Chapter Text
The fan turned lazily on the ceiling, making a sad little squeak with every turn, adding to the noise coming through the window on Dean’s left. The plastic chair under his ass was already ancient when Dean was young, and he tried not to move too much when he realised how much its legs strained under his weight.
The walls were freshly painted white, and the three beds on his right were cheap but functional. All in all, it wasn’t a bad room. If only it didn’t look like a bomb had gone off.
Was he ever this young, Dean wondered, looking at the clothes, beer cans, and half-eaten bags of chips that covered every available surface in that unique style of chaos only college-age guys can create.
A touch of envy made him scowl. Dean had never had the freedom to go wherever and whenever he wanted and simply have fun.
Thankfully, the feeling did not last long. He huffed in amusement at how pointless it was to sit here and cry over his past. At least he’d acquired a bit of wisdom with age.
Looking down at his hands, he traced the lines that crisscrossed his palms. Like always, when he could not tell which lines were naturally formed and which were scars, a sense of detachment threatened to overwhelm him, as if he were looking at some stranger’s body.
Breathing slowly in through the nose, out through the mouth, he stayed with the feeling until his mind, that had been running a thousand miles an hour, settled down. In and out, he slowly breathed, grounding himself just the way Sam thought him.
The thought of Sam made him smile. He’d become insufferable after Dean’s little incident, reading everything he could find about trauma and shit. As if he could find in books a remedy for the mountain of psychological crap they'd accumulated under their belts.
And yet, there was no denying that this and other little tricks he'd thought Dean helped. That is when Dean remembered to actually do them. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten all about them since Cas had come back, thinking everything would magically fix itself. No such luck.
A cold shiver ran through him at the thought of how badly things could have turned out back on that road. How badly Cas could have been hurt. They were flying through the air, and Dean didn’t for a second worry about himself. It was Cas. Always Cas on his mind.
It wasn’t the first time he’d put somebody else’s well-being above his own. It was one thing he excelled at. And one thing Sam spent the last year trying to correct. Which was a polite way of saying he’d spent months smacking Dean over the head, trying to hammer into his thick skull that it was time to put himself first.
Which is why there was no debate when they both decided to part ways for a while and do their own thing. With one look, Sam had shut him up and sent him on his way.
Go and find Cas, Sam had said.
So here Dean was, trying not to fly off the handle, too many thoughts all jumbled up in his mind. Much like the chaos in this room.
Fucking accident.
For a second there, he’d almost spiraled into one of his moods. He hadn’t had an episode like that in... Huh, he’d forgotten the last time he craved danger like an addict. If he was totally honest with himself, it wasn’t a need, more a way to escape reality by jumping headfirst into danger.
What the hell was he thinking, wishing for vampires and monsters on a vacation that he’d spend decades dreaming about. Sam would have a couple of choice words to say about that for sure. Thank god the monk was there to smack some sense into him.
Huh.. Good thing there was zero chance of Sam and the monk meeting in this lifetime. What a nightmare that would have been.
Dean took a long inhale, holding his breath for a few beats before he let it out. At least this time it was his hunger for danger. The other craving wasn’t as much fun.
Dean's fingers traced the scars on his forearm, the rough texture teasing the memories to the forefront of his mind. Dean whipped his eyes to the ceiling and slammed the doors shut on the past. He would not go there.
Dean wiped a hand down his face, his lip curling into a smile when the scruff on his chin scratched his palm. If Sam saw him now, he'd have a field day. The scruff was well on its way to becoming a full beard, and the way his wet hair was getting dangerously close to his eyes-
“Bah, who gives a fuck how I look.” Cas was here, and he was whole and thriving. He even looked happy. That was what truly mattered.
They were like two peas in a pod, Cas and him. Both broken, probably beyond repair, trying to keep each other going. More like blind leading the blind, but who cared. They were alive.
In and out, Dean exhaled through his mouth. Cas could have been seriously hurt just cause he was protecting Dean.
Forgot he could fly… three thousand years.
Dean had heard the number, straight from Cas’ mouth, and yet it was as if Dean’s mind refused or could not comprehend it. Then the accident happened, and Dean saw with his own eyes how much Cas had changed.
“What the heck is taking him so long?” Dean glared at the bathroom door. The need to have his eyes on Cas was growing by the minute. The only thing keeping him from breaking in there was the sound of running water.
“Stupid pocket-sized shower.” They should have been in there together. It wasn’t wise to have Cas out of his sight. The way Dean’s anxiety was spiking, it was the stupidest idea ever. Why the fuck didn’t Cas leave the door open? As if Dean hadn’t seen him naked already.
“Ugh.” Dean sank back until his head rested on the wall and reminded himself to breathe slowly.
He deserved this. They deserved this. They fought long and hard for this, so he’d better shut up and enjoy it. No more spiraling or anxiously waiting for danger to jump at them from the shadows. Which, to be honest, with their track record, was bound to happen sooner or later.
“Jesus,” Dean lightly banged his head on the wall. It was the impossible conundrum where the only solution was to just be in the now. Their past was fucked, and the odds for their future didn’t look good. The one thing they had left was present.
“Eurica, we are saved.” The snort that came out of Dean's mouth was dripping with sarcasm.
Dean had to remain strong for Cas. So first things first – ensure Cas was ok, and then Dean could relax and unravel at the seams. It wasn’t like he was in any rush. Dean's turn at the crazy wheel would have to wait.
“And I’m back to prioritizing others over myself.” Sam would be really pissed. Better not tell him. Besides, they were doing fine. Everything was just fine. Dean had it all under control… Hopefully.
Deal stared at the fan, still a bit dazed and a fair bit confused at how they ended up in this room.
Trailing after the monk, they'd entered a small village when the guy disappeared on them. Dean had been reaching for a gun, his hackles raised at the way the monk was there one moment and gone the next, when a woman came to greet them.
From there on, it was a whirlwind of smiling faces, shaking hands, and too much hospitality for Dean’s taste. There was something seriously wrong with the people of this island. They were too goddamn trusting. In no time, the woman’s neighbor, or cousin, because it was perfectly normal that everybody knew everybody here, was fixing their scooter.
They left the guy's garage, turned the corner, and ran into a bunch of kids on a vacation who promptly opened the door to their room and clothes.
In less than an hour, Dean was scrubbed clean, sitting on a chair beneath a squealing fan, waiting for Cas to finish showering.
“Too goddamn trusting. And really bad taste,” Dean murmured, looking down at the clothes he was wearing.
It was hard not to glower at the t-shirt he had on. The color was okay, a dark blue, nothing too fancy. But the bright pink flamingo that took up most of the lower left side was a crime against humanity. The color was so bright it was hard to look straight at it, for fear it would burn right through Dean’s cornea, leaving him permanently blind.
Dean chuckled at the irony his life had become. A year ago, he wouldn’t have been coughed dead wearing this, and now… Now he had no fucks to give. At least the linen pants fit him and were quite comfortable.
“Dean,” Dean’s head whipped up when Cas called him. “I am not sure these clothes are… appropriate.”
Dean didn't see what clothes Cas had chosen when he entered the bathroom, but judging by that lengthy pause, Cas was having a flamingo of his own to reckon with.
“Nothing these guys have is appropriate, Cas.” Dean glared at the clothes spilling out of a bag on the floor. It looked more like an unhinged modern art installation. A squashed backpack vomiting all the colors of the rainbow, including a few Dean had never seen before.
“I don’t understand why I can’t just fix our clothes. Or fly to a mall and buy something a bit more to my taste,” Cas complained, sounding totally put out.
In any other situation, Dean would not push him on something so minuscule as clothes. Cas was a grown man who could make his own choices. But not today. Today, Dean was trying a new strategy. The one in which Cas was so preoccupied with trivial human affairs, he’d have no time to dwell on the past.
Shower, clothes, party. In that order.
Considering how Dean’s last two genius plans had backfired, this one, too, had a high probability of exploding in their faces.
But Dean wouldn't give up. He’d try and try and try until he found the right one and Cas was healed. It didn’t matter how long that could take. Dean had enough patience for both of them. And time. Lots and lots of free time.
“No way, Jose. No angel mojo unless somebody is on the verge of dying. We are going full native on this little Survival episode of ours. Besides, live a little. Now get out here.” Dean said all serious but his cheek was already twitching with the beginning of a laugh. Just imagining Cas in colorful clothes had him struggling to keep his face straight.
With a long-suffering exhale, Cas opened the door, and Dean swallowed his tongue.
The dark purple shirt was one size too small, which meant that every inch of fabric hugged Cas’ body like a long-lost lover, leaving nothing to the imagination. Cas pulled at the collar around his neck, and all Dean could see was how perfectly the short sleeves wrapped around his biceps. With every movement, muscles rippled, making Dean’s pulse jump.
His gaze slid down to the black shorts splashed with flowers of every color. It was meant to be ugly and tacky and an eyesore, yet Dean had to fight back a moan at the way they stretched perfectly over Cas’ front.
Dean’s mouth watered at the thought of crawling on his hands and knees to Cas. Stalking Cas like a prey until he was up against the wall with nowhere to run. Then he'd pull that pant leg up with his teeth until he could see all of that corded, beautifully defined thigh muscle. A world for one small bite on Cas’ inner thigh. Just a little indentation below his-
Holy fuck, did Dean just discover a new kink?
He did enjoy making all those nice red marks on Cas’ ass. Or was his kryptonite Cas in tight clothes? Must be, cause the way Dean’s cock was waking up and taking notice of all those well-defined lines delicately packed in sexy two sizes too small clothing, was definitely not his mind playing tricks on Dean. Cas looked like a beautiful present, wrapped and delivered to Dean on a silver platter.
It still boggled his mind that he’d gone seemingly overnight from “hell yeah soft and curvy” to "yummy strong, firm muscles". Well, there was also that thing he had for uniforms. Now that he had taught about it, it could be more tied to the men in them.
“I look ridiculous,” Cas grumbled and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“No, you don’t,” Dean jumped. “I mean, you look fine, Cas. Like…um real…” Words failed Dean when a button slipped free, revealing all that glorious chest hair. “Nice.”
“Nice? Are you pulling my leg right now? Look at the flowers on this thing. If fairies vomited all over these shorts, they wouldn’t look this tacky. And the shirt is really tight around the chest.” Cas pulled the shirt, the fabric stretching dangerously close to tearing.
In two steps, Dean was on him, twisting Cas’ hands behind his back. Dean opened his mouth to scold him for almost destroying a work of art when a tantalizing smell tickled his nose.
“Is that…” Dean leaned in, inhaling, his eyes fluttering closed at the sweet fragrance of peaches. A peach-smelling angel - Dean had never smelled anything so adorable.
“No.” Cas glared, seething with anger.
“No?” Dean blinked, confused.
“Do not give me that look.” Pressed close to Cas, Dean had a front row seat to the most adorable blush that slowly rose up Cas’ neck, blooming across his cheeks. It was a battle not to smile. Especially when he started to wonder if he could also make the tips of Cas’ ears flush.
“There’s no look.” Dean had no idea what they were talking about, but he was having the time of his life.
“That look right there. I am a soldier. I do not look adorable.” Cas tried to extract himself from Dean’s hold, but when Dean pressed his hands to Cas' lower back, Cas’ mouth parted, and he melted in Dean’s hold. Having him surrender in Dean’s hands was the most intoxicating experience of Dean’s life.
“Are you reading my mind?” Pretending he was shocked and insulted when all Dean wanted was to see how far he could push him was an exercise in will.
“I, um, don’t have to. It’s all over your face... And it’s loud like that eyesore you call a shirt.” Cas glared at the pink flamingo as if by will alone he could flay it off Dean’s t-shirt.
Dean grinned at Cas' weak attempt to change the subject. Two can play the game.
“Hey, don’t be rude to Nigel. It's not his fault. He’s just an unfortunate victim of fashion gods. And there is nothing on my face. Didn’t move a muscle.”
“Of course, you named it. You could have picked anything, and you chose to wear that?”
“You know how much I love feathered creatures who possess an extraordinary flair for making an entrance and stealing the spotlight.” Dean winked, cheekily referring to Cas’ infamous barn entrance.
With a growing smile, Dean watched as the tips of Cas’ ears combusted in a blaze of shy glory.
Biting his lip, Cas' eyes searched Dean’s face before he leaned across the little space that separated them and breathed. “I really want to kiss you.”
“What’s stopping you?” Dean asked.
“I have this horrible track record of messing things up when I take the initiative,” Cas said, and Dean thought about their first kiss in the sea. Sure, it was all around messy, but so goddamn glorious. Besides, it was Dean who kissed him first. Well, more like gnawed on his lip, but who was paying attention to small details like that.
“I love your messes, Cas.” Dean ran his tongue over his lower lip, drawing a small groan from Cas.
“Yeah? I got a lot of it.” Cas' eyes were locked on Dean’s lips like nothing else existed in the world.
“Bring it on, cupcake.” Dean released Cas and slid his hands to his waist, holding him tight, just in case he changed his mind and decided to retreat.
“Don’t call me-”
“Flaming adorable sweeth- Ugh,” Cas claimed Dean’s lips like Dean was the answer to all his prayers. As if he hung up the moon and the sun and the sky and was created just for Cas. He nibbled on Dean's lip, and when Dean parted his mouth, he slipped inside.
Cas tasted like toothpaste, and sky and freedom and new beginnings and all the things that made Dean’s heart stutter when he dared hope. And when he realized Cas still had his hands behind his back where Dean left them, Dean lost it. He had to have him, right here and now.
Just when he was about to rip Cas’ clothes off, the sound of laughter spilled through the window.
“Yo, guys, you done? Let's go! Day is young and the drinks are getting warm!” A voice called.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Dean groaned, rubbing his painfully hard dick against Cas’. “Mark my words, Cas, I’m gonna die on this island. A painful, slow death from blue balls.”
Cas traced the line of Dean’s jaw with kisses. “Ignore them. They’ll go away. Where were we?”
“It’s their… room… Cas,” The way Cas' teeth scraped Dean’s neck was making it really hard to care if guys burst in right now and found them naked humping each other against the wall. At the sound of a knock on the window, Dean ripped himself away from Cas. “Save it for later. Let's go before I ravage you where you stand.”
Dean whirled around on his heel and angrily yanked the door open, almost tearing it from its hinges. Frustration was exactly what he needed to kill the hard-on before he was arrested for indecent exposure.
“Ravage? I didn’t say no to ravaging. Wait, Dean! Ravage away!”
“Common lover boy, the day is young.” Dean walked down the narrow corridor, laughed at Cas' quiet cursing as he stepped behind him a moment later.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?” Dean kept his eyes straight, afraid that if he looked back at Cas, he'd end up dragging him back inside and finishing what they started.
“How dangerous are these blue balls?" Cas asked. "'Cause it’s really hard to walk right now.”
Dean laughed all the way to the bar.