Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He lost Cas on a Thursday.

And it’s all Dean’s fault. It’s his fault. He was so sure that Billie was behind it all, he was so convinced that they could take her out before facing Chuck. He knew that they could fix this. This, this fucking world, this fucking hamster wheel. He could feel it; being so close, finally being free. He could not have imagined, not in a thousand years, that his freedom would come at this price. ‘This,’ being…he can’t even think it, let alone say it.

He just sits there, stunned into silence. Straining to hear a voice that is no longer there. A voice that is stilled forever. No more “Hello Dean.” No more exasperated sighs, no more fond huffs or full-body eyerolls. The corner of Dean's mouth twitches for a second. Cas never did manage to get the hang of that. Dean tries not to think about anything at all.

He was wrong. So wrong. And now he is free, but what is freedom, save for a length of rope to hang yourself with? Because not only is Cas…no longer here, the manner in which he departed haunts Dean’s every moment. He can’t eat, he can’t sleep. All he hears is, “I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean,” and “I love you.”

Those last words turn to ashes on his tongue. He tries them out for size, but then it hits him again. He didn’t get to say it back. His mind screams at him, “YOU DIDN’T GET TO SAY IT BACK!” Wordless, his eyes bright with unshed tears, Dean had just stood there and let it happen. Let Castiel sacrifice himself for Dean one last time. One last grand gesture, one last ‘huzzah.’ And now Dean is left, all alone. All alone with his thoughts. Which isn’t…great.

He counts himself lucky to have his liquid friends to keep him company. Johnny, Jack, and Jose. They still do a shit job of making him forget, but at least they numb the pain that wells up deep inside of him. They try to fill the black void that has taken root where his heart used to reside. They fail.

Everything he ever wanted died with Cas on that Thursday.

There is nothing left.

Dean can't stay in his room any longer. He needs to get out, get away from his thoughts. “Really?!” his mind supplies. “You know we’re always with you, right?” He wanders around the hallways, trailing the fingers of one hand along the walls, while cradling a near-empty beer bottle in the other. He doesn’t know where he’s going; he only knows that he needs to keep moving. Ultimately, he ends up in front of a door that he wasn’t consciously seeking out. Cas’ room. The door is slightly ajar. He’s pretty sure that the door wasn’t open yesterday.

Dean looks down at his chest and finds himself wearing a white button-down. “Oh. Right.” Last night, in a fit of maddening grief, he went to Castiel's room and grabbed the shirt that was hanging off his desk chair. It still faintly smelled of petrichor and amber honey. After putting it on, Dean curled up in his own bed, wearing nothing else. He caresses the fabric and tucks his nose into the collar of the shirt. He inhales deeply. It’s even fainter than yesterday, but it’s still there. Good. Dean decides to close the door and move on. No time to stand still and think.

The bunker is blissfully empty. After the final showdown with Chuck, Sam decided that he wanted to pursue his growing relationship with Eileen. He said that now, since they were free of Chuck's influence, he needed to see for himself if that spark was still there. If it was real and not just another plot point in Chuck's latest ‘Winchester Gospel.’

Dean is happy that Sam isn’t here to witness his despair. He loves his brother, but Sam would be all up in his business if he could see how much alcohol Dean is consuming. But Sam doesn't understand how it feels. Sam doesn't know what Castiel said to Dean before he was taken by the Empty. Dean didn't tell him. Of course Dean didn't. It's none of Sam’s business. Those words are Dean's and Dean's alone to agonize over.

He turns them over and over in his head, looks at them from every possible angle. All the while sinking deeper and deeper into the dark vacuum of his depression. Why did Cas do this? Why did he give his life to save Dean’s? Dean doesn't deserve to be saved. He never did. Cas was right on the money on that, all those years ago. And still he had said those words that summoned the Empty and took him away.

The yearning black hole in Dean's chest pulses and writhes, snaking out tendrils throughout his body. Slowly slithering, moving towards his stomach (which doesn't feel right at all, containing only alcohol and no food) and his brain, which contains all of the dark thoughts that Dean thinks about himself. ‘Useless.’ ‘Daddy's blunt instrument.’ ‘Not worth sticking around for.’ ‘The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost.’ Truer words were never spoken.

Nobody ever stays. Why would they? A failed hunter that couldn’t even save his best friend from eternal damnation. “Only your best friend?” supplies his treacherous mind. “SHUT UP!” he yells at himself in the confines of the kitchen. He throws the now empty beer bottle against the wall, where it shatters into a million pieces. Dean slumps in a chair at the dinner table, grabbing the half-full whiskey bottle that was patiently waiting for him there.

He looks around the kitchen. It's absolutely filthy, littered with empty bottles and crushed beer cans. Discarded pizza boxes are scattered around everywhere. Dean can't remember how long it's been since Sammy left, but seeing the evidence right before his eyes, he guesses it's probably been quite a few days. Or Dean drank more than he can remember, which is also possible. Honestly, who cares? Not Dean. Because Dean is a worthless piece of shit with a Cas-sized hole in his heart. And the only thing he can think of to make it all go away is to drown himself in oblivion. He lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks deeply.

Somewhere in the distance, something is buzzing. Dean doesn’t want to wake up. He was having a dream. A dream of a tan trench coat, a shock of dark hair, and eyes that were so blue. So blue. “CAS,” his mind helpfully supplies. The distant buzzing sound stops. “Good,” Dean thinks as he lowers his head back down onto the table, fully ready to get back to his dream. The dream where Cas was alive, so very much alive. Dean refuses to face the ugly waking truth, that Castiel is in fact… ”Not going there now,” Dean thinks. Then, the buzzing sound starts again, and Dean grunts, lifting his head off the table and moving to an upright position. His frigging cellphone. There can be only one person calling him. Sam.

The buzzing continues. Trying to locate his phone, Dean stumbles around the kitchen. There, on the far end of the counter covered in pizza boxes, he finds his phone. And indeed, the display flashes ‘Sam’. Dean scoffs, his still foggy mind not ready to deal with his little brother. However, he also knows that if he doesn’t answer his phone, Sam will come running back to the bunker to check up on him. And if there’s one thing worse than having a worried brother on the phone, it’s having said worried brother right in front of you, while nursing the worst hangover of all time. Dean does the only thing he can do, which is pressing the green button to answer the call.

Clearing his throat, he manages a “Hiya, Sammy.”

"Dean?! DEAN!" Sam exclaims on the other end of the line. “Finally! I called a few times before, and you weren’t answering, and I was getting worried if you were alright.”

Dean checks the time on his phone. Almost dinnertime. The last thing he remembers is waking up in the morning and wandering around in Cas’ shirt. Which he, obviously, is still wearing. Guess time goes by faster than you think when drinking yourself into a stupor. Distantly, he hears Sam talking again.

“Dean, are you there? How are you holding up?”

“Yeah…yeah, Sammy. I’m here, buddy.” He clears his throat once more, trying to sound less squeaky, less wrecked. “I’m okay, Sam, really, I’m doing fine. I actually just took a shower, guess I didn’t hear the phone while I was in there.” He tries to make it sound suggestive, but the delivery falls flat on its ass.

Sam doesn’t seem to buy it. He can almost feel the frown lines between his little brother’s eyebrows emerge. He might even be making one of his famous bitch faces. “Are you sure Dean? You don’t sound fine to me.” A small pause, a soft sigh. “I can come home if you need me, you know? I want to be there for you, you know I do. With everything that happened and the death of Cas…”

NO. Dean cuts him off. “Sammy, listen to me. I AM FINE. Peachy keen, actually. Living the freedom life, y’know?” He tries to change the subject. “How’s Eileen doing? Do I hear wedding bells in the distance?” He can almost hear Sam flinch at the tone of his voice. "Don't worry about me, little bro, I’m managing just fine. You go take care of that awesome sister-in-law-to-be of mine.”

Dean looks around the kitchen, once more taking in the mess. The stacks of empty pizza boxes, the half-empty bottles, the shattered glass on the ground. He stops when he sees his reflection in the fridge door. Bloodshot eyes, unwashed hair, and an almost-beard forming on his cheeks. Yeah, if Sammy could see him, no amount of reassurance would make his whole ‘I’m fine’ spiel believable.

“Eh, Sammy, please be sure to call me when you decide to come home, okay? Don’t want to scare Eileen while wandering around in my dead-man's-robe, if you know what I mean.”

“EWW gross Dean!” Sam exclaims, but he sounds relieved, as if the joke tells him that Dean is a-okay. Well, good, mission accomplished.

“Stay safe, bitch” Dean supplies.

“Talk to you later, jerk,” Sam answers back, with warmth in his voice.

The call ends. Dean sags back into the chair and lowers his head into his hands. He can’t do this anymore. Something’s gotta give, and objectively speaking, it will be Dean who will give in.

He scans the table and spots the nearly full bottle of bourbon on the other end. With a deep sigh, he gets up to retrieve it from its place on the table. Not bothering to get a glass, he opens the bottle and takes a big swig. Thinking back to the dream he woke up from, tears start to well up in his eyes. He can’t exist in a world without Cas. He just can’t. He doesn’t know how to. Wishing to return to his dream, to those blue, blue eyes, he stumbles back to his room, where he falls face-first onto his bed, the bottle still tightly tucked to his side.

Dean closes his eyes and waits for oblivion to claim him once more.

Chapter Text

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean can't move. Frozen in place, he watches the events unfold before his eyes again, only this time in high definition and super slow motion— Cas, painting the warding against Billie on the door in his own blood. *flicker* Cas, standing there with glittering eyes, telling him that he is the most loving man on earth. *flicker* Cas, saying “I love you” and smiling. *flicker* Cas, reaching out to him, shoving him aside, leaving a bloody hand-print on his jacket. Dean sees himself fall to the ground, stunned. While tears are streaming down his face, he watches as inky black tendrils shoot from the portal on the wall to take away his everything.

With a hoarse shout, he wakes up.

Covered in a cold sweat and tangled in his sheets, Dean tries to shake the immense terror still lodged in his throat. Slowly breathing in and out through his nose, he feels something rigid and cold pressed to his thigh. Dean tries not to freak out and looks down at his legs to see the bottle of alcohol still firmly tucked against him. Letting out a relieved sigh, he immediately tenses up again. Something feels off. “Just a nightmare,” Dean mutters to himself, but then he hears it. A whisper. He whips his head around towards the source of the sound, but there’s nothing there. His eyes roam around the room, and he sees a shadow lingering at his desk.

Quietly sucking in his breath, he tries to move his hand stealthily towards his pillow, where his trusty gun is tucked away. Dean doesn’t dare take his eyes off the shadow. He squints because the shadow appears to have a very familiar shape. Slowly, he shakes his head, trying to dispel the fog still lingering in his mind, courtesy of the nightmare or the booze (honestly, could be either, or both).

The room suddenly seems to be filled with an oh-so-familiar scent, a scent that Dean never thought he’d smell again. Rich amber honey and petrichor, like lightning that’s about to strike. Dean’s hand stills halfway to his pillow. He must be hallucinating, because surely, this can’t be happening. This can’t be real. The shadow reluctantly turns around, and two familiar blue eyes capture Dean’s stricken gaze. Eyes that he was sure were lost to him for all eternity.

“Cas?” he whispers.

The shadow remains silent. It just stands there, staring at Dean with big, sad eyes. Slowly, a substance similar to thick black tar starts to ooze down its forehead, leaking along its temples and trailing down its cheekbones towards its neck. It flows down its nose, partly covering those beautiful chapped lips before moving down its collar.

Dean doesn’t know what to do. This can’t be Castiel. Cas is dead. Taken by the Empty, gone forever. But still, he can’t look away from the apparition that looks so uncannily like his angel.

He tries again. “Cas?” he croaks.

The shadow just stands there. Unblinking, unmoving, the black goo still slowly working its way down its face and chest, steadily turning its white button-down black and staining its trench coat. The Cas shadow keeps staring at him with an overwhelming sadness in its eyes. Dean remains seated in the middle of his bed, his hand hovering above his pillow. He’s convinced that this is not Cas, it can’t be. Cas is dead, and now there is this thing in his room pretending to be him.

Without warning, all of Dean’s anger, hurt, and rage come boiling to the surface. He pulls the gun out from under his pillow and unloads it into the shadow. The shots ring out through the bunker. The Cas shadow shimmers and wavers, but is seemingly unaffected by the bullets. The only thing that changes is that this shadow Cas looks even sadder than before. Dean can't take it anymore.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!” he shouts at the shadow, while simultaneously crawling off the bed to move slowly towards the door.

He grabs an iron knife from the wall. If it’s a ghost, the knife will at least chase it away for a second, giving Dean some time to get his act together. Why didn’t he keep any salt in his room? Dammit! The shadow tracks Dean's movements with shiny eyes, but doesn't seem to actually move. Shadow Cas opens its mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. It looks helplessly at Dean.

Dean slashes at the apparition with the iron knife. Unexpectedly, it does nothing. Shadow Cas also doesn't move, not even an inch. Dean finds himself standing almost face-to-face with the shadow now. Despairing blue eyes meet furious green ones.

Dean hisses in its face. “Why are you here?”

For the first time since he appeared in the room, the shadow moves. It shrugs almost apologetically. Its shoulders droop low, its arms hang listlessly beside its body. As though it doesn’t know what it is actually doing here. Its eyes never leave Dean's; they just keep staring at him, torturing him with the profound depth of overwhelming sadness he sees lying within.

“Okay, suit yourself.” Dean spits. “I’m done with this shit. Maybe you can go haunt Sam or whatever, but I’m not staying here a second longer with you.” He looks at the almost empty bottle that rolled off the bed when he did. “I need another drink.”

Dean storms off to the kitchen, away from those accusing eyes. He’s silently freaking out on the inside. “What the actual fuck? Why is this Cas-shaped thing here? And why does he look so damn SAD?!”

Maybe if he drinks enough, the shadow will disappear again. Dean yanks open the fridge, grabbing the first beer in sight. He opens it and drains the bottle in one go. Realizing that beer ain’t gonna be enough, he closes the fridge and looks around the kitchen. It’s still littered with bottles, but they’re all empty. Then his eyes are drawn towards the cabinet on the far side of the wall.

There, badly hidden behind some boxes of Cookie Crunch, Dean spots a bottle of whiskey. Sam must have thought he wouldn’t find it there. Dean walks over, swiping the boxes of cereal off the shelf, and closing his fingers on the neck of the bottle. He twists off the cap and takes a big gulp of the amber liquid. It burns all the way down his throat and sours his empty stomach.

Grimacing, Dean lifts the whiskey to his lips and swallows another mouthful. He slumps to the ground, determined to finish the bottle in record time. Darkness slowly creeps upon him, but just before he blacks out, he sees the shadow of Castiel appear in the kitchen door, looking even more distraught than before.

Oblivion claims Dean once more.

Dean opens his eyes. Or, he tries to open his eyes. It doesn’t really change much. There’s still darkness all around him, with a few warm yellow spots where the kitchen lights are shining.

Slowly, he blinks. Gives his head a little shake. It seems that the world around him doesn’t want to come into focus. Deciding it’s not worth the effort, Dean closes his eyes again and leans his head back against the kitchen cabinet.

Fine, he doesn’t really want anything with the world, anyway. What need does he have for the world if this world is deprived of the presence of Cas?

He lets the feeling sink in, lets it roll around in his mind. The realization that Castiel is really gone hits him again like a 40-ton freighter from the side. It feels like a solid punch to the gut, making him double over and throw up all the alcohol he had consumed over the last few days. He feels hollowed out, his nerve endings frayed and rawly exposed. A ruthless thought makes itself known: This has to stop, and soon.

Acutely, he is aware of the bile stuck in his throat. He needs water.

Getting up is a challenge. Dean grunts as he tries to get his bearings. He cracks open his eyes and stumbles towards the kitchen sink. He grabs a glass and fills it up with water from the tap. Drinking deeply, he leans back against the counter, feeling the cool water soothe his aching throat and gliding down to his upset stomach. The water settles the roiling feeling a little bit.

Suddenly, Dean remembers the vision he had of the shadow Cas in the doorway, just before he passed out. His eyes fly to the door and widen in shock. The shadow of Castiel is still there, darkening the doorstep, watching Dean intensely, following his every move.

Dean can’t take it anymore. “Still here, huh?” he asks the shadow. It nods.

It does look a little bit different now. The black goo is gone, leaving no trace of its presence behind. The shadow now looks like Cas did the last time Dean saw him. The same messed-up hair, the same stubble-covered cheeks. The same blue tie, loosely knotted around the collar of his shirt. The ever-present tan trench coat. The furrowed brows, creased as if he were seeing something he doesn’t understand. Well, maybe this shadow doesn’t get it, maybe it doesn’t know why Dean is acting the way he is. Maybe, maybe, Dean should tell him.

The reckless part of Dean whispers to him: “Do it.”

Dean contemplates this for a second.

“Fuck it,” he says out loud to the shadow Cas. “Things can’t get any worse than this.”

He looks down at his sorry state of being. Fucked up beyond all recognition, drunk off his ass every waking moment, wandering around the bunker tightly wrapped up in the only thing he’s got left of the love of his life. And he didn’t even get the chance to tell Cas that that is what he was.

Dean walks towards the kitchen table and grabs a chair. Turns it around, so he can sit his sorry ass down and face this apparition of Castiel. He really is going to do this, dammit.

The shadow watches Dean with a confused look on its face. Tilts its head a bit to the side, as if it’s trying to read Dean’s mind. Dean does his best to swallow down the lump lodged in his throat. He opens his mouth, but the words seem to get stuck. He closes it with a harsh click and swallows again.

“Cas…” he manages to whisper.

“Cas,” he says a little louder, a little stronger. Still, his voice already sounds wrecked, hoarse from alcohol abuse.

“There are some things I haven’t told you, man.”

“I know that you aren’t Cas. I don’t know what exactly you are, but you’re as close to him as I’ll most likely ever see again, so I’m gonna say them to you. Even though I should have said these things to him a long, long time ago.”

Dean looks the shadow square in the eyes. Stares into those beautiful cerulean blues, which in turn, are looking back into his gold-flecked, guilty green ones.

“Maybe, if I’d told him how I felt about him, about us, before, we wouldn’t be in this mess we ended up in.”

Dean rubs his hand over his mouth, breathing in shakily.

“But I can’t change that anymore; that’s on me for the rest of my days, and I’ll carry that guilt with me until the end of time. Or at least, the end of my time, which might be sooner rather than later.”

Dean chuckles roughly and frowns at the feeling of the gun that’s tucked into his waistband. He can’t remember bringing it with him after unloading a full clip into the apparition. Maybe it was meant to be like this. He pulls out the gun, softly caressing the engravings on the slide. Is he really thinking about doing this? Isn’t this the coward’s way out? But what does he have left here? A life filled with death and despair? A life filled with alcohol and nightmares? A life without love, without…Cas? A life that drags on until he finally meets his end at the hands, or teeth, of something supernatural? He might even die clearing out a vampire’s nest in the near future, for all he knows. All Dean knows now is that he doesn’t really have anything left to live for. His eyes drift back to the form of Cas.

He does feel guilty, thinking of Sam. But on the other hand, Sam will be fine, won’t he? He has Eileen now. They aren’t actually together yet, but Dean is sure that Sam and Eileen are meant for each other. He can see it in the way the little moose’s face lights up when he talks about her. That's true love, right there. Just like he and Cas could have had. If only they’d gotten the chance. Now they’ll never know how it feels. Dean will never know how it would feel to kiss Cas.

He huffs out another breath and tears his gaze away from shadow Cas. He looks at his hands holding the gun instead.

“Every time you die, I get worse.”

“You walked into that basin, only leaving your trench coat behind. There was nothing else left, dude. I was a wreck, and I couldn’t let go of the last piece of you I still had. I was overjoyed when we found you. My best friend returned to me. Even though you didn’t remember who you were. Honestly, I should have known then that there was more to my feelings for you. But I didn’t want to face it, so I decided not to look at it too closely. I just pushed it all down into that big black hole where I stow all the crap that hurts to look at.”

Dean peeks up at shadow Cas for a second. It makes a gesture that seems to say ‘go on.’ So he does.

“You left me in Purgatory. I was so sure that that was it. I was so hurt by your refusal to come with me that my mind actually altered my recollection of the events. I was convinced I had left you there to die. The guilt ate me alive, man. How could you do that to me? And how could I not see that ours was no ordinary friendship? How could I still convince myself that the moment I heard your voice on the phone wasn’t my happiest in months? How could I think that the sheer relief I felt was just for the return of my best friend?”

He tries to stop the trembling of his hands.

“Then April killed you, and I would have torn heaven apart if Gadreel hadn‘t been there to resurrect you immediately. I realized how close I came to actually losing you. Because again, you were dead, Cas. The light in your eyes was snuffed out. Gone. And I couldn’t deal with that. I would have offered myself up on a gold platter to whoever would take me if that would have brought you back. I could no longer deny the depths of my feelings for you. But still I said nothing, did nothing. Because what good would it have done? Who would want me? Love, me?"

Dean sighs shakily. Not daring to look at the shadow of his lost love.

“You see, sweetheart, I’m as unlovable as they come. Dark and twisted and fucked up seven ways from Sunday, that nobody would ever want to stay with me. To keep me. To hold me and cherish me and cradle me in their arms. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve any of it. And I didn’t want you to think that you owed me. That this, this feeling was something transactional, something to hold over your head, to make you not want to leave me. So I remained silent.”

Tears are streaming down Dean’s face now. They make their way down his cheekbones and drip slowly from his chin and onto the button-down he’s still wearing. Dean clutches the hem of the shirt in one hand as though it were a lifeline.

“So, I stayed silent, and unavoidably, you died again. That horrible night, when Jack was born. I already thought I had lost you when Sam pulled me away from the Apocalypse world, leaving you there with Lucifer. When I saw you burst through the portal, I can’t describe the way my heart soared to see you unharmed, back in our world. But then your eyes erupted into light with the tip of the angel blade protruding from your chest. That was the night I died, too, Cas. We were so close to finally getting things back together, back as they used to be, and then you died. You left me. Not of your own volition, of course, but you still left.”

“I wrapped your body myself and laid it down on the pyre. You deserved a true hunter’s funeral. I cried every night, and you were gone for so long, man. I don’t think I ever stopped drinking after that. Even when you returned to me once more, I just couldn’t face my feelings. I made it all worse. Even though you were back, I couldn’t stop making our lives hell. I couldn’t even face the remote possibility of an us.”

“I couldn’t tell you how I felt, because how could a wonderful creature like you feel the same about me? I’m sorry, Cas, so sorry that I never told you how I really felt all those years.”

He looks up at the shadow Cas, standing there with tears shining in its eyes.

“Well, I’m done being afraid now. I know it’s too late, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Even if you aren’t actually him.”

“I love you, Cas.”

He raises his gun to his temple, not exactly sure what will come next.

The shadow Cas unexpectedly charges forward, and its surprisingly warm hands firmly grip Dean’s face, knocking the gun aside, and try to swipe away the tears still clinging to his skin.

Dean’s face jerks upwards to face the shadow directly. He stares into shining, grace-fueled, righteous blue eyes. Stunned beyond recognition, he stammers:

“Ca-CAS?!”

Chapter Text

Castiel opens his eyes to darkness.

Was it always this dark here? He can't seem to remember. He also doesn't exactly remember where ‘here’ is. He doesn’t remember how he got to this place, or time, or what he was doing. What he does know is that something is tugging at him. Like a thought in the back of his head that seems to slither away, every time he thinks he has a firm grip on it. Like the name of something dear, that lies on the tip of his tongue but won't roll off.

Castiel sits up. Or at least, he thinks he's sitting upright. Everything is black here; he can't even see his hands in front of his face. He wonders what woke him up. He has a nagging feeling in his stomach, a wiggling sensation in his brain, trying to get his attention. That feeling has to wait, though, because he first needs to figure out where he is and how he got here. He should know this, right? Why can't he remember?

Then, all at once, it hits him square in the chest. A flood of memories comes rushing back. His deal with the Empty, being chased by Billie, and getting trapped in the basement. Dean.

“Dean.” he breathes.

He recognizes this place now. Of course. He’s in the Empty, again. Remembering the details of the deal he struck to save Jack’s life, it makes sense. But he doesn’t understand why he is awake. Surely, the Empty doesn’t want to be bothered by a conscious Castiel again, seeing how well that worked out the last time. What woke him up from his eternal slumber? Castiel looks around, searching for anything that could help him get some answers. But it’s all black. Impenetrable darkness surrounds him. Castiel sits back on his haunches. He needs to think.

Involuntarily, his thoughts stray to his last moments on earth. The memories brutally assault him. Dean, standing there, with a confused look on his face. Not knowing what was coming, not knowing what Castiel was about to say. Definitely not knowing what the result would be. He doesn’t regret it, though, not for a single second. He only wishes that he had had more time to reassure Dean that all would be fine. He would be fine without Castiel. Dean had been there before, without him, and this time wouldn't be any different. Dean would mourn him, probably, but then he would be fine. Hell, he might be even better than fine, because if the Winchesters defeat Chuck (and Castiel is fairly certain they will, that they already have), Dean would finally be free.

Castiel feels sad that he won't be there to share in the joy of victory. That he won’t be able to hug Dean and hold him tight, savoring that little moment of full body contact. To breathe in Dean’s scent, smelling like home, to take it in slowly and fully, making sure to commit it to memory. He made his peace with his unrequited love a long time ago.

The thought of Dean fills Castiel with longing. Which inexplicably ties itself to the tugging feeling that is still wiggling around in his brain. Knowing where he is now and what has happened to him, Castiel decides it’s time to examine the thing that woke him up more closely. Castiel zeroes in on the feeling. It feels…familiar. It feels like a silken thread, delicate and fragile, leading him towards something cherished. Castiel focuses all his energy on this precious point of…emotions? He frowns, not sure what exactly he’s reaching out to. Straining his abilities, he decides to try to touch it. He reaches out with his hands, as if to gently stroke it with his fingers. As soon as he gets close, a wave of despair hits him head-on. The feeling is so intense, so deeply, profoundly depressing, that all he can feel is a current running through him, pulsing out SAD SAD SAD.

Castiel tries to cut through the sheer amount of sorrow to see why this specific energy is calling out to him. Several feelings assault him again, warring with each other to come out on top. Grief, guilt, sorrow, depression, anxiety, heartbreak. They all swirl together until there is no distinction between them.

The pull was strong enough to wake him up in a place where he should have been asleep for all of eternity, so it must be important to him. He closes his eyes to get a better grip on the pulsing feeling that is still lingering in his mind. Castiel gasps aloud when a blinding light blooms behind his eyelids, and his consciousness is dragged at a startling speed towards the source of it all. When he turns around and opens his eyes, he is no longer surrounded by darkness, but instead stares into the most beautiful gold-flecked green eyes, which he was sure he would never see again.

Castiel is dumbstruck. There, on the bed, tangled in his sheets, sits Dean. Stunned, he stares at his hunter, who in turn stares back at him, his eyes wide with shock. Castiel sees Dean’s hand hovering above the bed halfway to his pillow. He knows Dean is reaching for his gun. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but his lips refuse to part.

Dean whispers, “Cas?”

Castiel tries to answer, but it seems like he is rendered mute in his current state. Which, honestly, is a mystery all in itself, because he isn’t actually here, right? He can’t be. He tries to move towards Dean, but his legs won’t give an inch. It doesn’t even feel like his body is physically here. Castiel drinks in the sight of Dean, like a drowning man finally coming up for air after being underwater for too long.

After a second, a moment, an eternity, his mind catches up to what he actually sees. He wants to wail in dismay when he sees Dean’s current state. Those beautiful green eyes are bloodshot, and his skin looks sallow. There are bags under his eyes, hinting that Dean isn’t getting his mandatory four hours of sleep. His hair is greasy and unkempt, and the stubble on his cheeks might have crossed over into beard territory. Looking closer, Castiel spots the shirt that is wrapped around Dean’s torso. Is that one of his white button-downs? Surely, that must be a mistake. Why on earth would Dean be wearing one of Castiel’s shirts? Castiel is appalled by the almost empty bottle of alcohol tucked next to Dean’s thigh.

Dean certainly does not look okay. He doesn’t look at all how Castiel had imagined he would be after they defeated Chuck. Castiel has a sinking feeling that he might have misjudged the outcome of the fight. Did the brothers lose? But why would they still be alive if that was the case? Chuck was adamant that he was ending it once and for all.

Dean speaks again. “Cas?” It comes out as a croak.

Misery wells up inside of Castiel. He tries to move again, but his body will not budge. Feeling the despair coming off of Dean in waves, Cas looks right into his eyes, trying to convey something, anything, to the love of his life. He wants to cross to the bed and take Dean into his arms, soothing the deep lines that have been etched into his face. He wants to tell him that yes, he is here and yes, it really is him and no, he will never leave him again. A dreadful thought makes itself known, reminding Castiel that Dean does not feel the same way about him. Yet the urge to move closer and to console his friend, his love, remains nonetheless. His heart aches.

Abruptly, Castiel is pulled from his thoughts by a flurry of movement; he sees Dean move his hand under the pillow and pull out the gun. Without blinking, he unloads it into Castiel’s body. The passing of the bullets mercifully does nothing to his incorporeal body, but he does feel himself shake and waver, the connection to his actual body instantly pulling taut, almost to the point of snapping. Momentarily, the room darkens to almost nothing, appearing as though he is back in the Empty. Castiel chokes back a scream.

Castiel’s tear-filled eyes fly back to Dean.

Dean is no longer silent or immobile. Like a volcano suddenly coming to life, he rolls off the bed, roaring “WHAT ARE YOU?!” at Castiel’s startled face. Castiel sees him grab an iron knife and move slowly towards him. He opens his mouth to beg Dean to stop, but his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. Helplessly, he watches Dean step into his space and slash at him with a vehemence that he normally reserves for the supernatural creatures that he hunts. Their mouths almost close enough to kiss, Cas desperately stares into Dean’s furious eyes.

Breathing harshly, Dean hisses, “Why are you here?”

Castiel has no answer for him, and even if he could explain himself, he actually does not know why he is here. The only thing he knows is that he followed that thread of sorrow that pulled him from his sleep, and it led him here. He stares at Dean and shrugs.
This seems to enrage Dean even more. He tells Castiel to fuck off and disappears towards the kitchen, saying something about getting another drink.

Even more unsure than before about why he is here, Castiel tries to follow Dean. He can feel his body far away, still sitting on its haunches back in the Empty. But he also can feel his presence here in the bunker, and he thinks he will be able to get this body moving towards where he wants to go. Slowly putting one foot in front of the other, Castiel moves towards the door of Dean’s room. Turning the corner, he steadily makes his way towards the kitchen.

When he finally arrives, he sees Dean slumped against a cabinet with yet another bottle of alcohol in his hands. Dean’s eyes seem to flit over Castiel's appearance once more before he passes out on the floor.

Castiel's throat clicks hard, trying to dispel the tightness in his throat. He doesn’t understand why Dean is not happy. His heart feels like it is slowly falling to pieces. This is not what he wanted for Dean when he told him how he truly felt. He needs to make sure Dean is okay.

This is not how it’s supposed to be.

He resigns himself to stand watch over Dean, watching him sink into oblivion, softly breathing in the silent emptiness of the kitchen.

~*~*~*~

While Dean is still snoring softly, dead to the world, Castiel is dismayed by the current state of the kitchen. What he sees sends chills down his spine. Every surface he lays his eyes on is littered with filth. The empty liquor bottles are too numerous to count, all of them drained dry to the last drop. On the far end, in the corner, empty pizza boxes are haphazardly stacked up. It pains him to see that his once-favorite place in the bunker has turned into this garbage dump.

Fond memories assault him. “Good morning, Sunshine.” Dean frying up a pan of bacon to trick Sam into eating the real deal instead of that ‘veggie crap’. Late nights and early mornings, with the smell of coffee in the air. Dean’s delighted grin at the initial discovery of the kitchen, his imagination already running wild with all the meals that he could cook here.

Bitter thoughts sour his pleasant musings. Where is Sam? How could Sam let this happen to his brother? Does he know what’s going on, what Dean is doing? He is obviously not taking care of himself, regularly drinking copious amounts of alcohol, if the number of empty bottles is any indication. Where is Jack, or Eileen, Jody, Donna, or even Claire? Why is nobody taking care of Dean, like he has taken care of everyone else his whole life? Dean deserves better than this; he deserves to be loved! Castiel’s anger is building, expanding exponentially, becoming stronger and more volatile with every passing minute.

A dark pit of guilt opens up in the soft part of Castiel’s belly when he realizes that there is another component that might have influenced Dean’s erratic behavior. Castiel sucks in a harsh breath and lets it sink in. Could his final confession have driven Dean over the edge? Was Castiel saying “I love you” the proverbial final straw that broke the camel’s back? He knows that Dean doesn’t feel the same way about him, he never did, and never will. He called him his brother, his best friend, more than once in their long relationship. Would the realization that Castiel felt more than that for Dean have driven him to self-destruct? Is being loved by Castiel such an abhorrent idea to Dean that he decided he’d rather wither away until there was nothing left of himself? Haunting the hallways of the bunker as a ghostly empty shell of his former self, instead of enjoying his newfound freedom?

All the anger that Castiel was feeling leaves his body on a shuddering exhale. He silently despairs. What if it’s all his fault? What if he did this to Dean? How can he ever make amends?

Dean stirs with a soft groan. Distracted by his thoughts, Castiel had lost track of time. How long was Dean out for? He doesn't know. The passage of time is a fleeting thing, always has been for him, being an angel of the Lord. Somehow, it feels like forever here.

Castiel watches Dean as he tries to open his eyes. Their vibrant green has been dulled by the amount of alcohol still in his system. Castiel had never seen Dean drink this much when he was alive. Dean blinks sluggishly, followed by a small shake of his head. Apparently not impressed by what he observes, Dean closes his eyes again and leans his head back against the cabinet. Castiel watches the muscles in Dean’s neck move, following the long column all the way up to his face.

He misses being able to sense Dean’s mood; their connection was a remnant of the time they shared a more profound bond. Fair to say that that particular skill was always fickle at best, but it was still more than what he knows now. Castiel wants to know, needs to know, what is eating away at Dean. What is making him so deeply unhappy? Icy tendrils wrap themselves around Castiel’s heart as he gazes down at Dean below him on the ground.

Without any warning, Dean makes a choked noise and throws up. Castiel looks in abject horror at how his friend is more miserable than he has ever seen him. Seemingly finished, Dean wipes his mouth with his hand and sighs deeply. He grunts and scrambles to his feet, moving towards the kitchen sink. After downing a full glass of water, Dean’s body suddenly goes rigid and his eyes fly towards the door. Towards Castiel. He can’t hide the shock on his face when he spots Castiel still standing there in the doorway.

“Still here, huh?” Dean asks Castiel.

Not trusting his voice, Castiel decides to nod. Dean’s eyes are glued to his form, intensely scouring every inch of Castiel’s body, from his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes. His eyes seem to linger on Castiel’s thighs for a second before moving on. Castiel has never seen Dean look at him with such hunger. It confuses him greatly, because he has seen this look before. On himself, in the mirror, thinking of Dean after they cured him from being a demon. Castiel was so sure that they had lost him for real that time that the sheer relief of having Dean back left such a feeling of want coursing through his veins. Surely he must have misinterpreted Dean’s look just now.

Dean’s voice startles Castiel from his inner turmoil.

“Fuck it.”

Castiel's gaze jerks back to Dean, who is looking at him with a grimace of disgust on his face. Dean spins on his heels to grab a kitchen chair, turning it around and straddling it. Leaning his arms on the back of the chair, he looks like a man who has made a decision and is going to follow it through no matter what. He looks determined. Castiel tilts his head a bit to the side, confused by all of these sudden movements. Dean swallows slowly, and Castiel is helpless, tracking the bobbing of his Adam's apple.

“Cas…” Dean utters, soft as a caress.

“Cas,” he says again, voice low and agonized.

“There are some things I haven’t told you, man.”

Castiel can’t seem to breathe. His mind comes to a screeching halt. Time itself seems to come to a complete standstill. A little kernel of light tries to take root inside him, tries to grow rapidly and fill him with a scorching, blinding heat.

Castiel does not dare to hope and instead focuses on the righteous man sitting before him, intently listening to the words that are spilling out of his mouth.

Chapter Text

“I love you, Cas.”

Horrified, Castiel watches as Dean tentatively raises the gun to his head, the movement unsteady, unsure. His grace pulses and writhes inside of him, a snarling, angry beast fighting against the invisible force that is keeping him from bolting forward to stop his love from doing something irrevocably finite and stupid.

“NO!” Castiel tries to shout, but there's only silence.

It cannot end this way. Not here, not now. Not like this. Not when Dean just told Castiel that he loves him. Which is just preposterous. Dean doesn't feel that way about him, right? Or, so Castiel always thought. Obviously, it wouldn’t be the first time he was wrong. His mental breakdown will have to wait, though, because Dean is cocking the gun and putting his finger on the trigger. With shining eyes and glistening tears trailing down his cheeks, Dean looks at Castiel.

His own eyes alight with unshed tears and holy fire, Castiel feels the agony coming off of Dean in waves. His grace howls and thrashes even harder, desperately reaching out to Dean to try and prevent this catastrophe from happening. Castiel senses how it's trying to break through the invisible barrier that is holding him back, but it feels like it’s hitting a brick wall at terminal velocity. He wants to make time stop, to make Dean stop, to make it ALL stop, right, the fuck, now.

Castiel longs to close the distance between them, to kneel at Dean’s feet and chase away the internal demons he is facing. His grace roars and pushes, but the barrier keeping him contained and in place is still holding fast.

Without warning, the thin thread of emotions that brought him here grows infinitely stronger, reaching some kind of climax before disappearing completely, leaving Castiel emotionally devastated. With a sharp snap, like a cord being severed after being stretched to its limits for too long, Castiel is abruptly freed from his ghostly restraints, and he shoots forward towards Dean. Arms outstretched, he almost barrels headfirst into Dean, but manages to catch himself before he does. Castiel sinks to his knees and forcefully takes Dean's head into his hands. Shaking like a leaf, he tries to wipe away the salty remnants of the tears that are still present on Dean's beautifully freckled cheeks.

Gasping in surprise at the touch, Dean looks up and his eyes bore into Castiel’s. They are wide open, like Dean can’t believe what he is seeing. Their green is so vivid, so clear, no longer hidden behind the clouds of alcohol abuse. Castiel feels vulnerable under Dean’s gaze, cracked open and raw, ready to spill all of his deepest, darkest desires.

Breathlessly, Dean utters, "Ca-CAS?!”

The gun clatters to the ground with a loud thump, no longer being held by Dean's trembling hands.

Castiel stares at Dean. He cannot believe that he is actually holding Dean's face in his hands. He feels the stubble scraping against the pads of his fingers, making them itch for more contact. His thumbs try to map out the constellations of freckles on Dean's cheeks, as if they have a will of their own. Castiel is trying to wrap his mind around the magnitude of Dean's confession, but he fails entirely.

There are at least a million things that Dean hasn’t told Castiel. He never pushed for Dean to share anything that he wasn’t comfortable with. Even when, at times, his whole being was twisting and turning inside of him to make sure that Dean was alright. To shoulder the burden that was weighing on Dean’s soul. To make him feel less alone, to ease the suffering that Castiel always felt pressing down on that breathtaking, warm, bright light that shines inside of Dean.

Castiel feels his grace stir at the memory of Dean’s soul. It sings inside of him, surging higher and higher. It chants of how it felt to finally touch him, after what seemed like eons, fighting his way through Hell to get to Dean. It effuses about the moment that Castiel gripped him tight to raise him from Perdition.

Castiel knows Dean, he knows him with every fiber of his being. He re-built his body after all, one cell at a time. Castiel's grace pulses harder inside his chest. He softly shakes his head to dispel any lingering memories and focuses again on Dean's eyes, which are still wide open in shock. Castiel could stay like this forever. For a split second, he can't control himself, and he lets his gaze roam all over Dean's face, dropping his eyes down to look at his mouth.

Dean inhales sharply, and Castiel's eyes fly back up to meet Dean's once more. Castiel feels like he is drowning in Dean's gold-speckled greens, finding things beyond his wildest dreams. Dean's soul is teetering between hope and fear, the golden light softly pulsing and tentatively searching for Castiel's grace. Yet behind the surface, there is a longing, a burning desire, fanning a warmth inside Castiel that forces the breath from his lungs and makes heat pool low in his belly.

Dean raises his still trembling hands to clasp them around Castiel's wrists. With the smallest voice that Castiel has ever heard from him, Dean asks:

“Is that really you, Cas?”

Castiel takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand with the air that is now trapped inside, trying to get the fluttering in his chest under control. He slowly exhales and slightly moves one hand to caress Dean's cheek, his fingers softly curling around his stubbled jaw, scratching the little hairs there, only to let them land on the soft flesh just below Dean's ear.

Feeling a little calmer now, a gravelly rumble wells up from deep within: "Hello Dean."

He feels Dean stiffen at the initial sound of his voice, but then it seems to propel him into action, causing several things to happen at once. Dean tightens his grip on Castiel's wrists, his fingertips pressing into the delicate skin there, simultaneously moving Castiel up and forward. Castiel gets pulled off his knees, and for a few precious seconds, his face hovers right in front of Dean's.

He can feel Dean's breath ghost over his skin, making goosebumps appear all over his body. There is no more time to feel, to think, because Dean cranes his neck and pulls Castiel harshly into a searing kiss. Their mouths meet in a clash of teeth and lips, and Castiel's mind goes carefully blank. He gasps out a startled “oh,” overwhelmed by the softness of Dean's lips and the hunger that he feels in the other man.

He carefully opens his mouth to Dean's searching tongue and loses himself in the tantalizing wet, slick slide of their tongues together. He is kissing Dean, and it feels holy, it feels like a benediction. Castiel's grace flares uncontrollably, and with a loud crash, the lightbulbs in the kitchen explode and cover them both in sparks and fine shards of glass.

Dean is kissing Cas.

Holy fuck, he is kissing Cas!

Dean's mind reels from the events that have gone down since he woke up in the kitchen. From confessing his undying love to the shadow Cas, to having his finger on the trigger of a gun. A numbing, depressing darkness, a final prayer, a flash of hope to convey the vastness of his love for Cas through time and space to wherever he was at now. The shock of feeling Cas' hands on his cheeks, then grabbing his wrists tightly, not intending to ever let go again.

Those ethereal, furious blue eyes, roaming over Dean's face, flickering to his mouth for just an instant. That rumbling voice saying his name, making it sound like something precious, like a supplication. That smell, of amber honey and petrichor, can mean only one thing— this is actually Cas. The realisation hits Dean like a grenade, and his brain officially powers down, his instinct taking over.

Hauling in Cas to crash their mouths together feels like the most natural thing in the world. Cas’ lips are ridiculously soft, despite their chapped and cracked appearance. Over the years, Dean had tried to imagine what it would feel like to kiss Cas. He had imagined that it would feel like a homecoming, maybe even feel like a revelation. He couldn't have been more wrong. Kissing Cas feels like being struck by lightning on a clear day, electricity running through his veins. It feels like being lit up from the inside, filled to bursting with hot, bright, shining holy fire. It feels like holding on to the tail of a shooting star. It feels incredible.

They move together as two halves of a whole, like this is what they were made for. Dean tentatively licks at Cas' lower lip, and with a soft murmured “oh,” Cas opens up and grants him access to the wet heat of his mouth. Their tongues move languorously against each other, the delicious slide sending chills down his spine, all the way to his toes. A ferocious warmth blooms deep in his stomach, and he feels his blood start to rush southward.

Dean feels a surge of energy washing over his head, and all of the lights in the kitchen explode. Startled, he pulls away from the kiss, just enough so that he can look Cas in the eye. He is astonished by the naked desire he finds burning there, next to the blue fire of his grace flashing behind his irises. Dean lets go of Cas’ wrist to scratch nervously at the nape of his neck. Feeling flustered and a bit embarrassed, his eyes fall on his gun lying useless on the floor, instantly afraid to look into Castiel's eyes.

“Ah, Cas, sweetheart, maybe we should stop for a second and talk about this, seeing as how I don't have an infinite stock of lightbulbs here.”

He shyly looks up at Cas again, whose face is still only a few inches away from his own. Dean takes a moment to really take in the angel that is standing before him. He looks breathtaking, with his straight nose and sharply stubbled jaw. His unruly hair sticks up at different angles, a little unkempt, but softly curling around his ears. Dean wonders how it would feel to tuck away those errant strands. Again, his gaze is drawn to those gorgeous, sinful lips, now swollen and red from their kiss. He wants to kiss him again, suck that bottom lip between his teeth, and trace every line with his tongue.

He sees Cas frown and narrow his eyes at him. He tilts his head a little sideways, as if to say, "Go on, let's talk.”

Dean leans back from Castiel's face and takes a deep breath.

Chapter Text

“Soooooooo,” Dean says, stretching out the vowel as long as he can, while unconsciously scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What exactly of all of that were you here for, huh, Cas?” he asks hesitantly, looking at anything but Castiel's eyes. Taking in the silence that follows, he reluctantly raises his eyes to connect with Castiel's once more.

Cas levels him with a flat stare. Raises one eyebrow as if to say, “Was I not supposed to hear it at all?” but the only thing that bursts from his lips is an exasperated “Dean…”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I figured you might've been present for the whole embarrassing show.”

Cas rolls his eyes, the only way he knows how to, throwing his whole body into it. He takes a small step back and speaks again. “Dean, there is nothing embarrassing about the things you entrusted to me earlier. Would you say the same about my confession, the things I told you before I was taken away?”

Castiel's voice noticeably falters, sounding distracted by something Dean doesn't understand. He sees the wheels grinding and turning behind Castiel's eyes, and all of a sudden, Cas looks a lot more nervous. His shoulders are slumped low, arms dropped listlessly to his side. His big, warm hands are no longer on Dean's skin, but rather, pressed into clenching and unclenching fists. Castiel seems to be unraveling before Dean's very eyes. He no longer looks like an impressive, all-powerful angel of the Lord; he just looks worn-out and bone-tired.

He sighs deeply.

“Please, tell me that you meant what you said,” Cas begs, his voice sounding like a wounded animal, low and wrecked. “Because I can tell you, Dean, that I meant every single word of what I said in the basement. And I don't regret saving you, not for one second. If I were forced to make the same choice again, I would always choose to save you, even if it meant that I'd be taken by the Empty. I would gladly die over and over again as long as it means that you get to live, Dean. There is no greater reward for me than the knowledge that you are safe.”

Dean shuffles his feet guiltily. His traitorous eyes wander to the gun on the floor, and his mind reminds him of how it felt in his hand. He wants to explain, but Cas barrels on.

“I can't keep doing this anymore. I just can't. If my being back means that you will rescind everything you just told me, please tell me now. Please tell me, because you have unleashed a hunger in me, Dean, and I cannot control it any longer. It burns with the intensity of a thousand suns, an incandescent fury, ready to devour anything and everything that you are willing to give me. It is taking all of my strength to keep me from utterly and completely ravishing you right now.”

Dean's lips are slightly parted, and his throat feels parched. He swallows hard.

“Jesus, Cas, you can't just say these things, man. At least give me some warning, for crying out loud. I mean, the last time you looked at me like I hung the freaking moon, you told me that you loved me, and then you instantly got hauled away by the Empty. As you might have noticed by now, that didn't go over so well with me!”

Dean feels the atmosphere gradually shifting. The hot tension swirling in his belly is slowly being replaced by a rising anger. Cas might not think that Dean totally losing his shit is anything to be ashamed of, but Dean knows better. He's a fucking embarrassment. Drowning himself in alcohol. Letting the bunker become a pigsty. Roaming the halls at night, wrapped in a shirt of Cas’, sniffling like a little bitch. What a wonderful catch he is. A prized possession for sure. And all of that had happened because he was afraid to deal with his feelings.

Why can't he just be like any other normal person? One who can deal with love and loss and grief without losing their sanity in the bottom of a bottle of alcohol. One who can deal with the loss of their best friend, their partner, hell, their world, without going practically insane. Seriously, look at Sam. He lost Jessica all those years ago, and he didn't try to kill himself. ‘No, but he did go off the deep end gorging on demon blood and hiding it all from you,’ his mind helpfully supplies. Dean considers the thought and sees the truth that it carries. Guess nobody in the Winchester family is exempt from dealing with losses the 'normal’ way, whatever that may entail.

Dean thinks back to those last moments in the kitchen, right before Cas had moved in and grabbed his face, knocking the gun from his hand. Would he actually have gone through with it? He's not so sure he would have stopped. Not when there was just so much pain. Dean's mind slowly starts to spiral out of control. He thinks of all of the losses he has experienced in his many years as a hunter. He thinks of his mom and his dad, he thinks of Ash, Ellen, and Jo.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he thinks of Bobby and Rufus, Kevin and Charlie. Like a solid punch to the sternum, her face floats to the surface. God, Charlie. Every single day, he feels the stabbing pain of missing her. If he closes his eyes, he can still smell her perfume from when he kissed the top of her head for the last time. He thinks of all of the innocent people who died because he wasn't smart enough, not fast enough, not good enough. All of the people he has let down, all of the people he has failed, time and time again.

“Look, Cas. I'm not sure why you're still so hung up on me, especially after that little monologue I just served you. I mean, apparently, you actually love me, which, honestly, is fucking amazing, truly. But are you totally and completely sure about what you’re getting yourself into? We've known each other for so long now, and frankly, you should know better. Why would you want to be with the likes of me?”

Dean's insides curl into a tight, quivering ball, saying these things out loud to Cas. He doesn't want Cas to leave; hell, he prayed and begged for his return so that he could tell him the naked truth. But Cas doesn't seem to understand. He has to see why this would never work. Why it's better to leave Dean. In the end, Cas would come to see who Dean really is, deep down inside, and he would decide that he's not worth the trouble. And he would leave. Like everyone has before him. And Dean would end up in the same place he is now, only without the thoughts of Cas to keep him company through his darkest hours.

Castiel doesn't answer. Dean feels energy gathering in the room. All of the hairs on his arms and neck are standing on end. It feels like lightning is about to strike, and Dean isn’t sure what will happen next. He doesn't dare to look at Cas right now, because he's afraid of what he will find in his eyes. Will this be it? Will this be the final indignity? Will Castiel finally realise that Dean is fucked up beyond repair and just isn’t worth the trouble?

A deep rumble, that sounds more like a growl if Dean is being completely honest, pierces through his thoughts.

"DEAN, look at me.”

Eyes open wide and showing the whites, his body trembling with fear and anticipation at the commanding tone in Castiel's voice, Dean reluctantly raises his eyes to lock with the angel's. Cas’ eyes are charged with grace; the usual lovely blue of a Kansas summer sky is now completely drowned out by the holy fire that is shining from his face. He looks every bit the garrison commander that he was for eons.

“Dean, you are no longer allowed to make assumptions about my motivations or my feelings for you. I told you the truth, I told you how I felt about you, how I love you, and still, you doubt me. This cannot continue. Hear my words now, and understand that there is nothing that you can do or say to sway me from pursuing you until the end of your days.

I look into your depths to find the unimaginable there. All of these facets of you that are never allowed to reach the surface. Doomed for all eternity to only shine within the confines of your own body and mind. A dull brass, where there should be the searing light of a supernova. I want to see that supernova unleashed, to be consumed by its fire, to never feel anything else, ever again.

I love you, Dean Winchester.”

Once more, Castiel stands tall opposite Dean, his shoulders high and proud, his chin tilted upwards, and his eyes filled with crackling grace. Dean swears that he can even make out the shapes of Castiel's wings behind him. Like a fish on dry land, Dean opens and closes his mouth several times, but no sounds form.

"Do you understand?”

Still not able to form a coherent reply, Dean gapes a little longer at Cas. His feelings are all over the place, warring with themselves, giving Dean mental whiplash. Maybe Cas does know what he is in for after all. He certainly thinks that he knows what Dean is made of. Perhaps Dean really needs to be like Elsa and let it go. Let Cas discover everything for himself.

Dean feels his shame and self-loathing trying to take hold, but the burning heat of his untamed desire is rapidly taking over instead. Because holy hell, Cas looks ridiculously hot like this. He needs to get his act together because the way that Cas is looking at him, it’s like he is expecting something from Dean, and like he expects it sooner rather than later. Dean pulls his mind out of the gutter to look Castiel straight in the eyes and mutters:

“Yes, Castiel, I understand.”

The only reply he gets is a cocked eyebrow and a slow raise of one corner of Castiel's mouth. Before Dean's mind catches up to what is happening, Castiel springs into action. In a blur of movement, Cas grabs his arms, yanks Dean towards him, and pulls him flush against his warm body. One of his hands lands on Dean's hip, gripping the soft flesh so tightly that he might end up leaving fingertip-shaped bruises. His other hand cranes firmly around the back of Dean's neck and pulls him into a scorching kiss.

Dean's hands move to steady himself against the hard lines of Castiel's body, ending up fisting into the lapels of his trench coat. Melting into the strong presence of the angel before him, he kisses Cas back with a ferocity he didn't know was still in him. He feels Cas smile against his lips, and then he opens up to let Dean inside. Like a man possessed, he licks into the wet heat of Cas' mouth and tries to devour him whole.

Dean enters hungrily, his tongue coming in broad and soft, smoothly exploring every inch of Cas' mouth. Their tongues tangle and curl against one another, not leaving any room to breathe. Dean swallows down a wanting noise and tries to pull back for a millisecond to catch his breath. Cas isn’t having any of it, and he chases after Dean to capture his mouth again, grabbing his plump lower lip between his teeth, gently biting down on it.

Gasping softly at the stinging sensation, Dean traces the lines of Castiel's upper lip with his tongue, before plunging back in to explore further. Kissing Cas feels like an intricate dance, their tongues swirling enticingly around each other, coaxing and teasing, all hot, slick slides and playful bites. Dean unclenches his fists and hesitantly slides his hands up and under the trench coat, pushing it back and off Castiel's shoulders.

Seeing how Cas refuses to release Dean even for a second, the coat ends up bunched around his elbows. Dean's hands roam frantically over Castiel's back, fumbling and trying to get under his suit jacket to untuck his dress shirt. He longs to touch Cas’ naked skin, to feel his blood rushing hotly underneath the surface. He's been fantasizing about that feeling for way too long already.

He untangles his mouth from Castiel's once more, to huff out a frustrated:

“Less clothes, Cas, less clothes! Why do you always have to wear that damn suit and trench coat?”

Cas grins against the crook of his shoulder, pressing a small kiss into the skin there, before he starts moving his mouth upwards. Castiel's teeth enticingly scrape and nip along the column of Dean's neck, slowly making their way towards the shell of his ear. Dean feels Cas’ warm breath ghost over his cheek, raising goosebumps all over Dean's body, as he seductively whispers:

“Are you saying that you want to see me naked, Dean?”

Chapter Text

Dean's heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he's afraid it's going to tear out of there at any second. His blood is burning hot and fierce and is currently in the process of relocating to somewhere south of his belly button. He pulls himself back fast from Cas, almost losing his hold on the angel entirely. His eyes fly up to connect with Cas’, and he sees that the wicked grin on Castiel's face is rapidly disappearing following Dean's sudden retreat from their entanglement.

"Did I say something wrong, Dean?” Cas asks, with a hint of concern on his face.

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to calm the stuttering of his heart and to slow the heated rushing of his blood. He will need to keep his wits about him for a little longer, which is proving to be…hard at the moment.

"No, no, not at all, love. I just wasn't prepared for you…this…us…I mean, you have no idea how many times I dreamt of having you, like this. Holding you in my arms, kissing you, it all feels like a dream. And I don't want to wake up in case this is a dream. I want all of this, I want all of you, forever. I never want to let this go, ever again.”

The look in Castiel's eyes turns incredibly soft. His lust-blown pupils from moments before have grown infinitesimally smaller, showing more of the electrifying blue around them.

"I will do everything in my power to stay with you, Dean, forever, if that is granted to us. If I ever leave you again, it will not be of my own volition. We will face whatever comes next, together. The force of your despair brought me back here, and I am not planning on wasting a single second of this gift we have been given. I can assure you that this is not a dream. I am really here in the kitchen with you. Besides, if this were a dream, wouldn't you think you'd have me undressed and in your bed by now?”

Cas wrestles his arms out of his tangled trench coat, neatly folds it over one arm, and spots the half-hard line of Dean's cock in his pants. The wicked grin returns to Cas’ face as he reaches out to grab Dean's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Speaking of beds, shall we go and find yours, or do you want to see where this leads on the kitchen table, amidst empty bottles and smelly pizza boxes?”

Dean's throat clicks, mouth dry as he tries to formulate an answer. He is so fucking in love with Castiel. He looks at his angel, HIS angel, and he can't believe that finally, finally, a good thing has happened to him. A radiant smile breaks out on his face, and looking deep into those perfect blue eyes, he lets out a breathy,

"Lead the way, cowboy.”

Cas pulls Dean out of the kitchen, their fingers remaining tightly entwined. Dean follows him obediently, all the while stealing glances at Cas’ profile. He can't believe how lucky he is to have Cas back with him. Cas is walking slightly in front of him, looking back at Dean every other minute with a love-drunk expression on his face.

Grinning from ear to ear, Dean takes two big steps to catch up to Cas, and then he pushes him up against the nearest wall. Putting both hands next to Castiel's head, neatly boxing him in, Dean leans forward and traces the shell of Cas’ ear with his tongue. He teasingly sucks on his earlobe and huskily whispers into his ear,

"Fancy seeing you here, sunshine, going anywhere special?”

Cas makes a throaty noise, turning his head to catch Dean's mouth once more. He traces Dean's full lips with the tip of his tongue before plunging into the warmth of his mouth. Castiel drops his trench coat to have full use of his hands. He sends them roaming in opposite directions, one hand travelling to Dean's waist to pull them flush together, while the other travels upwards to land in Dean's hair, his fingers tightening in the greasy strands to deepen their kiss. Castiel rolls his hips forward, and Dean can feel that Cas is already hard in his slacks. He moves with Cas and presses his rapidly filling cock against Castiel's in a sinful grind of their hips. The pressure on his aching dick feels divine.

No longer able to keep his hands off Castiel, Dean moves them from the wall towards Cas’ body. He skates them up his sides, grabbing hold of Cas’ dress shirt and untucking it from his pants. Down they go again, his fingers finally free to glide under the fabric, touching blessedly naked muscle, his fingernails lightly trailing over warm, soft skin. His thumbs nimbly press into Cas’ sharp hipbones, grabbing his hips firmly to get more of that delicious pressure on his cock. They rock against each other, their hard dicks perfectly lined up, sparks flying up Dean's spine until fireworks explode behind his eyes. He moans loudly into Cas’ mouth.

“Oh fuck…Cas.”

Cas replies by nipping at his lower lip and moving his hand to Dean's ass, his fingers tracing his waistband. He maneuvers until he finds enough room to slide his hand into Dean's pants, grabbing a handful of his round cheek and squeezing hard. Dean can feel the heat of Cas’ hand through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. The image of a raised red hand on his shoulder briefly flashes behind Dean's eyes, and he silently shudders at the thought of a similar fresh and new mark, albeit in a whole other place.

His attention is pulled back to the present by Cas’ mouth leisurely making its way down Dean's neck and possessively sucking a bruising mark onto his clavicle. Leaning back a little, Cas tilts his head to the side, squinting while he assesses his work. He smirks and dives back in to lick over the sensitive spot, tracing the purpling edges with the tip of his tongue. He removes his hands from Dean's head and ass and grabs the front of the dress shirt.

"Have I told you how absurdly attractive it is to see you in my clothes, Dean?” Cas pants. “I cannot recall the number of times I imagined how it would feel to slowly peel you out of this shirt, button by tiny button. Reality, however, appears to be much different because I want you out of it immediately.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Cas tears the shirt apart, making the buttons fly everywhere and revealing Dean's naked chest. The chill air of the bunker blows over Dean's exposed flesh, hardening his nipples and making him shiver. Seeing the expanse of freckled skin before him, Cas immediately bows his head to suck a dusky nipple into his mouth, while thumbing across its twin on the other side with one hand. Goosebumps appear all over Dean's body, and the heat simmering low in his abdomen is slowly coming to a boil.

Dean winds his hands into Cas’ hair, feeling the soft strands moving between his fingers and gently pulling on them. That draws out an illicit sound from Cas’ mouth, making Dean's dick twitch in his pants.

“Ah, you like that huh?” groans Dean, while he tugs a little harder on Cas’ hair.

Castiel raises his gaze from Dean’s freckled chest to look into his fully blown eyes, only a small ring of green showing around the huge black pupils. Dean smirks down at Cas, thoroughly enjoying the completely debauched look on his angel's face. He lowers one of his hands to the bulge in Castiel's pants, slowly rubbing circles over his straining cock. Cas ruts against his hand, unable to control himself, trying to get as much friction as he can through the layers of clothing still separating them.

“I see, you really like that.” Dean grins, cupping and squeezing Castiel's cock with his hand. “I bet you’ll like this even more.”

Without further warning, Dean falls to his knees in front of Cas, leveling his face with Castiel's hips. He looks up at Cas through copper eyelashes, batting them innocently. While his hands are working on the belt and zipper, he murmurs,

“Babe, can you get rid of all of these clothes? They are interfering with my plans here, and I really want to see all of you naked, if you're up for it.”

Cas’ eyes widen just a fraction, and Dean sees an untamed desire flashing in their cerulean depths. His pupils seem to grow even larger, almost swallowing the blue entirely. Dean notices how the muscles in Castiel's throat tighten for a second, and then he waves one of his hands. With a smug look on his face, Cas leans back against the wall, his chest now bare, his dress shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder. His suit jacket has neatly joined his trench coat on the floor next to Dean's knees.

Dean looks lecherously at the treasure of naked skin that has revealed itself to him. He spots a lone freckle above Cas’ right nipple and makes a mental note to investigate that one extensively later on. Being on his knees and with a different plan in mind, he can’t do that right now. His eyes linger on Castiel's broad chest before moving on to roam over his muscular arms and shoulders. When did Cas get so defined? Dean secretly wonders how he could have ever referred to Cas as ‘a dorky little guy’, seeing how he definitely is anything but that.

Dean rolls his eyes and fondly mutters, "Showoff,” before returning to his task of unbuttoning Castiel's pants and shoving them down his magnificent thighs. Cas is wearing dark green boxer briefs. Dean leans forward and lets his hot breath ghost over the impressive bulge straining against the cotton fabric. Dean can already see a small dark spot forming, and it makes his dick twitch uncontrollably. Slowly, the realisation sinks in, this is because of him, Cas is leaking at the slit because he wants Dean.

He moves upwards, tonguing at the happy trail leading down from Cas’ belly button. His mouth leaves a glistening trail over Cas’ abdomen, as he bites and sucks at his sharp hipbones. He repays Castiel in kind by sucking hard on his left hipbone, leaving a perfect dark purple bruise there. Cas inhales sharply at the sensation and looks down at Dean through heavy-lidded eyes. His lips are slightly parted, and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, leaving it shiny and pink. Oh so slowly, Dean directs his movements southward until he arrives at the elastic waistband of Cas’ boxers. He looks up, silently requesting permission to continue.

Cas nods, and Dean doesn't waste any time. Reverently, he slides the boxer briefs down Castiel's thighs, and Cas’ magnificent cock springs free, curving upwards, precome still clinging to the tip. Dean leans back on his heels, looking his fill. Castiel's dick might be the most gorgeous one that Dean has ever laid eyes on. His mouth starts to water. Dean can't wait to feel the heavy weight of Castiel on his tongue. Can't wait to taste Cas. Unconsciously, he wets his lips.

Without further hesitation, he darts forward to lick a long line from the root to the tip of Cas’ cock. Swiping his tongue over the slit, he gathers up the silty drops clinging there; the taste is exhilarating. Dean breathes in deeply through his nose. Cas still smells of petrichor and amber honey, but it’s deepened by a heady musky scent that is intoxicating and makes Dean's head spin.

Placing one hand on Cas’ ass to steady himself, Dean rolls Cas’ balls in his other palm. Eyeing the thick cock once more, Dean opens up and swallows Cas down as far as he can go. The head of Cas’ throbbing dick bumps against his soft palate, and Dean gags unintentionally. To be fair, it has been quite some time since he did this, but that doesn't mean he can't make it good for Cas.

Dean bobs his head up and down Cas’ hard length, his mouth and lips slick and shining with spit, sucking and licking at the raised veins on the shaft. He explores every hard line and mouths along the sides. His tongue traces the frenulum at the underside before closing his mouth over the cockhead and sucking hard. He hollows his cheeks and teasingly dips the tip of his tongue into the small opening at the top of the head. A low hoarse moan is pulled from Cas’ throat.

“That goddamn, beautiful mouth of yours.”

Dean pulls off of Castiel with an obscene, wet pop, his glassy green eyes staring upwards to where Cas is gradually losing control. He sees the ethereal blue glow of grace shining from underneath his closed eyelids, and Cas’ teeth are digging into his lower lip.

“Everything okay there, sunshine? You seem ready to blow up the rest of the lights.” Dean all but giggles. Cas cracks his eyes open to slits, bright blue light still shining from underneath his dark lashes. If looks could kill, Dean would be in so much trouble right now.

Instead of answering, Dean feels two big hands land on top of his head. Fingers card softly through his hair before tightening firmly on the strands. He feels his head being tilted backwards, forcing him to look up at Cas towering above him. Eyes now open wide, blue electricity swirls around his lust-blown pupils. He looks down at Dean, who feels like he's supplicating at the altar of Castiel.

"Dean.” Cas sounds like he's dragged his vocal cords over at least ten miles of gravel. “I'd like to fuck your mouth, if you are amenable to that.”

Dean opens his mouth, unable to get anything out. He coughs and clears his throat. The words all spill out at once, tumbling over each other in the haste to leave his lips.

“If I’d be amenable to you fucking my mouth? Cas, sweetheart, babe, you can fuck me any way you want. I'm totally, madly, deeply okay with whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”

Castiel's eyes seem to catch on fire. The hallway instantly feels charged with crackling energy, like lightning poised to strike. The hand fisting his hair abruptly tightens, pulling hard to position Dean's head just right. It borders on becoming too painful, but Dean doesn’t flinch. He isn't one to shy away from pain; hell, considering how his dick is still rock hard in his pants, he might even be into it a little. Or a lot.

Castiel grabs his cock, which is coated in Dean's saliva, and he shifts his hips forward towards Dean's mouth. He slides the tip slowly over the full lower lip, leaving a smear of precum behind, before tapping it gently to get Dean to open up.

Dean surrenders his mouth to Cas. It's a heady feeling, the hot length of Cas sliding languidly in and out between his lips. He goes slowly, carefully at first, giving Dean the time to adjust. Dean revels in the feeling of Cas’ thick cockhead bumping against the roof of his mouth. He tries to swallow, but is unable to, which makes spit slowly dribble down the corners of his mouth. Cas picks up speed, feeling comfortable enough to really put his back into it. He goes faster now, setting a punishing pace, sliding in deeper and deeper. Tears are spilling from the corners of Dean's eyes, and he is loving every second of it.

The tight clutch of Cas’ hands in his hair, the relentless rhythm at which his dick is pushing in and out. The delicious way his lips stretch around Cas’ thick girth, feeling every vein. Small bursts of salty precum dribble into his throat, and Dean swallows whatever he can. He closes his eyes, lost in perpetual bliss, listening to the sounds that are coming from above. Cas is no longer holding back. He’s huffing and groaning, making low noises, interspersed with small sighs and short bursts of air.

After what feels like it could be just a few minutes, or an eternity, Cas pulls out halfway and stops moving altogether, holding Dean completely still. Jolted from whatever blissed-out space he was floating in, Dean looks up at Cas. Curiosity sparks in his green eyes, and without a word, he conveys the question, ‘Are you alright?’ Castiel gazes down at Dean, a bright red flush painting his skin, starting on his chest, spreading upwards to his neck and the tip of his ears. He’s panting hard.

“I…” he falters.

He pulls his cock out all of the way, and Dean instantly mourns the loss of the heavy weight on his tongue. Cas delicately pulls at Dean's hair, signalling for him to get up off his knees. Dean obeys and rises to his feet. His knees creak loudly, but he ignores that in favor of staring at Castiel, who looks completely and utterly depraved. Still unable to speak, Cas surges forward, grabbing Dean and turning them both around, pushing him into the wall. He catches Dean in an open-mouthed kiss, their teeth clicking together, tasting himself on Dean's tongue.

Castiel can't ever remember being closer to completely losing control than he is right now. It takes all of his willpower not to blow up every single light in the bunker. Grace runs through his veins like liquid fire, and he feels it crackling under his skin, straining his body's limits. It's rapidly bringing him to that exquisite edge where the lines blur and pain meets pleasure. He spirals. His grace is burning behind his eyes, and he is unable to hold it back any longer. Opening them to slits, he feels it leaking out from underneath his eyelashes, bathing the hallway in an eerie blueish glow.

He looks down at Dean on his knees in front of him, his mouth open and his gorgeous lips stretched wide around his cock. Dean's eyes are closed, and he has a look of total rapture on his face. It all feels like a fever dream. Castiel moves his hips leisurely and watches intensely as his dick slides in and out of Dean's mouth. The sight is almost too much to bear; never in a million years had he imagined having Dean like this. He feels Dean's tongue dragging against the underside of his length, and his cockhead bumps against his soft palate. Dean tries to swallow, his throat constricting around the most sensitive part of Castiel. His tightly controlled hold on himself shatters.

His hand firmly grabs onto Dean's head, and Castiel snaps his hips forward. He speeds up, ruthlessly thrusting, the heat in his belly rising and spreading throughout his body. He feels it rushing up his spine, coursing through his chest, soaring higher and higher until he feels like he is ready to explode. He's no longer able to hold back any sounds, letting hoarse, low groans escape his mouth. He pants hard and gasps for air, all the while still fucking Dean's mouth relentlessly. The pressure in his abdomen abruptly reaches its zenith, and Castiel realises that he needs to stop right now if he doesn't want their encounter to end prematurely.

He halts mid-thrust, holding Dean's head completely still. Dean looks up questioningly, and Cas is at a loss for words. He pulls his dick out, hissing at the loss of the perfect wet heat of Dean's mouth, and helps him to his feet. Desperately trying to calm himself, Castiel stares into Dean's perfect green eyes, pupils still fat with desire. He realises once more that Dean truly is all his. Shaken to his core, he pushes Dean into the wall, chasing the salty taste of his precum in Dean's mouth, barely holding on to his sanity.

Giving himself no time to linger on the crippling emotions swirling in his chest, Castiel kisses Dean as though his life depends on it. Dean tries to pull their hips flush, but Castiel is still riding a precarious high from almost climaxing. He isn't sure if he's ready to withstand the delicious friction of their cocks rubbing together. Dean pouts and Castiel nips at his protruding lip. Castiel flashes a small smile and finally finds his voice.

“Dean, ah, stop. Just hold on for a second.”

Dean's hand is searching, crawling towards Cas’ unwavering, very naked dick. Castiel bats it away. Dean frowns. Castiel's demeanor turns serious.

"Listen. I don't want this to end before it actually starts. Now that I'm finally allowed to touch you, to be with you, I plan to treat you the way that you deserve. I want to explore every atom of your being and worship every single inch of your body. Ejaculating prematurely in the hallway because I can't control myself is obviously not part of that plan.”

Dean's eyes light up with glee. “Are you saying that I make you go crazy, Cas? Because what I’m hearing you say is that you were ready to blow your load just because you fucked my mouth for like, a minute?”

Castiel rolls his eyes and mutters, “It was certainly more than a minute, Dean. Forgive me that I wasn't keeping track of exactly how long my dick was in your mouth.”

Dean flashes a toothy smile, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, and he placatingly holds up his hands. Still chuckling, he leans his head back against the wall and swallows. Castiel stares at him, the long lines of his neck exposed, the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and oh, how Castiel wants. A new flash of longing shoots directly to his dick, making it throb. He tries to focus on whatever Dean is saying to him.

“Okay, okay, sweetheart, whatever you say. Tell me about that plan of yours. What do you want us to do? Because you know, I'm yours to command.”

Castiel stills at that last comment and arches one eyebrow, eyes flying up to lock with Dean's. Before he knows that he is going to do it, he grabs both of Dean's wrists in one hand and pins them high above his head. The movement makes his body align anew with Dean's, pressed together from their chests to their pelvises. Dean doesn't waste any time, and he rolls his hips forward immediately, rocking against Cas’ erect cock. Castiel breathes hard into the small space that is left between him and Dean.

His free hand skates down Dean's chest, grazing the nipple on passing before unceremoniously inserting itself between their joined bodies. He cups Dean through his pants and rubs his hand over the hard length that is clearly begging for attention. Grabbing his dick tightly, he squeezes, brings his mouth towards Dean's ear, and purrs,

“I want to spread you out naked on your bed, and take you apart, inch by inch. I want to mark you so that everyone knows that you belong to me. I want to bite your nipples and suck your cock so good that you'll beg me for mercy. I want to fill you up with my fingers, and I won’t stop until you are a whimpering mess, praying to me for your release. And then, and only then, if you have been a good boy, would I give you what you really want, and make you scream my name when you come.”

Castiel bites down hard on Dean's earlobe and then steps back, releasing Dean's arms in one fluid motion. He tucks his throbbing dick back into his boxer briefs and fixes his pants. Giving Dean's bulge one last squeeze, he turns on his heels and walks towards Dean's room without looking back, trusting Dean to follow him, like the good boy he is.

Chapter Text

Dean watches Cas stalk towards his bedroom. His mind is still catching up to whatever the fuck just happened. Holy shit. He is unsteady on his feet, and his bowed legs are shaking. A dark desire unfurls low in his abdomen, thinking of the promises that Cas had purred in his ear, making him shiver. Unbidden, Dean remembers a dark alley and a furious Castiel shouting in his face, throwing him into dirty walls, evoking feelings he didn't recognize at the time. Even though that was many years ago, the memory fuels the sensations churning in his belly. Dean releases a shuddering breath and hurries after Cas, anticipation surging inside of him like the rising tide.

The door is open, and Dean sees Cas sitting on the foot of the bed. He looks magnificent. His dress shirt hangs off one well-defined shoulder, showing miles of tanned bare skin. Dean stares hungrily at Cas’ naked chest and his totally fucked-out hair (which absolutely can’t be blamed on him, no sirree!). Dean feels lust coursing through his veins like wildfire; it makes his skin prickle, and his body feel ten sizes too small. He turns around and closes the door with a soft click.

Without so much as a warning, Cas is crowding his space, standing directly behind him. His hard body is pressed alongside Dean's back, the solid line of a clothed erection nestling against the swell of his ass. Distantly, Dean wonders why they both still have their pants on. He feels Cas’ hot breath next to his ear.

“You don't know how beautiful you are, Dean.” Cas’ big hands touch his abdomen, his fingernails trailing the curves of Dean's muscles, delicately raking over the naked skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I don't think I will ever get enough of looking at you. I could spend eternity worshiping you, if you would let me.”

He quietly kisses Dean's shoulder.

One of Cas’ hands travels up Dean’s chest, fingers stroking a nipple, teasingly pinching the firm nub. Dean moans at the sensation. The hand creeps higher and higher until it reaches his neck. Long fingers wrap securely around his throat, and Dean swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against the palm of Cas’ hand.

“I feel honored by the faith you put in me, Dean. I know that it does not come naturally to you. I know how your trust has been betrayed. I know that you've been double-crossed and deceived by the people closest to you, by the people who loved you, and who you loved deeply in return. I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to never, ever hurt you like that again. Allow me to show you what your love means to me.”

Dean inhales deeply, his breath shaky on the exhale, dispelling any lingering tension from his body. He feels his muscles go slack, and Castiel's voice is like a caress.

“Tell me if this is okay, Dean.” The pressure on Dean's neck increases ever so slightly.

Dean nods almost imperceptibly. “I need verbal confirmation, please, Dean. I don't want to assume anything and end up hurting you in the process.”

“Y- Yes, Castiel." Dean mumbles.

Dean feels Cas smile into the tender spot behind his ear. Another soft kiss lands on the nape of his neck. The hand resting on his stomach starts to move south, agile fingers running through the little hairs there, tickling Dean on their way down. They bump into the waistband once more, jostling around to get inside his pants. Cas huffs impatiently. His hand stops fidgeting and makes a shooing motion.

Without warning, Dean's pants vanish, and simultaneously, he feels Castiel's dick pressing in close against his now very unclothed buttcheeks. Heat flares fiercely in his gut, and Dean tilts his hips back to grind his ass against the solid line. Expecting to feel the scratchy fabric of Cas’ slacks, he is surprised when he can only feel a thin layer of cotton between his ass and Cas’ cock.

Castiel grunts and sinks his teeth into the meaty part of Dean's shoulder, leaving another mark. His left hand still loosely encircles Dean's neck, and his right is finally free to touch Dean's throbbing cock. Cas lets his fingers ghost over the fat head, smearing out the pearly drops that have formed at the tip, smoothing the way down his length to the coarse hairs at the base. There he grips it tightly and slides back up in one deft movement. He twists his wrist at the top and thumbs at the slit, causing another blurt of precome to well up. Cas jerks off Dean slow as molasses, his hand moving along the shaft, keeping an unhurried pace, enjoying the feeling of Dean falling apart under his hands.

Dean's head lolls back on Castiel's shoulder, freeing his neck from the loose grip Cas still has on him. He feels lightheaded, almost floating out of his skin with want. To finally have Cas’ hands on him feels like a revelation, and he wants nothing more than to lie down and surrender his life, body, and soul to Castiel, wholly and freely given.

He turns his head to mouth at the fingers now resting against his cheek. His tongue flicks against the pads, and he tries to suck the index finger into his mouth. Dean whines and huffs out a choked “Cas…”.

Castiel looks at the flushed face next to him, realising what Dean is trying to do. He lifts his index and middle fingers and slides them into Dean's mouth. Not wasting another second, Dean moans contentedly and curls his tongue around the fingers to suck on them. It feels good to have something in his mouth again.

Dean turns his attention back towards the exquisite feeling of Cas jerking him off. His hand has formed a loose tunnel for Dean to leisurely fuck into. On every other thrust, the pink head of his cock peeks out from between Cas’ fingers. Dean covers Castiel's hand with his own, entwining their fingers, tightening the tunnel around his thrumming dick.

Gradually, pressure is building inside Dean's body. He feels Cas removing his wet fingers from his mouth, and hey, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Cas’ fingers disappear, only to resurface seconds later at the swell of his ass. Skimming over the meaty part, Cas positions his hand between Dean's cheeks. A cold, wet finger touches his taint and slowly applies pressure to the sensitive flesh, making it clench. An embarrassing noise escapes his mouth, and he is no longer able to hold himself up, his knees buckling under him.

Instantly, Cas’ hands fly up to catch Dean before he falls face-first into the doorframe. Cas turns him around and pushes his back against the door, his concerned big blue eyes searching his face.

“Dean, are you well?” His voice no longer sounds smug. “If this is too much, please tell me, because I only want to take whatever you are willing to give to me.” Dean blinks sluggishly, wondering why there is no longer a hand on his dick or a finger at his hole.

“Did I ask you to stop, Cas? I don't think I did.” Dean slurs, his mind still soaring on the high of divine pressure on his hole and dick. “My knees just gave out, dude, nothing to worry about. How about we continue this on the bed, where I can't fall on my face ‘cause there’s no longer enough blood in my brain to stay upright.”

Cas rolls his eyes. A mischievous grin dawns on Dean's face. “How about you carry me there?” Without another word, he flings his arms over Cas’ shoulders, jumps up, and wraps his legs around his hips. Reflexively, Cas grabs hold of Dean's tight ass, his fingers squeezing hard into the soft flesh. Dean wiggles in his arms, rubbing his dick along Cas’ abdomen, smearing precum all over his stomach.

It only takes Cas a few strides to arrive at the bed where he carefully lays Dean down. Not wasting a moment, Cas lowers himself down too and crawls on top of him. He licks a long stripe over his hand and puts it on Dean's cock, resuming his stroking. He plants a kiss on the curve of Dean's belly and mouths his way up Dean's torso, licking and kissing every freckle that he encounters.

Dean grabs hold of Cas’ hair and all but yanks him up. A hungry look crosses over Dean’s face, and he pulls Cas into a fiery kiss. Keeping an iron grip on Cas’ head, he pushes his tongue past swollen lips and licks deeply inside. The kiss is filthy and open-mouthed, and the heat he feels inside turns into a torrent. His hips grind and push upwards, and he needs to feel Cas’ naked dick right this minute. He paws at his boxer briefs and demands,

“Cas…boxers…off…NOW!”

They vanish into thin air, and Dean bucks up against the blessed bare flesh of Cas’ length. The skin is so smooth, and the sinful slide of their dicks nearly pushes him over the edge. They slot together perfectly, and he bites down hard on the plush swell of Cas’ lip, letting out a surprised yelp when the taste of iron floods his mouth. Cas pulls back and cocks one eyebrow, his lip glowing blue for just a second. Pushing Dean back down to the mattress, Cas studies him through hooded eyes.

“I believe I made you a promise earlier, and I intend to keep that promise, Dean,” he rasps.

Dean leans back into the mattress, feeling completely boneless as he sasses,

“Bring it on, babe. Make. Me. Scream.”

Castiel suppresses the urge to swat that self-satisfied smirk off Dean's face. He decides that his actions will speak louder than his words. A smug smile of his own nestles into place, and he snickers, pinning Dean with a scrutinizing look. He’s never backed down from any challenge, and he isn’t planning on starting now. Especially not when Dean Winchester is involved.

Placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, he leans in and whispers sweetly, “Oh, don't you worry, darling. It won't be long until you'll be begging me to make you come. And I will certainly grant you your release, as long as you are a good boy.”

The way Dean shudders with anticipation makes Cas’ dick perk up even more. It twitches violently against Dean's, still locked together in a tantalizing grind. Castiel lifts his hips, hissing at the loss of the delicious friction. Dean raises his ass off the bed, trying to chase him, but he keeps his cock just out of Dean's reach. Castiel has other plans now.

He tears into Dean's throat, using his lips and teeth, marking him up even more. Gradually, he works his way down towards Dean's nipples and stares at the path of purple bruises that now decorate the long line of Dean's neck. An immense sense of satisfaction wells up in him, and he suppresses a deep growl that tries to escape. ‘Mine!’ the animalistic part of his mind snarls.

Castiel sucks a taut nipple into his mouth and circles his tongue around it, drawing such pretty noises from Dean. He is so sensitive, so deliciously responsive to Castiel's ministrations. He bites, and Dean arches his back off the bed, swearing loudly. Castiel grins and soothes the pained nipple with his tongue. He rolls the other one between his fingers and moves on to where Dean is rock-hard between his legs.

He sucks a few more bruises onto his hipbones, the dark purple blotches standing out on pale skin. Castiel lays his head down on Dean's thigh and studies Dean's dick. It is a sight to behold. Pearly precome is beading at the tip, and Castiel's tongue darts out to catch it. Dean bucks his hips in response.

Castiel shifts himself between Dean's legs, pushing them further open to get full access. He playfully nips at the sensitive skin of Dean's inner thigh, pressing butterfly kisses into every freckle he finds on his way up. Dean groans and mutters something unintelligible that sounds like, "You fucking tease, I don't need to be buttered up like this.”

That makes Castiel pause, looking up at Dean splayed out above him, and after a moment of consideration, he replies, “I am aware that you think you don't need or deserve to be treated with care, but I want to treat you thusly. I want to give you what you deserve, Dean, and you deserve to be cared for. You deserve to be worshiped. You deserve to be loved. I am here to do exactly that. And I will keep doing that for as long as you will allow me to do so.”

He presses another reverent kiss into Dean's groin, one hand teasingly gliding upwards, cupping Dean's balls. Leaving a wet trail behind, he slides his lips to the twitching cock before him and he kisses the head, before opening up wide and swallowing him down in one deft movement. Dean tastes like the Kansas summer sun.

He slides back up and swirls his tongue around the darkened head of Dean's length, licking at the slit. He hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, reveling in the feeling of Dean in his mouth. He slides down again, tongueing at the underside, saliva spilling from the corners of his mouth. Dean's cock is hot and hard, the skin is soft to the touch, and oh, Castiel could stay in this moment forever. Dean’s hand in his hair, gripping it tightly, Dean's dick heavy on his tongue, this is bliss. This is heaven.

He bobs his head up and down, taking more of Dean into his mouth with every movement. He feels the head of Dean’s cock bump against the back of his throat, and he keeps it there for a moment, cutting off his oxygen. Castiel swallows, and he feels his throat muscles constrict, pressing down on Dean, who is still caught between his lips. Dean hisses and chokes back an embarrassing sound. Castiel eases back up and flicks his tongue over the slippery length as it gets exposed, keeping only the head in his mouth.

Cas’ dextrous fingers relocate themselves, gliding down towards Dean's hole, which clenches in anticipation. Castiel presses the pad of his index finger against it, softly rubbing over the rim. Dean visibly shudders at the light touch. Letting Dean’s dick slip from his mouth, he looks up and asks, "Do you have any lubricant? Or do you want me to do this in a more celestial way?” His own voice sounds fucked, and Castiel loves it.

Dean raises himself on his elbows and watches Castiel with half-lidded eyes. “Hold on, buddy, the lube is in the nightstand.” Dean leans over, pulls a purple bottle from the drawer, and tosses it towards Castiel. “Have at it, angel.” He wiggles his eyebrows and his butt enticingly before falling back down on the bed. He drapes his forearm over his eyes and makes the grand gesture of spreading his bowed legs as wide as they go.

Castiel pops the cap of the bottle open and spreads some lube over his fingers before returning to the vee of Dean's legs. He focuses his attention on the tight hole between Dean's cheeks. His wet finger slowly circles the rim, applying a tiny amount of pressure on the center. "Relax, Dean,” he murmurs, while feathering his fingers over Dean's crack once more. Lining up his index finger, he carefully pushes inside to the first knuckle. He feels Dean's muscles clench, and he stops.

Dean lets out a deep sigh. Castiel lets his finger rest there for a minute, kissing the fair skin before him. "Go on, Cas, please,” Dean begs. Castiel dribbles more lube on the place where his finger is entering Dean, and he presses further in. Dean's hips move uncontrollably, and Castiel places a soft hand on his pelvis. “Easy now, Dean, let me do this right.” Dean makes an indistinct sound but lowers his hips under Castiel's touch.

Gently, Cas starts thrusting his finger in and out of Dean. With long, careful strokes, he works at Dean's hole, feeling him relax more and more. Dean starts moving his ass in small circles, pushing back on Castiel's hand. It fills him with awe, knowing that Dean is surrendering to his hands, to his touch. That Dean is allowing Castiel to worship him in the most intimate way possible.

"More, please, Cas, more,” Dean sighs.

Castiel uncurls his middle finger and adds it on the next push. Dean's rim stretches willingly around both digits. Castiel is hypnotized by the perfect slide of his fingers into Dean's ass. He takes it so well. He looks up at Dean, lying above him. A flush has spread from his chest upwards to his neck, the color also highlighting his cheeks. It makes his freckles stand out even more. He looks stunning.

Castiel curls his fingers in search of that special place. He lets them caress Dean’s soft inner walls, searching. Feeling a change in texture, he gently ghosts his fingers over it. Dean lets out a high-pitched whine and practically tries to buck Castiel off the bed. He doesn't move an inch. Dean raises his head and glares daggers at the man still securely nested between his legs.

“You are so breathtakingly beautiful, Dean,” Castiel remarks innocently, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he curls his fingers once more.

Cas is two fingers deep into Dean, and he is losing his goddamn mind. It's almost too much to bear, feeling like all of his senses are being assaulted all at once. The sensation of Cas’ thick fingers steadily sliding in and out of his hole makes him shiver. The delicious stretch of his rim is riding that delicate line between pain and pleasure, and the asshole just did something with his fingers that lit him up like a Christmas tree, but on the inside.

It feels like the birth and the death of a star all at once, and Dean wants it again. His mind gets lost in a spiral of want, need, and heat until it all blurs together. He bucks on the bed, unable to control his muscles any longer, and he rasps,

“Cas, please…”

He feels totally wrecked by the events of the day. Unable to even finish his sentence, he hopes that Cas feels what he's trying to convey. He drops his head back on the bed, not capable of keeping it up any longer. Cas, former angel of the Lord, seems to understand Dean perfectly, even when he's no longer able to form coherent sentences. Dean feels the cold dribble of lube at his hole, and then Cas moves back in with a third finger. Dean hisses at the stretch, but it feels so good. The noises coming from his mouth make him sound like a fucking pornstar. He doesn't care.

Cas is here, Cas is no longer dead, Cas is fucking him with his long, agile fingers, and if Dean has any say in the matter, it won't be long before Cas is gonna be fucking him with that gorgeous, thick cock of his. That thought alone almost makes him crawl out of his own skin with want. All of a sudden, he can't take it any longer. He feels Cas’ fingers grazing his prostate again, and sparks flash behind his eyes. He’s falling apart under Cas’ skillful hands, and he doesn't want anyone else in the world more than he wants Cas right now. He wants and he wants and he wants. Lost in a yearning haze, he begs.

“Come on, babe, I want you- I need you to…I'm ready for you. Please, Cas, please, please, PLEASE I need to feel you inside of me.”

His hand stops moving, but Cas does not pull his fingers out. He shifts, gazing at Dean, his eyes wide open and soft, so full of love that it almost makes Dean flinch. He tries to look away from the well of emotions that he sees swimming in the blue pools, but Cas grabs hold of his chin and makes sure that Dean's eyes stay locked with his own. He slowly removes his fingers, and Dean experiences a profound feeling of loss, his ass achingly empty and open. Without letting go of Dean's face, Cas slicks himself up and positions his dick at Dean's entrance, the solid head pressing against his fluttering hole. Still holding Dean's gaze, Cas pushes in.

Dean gasps at the feeling of Cas entering him, stretching him until he feels like he's split in two. The head pops past the rim, and Cas holds himself back from pushing in any further. Cas bites down on his lower lip, his face scrunched in concentration as he intensely stares at Dean, a question clear in his eyes. Dean nods minutely, and Castiel resumes moving. His hard length steadily slides deeper, entering Dean properly, and Cas moans at the heat that surrounds him. After what seems like an eternity, or mere seconds, Cas bottoms out. Dean closes his eyes at the sensation of Cas filling him up completely, overwhelmed by all that he is feeling. It's not the first time that Dean's been fucked, but it’s never felt like this. A silent tear slides down from the corner of his eye.

Trembling, Castiel bows down to capture Dean's lips in a tender kiss. He quietly whispers, “Are you okay, my love?” Dean doesn't answer, the words getting caught in his throat. He opens his eyes, and glassy green meets endless blue.

‘I love you’ is what his eyes tell Cas. ‘You're everything I ever wanted,’ is what he is unable to say. Instead, he cranes his head upwards to catch Cas in another sweet kiss.

Recognizing Dean's inability to speak, Castiel breathes in deep. "Is it okay for me to move?”

Still unable to speak, Dean nods his head. He can feel every inch of Cas inside of him, and it is glorious.

Dean releases a shuddering breath as he feels Cas moving backwards, his dick torturously dragging along his inner walls, fanning those fiery flames writhing in his belly. Cas nearly pulls out all the way before pushing back in, going ever so slowly and being tremendously gentle. Dean can't take it anymore. He needs Cas to stop being so damn careful and caring. He needs Cas to fuck him already. Words rush out of his mouth.

“Sweetheart, please fuck me. Stop looking at me like I’m going to fall apart any minute now, and please, fuck me. I promise I won't break.”

Cas pauses and stares long and hard at Dean lying under him. He tilts his head sideways, as if that angle will bring him new insights. Dean sees a flash of uncertainty cross his face, and then Cas reaches a conclusion. His eyes darken to a deep thundercloud blue.

“Okay, Dean, okay.” Cas mumbles. “I can do that.”

Without another word, his dark eyes still locked with Dean's, Cas pulls out and slams back in, sheathing himself to the hilt. He sets a punishing rhythm, naked flesh slapping against Dean’s ass in sharp smacks. Cas is no longer holding back, and Dean can see him releasing the tight hold he had kept on himself, panting and grunting loudly, his movements becoming more erratic. Dean's breath hitches, and he moans at the feeling of Castiels's cockhead catching on his rim on every other thrust. Cas’ hungry mouth covers Dean's once more, and they let their bodies take the lead, moving in complete sync with each other.

Dean feels like he’s floating, and he’s not exactly sure where he ends and where Cas begins. They are fused at the hips, and Dean wants to be closer still. He could crawl inside Cas's chest if he were allowed. He shakes his head, trying to dispel the haze in his brain. Cas is hovering above him, fucking into him with short thrusts that make Dean quiver with delight. Dean places a hand flat on Cas’ sweaty sternum, gently pushing him back, making him slow down. He sits up and feels Cas slip out of him. Cas raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Lean back, angel, let me take care of you, too.”

Cas looks puzzled, but sits back on his heels. Dean kneewalks forward until he is face-to-face with Cas again. He cups his stubbly cheek, his fingers curving towards the errant strands of hair curling just behind Cas’ ear. He deeply enjoys the scratch of the little hairs against the pads of his fingers. Cas’ cheeks are flushed with exertion, and dear god, he is handsome. Dean's thumb caresses the bow of his lips, and he bends forward, brushing their lips together. With the utmost care, he showers Cas with featherlight kisses. This is holy. This is divine. They are blessed.

Not breaking eye contact, he crawls into Cas’ lap and grinds against his hard cock. Dean lifts his ass and sinks down, revelling at the sensation of being filled up once more. Cas is so thick and makes him feel so full. He clenches his hole, causing little jolts of electricity to run haywire under his skin. Dean moves up, feeling the delicious slide, and he sits back down in a slightly different way, finding the angle he was looking for. The little bursts of energy turn into explosions with Cas’ dick rubbing against the sensitive spot inside him. Rolling his hips back and forth, Dean's head lolls forward in ecstasy, landing on Cas's shoulder. He whimpers loudly next to his ear, babbling nonsense words of praise.

Cas takes charge once more, grabbing Dean's buttocks firmly, lifting him up high, and slamming him down over and over again. He speeds up the pace, relentlessly nailing Dean's sweet spot with every move. The lights in the room flare, shining brighter with every thrust, a low humming sound filling the air. The heat is building faster and faster, and Dean feels a familiar tightness starting to form low in his abdomen. With every slick slide, Dean's dick rocks against Cas' stomach, providing exactly the right amount of friction to add to the sense of pleasure that is trying to overpower him.

Dean's breath hitches as he tries to hold back the orgasm that he feels coming on way too quickly, but it's clear to him that he's rapidly losing control. His mind is spinning, and it feels like lightning is travelling upwards from the base of his spine, setting fire to every single nerve in his body. He isn’t ready for this to end, but he also wants to come. Badly.

Cas is ruthless, pushing into him without pause, grunting in his ear, pulling at his hair. Their mouths clash once more, feral, all teeth and tongue. Feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten, Dean balances on the razor's edge, not ready to surrender yet. He throws his head back and bites down on his own bottom lip so hard that he tastes blood. No longer able to form words, he prays to Cas:

“Cas, I’m losing it, baby, I can't hold on anymore, I want to come so bad, Cas. Please make me-, I'm gonna- I want- ah, I'm so close, Cas, Castiel, please, CAS!”

Instantly, Cas stops moving, and Dean feels like they're suspended in time. Cas is still throbbing inside of him, but the relentless pressure against his prostate is gone. Even now, his nerves are burning, haphazardly firing little bursts of electricity into his overloaded system. He is teetering on the edge, ready to fall. Dean writhes in Cas’ lap, but the angel is holding him tightly, making sure that he is unable to bring himself to completion.

"Not yet, Dean.” Cas sounds wrecked, his voice hoarse. “We are not done.”

Dean lets out a high-pitched whine and tries to grind his aching dick against Cas’ belly to get the friction that he so desperately craves. He defiantly looks at Cas, who is arching that damn eyebrow once more, seemingly unimpressed. Keeping Dean still with one hand, he reaches out to touch his lower lip with a soft fingertip. Dean sees a muted blue flash, and he feels the small cut disappear. Cas bends forward, tracing Dean's lips with his tongue, flicking the tip up against the cupid's bow.

"Now, are you gonna be a good boy and let me take care of you like I promised?”

Eyes dark, Dean nods mutely and submits himself to Cas in more ways than one. He lets his body relax in Cas’ strong arms, slumping down, still impaled on his lap. Cas lifts him and lays him face down on the bed, gently caressing every bit of skin he can get his hands on. He trails featherlight kisses down Dean's spine, only to get distracted by the gorgeous back spread out beneath him, dusted with freckles, putting the constellations in the night sky to shame. Cas touches every single one of them, fingers trailing lightly over the skin, leaving Dean boneless and melting into the mattress.

Cas kneads Dean’s asscheeks, pulling them apart, and he quickly slicks himself up before slipping back inside of him. Castiel marvels at the feeling of being allowed to be inside Dean. He is so tight and warm, as though velvety walls surround him. He moves like time has no meaning anymore, with long languorous slides, Dean being completely pliant below him. He drapes himself over Dean's back, kissing his broad shoulders, the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears. Dean turns his head and catches Cas in a sensual kiss, their tongues gliding together, teasing and skating over each other.

Breaking the kiss, Cas pulls Dean up, flush against his chest. He rolls his hips against Dean, and he begins to speed up the pace of his thrusts, angling upwards in search of Dean's prostate. He slides an arm across Dean's front, holding him tightly. His hand crawls towards Dean's throat, silently asking permission. Dean sighs out an almost imperceptible, "God, yes”.

His long fingers close snugly around Dean's neck once more. Chin hooked over Dean's shoulder, Castiel whispers low and filthily into Dean's ear.

"You are so good for me, Dean. You are a marvel. You take me so well. The way your hole clenches around my hard cock is nearly unholy. The pretty noises you make when I fuck you, you know they are mine now, right? You will not make those for anyone else, ever again.”

Cas feels Dean swallow.

“You are devastatingly handsome in your surrender, Dean. The way your body melts against mine, the way you trust me, baring your heart, your body, and your soul to me. I will not betray that trust. I will hold you in my arms, cherish you, and love you for as long as you will have me.”

Cas’ voice cracks on the last sentence, and he blinks back the sudden tears forming in his eyes.

Cas pistons his hips forward. He finds Dean's sweet spot again and again, ruthless in his pursuit to pleasure Dean. Dean moans loudly. Castiel can feel the pressure building in the pit of his stomach, and he can't allow himself to fall apart yet; he needs to take care of Dean first. There is nothing more important than Dean.

His free hand snakes down to where Dean's cock is bobbing, spurts of precome dripping down onto the sheets. He wraps his fingers around Dean's throbbing length and strips him hard and fast. He can feel Dean sag in his arms in complete submission. His hand slicks up and down, twisting at the top and thumbing at the underside of the head. He feels Dean tense up, his thighs start to quiver, and his cock kicks in Castiel's hand. Dean begins to chant his name.

"Cas-, Castiel, Cas-tiel, Cas, oh fuck, CAS!"

As Castiel strokes Dean one more time, he tightens the hand around his throat and mutters darkly in his ear, “Come for me, Dean.”

With a hoarse scream and a heartfelt “CAS!” Dean obeys, hurtling over the finish line, coming so hard that his vision whites out, covering Cas’ hand in white streaks. Dean's dick jerks again, and a second load spurts out, thick ropes landing on the sheets below them. Cas can feel Dean's pulse fluttering erratically under his fingers.

Seeing Dean come undone, screaming his name, pushes Castiel over the edge. He lets go of his tight control, and with a few stuttering deep thrusts, he spills his seed, painting Dean's inside walls, while guttural moans fall from his mouth. Uncontrolled, his grace bursts out of him, and the lights in the room flash brightly before shattering, leaving them in near darkness.

Suddenly, all strength seems to have fled his body, and Castiel strains to keep them both upright. They slump down on the bed. His hand slips from Dean's throat to his chest, grabbing hold of Dean’s hand. He feels how Dean entwines their fingers and mumbles something. Everything feels strangely muffled.

The world goes black.

Chapter Text

Dean is being held in Castiel's strong arms, barely able to stay upright after experiencing one of the most intense orgasms in his life. He feels Cas stutter and convulse behind him, and then they are sinking fast into the bed. The hand clutching his throat falls away, and Dean grabs it, lacing their fingers together. Dean notices Cas’ body going slack. He shifts against Cas to get comfortable, still high on endorphins, and closes his eyes. Without meaning to, he falls asleep.

Slowly returning to the land of the living, Dean is getting a bit uncomfortable with Cas still plastered to his back. His ass is sticky with come, and he gently nudges Cas to let go of him. He wants to get a washcloth and get them both cleaned up. Cas does not respond at all. Which makes Dean pause, because normally the angel is vigilant, watching over Dean when he sleeps and shit.

Anxiety starts to churn in his gut. He remembers how Cas only slept when he was human, and Dean knows for a fact that Cas definitely is not human now. He's been acting like a fully juiced-up, lightbulb-popping angel since he returned, so why is he currently lying unconscious against Dean's back, dead to the world? His mind starts to spiral out of control, a thousand thoughts at once assaulting him. Dean tries to calm his racing heart, ‘Get a grip, Winchester!’ First things first. Dean ticks them off on his fingers like he did in middle school. One: get out of Cas’ death grip, two: get them both cleaned up, and three: put all the facts together.

These tasks are easier said than done, though. Starting with number one. Cas is damn near like an octopus, only with limbs instead of tentacles. Dean squirms and wriggles, but every time he moves one of Cas’ extremities, another one rolls back and pins him to the bed again. It feels like he's fighting at least four arms and three legs. It's like Cas doesn't want to let him go. Which, honestly, makes sense on a subconscious level as Dean definitely isn't keen on leaving Cas’ side either. Except for the fact that he really, really wants to clean himself up. Finally, he manages to ninja himself out from under Cas, and he makes it to the bathroom. Armed with a warm, wet washcloth, he carefully tiptoes around the shards of broken glass to return to the bed.

Cas has rolled onto his stomach, hugging one of the pillows with both arms. His face is barely visible in the tangle of pillow and sheets, and he looks damn adorable. His dark eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones, and Dean can't stop looking at him. He tenderly pushes against Cas, trying to get him to roll over again. Cas scrunches his face up, his brows drawing together in a pouty little frown, but he doesn't wake up. A soft sigh escapes his mouth, and he burrows his face deeper into the pillow. Dean's stomach tries to do a backflip.

He huffs and tries again. He puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder and presses backwards, gently but firmly this time. Cas still isn’t budging, and Dean rolls his eyes, a little annoyed by his stubborn, sleeping angel. Even though he shouldn't be sleeping at all. Applying a little more force now, the third time seems to be the charm. Cas releases the pillow and rolls onto his back. Dean quickly wipes him off, removing the stickiness still clinging to his front. Cas looks untroubled in his sleep. No tension is lining his hooded eyes, just a few relaxed crinkles on either side. A warm feeling grows and blooms in Dean's chest when he looks at the man in his bed.

After a brisk wipedown (he bites back a groan of pleasure at the feeling of wiping all that tacky stuff off his butt), Dean throws the washcloth in a corner and sits down on the bed. Okay, one last thing on the list before Dean can get back to bed and sleep. He needs to quiet down his rampaging mind, as it's tensing up his entire body with rapidly developing fear. Why would Cas, an all-mighty and powerful angel of the Lord, pass out and sleep like he's a run-of-the-mill human?

Fact: Cas broke free from the Empty.
Fact: Cas has his grace again.
Fact: Cas is still out cold.

Dean decides to check Cas’ vitals. His heartbeat is strong and steady, his temperature is normal, and frankly, Dean can't find anything wrong with him at all, except for the fact that he’s sleeping. Which, maybe, isn’t that weird, seeing as how he broke out of the frigging Empty all by himself! A headache is gradually forming behind Dean's eyes, and he firmly decides that all of this can wait until they are both awake again and he can just ask Cas about it.

Cas rolls onto his stomach again, cradling the pillow tightly. Dean rearranges the sheets so that they will cover them both, and slides in next to Cas. Grabbing one of Cas’ arms, he drapes it across his waist and intertwines their fingers. Cas tightens his grip on Dean and pulls him back against his chest. He noses at the nape of Dean's neck and releases a small puff of air against the short hairs there. Dean sighs contentedly, still overwhelmed by the presence of Cas in his bed, and he drifts back to sleep.

Castiel opens his eyes to darkness.

He gasps, undiluted panic rising in his chest. He can't see anything. Where is he? He can't be back in the Empty. He escaped this hellhole! He remembers waking up to that tugging feeling. He remembers Dean. He recalls the things that they did, the words that they spoke. His mind screams soundlessly. Was it a dream all along? Was it all an elaborate scheme by the Empty to torture Castiel, letting him believe that he got out? Frantically, Castiel goes over the events that took place in his head. Dean's confession of love. Their first kiss. Their intimacy. Dean's beautiful surrender. It felt so real. It cannot not be real. Right?

"Dean…” he whispers, his voice breaking.

Something shifts in front of him and Castiel blinks sluggishly. On second glance, it’s not that dark here. Not like before. Not like it was in the Empty. He sees the outline of a human shaped form before him. Dean. Relieved, Castiel breathes in deeply. He is safe, in Dean's room, in the bunker, and the reason that it is so dark in here is that the lightbulbs exploded when he orgasmed. A rush of relief floods through Castiel. He doesn't know how long it's been since then, but seeing as how Dean is tightly nestled against Castiel's chest, fast asleep, he assumes it's been a while.

He can't seem to remember exactly how he got in this position, though. The last thing he remembers was his uncontrolled burst of lampshattering grace and not being able to stay upright. He and Dean, crashing to the mattress, while still fused together at the hips. Castiel looks down, and his nose touches Dean's hair. Dean is curled tightly around him, his legs thrown over Castiel's, tangling together under the bedsheets. His head is resting on Castiel's chest, a little puddle of drool forming under the corner of his mouth. They are definitely no longer joined at the hips, which is not necessarily a bad thing, Castiel muses.

Smiling fondly to himself, Castiel takes in the hunter who is sleeping on top of him. Dean looks years younger in his sleep, peaceful even. The small lines in his face are smoothed out, the hard years temporarily erased from his visage. Spread out like this, he mostly resembles the young man that Castiel gripped tight and raised from Perdition all those years ago. Of course, he was already hurt badly by then, but his face had still retained that boyish charm, that innocence. They lost so much on the road to where they are now. Castiel decides not to pursue these thoughts; that way lies only pain and regret.

Castiel thinks back on the days that he used to watch Dean sleep, and how freaked out Dean was when he found out about it. He thought it was creepy, whereas Castiel merely found it soothing. Watching over his charge and protecting him at his most vulnerable was an honorable and useful way to spend his nights. He did stop doing it after he found out how disturbed Dean felt by it. An invasion of privacy, he called it. Castiel assumes he won't mind it now, now that they are…well, whatever they are now.

Dean smacks his lips, mumbling something unintelligible, and he burrows deeper under the blankets. One arm is slung over Castiel's chest, gripping him tightly, almost as if Dean is afraid that he will disappear. Castiel bows down and gently kisses the top of Dean's head. His heart thumps in his chest, marvelling at the feeling of being in Dean's bed, holding him in his arms, being able to kiss his hair. He lets out a pleased sigh. He cradles Dean in his arms, embracing him and shifting down a bit, arranging them so that they are face to face. Dean's warm breath ghosts over his face, and Castiel breathes it in. The intimacy of sharing breath is something wholly new to him, and he wants to stay in this moment forever.

In this bed, with Dean's warm body snugly against his own, Castiel finally feels at home. He breathes in the unique smell of Dean, a whiff of cologne mingled with leather, car grease, and vinyl. It calms and soothes him, like balm for the soul. Even though he doesn't feel the need to sleep, he decides to close his eyes and doze off.

Dean's pillow is warm. Hot even. For a second, he wonders how he ended up in his own bed at all. What day is it anyway? He licks his dry lips, feeling absolutely parched. He tries to fluff the pillow, but his arms bump into something solid. Why is this pillow so weird? Groggily, he turns his head, lifting it incrementally, and instantaneously, he's wide awake. He stares at a dark shock of thoroughly fucked looking hair that is attached to the most important person in his life.

The memories hit him like a freight train. The booze, his despair, his confession, the gun. CAS. His cheeks heat up remembering all of the things that they did last night. Dean assumes it was last night; he had lost track of time wandering around the bunker, drunk as a skunk. Cas appears to be sleeping, snoring softly, which is kinda weird. Yet, Dean now clearly remembers Cas passing out on top of him, right after he climaxed. That had been a little scary, to be honest. The paralyzing feeling of panic returns, making Dean stiffen in Cas’ embrace. The angel is still fast asleep, which does nothing good for Dean's state of mind. He tries to disentangle himself from Cas’ arms to take a better look at him, when he spots a tiny movement from the corner of his eye.

A flutter of dark eyelashes, and then there is something blue peering at him from underneath them. The eye has a very disgruntled look to it. Someone isn't too happy to be woken up, it seems. The arms tighten around him, making it impossible for him to escape.

“Where do you think you are going?”

And okay, wow, Dean didn't know that Cas’ voice could get any deeper. Apparently, it can, and even though he isn’t really horny right now, the dark rumble makes his dick pay attention. Mentally, he shakes his head, 'not now, downstairs brain, not now!’ and he redirects his attention to the sulky angel that’s staring at him from a tangle of blankets, still holding Dean tightly. A wave of relief washes over him at seeing Cas awake and talking. He wriggles in Castiel's arms, a bawdy grin splitting his face in two.

"Aw, did I wear you out so badly that you needed a nap, sunshine?" He gestures at the mess of blankets, pillows and a grumpy-looking Cas.

Cas narrows his eyes. “I did not need a nap. I simply decided to rest my eyes for a moment as you were most definitely snoring on my chest, and I wasn't planning on going anywhere without you. I didn't want you to wake up alone, thinking I was gone, again.”

That makes Dean pause. He wouldn’t have liked waking up alone at all. He glances thoughtfully at Cas, who is trying to disentangle himself from the sheets. Cas frowns at the tightly wrapped mess, as though the cotton bedding has personally offended him. He huffs and sits up, letting go of Dean in the process.

"What?!” he grouches. “You wouldn't have taken my absence kindly, and I was perfectly content to keep you company. And now that we both are awake, I think it is time for us to get clean. You smell like a liquor store, so how about a shower?”

Dean lifts his arm and sniffs at his armpit. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. Yeah, okay, point taken, he does smell pretty ripe. He pushes a hand through his hair and scratches at the hairs on his chin and cheeks, no longer able to deny that he has a beard now. He needs a shave. He can’t even remember the last time he was in the bathroom.

He's unable to keep his eyes off Cas, who remains in the center of the bed. His hair is a mess, and he still has pillow wrinkles pressed into his face. Dean’s heart feels so full, threatening to overflow with emotions. He concedes with a small smile.

“Okay, sweetheart, I really could do with a shower and a shave.”

He rolls to the side, falling from the bed onto the floor pulling Cas with him, still wrapped in the sheets. The bedding needs to come off anyway, because like everything in the bunker, it’s filthy. For the first time since Cas had been taken away, Dean actually cares about his surroundings. There is nothing better than falling into a freshly made bed after a hot shower. Especially when he is planning to get into said bed again with Cas. He wraps his arms tightly around his angel and sighs, not wanting to let go of him just yet.

Cas plummets to the ground, hitting the floor with a dull thump. For a second, he glares at Dean, his mouth a flat line. The next moment, Dean sees a gummy smile creep onto his face and Cas pecks him on the nose. He starts wriggling his fine ass, trying to escape both Dean and the sheets. Dean is unrelenting and curls his body around Cas'. After a few tries, Cas successfully disentangles himself and crawls away from the bed. Finally free, he stands up and walks out of the room, still buck naked. Dean scrambles to his feet, dumping the dirty sheets next to the door to be dealt with later. He eagerly follows Cas down the hallway to the bathroom and into the shower.

The hot water pounding down on Dean's back feels divine. The water pressure in the bunker has always been good, but being in the shower never felt this good. It may have to do with the fact that Dean has never had company before, which makes it all that much better. Cas’ strong, soaped-up hands travel all over his body, kneading the tension from his muscles and lathering him up really well.

Dean feels absolutely at peace, and he leans almost completely bonelessly against Castiel's front, hooking his chin over Cas’ shoulder. He watches the water cascade down Cas’ broad shoulders and muscular back, running in small rivulets over his pristine ass. He feels Cas’ hands move up, delicately tugging at his head. He tips it slightly backwards. A small dollop of shampoo is squirted onto his hair, and the fresh scent of pine fills the air. Agile fingers massage his scalp, really working the shampoo into the strands. A content sigh escapes Dean's mouth, and he groans with pleasure at Castiel's deft touch. Cas pushes him under the hot stream of water, rinsing off all the suds and making sure that he is squeaky clean.

They trade gentle kisses, unhurried and sultry, while they let their hands roam freely. There is no real heat behind their movements; it's just the two of them, together, worshipping each other's bodies. They map out old and new scars, follow the long lines of each other’s muscles, re-forging the profound bond they've shared for such a long time. The press of their wet bodies against one another is tantalizing. Dean watches Cas trace the lines of the numerous dark red-purple hickeys and bitemarks that he left on him last night and smirks. He raises his eyes to meet the sapphire blue ones already staring at him. They glow dimly in the bathroom lights.

"You really are a possessive little angel, aren't you? But I don't mind. Honestly? I kinda like it.”

Cas doesn't answer him; he just stares at Dean, his blue eyes reverent. A pink blush spreads over his cheeks, working its way up to the tips of his ears. He opens his mouth and closes it again, apparently not finding the words he's looking for.

"Dean, I- I don't dese-...” he begins, and then is interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, closing in on the shower fast. It sounds like someone is running.

Both of their heads snap towards the doorway, their bodies turning into fighting stances on instinct. Dean curses under his breath at the lack of weapons within their reach. He takes a few steps forward blocking direct access to Cas, who stays hidden behind the shower wall. Castiel's eyes are blazing bright blue with grace. The air feels static.

A flustered Sam appears, with what seems to be Castiel's trench coat crumpled in his fists. He’s breathing hard as he takes in the sight of the very naked man before him. His furious hazel eyes narrow and lock with Dean's immediately.

“DEAN? WHAT THE FUCK!”

Dean lets out a rough breath at the sight of his brother, trying to release the adrenaline pumping through his system. His green eyes are spitting fire.

"What do you mean, 'What the fuck, Dean?’ You’re the one who’s barging in here like the Apocalypse has returned with a vengeance!” Dean hesitates, and then his face falls. "Please don't tell me there’s a new Apocalypse brewing.”

"No, Dean, there is no new Apocalypse. I've been calling you for hours and you didn't pick up at all! I was WORRIED that something bad had happened to you. You sounded distracted and frankly, unwell, when we spoke on the phone yesterday. I mean, I know you, Dean, I know how you are when you sound like that. You almost fooled me, though, that's why I only left Eileen's this morning. I got here as fast as I could.”

He takes a deep breath and huffs, his hair flying up with the force of the air leaving his lungs.

“The place is a fucking mess, dude. How much did you drink exactly in the past few days? You know what, I don't even wanna know, seeing the amount of empty bottles on my way in tells me enough. How did you manage to shatter every fucking lightbulb in the bunker? And don't even get me started on what the fuck happened to the kitchen. I've only been away for a few days! I was so afraid that this would finally be it, that this time, I would find you dead, Dean. DEAD! Do you understand what that does to me?”

Sam is serving up one of his famous bitch faces, glaring daggers at his big brother. Dean has the decency to flinch at the harsh tone and the even harsher words that are spilling from his baby brother's mouth. Sam lowers his voice, continuing in a much softer tone now.

“And get this, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I found this lying in the hallway.” He shoves his hands forward, still clutching Castiel's trench coat. “This is Cas’ coat! How did it end up in our hallway? Where did it come from, Dean? I thought he was wearing it when he was taken by the Empty.”

Without saying a word, Dean turns around and he yanks Cas forward from his hiding place. Sam startles at Dean's sudden movement, his eyes going wide open in shock. Dean sees the moment that it all clicks in Sam's head. Disbelief crosses his face, the realization dawning in his eyes about who he is looking at. His eyes practically pop out of his head, and he stammers,

"Ca-CAS?!”

“How on earth...” Sam’s eyes flick downwards and then instantly up again. They'd grow even larger if that were remotely possible. He doesn't know where to look and settles on a distant point a little to the right of Castiel's head. His cheeks turn a bright red. “Why the hell are you NAKED in the shower with Dean?!”

Cas looks completely unfazed by the fact that he is facing his friend without any clothes on. He visibly relaxes now that there is no longer any imminent threat present. Calmly, he recounts the events of the last twelve hours, as if this were any other case that Sam needs to be brought up to speed on.

“Last night, I woke up in the Empty and was brought to the bunker by very strong emotions that your brother was experiencing. He was quite…distraught. I managed to break free from the hold of the Empty just before-”

His voice breaks just a tiny bit, almost imperceptibly. He clears his throat and continues.

“I broke free, and after we thoroughly discussed our relationship, we had intercourse. Afterwards, we fell asleep together and upon waking this morning, we decided to take a shower. Obviously, we weren't finished yet when you showed up.”

Sam's face goes white at the mention of the word ‘intercourse’ and simultaneously, Dean squeaks out a high-pitched sound, almost choking on his own tongue.

"Jesus, Cas,” Dean wheezes. "What did I tell you before? You can’t just say shit like that!”

Sam, obviously and instantly very done with the whole situation, is already turning on his heels.

“I am very glad that you are back, Cas, truly, whatever this actually entails.” He broadly gestures at the space in front of him. He turns his eyes to Dean and scowls, “This talk is not finished, Dean, but we will continue this at a later time. Preferably, when you are wearing pants and OH MY GOD are all of those hickeys?”

He makes another bitch face, rolls his eyes, and stomps out of the bathroom, throwing one more aggravated look over his shoulder at his big brother. Dean releases a deep sigh.

"That's not exactly how I imagined telling Sam about us, Cas.”

Cas tilts his head, a slightly confused look on his face.

“I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't think about it. I just wanted Sam to know the truth. Are you mad at me?”

“No, buddy, it’s fine. I was gonna tell him about us anyway, and in these cases, sooner is always better than later. Sharing details about our sex life, though, that's something we need to talk about. You know, personal boundaries and all?” Dean snickers. “I've never seen that look on Sam's face before, though. It actually was kinda hilarious. Come on, let's finish up here and go back to bed for a little bit. I don't think I'm ready to face more of Sam's wrath just yet.”

Castiel is the first to return to Dean's bedroom, leaving Dean in the bathroom to shave his face. Standing in the doorway, he looks at the mess in front of him. Empty bottles lying on the floor, clothes haphazardly strewn everywhere, the unmade bed. Again, Castiel realizes that Dean was really not well. He tries not to dwell on it, but still, he feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach. His departure did this to Dean. He decides to get rid of all the tangible evidence of Dean's former state of mind.

He puts the empty bottles by the door to be disposed of later, and collects the filthy bedding and dirty clothes. He tosses them into the hamper for washing. In search of clean bedding, he rummages through Dean’s closet. Besides finding new sheets, he also stumbles upon a familiar cassette tape, the faded label reading 'Dean's top 13 Zepp Traxx.’

Cas’ heart jumps in his chest at seeing the mixtape that Dean made for him. A warm feeling flows through his body at the thought of Dean preserving this memory of them. He takes it from the closet and lays it down in the center of Dean's desk. Maybe they can listen to it later. He would love that.

Castiel makes the bed and crawls underneath the blankets, waiting for Dean to finish up in the bathroom. He doesn't have to wait long. Dean enters the room, and his eyes find Castiel immediately, stretched out on the bed. Face freshly shaven, Dean looks younger and a little shy, as if he still isn’t sure that Castiel is truly staying.

"Hello, Dean.”

Castiel peels back the blankets, wordlessly inviting Dean to join him in bed. Dean hesitates for a second, then visibly reaches a decision and slides under the sheets next to Castiel. He turns on his side so that they can lie down and face each other. Castiel looks into those emerald depths and tries not to drown. He still can't believe his luck to be back with Dean, in more ways than he'd ever hoped for.

In the smallest voice Castiel has ever heard, Dean whispers: “Will you stay with me, Cas?”

Kissing the top of Dean's head and resting his cheek against the soft strands of hair, he murmurs softly,

“Always.”