Unbeta'd therefore all errors and idiocies are my own.
***Author's note: Sooooo, the whole how-angels-would-travel-in-space-thing was a bit tricky for me to reconcile with my wee brain. Expect a lot of handwaving and possible plot holes. Essentially, I decided that angels can't zap through the void of space, like they do on land, and must use ships powered by their grace to get from one planet to another, one star system to another. Go with it, pretty please. One more thing, angels require compatible humans, known as Potentials to recharge their grace.***
Something had gone right for a change, Dean thought as he set his Dart-190 down on the outer edges of the playground. The people of Krisa were such technophobes that they didn't have even the most basic anti-cloaking scanners up.
"What the hell could Sammy see in this hunk of worthless rock?" He muttered while powering down his flight controls. He punched in the coordinates for Sam's house and waited as the computer locked in on the position, relaying streaming real time images of the location on his view-screen.
The house looked like it had been lifted straight out of the pages of an Old Earth history book and plopped down on the street. The grass was too green to be real, but everything else matched, right down to the shiny white picket fence. He couldn't see any sign of protection sigils or demon traps, like what adorned almost every building on every planet in the Baby Bear star systems, on Sam's nor any of the neighboring houses.
Dean zoomed in close on the door and almost started when it opened; for a moment he was staring directly at Sam's face in profile. His brother was still a giant, but his hair was longer and floppier than Dean remembered. And his thick sideburns made him look like a wolf-man in a suit.
Sam said something to someone out of sight, and Dean flipped on the audio controls without looking, his gaze drinking in the sight of the brother his pride and anger had kept him from seeing for the last six years. But this impromptu visit couldn't be helped, Dean reminded himself. Too much was at stake.
I won't be late, Sam was saying, a big, goofy smile on his face. Sam waved and then jogged over to the car sitting in the driveway.
Someone called Sam's name and he looked back at the house, pausing before getting into the car. Dean reluctantly turned the scanners toward the door.
A pretty blond woman, about Sam's age from the looks of her, waved a folder, one hand resting on her distended belly.
Oh.
Sam collected the folder from her, and placed a kiss on her lips. "Thanks, Jess. I'll see you tonight, promise I won't be late," he said. He turned around again and looked straight into the view-screen, straight at Dean.
The retinal flare was unmistakeable.
"Sonofabitch!" Dean was half-out of his seat, his mouth hanging open as he watched the thing wearing his brother's face squeeze into an economy car and drive away. Dean focused on the woman's face. No retinal flare.
Dean's sigh of relief stuck in his chest when Uriel walked out of the house and ordered her back inside. Uriel was careful not to touch her at all, disdain evident in twist of his lips.
As Dean watched, Uriel's head snapped up, his gaze pinning him in place through the view-screen.
"Ah, hell," Dean said when Uriel disappeared.
He quickly switched to views of the playground, and sure enough, Uriel appeared not fifty feet from the cloaked Dart. A few kids screamed and ran away, others froze in fear. To folks living in the outer systems of the local group, untouched as they were by the ravages of the war with the demons, Angels were as real as the monsters in fairy tales.
Dean held his breath and resisted the urge to pray that the finger-painting he had used to cloak the Dart from angels held. He gripped a hex bag for luck, instead. Crowley had overcharged him for the damn things, and they had better work as advertised, or he really would shoot the demon in the face. With the Colt.
Despite the Dart being climate controlled, fine beads of sweat formed on Dean's forehead while he waited out Uriel, whose gaze skittered past the Dart and then returned repeatedly. Anna had once told Dean that to an angel, the effects of a cloaking sigil felt a lot like trying to remember something that was on the tip of your tongue. Eventually they'd see through it. The only sure way was to overwhelm them.
Every inch of the Dart's hull, and most of the interior, was covered in sigils. It was painstaking, tedious work. And there had to be close to five hundred sigils in his cramped handwriting.
Uriel took a step towards the Dart.
"Screw this," Dean strapped himself into his seat and powered up his flight controls, one eye on Uriel. He checked the Dart's arsenal. Only one set of binding rings left, no sense saving it for another day, not if it could mean the difference between being caught or escaping.
The angel moved as if he were slogging through two feet of mud, his steps heavy, plodding. Uriel was twenty feet away and closing, one hand raised toward the Dart.
Decision made, Dean locked on to the angel's position and launched the rings. His aim was true, one ring caught around Uriel's neck, the other two around his middle and legs. He wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.
Dean fired up the engines and got the hell out of there.
He plotted a course for an asteroid belt on the far side of the planet's moon, hoping to lose himself among the debris. The plan had been to get Sam and then hitch a ride on one of the supply ships tomorrow, before the angels figured out where he was. He ruthlessly suppressed his panic & fear for Sam—the real Sam, and not the Ward Cleaver wannabee running around Krisa in a sorry excuse for a car.
With no ftl drive, the nearest port in the system big enough to lose the angels in was 120 hours away at maximum sub-light. He'd never make it before the angels caught up to him. He figured he had maybe eight hours at most before reinforcements arrived or Uriel was freed or broke out of the trap.
Luckily, Uriel had no idea what kind of ship he was flying. If he got lucky, they'd head out of the system immediately without sticking around to investigate. If not, well, he didn't want to focus on what being caught would mean. For sure death, and for certain, his soul would be stolen from him and bequeathed to Michael.
Dean ran through his options as he navigated the belt. No way Crowley could get anyone to him in time, and that's if the bastard was willing to openly act in his favor. No, not Crowley then.
The angels were already watching every move Bobby & Rufus made, which is why he'd run to Sam's in the third place. Foolishly hoping that the angels wouldn't look there since they hadn't been on speaking terms since before dad died.
Only one person now who would take his call.
Dean turned on his long range communicator, tapped in a code from memory and waited.
Six hours after Dean sent out his distress call, he was flagged over the com system.
"Unidentified vessel, this is the rebel ship Deucalion, we were in the Utne system when we picked up your call, using Castiel's personal code no less."
"Yeah, Duke, this is John Bonham of the Dart ship Impala. I'd love to give you the full story right now, but I've got a pissed off Malakim on my tail, a fleet of Angelic reinforcements inbound, and no ftl drive."
"Copy that, Impala. Drop your cloak and we'll tow you aboard. Any friend of Castiel's is a friend of ours."
Now for the hard part, Dean thought.
Once the Deucalion jumped out of Krisa's orbit, Dean opened the hatch and walked out of the Dart, straight in front of a firing squad.
"Whoa, guys, I'm a friendly," he shouted, turning his body and raising his hands in the air.
Ash sauntered in front of the squad, "John Bonham, that's really what you decided to go with?"
Dean shook his head, great.
"Everyone meet Lt. Colonel Dean Winchester, the Hero of Cold Oak. You look better with a beard my friend."
"You'd look better with any other hair cut," Dean snarked.
"What can I say, I like it all business in front, party in the back."
Dean cut to the chase, "You wanna have them lower those?"
"Why should I?"
"I'm pretty sure all the wanted posters say Castiel wants me alive."
Ash seemed to consider his words, "Point taken. Tranq him."
Dean felt a slight sting in his neck, and then he ate the floor.
Dean awoke to hushed voices arguing and a strange clinking sound. He recognized Ash's grating tones, and then a much deeper voice, one that had seeped into his very bones years before. He'd know Castiel anywhere.
He did a quick inventory. Nothing seemed bruised or broken, though his mouth was dry, and a dull throbbing had set up shop in his skull. He slowly opened his eyes, but could only see well enough to make out that he was in some kind of room. He tried to move his arms and legs and realized that the clinking sound was coming from him. He was in a chair, his arms and legs trapped by leather cuffs attached to silver chains that were bolted to the floor.
Ash and Cas had stopped speaking.
"Great, the Ken doll's awake,"Ash said.
Dean turned his head in the direction of Ash's voice, saw him tapping one foot all nervous energy. Castiel stood beside him still, silent, looking the same as ever, except haggard. He ignored Ash's comment and fixed his stare on Castiel while lifting one shackled wrist.
"You always were a kinky bastard, Cas." The name tasted like cool water on his lips.
Castiel was across the room in a flash and leaning down into his personal space, eyes filled with cold fury,
"You don't have the right to call me that."
Ash cleared his throat. Neither of them paid him any attention, gazes trapped and locked on each other.
"I'll leave you to your Heimdall Dream House then," Ash said as he walked out of the room.
Castiel's stare flayed Dean down to the bone. "Spare me your pathetic rejoinders, your incomprehensible references, your 'give-em-hell-attitude,' and speak plain for once—why are you here?"
"You know me, Cas, any port in storm."
"Don't call me that," Castiel snarled before letting his fist fly and punching Dean in the face.
Dean spat out a tooth, "I forgot, never piss off the nerd angels."
Castiel choked on a bitter laugh, "Your audacity knows no bounds. Why are you running from your masters, Dean?"
"All right, truth. Your wanted posters say to take me alive, the angels want me in a body bag. Not much contest there. I guess I hoped you hated them more than you haii—you're mad at me. I wanna make a deal."
"A deal? You must have something of value to make a deal. You have nothing of value to trade."
"Well I beg to differ."
Castiel, "You 'beg to differ?' I wouldn't trust any information you offered. And if you're offering your body, you humans have a charming phrase, 'been there, done that, bought the t-shirt'—I've had better lays."
That last was a lie if Dean had ever heard one.
"Look, man, if it was just me, just my life at stake, I wouldn't be here wasting your time or mine. The angels did something to my brother, to Sam—."
Castiel pulled back, a frown marring his brow, "Sam?"
Dean's voice was rough and hoarse with barely suppressed emotion,"Yeah, Sam. I used to talk about him all the time, you gotta remember. Gigantor with the girly hair? He's an innocent, Cas—tiel. An innocent. I don't know who ordered it or when, but those dicks replaced him with a shapeshifter, who knocked up his girlfriend. I need you to help, Sam. That's what you do right, help the innocent, protect humanity?"
Castiel turned his back to Dean. Dean bit back everything else he wanted to say. He never could read Castiel well, when they weren't dueling with their gazes. Castiel turned back to face him, a sly curve to his mouth,
"What are you offering?"
Dean was taken aback for a moment. He stammered, "Uh, I've got jamming codes, locations of every planet with a weapon's depot and other treasures."
Cas leaned in close, his nose almost brushing Dean's, his breath teasing Dean's lips. "What else?"
Dean licked his lips, "I know where they're hiding the Thrones."
Castiel didn't even blink at that intel, "What else?"
"You want more? With my intel, you could seriously strike a blow to the Alliance, delay the impending apocalypse."
"You misunderstand me, Dean. I don't want to delay the apocalypse, I want to end it. So, what else?"
Dean swallowed, one last card to play, "How does a Potential sound?"
Castiel blinked. Dean crowed silently.
"My line ended with Jo, I have no others."
Dean smirked, "I'm not talking just any Potential. I'm talking the Michael Sword. Un-bonded."
Castiel literally stopped breathing.
"How is that possible? Where, who?"
"Help me find Sam, and I'll tell you."
"Tell me who and where, and you have my word you'll see your brother again."
"I want your word," Dean said.
"Of the two of us, I'm the only one who's never lied. Never seduced you for my enemy and then tried to destroy everything you've built."
Dean lowered his eyes, "Humor me." He wanted to say that he hated every moment of that mission, that he never lied to Castiel about the big stuff, how he felt. That he thought about confessing every time he laid in his arms. That it was because of Castiel that he began to question the righteousness of his actions, his mission, and his allegiance. That if it weren't for Castiel, he would never have run.
"You have my word."
"You'll find Sam?" Dean reiterated.
"I'll track him down myself. Do we have a bargain?"
Dean nodded, "Good. Alright. It's a deal."
"Where is the Michael Sword?"
Dean lifted his bound wrists, "You wanna get these off me."
Castiel gripped his chin and tilted his head up. "Where?"
Dean's heart stuttered in his chest, "You're looking at him," he said quietly.
His eyes widened when Castiel didn't react to his words, "But you already knew that."
"I suspected after seeing your soul the first time we had sex. But I only felt certain after the angels pulled you from your mission early, and blew you cover when there was no need to."
The shackles fell from his wrists and ankles.
"So what was this whole charade about, then?"
Cas shrugged, "No charade. There are three stages to being able to claim the Michael Sword, a misnomer really, so called only because of Michael's ego. The first is admittance, the second is making an offering."
"What's the third?" Dean asked as he flexed his now freed wrists.
"The third is acceptance of your offering."
"Sounds easy enough."
Castiel pressed two fingers against his forehead.
Dean hated travel by Angel Air, and this time was no exception, "Next time warn a guy before you decide to change the scenery." And what a scenery it was.
Castiel had flown them to a cabin in the woods somewhere, given the abundance of forest outside the double windows. It was day where ever they were. Dean turned around, "Where are we?"
He gawked.
Castiel stood before a huge bed, covers turned down, calmly undressing and folding each article of clothing as it came off.
Dean's pulse quickened. "Uh, Cas—tiel, what are you doing?"
"I'm accepting your offer."
"By getting naked?" Dean ignored his dick's little happy dance at the thought of seeing Cas naked again, touching him, being fucked by him.
"It's the only way, and I've never cared for copulating fully clothed. Strip," Cas ordered.
Dean resisted saying he remembered differently. People change, even angels.
He met and held Castiel's gaze as he took off all his clothes. His heart beat thundered, his palms sweaty and trembling. But underneath his nervousness is a rock solid reserve that this is the right thing to do—and the knowledge that he would say anything, do anything if it meant he could save his brother.
He represses the guilt eating away at his brain for another day.
A secret part of him whispers that Dean is glad to give himself to Cas, and that of all the angels, he's the only one Dean would willingly do this with. Castiel is the first to break eye contact once Dean is completely naked. Cas let his gaze travel over Dean's body and lingered in a few places. Dean stared back, his hands itched to touch and grasp.
"You have scars?" Dean said.
Castiel glanced down at his body, "A necessary side effect of conserving what little power I have left." He frowned. "Enough talking. Get on the bed."
Dean snorted, "Aren't you Don Juan; we doing this doggy style or do you have something more…athletic in mind?"
Castiel shrugged, "Missionary is sufficient for the first round."
Dean had already settled himself on his back before Castiel's words sank in, "First round? Exactly how many 'rounds' are there?"
"As many as necessary for the bond to take. The number varies with each pair. More than one less than infinity."
Dean swallowed, "How many did it take for you and Jo?" He wasn't jealous. Not one bit.
Castiel sucked in a breath. For a moment Dean thought the odds were even of Cas beating the crap out of him again as answering.
"Joanna Beth had no prior claim on her soul, rendering copulation unnecessary. Michael's archangel status means his claim would supersede any I tried to make in the usual manner, even with you offering—hence copulation is the only way to eradicate any prior interests. It would help me to know where Michael has touched you, bare skin to bare skin."
"He's never—that junkless dick!"
Castiel raised an eyebrow, "Where?"
Dean stared at his left deltoid as if it had sprouted razor sharp teeth, "Right after they pulled the plug on my mission to infiltrate the rebellion, the head douchebag himself congratulated me on a job well done. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but that dick slapped me right here," Dean stabbed at the offending deltoid with his index finger.
Castiel tilted his head and peered closely at Dean's arm, "Yes, I see it now. It's deep, clever workmanship."
"Will you be able to erase it."
"I can take you to the brink, the rest is up to you." With that Castiel claimed Dean's mouth in a deep kiss.
Yesyesyes, Dean chanted in his head. And it's like he's come home after years of being at war.
Dean expected the sex to be intense. He didn't expect it to take hours. Day has turned to night. His legs were trembling, his ass was sore, his dick wrung dry, and he was fucking starving. Castiel showed no signs of coming any time soon. Dean had exhausted his extensive sexual repertoire hours ago. All he could do was lie there and take it, insensate.
Castiel had one hand clamped to his left deltoid. The area became increasingly hot initially, and then plateaued at sun burn levels of pain. Which would be uncomfortable if Cas wasn't dulling the worst of it.
Castiel swears and mutters in Enochian, his gaze lasered to the spot, "It's not working, why isn't it working?" His voice has gone impossibly deep.
Dean groaned as Castiel's cock brushed against his prostate repeatedly, "Cas, I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Castiel doesn't seem to notice or care about the nickname, "There seems to be a physical component required to break the last defense. But I can't imagine what it could be."
"Dude, we've done this in every position known to man, and a few only angels could have invented."
"I've almost burned out his mark. This last barrier is all that stands in the way."
"Ugh, fuck," Dean gasped. "I guess Mikey didn't want any of the other angels getting any ideas. I got nothing else, man, you've fucked me in every…"
Castiel never once broke his steady thrusting, though his voice was wrecked beyond belief.
"What are you thinking?"
Dean's eyes widened, "You've fucked me. You've always fucked me. Is there some kinda angel taboo about who tops?"
Castiel's thrusts stuttered, "Bottoming with a human is extremely dangerous, because our grace is neigh impossible to restrain. Even with someone with a less impressive soul, the results could be lethal to the human involved."
Lethal. What else was new.
"Right. Promise me you'll find Sam no matter what happens."
"Dean, I'm certain there's another way."
"Just promise. It's the only thing we haven't tried." The moment he joined up with the Alliance, Dean had known he'd likely meet his end because of some monster or other. Being fucked to death hadn't ever made his list. He can't say it would be bad way to go, all things considered.
"You have my word."
"Alright, you're gonna have to do all the work man. I can barely move my legs."
Castiel gently eased his penis out of Dean and settled on top of him.
Dean wanted to concentrate on the feeling of Castiel stretched around his dick, tight and hot. But the moment Cas settled himself to the hilt, the heat on his arm ratcheted up from unpleasant, to agony.
Dean barely heard Castiel mutter, "It's working."
His eyes welled and overflowed as Cas rode him through the pain. For one wild, delirious moment Dean feared that Castiel's hand would sear his arm bone deep.
"It's working, it's working," Castiel chanted, voice hoarse and broken.
The pain peaked and Dean's entire body snapped taut as the burn spread from his arm to the rest of his body.
"Shut your eyes."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and screamed as his orgasm rushed out of his body and into Cas, which is nothing compared to the wreckage of Castiel's true voice. Dean felt as if he was being laid to waste in Castiel's arms.
This time, Dean welcomed unconsciousness.
Dean went from being unconscious to awake, no gradual slide toward consciousness to ease him into his surroundings. His body was cradled by the most comfortable bed in the 'verse.
The first thing he saw was Sam's giant hands fussing over him.
"I'm dead aren't I?" He muttered.
Sam grinned, relief evident in his eyes, "No, you're fine, you're safe."
"I'm dreaming. Cause you're a shapeshifter now."
Sam waved a knife at him, "Pure silver," and cut thin line across his palm.
"Where's Cas?"
Sam glanced beyond his field of vision, and then Castiel stood over him, his hand resting on the bed. "You're neither dead nor dreaming, Dean. It worked. Michael holds no sway over you."
Dean nodded, "S'good."
Castiel looked nervous though.
Dean could feel sleep clamoring for his attention. He resisted, held Castiel's gaze with his own, "You played me didn't you?" He asked.
He'd never seen Cas blush before, or look ashamed.
Castiel nodded.
"We're square, then."
"What if I don't wish to be 'square'?"
Dean grasped Castiel's hand in his, "We're bonded now."
"Profoundly bonded." Castiel shared.
Dean nodded, "We can make it up to each other later."
That worked out better than he could have hoped, Dean thought just before he fell asleep.
Fin