us and frankly, we’re better suited to being here than you. We see this kind of stuff a lot.”
“As do I, Dean.”
Dean makes a kind of ‘yeah but’ gesture and then follows up with the actual words. “Yeah, but usually, you’re not a-”
“I’m not a victim,” Castiel interrupts.
Dean winces because that’s exactly what he was going to say but from the cold look in Cas’ eyes he clearly has baggage with that word.
“Hey, man, I wasn’t going to say that you were. As involved. I was going to say normally you’re not as involved.”
Cas’ eyes kind of drift over Dean’s shoulder to the building and Dean thinks that maybe he might be getting somewhere but then Cas seems to harden his jaw slightly and turn back to Dean.
“We’re wasting time,” Cas says and steps past Dean, past Sam and enters the building, leaving them both behind. Sam wisely keeps his lips zipped as Dean adjusts the cuffs of his coat, steels his own jaw and follows behind.
True to Dean’s word before, the other agents, the real agents, take no note of Dean and Sam - they are just additional suits in a room full of agents.
Most of them take notice of Cas though.
Dean’s not sure if Cas notices how the other agents are watching him. He’s sure that the details of Uriel’s betrayal were the topic of many meetings, water cooler gatherings and idle chit chat. It’s not every day that an FBI agent takes one of his own and carves him up. A few conversations dry up as soon as Cas enters the scene of the crime. If Dean and Sam had been worried about being spotted it would have been a moot point as soon as Cas arrived.
Cas’ expression never changes as he enters the room, his eyes taking in the surroundings, somehow bypassing actually looking at the agents and instead cataloguing everything else. Dean watches as Cas goes immediately to the bloodiest spot in the room where a body is covered by a red-spattered sheet. Cas looks down at the symbology on the floor and then he tilts his head upward.
Dean sees the sigils on the ceiling above the body, the same as the ones that were above Cas when the Winchesters busted in and saved him. Cas kneels at the body, crouching down and Dean wants to rush forward and stop him, yank Cas back before he can pull back the sheet covering the body.
But he can’t draw attention to himself and he’s too late anyway.
Cas has already pulled the sheet up, his eyes flicking over the body beneath quickly at first and then… lingering for a moment.
He drops the sheet and Dean feels like he can breathe again. He feels like he’s able to move when Sam steps toward Castiel, following his brother.
“It is the same,” intones Cas lowly, somewhat unnecessarily. They knew before they arrived that it would be the same thanks to Rachel’s call but somehow, having it confirmed is still a blow. Cas steps away from the body toward an unoccupied corner and like he’s a gravity well, Dean feels compelled to follow him.
Castiel turns his intense blue gaze on Dean. “How do we know if it worked?” he asks.
Dean frowns. “What? You mean Uriel’s plan?”
“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes dart back and forth between Dean and Sam. “Has a portal been opened?”
Dean turns to his brother who unhelpfully shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says.
Castiel purses his lips together. “There would be signs, wouldn’t there? Some sort of disturbance?”
Again, Dean and Sam exchange glances and finally Sam pulls out his cell phone. “I’m gonna call Bobby and see if he’s got anything,” he says, stepping away from Dean and Cas to another area of the room, already dialing the number.
Dean waits for him to be a bit further away and then glances around to make sure no one’s in direct earshot.
“You okay?” he asks.
Castiel looks past Dean, over his shoulder to where the corpse is lying.
“I’m fine,” he replies, not looking at Dean.
“Really? How ‘bout you look me in the face when you say that?”
Cas’ eyes flick to Dean immediately. “I’m fine.”
Dean wants to curse. “Works in the movies,” he mutters. “I’m just… you know, it must be rough. Seeing that guy there.”
Cas is again staring over Dean’s shoulder, looking up to the ceiling and the floor, reading the symbols. “I’ve seen similar and much worse in my duties before.”
Jesus, thinks Dean, he suddenly gets why Sammy is always so frustrated with him when Sam’s trying to talk about something and Dean just refuses to. “Yeah, I get that. It’s just. You know, this one hits a little close to home.”
Cas’ eyes come back to Dean again. “I’m fine,” he says for the umpteenth time and Dean makes a vow to never say that to Sammy again.
Or at least this week.
Castiel suddenly steps past Dean and starts talking with another fed, asking if the coroner has already taken preliminary samples for a toxicology report and then following up by asking who the agent in charge is.
Dean can’t really follow him. If they hadn’t already been in this town and already fingerprinted and made by the feds it would be one thing. But they’re known. Sure he feels perfectly safe being a guy at a crime scene playing the role of just another fed doing his job, but it’s another thing to go up and start getting in people’s faces, having conversations and possibly being noticed.
He and Sam can’t take that kind of chance after they’ve already been noticed by local enforcement.
Sam sidles up to him casually, slipping his phone back in his pocket.
“What’s the word?” Dean asks, watching Cas move through the room speaking to agents. A lot of them seem to be a little nervous talking to him - their eyes flicking from the corpse on the ground to Cas and back again.
“Bobby says nothing strange about last night.”
“Really? All right,” Dean mumbles. “Gotta be good news, right?”
He can see Sam make a hesitant gesture out of the corner of his eye and he finally shifts his gaze from Cas to Sam.
“What?”
“We gotta get some good shots of the scene and the…” Sam hesitates and gestures to the body. “The… victim,” he finally finishes. “Bobby’s concerned about why there was no… disturbances.”
“What? Why? No news is good news.”
Again Sam hesitates. “In the grand scheme of things, yeah. No news is good. But… we need to figure out why.”
It takes Dean about three seconds to process that statement. “Wha-? Oh fuck.” He feels his stomach roll over and he again looks for Cas in the room, finding him standing with three other agents, two women and a man, by the entrance.
Sam grimaces. “Yeah. It could be the whole ceremony is bullshit from the get go or…”
“Or it could be the way our boy Uriel set it up…” Dean doesn’t even want to finish his thought.
“It will only work with Castiel now,” Sam finishes, staring at Castiel himself.
Dean can hear the grinding sound his teeth make as he clenches his jaw. “Motherfucker,” he curses.
“Well, if that’s the case,” starts Sam, “at least we can be pretty sure Uriel’s still in town.”
“Yeah,” Dean grouses. “And gunning for Cas.”
Cas is making his way back to them looking as somber and serious as he ever does. It’s completely inappropriate but Dean’s heart gives a few extra thumps watching Cas deftly make his way through the room.
“I have just spoken with some fellow agents and it turns out the local police have been inundated with a stream of missing persons in the last two weeks. The victim here was one of them,” Cas says, inclining his head toward the body. He glances around slightly and then moves a little further into the corner, placing his hand on Dean’s elbow and pulling him along and indicating with his eyes that Sam should follow. Once they are tucked into a corner, he continues. “It occurs to me that Uriel would have needed more bodies to host… well. To host,” Castiel finishes.
“What you mean the demons?” Dean asks lowly and Castiel nods once. Dean can see Sam nodding out of the corner of his eye as well.
“Yes. Two of the previous hosts are dead. Suicide. The remainder are still heavily involved in the legal proceedings as defendants. Uriel would be foolish to use them.”
“Too conspicuous,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Exactly,” agrees Castiel. “I believe you said it was demon possession. It seems likely that this recent string of missing persons is the result of those demons taking new hosts.”
“Shit,” Dean replies. He looks up at Sam whose face looks like Dean feels - a little sick and grim. Sam finally tilts his head a bit and speaks.
“The good news is, that much demon activity leaves traces or energy.”
Castiel turns to Dean seeking confirmation of this statement and Dean nods. “Yeah. Bringing a bunch of hell-suckers to one place tends to light up the supernatural world with a big spot light.”
“How do we make use of that? Is there a person we need to contact or some kind of spell or ritual we can use?”
“We can call Bobby again. See if there’s a local psychic that he knows of around these parts. Someone who’s probably already familiar with the way the energy of the town is laid out,” Sam says.
Dean looks at Cas and smiles. “If you’re a good little agent, we’ll even pony up and get your tarot cards read.”
The wry look Castiel gives him in return makes Dean’s heart give another few thumps again. He can feel his grin split wider.
“C’mon Cas, let’s get thee to the psychic.”
***
On to Part 5