Spoilers up to Purgatory and 8.06, I guess. This was written before watching 8.07, aside from the promos.
This has sexual content and foul language and angst-a-plenty.
I own nothing of these characters or Supernatural.
xxxx
Dean had already polished off a few too many bottles to count. One of the pleasures of having his own room, not having Sam's puppy dog eyes judging him after every swig. Course that was one of the pleasures of the boozing in the first place.
When Dean had suggested separate rooms, Sam had clouded over for a moment, almost enough to make Dean think baby bro didn't want to zap him back to oblivion. No need to fear, that'd passed about as quick as last night's burrito.
Dean sneered and snickered, somehow at the same time, over the gross mental image.
He could do whatever he wanted, but on research days like today there wasn't much to do. Mostly jerk off, drink, try to avoid the fucking navel-gazing he was trapped in right now, drink some more, wonder if he should try to get laid, remember that the last time he'd tried to sample the local delights he'd ended up in one of those Lifetime movies he swore he never watched, My Brother Killed My Three Minute Old Teenage Daughter. Oh and...drink.
Dean grunted while peeling a slick label off his last beer, tempted to paste it on his forehead and...fuck knows...run around with his pants around his ankles. Beat his head against the wall 'til he passed out. He'd make it work.
As much as the Sam stuff pissed him off, it was mostly same shit, different decade. They'd get over it. They always did. Not much choice in the matter. Dean just wished he cared at this point. Wished he cared about anything. Course, there was no room for caring these days. They weren't even on Apocalypse 2: Lucifer Bugaloo. They were somewhere in 4 or 5, when people only sit through it for Youtube parodies.
"Sick of feelings and TALKING about feelings...sick of...sick of...being empty," Dean slurred, not quite realizing what he was saying until he heard the words.
He chose to ignore it.
Happy that he was still sober enough to walk, Dean made his way to the bathroom. While rolling his sore neck in time with the sounds of the toilet flushing, he noticed the bathtub, and how, for once, he'd been smart enough to book a room which didn't look like someone had slaughtered half the town and shoved them down the drain.
Holy water, a good scrubbing down, drain cleaner, a few wards and chants, and the tub was ready for the bubbles.
He stripped off, then made his way in, grimacing, in a good way, at the too-hot water. Nothing really felt better, but at least it felt different. His head lolled back as he lazily traced the threadbare washcloth down his arms and chest, allowing his eyes to close, allowing memories.
xxxx
There was no sunshine in Purgatory, more like an ever-present gray, a sky of apathy.
If any day in Purgatory had ever been the exception to the rule, it was this day. There were glimmers, hints, of sunlight. Dean had first noticed them from the shadows on Castiel's face, no longer bothering to ask himself why he spent more and more time staring at Cas.
They'd stopped to rest near some riverbank, while Benny went for a feeding. Washing was rudimentary, like breathing, eating, sleeping. Killing. But this place felt different. The shards of sun mingled with hints of blue. A steady breeze eased Dean's nerves, made him listen to the river, swear it was talking to him.
He suddenly wanted nothing more than to walk in the water, swim, find peace. Not just bathe and cringe.
Before he could shake the thought, Cas was standing next to him, brows furrowed as he stared into the distance.
"Is it safe?"
Cas nodded, as if he'd already read Dean's thoughts.
"Purgatory was designed to include a few glimpses of perfection, to taunt, to remind of what we...what you...can never have again."
Dean grimaced.
"Way to piss on my parade, Cas."
"I am sorry, Dean."
Dean glanced over at his friend, the true sorrow etched in his soul, and cursed himself for being so thoughtless. Cas was so afraid of hurting him, and yeah, Cas had hurt him, hurt him bad sometimes, but Dean got through. Cas hadn't been as lucky. He seemed so scared of letting Dean down in any way. Dean wished Cas knew how much Cas meant to him, that he should just ignore the smack talk. He never wanted to hurt Cas.
"I understand. Please don't assume responsibility for what I have become, Dean. I am the root cause."
Dean shook his head, spluttering back an incoherent response. He'd never liked Cas going all psychic friend on him.
He watched the Purgatory paradise for a moment, knowing Cas was watching him, likely waiting for Dean to snap. Truth was, as much as he resented having no thoughts on his own, when Cas wasn't in Dean's mind, Dean missed it. Missed him.
"I missed you too, Dean."
Dean couldn't hold back a smile, probably the widest smile he'd had in this place. Cas looked at him, studying his face, like he was a work of art. So intense. Cas was the most intense guy, angel, whatever, Dean had ever known. Dean imagined all the centuries Cas had spent looking down on mere mortals, studying, pondering, that quizzical light in his eyes, how he noted the simple joys most humans never stopped to think about.
Just like the way Cas' head was tilted now, lips slightly parted. The beard and the shadows under his eyes, the dirt smudged in random places like fading finger paint, somehow drew Dean more to him. It was a reminder that Cas wasn't just wearing a meatsuit, a mask. As disturbed as he was about the toll Purgatory had taken on Cas, he was somehow comforted that Cas could change, age, and reflect the men they had both become.
Before he could stop himself, he took a breath, took in that Cas looked so damn beautiful...
Fuck.
He really, really hoped Cas hadn't heard that one.
If Cas had "heard" him, he apparently respected Dean enough not to say anything. Dean thought he saw a whisper of a blush flash across his angel's face. Instead of being embarrassed, Dean was...somehow...happy. Somewhere inside he knew just how rare this moment was.
The urge to dive into the water had never been stronger. If he was gonna get eaten up by a million baby Levis, or some other horror to be named, at least he'd die with a smile on his face.
His jacket hit the ground, his shirt halfway over his head when he sensed Cas staring at him. Drinking him in, almost. Now it was Dean's turn to fight back a blush.
"This is safe, right?" Dean barked, hoping to kill some of that weird tension.
"Yes," Cas whispered, breath ragged as he stared at the unfurling of Dean's belt.
Well, I lost that battle, Dean thought, hurriedly lowering his jeans and making sure NOT to notice Cas trying NOT to look, because if he did he was going to get so...
"Dean, I will leave you to bathe in peace."
Cas nearly tripped in his eagerness to get away, which would have amused Dean if he wasn't so sure Cas being left alone in Purgatory again was a very bad idea.
Yelling in this place was never a good idea, so he tried the mind trick.
"Cas, get your feathery ass back here!"
Cas halted in his tracks, still not looking at Dean, but not moving.
"Guess this comes in handy after all."
As Dean submerged in the cool water, Cas sat by the riverbank, fascinated by his fingers. As much as the idea of an angel watching him bathe might make a good porn plot, there was too much awkwardness for Dean to stomach.
Dean flashed back to all the times he'd seen baptisms by the river bank. A few times he'd stopped the car, and, from a safe distance, watched. Resenting the feelings of hope and rebirth that the beauty of salvation briefly inspired in him.
He was fresh out of white nighties and holy verses, but he wanted to heal Cas, in any way he could.
"This safe for angels?"
Cas pondered for a moment.
"As far as my waning senses can tell...yes."
Good enough.
"You look like you need a good scrub."
Shit, this really did sound like porn now.
Cas looked wary, afraid for the myriad reasons Dean feared and faced every time they were close together, and for other reasons, reasons Dean hated thinking about.
"Dean...I don't think..."
Dean was surprised at the forcefulness of his own response.
"That was an order."
Cas couldn't respond. He'd never argue with Dean now, he didn't have the heart anymore. Some days that tore Dean up inside, but not today.
"Please...could you...avoid having your eyes on me at this moment."
Dean swallowed. He knew Cas wasn't bashful. He'd seen the bruises on Cas' neck and chest, battle marks that very slowly healed. For an immortal angel to even have to ask Dean to do this must have been humiliating beyond words.
Dean closed his eyes.
"Thank you."
A few minutes later, he opened them again, seeing Cas a good distance away, still so anxious and shamed.
Figures. Now is when he remembers personal space...
Based on the look which suggested he'd just been struck by lightning, Cas had definitely heard that.
"I don't want to avoid you, Dean. Far from it. I'm better off at a distance when I can't..."
Dean began slowly swimming over to him, making sure not to alarm.
"When you can't heal? I don't give a shit about that."
Cas still couldn't look at him.
"When I cannot heal you, or fight for you. I serve no other purpose, Dean."
Distance now closed, Dean tried to ignore just how close their nude bodies were, how good it made him feel. He concentrated on Cas, panic and fatigue etched into his still-noble features. Cas was about to bolt again - Dean didn't need telepathy to figure that out.
Look at me.
Cas finally did look at him, straight at him, such clarity and purity he nearly set Dean on fire.
Dean tried to speak, in and out of his head, as tenderly, but firmly, as possible.
"I need you, Cas. You never seem to get that. Fuck the guilt and the contrition and think about where I'd be if it wasn't for you. Yeah, you were this superbadass angel with a cause. Now you're not. What about me, Cas? You know what I've done? Do you really see the same guy you pulled out of Hell?"
Cas nodded, blinking back tears.
"Yes, I do. I always will."
Suddenly the space between them narrowed to nothing, the breath knocked out of Dean. Cas was now staring inside him, so pure, so all-consuming. Dean took a moment to notice their erections pressed together, their foreheads pressed together, their hands clutching to each other's chests, a liferaft in turbulent waters.
"Why do you always see the good in me and never yourself?" Dean forced out, likely one of the last coherent thoughts he would have, unsure if he was asking his Castiel, or himself.
Dean heard nothing but his heartbeat, saw nothing but Cas fearing him, wanting him. He could never say the words out loud, but he didn't have to. Not now.
Do it, Cas.
Cas surrendered, years washed away as his angel kissed him, their first kiss, hungry, searching. Dean quickly adjusted to the stubble scraping his cheek, his mouth. This felt too natural, too predestined.
Dean let him touch, taste, explore, moaning as Cas sucked at his tongue, bit at his neck, making a mark. He felt the tears of release, so much pain and pleasure, as Cas cried out into his shoulder. Through their mental bond, he felt Cas' fingers, his tongue, his mind, simultaneously trace and scrape over every part of Dean's soul and body, in areas Dean didn't even know existed.
Dean was more tender, more gentle, still not believing this was actually happening, just trying to remember the feel of Castiel's lithe body against his.
He felt his way across Cas' strong back, running his fingers over the muscles and into the water, cupping his firm ass, pressing Cas closer, if that were physically possible.
Dean never wanted this to end, but he knew they were both close, he knew when Cas pressed their mouths together again, frenzied, panting out the thoughts they knew had never been heard before and likely never would again.
"Dean...Dean..." Cas rasped as he began glowing.
Dean began to hear a humming inside his mind as Cas continued to ravage him. Through the blindness of lust he still managed to look at his hands, nestled in Cas' wet curls, and could see that the cuts were gone. He ran his hands over Castiel's body, looking for the map of bruises and marks caused by so many battles, finding none.
"You did it, Cas," Dean whimpered, making a fresh bite mark on Cas' now soft, smooth neck.
Both men shuddered as Dean took their hard cocks in hand and began sliding his fingers back and forth. He knew he should close his eyes, knew an angel orgasm would probably lead to a fried human, but he wanted to see Castiel's face. He wanted to remember.
When the moment arrived, Cas threw his head back, screamed loud enough to shake the heavens, a cry of legend among the beasts of Purgatory.
Even as Dean's last memories before blacking out for a few hours were walls of white light, he promised himself he'd never forget.
xxxx
"Fuck!" Dean yelled as he came, body wrenching up from the tub. Now his neck was really killing him, but it was worth it. As he shook the grogginess away and began a final wash, he allowed himself a dirty chuckle, a laugh in the dark.
"Now that's what they call a wet dream."
He waited until the water was cold before he pulled the stopper. Watching the little tornado circling the drain, he had this weird idea of just staying there forever, waiting to see how long it would be before anyone noticed.
Nah. Sammy needs me. Or somebody does. Somebody always does.
Every day he believed that a little less, but for today, it would have to do.
As Dean finished toweling off, he sensed something off in the room.
"Shit!"
He felt himself slipping on the wet floor. Just what he would have needed. A head injury for the holidays.
At the late minute he found his footing again, caught himself.
Or something caught him.
He blinked his eyes a few times, long enough to see Castiel, still the fever dream of Purgatory, next to him. Holding him.
"C-Cas?" he dared to speak.
In the second he made that plea, the vision was gone.
Dean began blinking again, this time for very different reasons.
He really needed another beer.