When he first discovers it, it's the hard way.
Literally.
As in, his back slamming at about 50 miles an hour into the trunk of the nearest tree, when the demon they're fighting decides that flinging around a former angel – especially the former angel who's known for aiding the Winchesters in their every endeavor – looks like fun.
At his weakest, as an angel, Castiel has felt the resistance as a demon tried to force him back; but even then, even with difficulty, he was able to fight through it, to press forward and obliterate the demon attacking him, barely even winded when it was done.
This – this is different.
Not just different from when he was an angel, either. He's seen Dean and Sam take these kinds of hits dozens of times, knows that it hurts, knocks the breath from their bodies, usually takes them a few moments to recover. And no, he's not quite as strong as they are, in his newly human body. Jimmy Novak took good care of his health, but had nothing like the kind of near-daily workout that the Winchester brothers have faced for the past ten years, which has left them far more capable of dealing with this kind of assault than Cas is now.
Still – the instant his back hits the rough, sturdy surface of the tree behind him, Cas knows that something is very, very wrong. Excruciating pain tears through limbs that aren't there anymore, can't be actually hurting, and yet seem to send streaks of fire shooting through his entire body, which crumples to the ground as a cry of startled agony tries to pass his lips.
All he manages to get out is a choked, gasping breath.
He hears the demon laugh, sees the red high-heeled shoes on its host's feet come into view – and he knows he's in no condition to fight back.
"Well," she taunts him with gloating pleasure. "This is going to be a great story to share around the water cooler in hell. Of course, when I tell it, I'll make you sound a little less pathetic. More impressive for me that way."
Castiel is fairly certain they don't have water coolers in hell; that'd be counterproductive with the whole fire and brimstone bit, wouldn't it? Not that he can draw breath to point that out at the moment. It seems he's as fundamentally a failure at being human as he ever was at being an angel; this is going to be a rather disappointing end to his short and inglorious experience of humanity.
He looks up – all he can do – to see the demon's hand raised, tilted slightly, feels the slight tension in his neck and knows that she's about to snap it, effortlessly, without even touching him. He closes his eyes again; there's not time to fight, even if he could, and every move sends a fresh shockwave of pain washing over him.
But then, the pressure he feels in his spine is gone, and the demon lets out a choking, startled cry. Castiel looks up again to see sparks of fiery light escaping her body around the blade of Sam's knife, plunged deeply enough into her back that Castiel can now see its tip pushing through the front of her shirt.
Before the demon has even hit the ground, Cas feels warm, callused, familiar hands, one on his shoulder and the other at his side, helping him to sit up. The abrupt motion jolts his throbbing back, and he lets out a sound of protest that's meant to be a lot stronger than the embarrassing whimper that escapes his lips.
Dean makes a low, shushing sound as he pulls Cas up against his side, supporting his weight, and Cas feels almost ashamed of how reassuring he finds it, how much comfort he takes in the strength of Dean's arms wrapped around him. He's supposed to be Dean's guardian. He's supposed to protect Dean – not fall under the slightest attack from an opponent he could have smote with barely more than a thought just a few short weeks before.
"Where's it hurt, Cas?" Dean asks, and his voice has taken on that protective, concerned note that he usually reserves for Sam. "You okay?"
Cas doesn't answer, because it doesn't hurt so much now, but he still can't bring himself to form the word "yes".
And then Sam is there, too, and Cas feels foolish and helpless as Sam's large hands carefully feel along his spine, gentle as they search for signs of serious injury. By now the pain is fading away, though, so Cas doesn't protest, doesn't argue as Sam concludes, hesitant and cautious, "He seems okay. I don't think anything's broken."
He'd shrug off their hands as they carefully get him to his feet, except that if he did that he'd probably only collapse again. And as much as he doesn't feel he deserves it, his head is spinning with this new, disturbing discovery that still doesn't quite make sense; and the gentle support of their touch – a hand at his elbow, an arm snug around his waist – is grounding, reassuring. As ashamed as he feels for needing it, Castiel can't bring himself to shake that sense of security off.
"You took quite a hit there," Sam points out. "Getting tossed around by demons like that is never fun. I saw it, I just couldn't get to her in time to stop it before it happened. Did you hit your head?" His slight frown is puzzled, as if he can't quite figure out why the blow was so debilitating.
Castiel feels the new – but increasingly familiar – heat of humiliation creeping up his neck and over his face, and is glad for the cover of darkness to hide it from the brothers. He looks down at the ground as Sam and Dean, one on either side of him, half-support him as they head back toward the Impala.
"I'm – not sure," he lies, swallowing back the bitterness in the back of his throat that accompanies the words. "I – I'll be fine. I just need to rest. And – stop talking."
They've reached the car, and Sam and Dean exchange a worried, surprised look that makes Cas feel even more self-conscious.
"You mean… you need to stop talking, or – you want me to stop talking?" Sam hesitantly asks for clarification.
Since he's so exhausted and drained by pain and shame, and since he'd gladly take both at the moment, Cas doesn't answer, just slides gingerly into the Impala's back seat and pulls the door shut behind him.
A few weeks ago, he would have heard every word of the hurried, stage-whispered conversation that takes place just outside the car window between the Winchesters; he's not exactly bothered by the fact that he can't make out the words this time. It's almost a relief not to know what they think about him right now.
By the time they get into the car, he's leaned his head back against the seat, face tilted toward the moonlight outside the driver's side window – but his eyes are closed, and he hopes they'll assume he's asleep and leave him alone. He presses his aching back against the firm leather of the seat, its coolness soothing through the thin fabric of his shirt, relieved as he feels the pain finally beginning to subside.
The uneasiness in the pit of his stomach remains, however.
It's only his second hunt with the Winchesters since his… transformation, and the first time he's been injured at all. He didn't see this coming, isn't sure how wings that no longer exist are still capable of causing him so much pain. Or maybe it's a phantom pain, caused by their absence – some not-quite-physical wound that lingers where his wings were torn away. All Cas really knows for sure is that this makes him more of a liability than ever.
As if he wasn't already enough of a useless handicap to the Winchesters, without this new weakness.
Dean and Sam talk quietly on the drive back to the bunker, about the hunt, and about their plans for the next day; neither of them says a word to him. He thinks they know he's awake, but they're trying to be kind; trying not to call him on his weak attempt at deception, at hiding away from his shame for a few more minutes – and their kindness only makes it worse, emphasizing how gently they think he needs to be handled now, how far he is from the powerful warrior that used to be their most valuable ally.
There's a burning behind his eyelids, an ache in his throat that he can't swallow away, when he thinks of how far he's fallen – truly fallen, in every way.
He tries not to think about it, tries to actually fall asleep.
Mostly, he tries not to cry.
By the time the Impala stops outside the bunker, Cas is able to walk inside on his own, almost normally. Dean says something to him as he heads down the hall to his room, but Cas doesn't catch the words, doesn't bother to stop and find out what they were. He closes the door to his room and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, drawing in a shaky, shuddering breath.
He's felt pain before, but never with the intensity of what he felt tonight. He's felt ashamed of his choices, of not being what Dean wanted or needed him to be; he's felt tired and weak and confused and lost. He's never felt any of it as strongly as he feels it now, in this human body that's his, and not merely a vessel to hold his true form. He's not an angel anymore, doesn't even have the wings that suddenly hurt again, sharp twinges of pain stabbing into his back, in the places where wings should have been.
He's overwhelmed, overcome, and the tears he's been trying to hold back start to flow from his eyes. When his shoulders start to shake, it makes the pain worse, but he can't stop. He doesn't even hear the door open, doesn't know he's not alone, until he feels Dean's hand on his arm from behind him, feels Dean's arm slip around his waist and pull him back against Dean's body.
Cas struggles instinctively, fighting the loss of his balance, but Dean shushes him, voice hushed and low as he pulls Cas the couple of steps to the bed and sits down with him. Cas tries to pull away from him, tries to fight the soothing arms that wrap around him, a couple of ineffectual blows landing against Dean's chest – but the fact that they barely even register with Dean only drives the truth home more acutely than ever.
Cas is weak now. Powerless.
Useless.
"Shhh, no, no, you're not." Dean's words are low and warm, and Cas didn't even know he'd been speaking aloud, but he lowers his face against Dean's shoulder, undone as much by the tenderness he hears in Dean's voice as by his own defeat. "That's not true, Cas," Dean murmurs, one gentle hand rising to rest at the back of Cas's head. "That's not true."
Distantly, Castiel hears the sound of running water, barely audible over Dean's continued litany of soft reassurance. The sensation of Dean's thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into the back of Cas's neck would make him forget about his back, if it wasn't for the occasional electric sparks of pain that still pass through it.
Cas feels the bed dip slightly behind him, and startles a little.
"It's okay, Cas." Sam's voice is there, a moment before Sam's hands – a little softer than Dean's, but larger and stronger as well – come to rest, one on his shoulder, the other low on his back. "It's just us here… you're okay…"
Cas starts to relax; it's so tempting to give himself over to the comfort of their touch, the warmth in their voices, though he feels ashamed to want this, ashamed to need it like water, like breath, because it just means they're right to think that he's weak and fragile and broken. Still, he sinks into Dean's arms, does not pull away from Sam's hands.
Not until they start to travel slowly, cautiously up his spine. His body seizes up automatically, jerking away in anticipation of pain. But Dean holds him fast, even as Sam's hands go still – but don't move away.
"Shhh, shhh, shhh," Dean soothes him, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It's okay, you're okay…" He's quiet for a moment before he turns his head in a little toward Cas's ear and whispers, breath warm and sweet against his skin, "Do you trust us?"
There's no hesitation. Castiel nods against Dean's shoulder, whispering out a breathless, immediate, "Yes."
"Good." Dean nods with him, approval in his voice that Cas can't help drinking in with eager, desperate thirst. "Then… let us do this for you, okay?"
Cas doesn't know what this is, but Dean's voice is low and rich and honey-sweet, enticing, and Cas knows he's going to say yes even before Dean finishes.
"Let us take care of you…"
The air in the bathroom is steamy and sweet, hot mist rising over the large white tub that takes up the center of the room. The towels under his bare feet are soft and warm, and now Cas understands why Sam took his shoes off before letting him come in. There are candles lining the counter around the sink, a warm glow beaming through the soft haze of steam.
"Fucking girl," Dean mutters in Sam's general direction as he helps Cas to sit down on the lid of the toilet – but he's smiling a little in spite of himself, and there's more affection than annoyance in his voice.
"Shut up," Sam shoots back, but there's no heat behind the soft words – at least, not the angry kind.
Castiel once visited a heaven that wasn't much different from this – all soft floral fragrances in a candlelit bathroom, a haze of steam surrounding a large, porcelain bathtub, where the water never grew cold, the candles never went out, and the novel in the hands of the owner of this particular heaven never seemed to come to its end.
Of course, Cas didn't stay long. It seemed intensely personal at the time, like he was an intruder watching something he shouldn't, uninvited in someone else's personally chosen moment of ultimate peace and contentment.
He isn't uninvited this time.
Dean's hands are suddenly in front of him, deft fingers unfastening the buttons of his shirt, and Castiel looks up into Dean's face, searching. Dean meets his eyes for a moment, and Cas sees reassurance in Dean's smile, even if it is a little hesitant. Cas tenses as Dean pushes his shirt back, but Dean is gentle, and no further pain touches his back as the soft fabric slides easily off and to the floor. Then, abruptly, Dean is on his knees on the damp tile, and Cas's breath catches in his throat when Dean's attention shifts to the button of his jeans.
"Dean…" he gasps out, reaching down a trembling hand to cover Dean's, to stop him.
Dean looks up at him, expression solemn and expectant and so unreadable.
This is all so confusing. It was so much easier when Cas could read Dean's thoughts with a single touch.
Dean doesn't move, doesn't pull away, simply waits – and his words echo in Cas's mind.
"Do you trust us?"
And… he does.
So Cas slowly draws his hand away, and Dean smiles a little, continuing with his task. Dean drags the coarse, dirty denim down Cas's legs until he can drop it in a heap on the floor along with Cas's boxers, and then stands up again, sliding his arm under Cas's shoulders, helping him get to his feet. It doesn't hurt as much anymore, and Cas is pretty sure he could have stood on his own; but he likes the feeling of Dean's arm – warm and strong, covered in soft cotton that shifts pleasantly against his bare skin – wrapped around him, stabilizing him, making him feel secure and steady as Dean leads him over to the tub.
The water is just on the right side of too hot, and Cas draws in a hiss of breath as he lowers himself down into it, assisted a little by Dean on one side and Sam on the other. He expects the tub to be cold against his back, but there's something soft behind him – a towel Sam apparently put there ahead of time to make him more comfortable.
It's more consideration than he expected – more than he deserves – and Cas feels that shameful, hot prickling behind his eyes again. Dean rests his hand on Cas's for a moment, his thumb sliding between the rim of the tub and Cas's palm to stroke gently back and forth as he speaks softly.
"We'll let you relax a little while, okay?"
It's an instantaneous reaction to the words, his mind instantly rejecting the idea of Dean leaving. Before he knows he's even going to move, Cas turns his hand under Dean's and holds on tight. He feels Dean freeze beside him, and now he can't open his eyes, can't bear to see the look on Dean's face – can't bear to let go, either.
He feels Dean's hand relax, and then he feels Dean's other hand at the back of his head, hears Dean's voice low and close, crouched down beside him. "Cas. Hey, Cas. Look at me, all right?"
Cas hesitates, but then reluctantly complies. He's surprised to see that Dean looks as nervous and uncertain as he feels. Dean swallows slowly, then asks, quiet and careful, "Do you… do you want me to stay?"
Cas nods, once, his grip on Dean's hand tightening, turning his head so that Dean's hand rests against his cheek. Dean's lips part, as he settles onto his knees beside the tub and leans in closer, his eyes wide and questioning as they drift toward Cas's mouth, and Cas finds himself leaning in too. He's not sure what's happening here, not sure what Dean wants from him or what the meaning of all of this is.
He simply knows that the closer he is to Dean, the more Dean's touching him… the less it hurts.
And suddenly, Dean's kissing him, slow and warm and tender, and nothing hurts for the first time since he fell.
Cas starts to kiss back.
He's only kissed one person before, and he's not really sure if he did it right, but she didn't seem to have any complaints, and the way Dean's fingers tighten slightly in his hair, the soft little sound that escapes Dean's lips, tell Cas that he isn't doing a terrible job of it.
And then, Cas feels a large, warm hand come to rest on the bare skin of his shoulder, and Dean's still holding his hand, still threading fingers through his hair, and it has to be Sam, and oh no, Sam! Cas's stomach lurches and he pulls away from Dean's kiss, heart racing as he remembers that this is something that Dean and Sam share, and he's crossed a line and ruined everything and Sam's going to kill him, they're not going to want him here anymore...
For a moment, he entirely forgets that Dean kissed him.
"I'm sorry," he gasps out, cringing, sitting up quickly, and then stifling a whimper as the abrupt movement sends a fresh spasm of pain through his back. "I'm sorry, I didn't – I shouldn't have…"
"Cas…" It's Sam's voice now, quiet and reassuring, his hand still firm on Cas's shoulder as he moves from behind the tub so that Cas can see his face – and he doesn't look angry; if anything, he looks as hopeful and anxious and confused as Dean looks, and Cas feels. "It's all right. We – we talked about it, and… and it's okay. I mean, if you – if you're okay with it…"
Cas frowns, shaking his head. "I – I don't understand…"
Sam bites his lip, frowning a little too. Then he gives a sharp, short little nod and shifts in closer to Cas, opposite Dean. His voice is unusually nervous, a slight tremor to his words. "Right. Okay. Well, then… maybe I can help… make it clear…"
Dean moves his hand to allow Sam's to take its place, and Sam leans in to capture Cas's mouth with his own. Sam's kiss is different from Dean's – a little more forceful, more certain, but no less pleasant; when Sam draws back, Cas feels light-headed and dizzy, and it takes a moment for him to remember to draw in his next breath.
He stares at Sam, then looks back to Dean, in disbelieving wonder.
"W-why?" he asks, shaking his head slowly, slightly. "I – I'm not … I'm just…"
"Don't start with that 'useless' crap again." There's an edge to Dean's voice, and it's fierce and a little dangerous, but it's also protective and makes Cas feel warm and safe. "You're not. Anyway, it doesn't matter what you are, Cas – human, angel, whatever. You're ours…"
"If you wanna be," Sam hurries to add, and Cas turns his head to look at him, taking in the anxious, expectant expression in his soft, dark eyes. "I mean… you have a choice in this, Cas. And – if you don't want this, well – it doesn't change anything, okay? You're still our friend, you still live here, hunt with us, everything…"
"But – you do want it. Right?" There's barely a trace of insecurity in Dean's voice, and it's all but obliterated by the hint of a knowing smirk at the corner of his mouth. "I mean – if that kiss was anything to go by…"
Cas has wanted Dean almost as long as he's known him.
Sam, he was told not to trust – that he was dangerous, evil, the most valuable weapon in Lucifer's arsenal. But he's come to know Sam as a friend, someone who'd die for him if it came to it, and Cas would die for him too. At first, even that was for Dean, but now – now, Cas loves Sam… because he's Sam, regardless of Dean's part in the equation.
He's never considered the possibility that he could have either; Sam and Dean have loved each other at the expense of all others as long as he's known them. It's simply a matter of fact that there is no one who could replace either brother in the other's heart, no room for anyone else in the fiercely intimate, devastating devotion that they share.
And now… they're making room.
They want him – and Cas wants nothing more than to be theirs, for real and forever.
"Yes," he whispers, nodding eagerly, "yes, yes…"
His litany of assent is silenced by Dean's mouth on his again, Dean's hand on his jaw, tilting his head back, and pushing gently until Cas's back is braced against the back of the tub again. A moment later, Cas feels Sam's mouth, warm and slick against his shoulder and working up the line of his throat – and he can't hold back a low, hoarse moan at the sensation that goes straight to his cock. He feels himself growing hard, and instinctively reaches a hand down into the water.
Sam catches his wrist and pulls it up to rest on the side of the tub, pinning it in place, and Cas lets out a frustrated whimper of protest.
"Shhh," Dean whispers against the corner of Cas's mouth, and Cas can feel his smile against his skin, and it sends a shiver all through his body. "Let me get that for you…"
"Really, Dean?" Sam stops kissing Cas long enough to express his opinion on Dean's choice of words, though Cas sees nothing wrong with the words, in fact he thinks it's a wonderful idea, especially with both of his own hands gently imprisoned at the moment and unable to do anything about the aching need that's building low in his stomach, the overwhelming sensation as the hot water washes over his swiftly swelling cock.
"Shut up," Dean mutters, letting go of Cas's hand and reaching down beneath the water to firmly grasp Cas's erection, rubbing his thumb along its underside in slow, confident strokes.
Cas gasps and arches up out of the water slightly, but Sam has shifted into place behind him and wraps a strong arm around his shoulders, holding him down. "Easy," he murmurs, his voice dark with command, low and soothing, before his mouth finds Cas's throat again, teeth teasing at the sensitive skin; Dean has found a rhythm, his hand sliding with just the right amount of friction, eased by the water, and Cas can't stop the helpless, broken sounds that stutter from his lips, as their combined attentions drive his thoughts far from his insecurities, his confusion and shame, his pain…
And then, his thoughts go pure, blinding white and aren't even thoughts anymore, and he feels like he's flying, and he knows he has to be delirious with pleasure because he still remembers that he can't, but suddenly – it just doesn't seem to matter anymore.
The next thing he's aware of is soft towels against his skin… firm, gentle hands rubbing him dry… and then he's lying on his stomach on cool, white sheets, with no idea whatsoever of how he got there. He still feels like he's floating, pleasantly hazy, mind and body blissfully numb. He feels weight on either side of his hips, is vaguely aware of a shadow that passes over him, hands sliding up from his waist, pressing slowly into the muscles of his lower back and easing as they move upward…
He tenses as those hands near the source of his earlier pain, drawing in his breath sharply. "Don't…" he breathes out, fearful.
"Cas." It's Sam's voice, and Cas turns his head to see that Sam is lying on his side on the bed beside him, and now Sam is undressed, too. Sam gives him a reassuring smile as he reaches out a hand to play soothingly through Cas's damp, towel-dried hair and reminds him, "Trust us… right? We're not gonna do anything to hurt you."
Cas hesitates, but then nods slowly. His trepidation must still show on his face, though, because Sam's expression gentles with sympathy, and he repeats, "Just trust us… we've made you feel good so far, right?"
Cas has to admit that they most definitely have.
So he settles as much as he can, reaching out a tentative hand toward Sam, who takes it and holds it gently, stroking in slow circles, silently encouraging him to relax as Dean's hands cautiously begin to move again. They backtrack, though, strong fingers slowly kneading into the tense muscles of Cas's lower back until Cas feels a pleasant heat, a sense of release, flow through him, and gradually begins to relax.
Dean's hands shift gradually higher, rubbing out the tension that remains from the hunt, and from Cas's confusing, overwhelming emotions. Dean leans down over Cas's shoulders, and he braces himself, unable to help remembering the pain of the impact when his back was slammed into the tree earlier – but Dean's lips just brush lightly across the skin between Cas's shoulder blades, warm breath against his cooling skin sending delightful little shivers all through him.
That sensation is followed by a gentle vibration, and the sound of Dean's low, satisfied chuckle sends a happy warmth all through Cas's body. Sam's eyes light up with pleasure at whatever he sees on Cas's face, and he shifts in closer to kiss him, slow and languid, as Dean's fingers slide cautiously over Cas's shoulders, then just slightly lower, barely ghosting over the source of his earlier pain.
Cas doesn't tense or pull away this time.
Words intended to please Sam and Dean have given way to genuine, actual trust, and he knows better now than to think that they'll hurt him, even accidentally.
Dean's touch ever-so-slowly intensifies, his fingers pressing just slightly harder, delving cautiously into the sore muscles that used to connect to Cas's wings. There's a slight ache at the pressure, but Cas realizes with surprise that it feels good, knots of tension being worked out, as Dean's hands move lovingly, leisurely over his skin, sending sparks of pleasure all through Cas's body.
It feels so good, he never wants it to stop.
When it finally does, Cas is barely even aware as Dean carefully moves off of him and lies down beside him instead. He's sated, half-dozing, Sam's arm wrapped around his waist, as Dean gently maneuvers him onto his side and slides in close behind him, his arm resting alongside Sam's, his lips falling in a brief, tender press against the back of Cas's neck.
And Cas drifts off to sleep, warm and safe in the arms of the boys he's long thought of as his – knowing that they've made him really and truly theirs, as well; and if that's what he's traded his wings for, well – Cas thinks it's a more than fair trade.
Cas's last thought before slipping into sleep is that as long as he has Dean and Sam, being human won't be so bad after all.
He's knows now – they'll make sure he never forgets how to fly.