Important Note: This is set in the future shown in 5.04 'The End', but past Dean doesn't make an appearance. Canon divergence!
Warning: Contains violence, and hanky panky that probably goes beyond the M rating. I would have cut it out but it's kinda important to the story. So be aware, if you're not prepared for that, please don't read!
It was the end of the world and Dean Winchester was a busy man. Croats were everywhere, his brother was playing host to the Prince of Darkness and his already small group of survivors was gradually getting smaller. Hamburgers were a thing of the past, Chuck was reduced from being a Prophet to organizing mundane things like toilet paper and Cas, well, Cas was a hippie stoner.
As he stalked through the camp that was the epicenter of his insane world Dean muttered imprecations, threats, expletives and pleas under his breath, trying to either release some of his rage or think of something that would get through to the former angel whose cabin was his destination. He noted darkly how people scrambled to get out of his way, no doubt they'd heard the commotion when Cas hadn't shown up at the briefing for the next day's mission. Again. He only hoped his angel-turned-new age guru-turned-addict was sober enough to at least allow some of the details sink in. A mission into a Croat hot zone was nothing if not unpredictable and he needed all his team one hundred percent informed, aware and alive.
Dean was so angry and focused he didn't notice the obvious signs of what was happening in the cabin until it was far too late. Later he would realize there had been more than one pair of shoes on the porch, at least two jackets on the railings and most unusually, no one passed out in the hammock. Instead of noting these signs and backing away, like any sensible person who'd lived in the camp more than a few days would, Dean jogged up the stairs and barged his way into the cabin.
Immediately the hunter was confronted with the sight of his friend buried underneath several of his drugged-up and very naked followers, of both genders. Five, (or maybe six, it was hard to tell with so many limbs) Dean absently counted, while his brain came to a screeching halt and did a complete 180 from 'find and kill Cas,' to 'oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shiiiit!' Of course, Cas's orgies were legendary and although Dean had never participated himself he'd heard enough of them. The whole camp had. This one though, was quiet. Dean had thought Cas alone, which is why he had come bursting in, reports in hand, ready to berate his friend for missing the last meeting and maybe shake him out of whatever drug-induced fantasy world he was living in this time. The hunter had therefore been completely unprepared to see half the room covered in naked bodies, all writhing hungrily, yet eerily silent. Dean could only assume this was down to one of Cas's new age ideas about needing to be noiseless 'to feel the thrum of the Earth's energy' or some such bullshit. Either that or because they all had their mouths full.
Dean froze just inside the door, waiting to see if he had been noticed. When it became clear that the sevensome (was that even a word? Or humanly possible?!) were far too busy to notice anything short of a nuclear explosion, he began to back slowly and oh so quietly out of the room. As he did so Castiel, the fallen Angel of Thursday, his best friend and closest confidant, stretched his arms and threw his head back against the pillow, biting his lip in a sinful display of wanton lust and debauchery. His black hair was mussed and his full lips swollen from kissing, his limbs languid and his skin a scandalous expanse that begged to be touched and caressed.
Dean's breath caught in his throat and he involuntarily froze again. The thought crossed his mind, how could anyone, anyone look so… he floundered, unable to think of the right words. 'Fucking inhumanly sexy,' Dean's subconscious supplied helpfully after an agonizing second of shock and another even more agonizing moment of confused longing. Of wanting to see Cas open his eyes and look into his soul, to see the piercing blue that had never left even after he no longer had his earth-shattering powers, to see those eyes pin him down and fill with lust and longing.
At that moment one of the girls reached up to kiss Cas and the spell was broken. Dean turned and fled.
As the hunter turned his back Cas cracked one eye open and grinned.
Dean would never admit it to himself but he ran from that encounter. As he rushed aimlessly back into the camp he almost jogged headlong into Chuck, who grabbed his jacket as he tried to go past, stopping his forward momentum quite abruptly. Dean absently noted that the little fucker was wirier than he looked.
"Dean, are you ok?" Chuck asked, clearly concerned. Dean could see his face reflected in Chuck's sunglasses, his eyes were wild, the pupils so dilated there was hardly any sign of green, his face so white it could have been made of chalk.
"Yeah man," Dean said, shuffling slightly and thinking quickly. "Just, there was a spider." Pathetic, he mentally cursed. Fucking pathetic. Get a grip! "You know, one of those big evil-looking fuckers that like to hang out in places you're certain to put your hand." Dean amended, not sure if he was talking about arachnids anymore.
"Ah," Chuck nodded sympathetically, "I'd rather take on an army of Croats than one of those. Did you get hold of Cas? I really need him to look over those supply notes, to see if we need to look for anything extra while you're…out there." He shifted uncomfortably. No one liked to think too closely about what lurked outside the camp walls.
"Ah, Cas is… unavailable right now," Dean said, which was camp speak for 'Cas is off his face and no use to anyone.'
Chuck's face fell a bit. "Oh, right. Well, can I meet up with you later? I need to talk to you about medical supplies."
"Sure thing Chuck, whatever you need." Dean maneuvered his face into a reassuring smile, one frozen muscle at a time, and patted Chuck on the shoulder as he stalked past, trying to look like he was moving towards something, rather than away from it.
About an hour later Dean took a break from the endless questions and complications that came from being leader of a group of frightened civilians in the middle of a war zone. He wandered over to the memorial board and stared at the pictures there, which everyone knew was his way of saying 'do not disturb me on pain of death and/or dismemberment.' But instead of taking in the images as he usually did, memorizing the faces of the fallen and the missing, including Sammy, he just stared. Stared and thought.
Of course it wasn't surprising that Cas was having an orgy, he'd made it a habit after the end, after they had failed to stop Sam from making the decision that would haunt all of them for eternity. It was his way of escape. Dean also suspected he needed the orgies to punish himself in a strange way, to prove to himself over and over that he was indeed human, and unworthy of redemption. That and the haze of drugs and alcohol made for poor decisions. No, it wasn't surprising to find Cas underneath a pile of naked people, it was Dean's reaction to Cas that was causing this uneasiness. And fear. And, if he was being really honest with himself, some serious longing. And wasn't that just the icing on the world's most fucked-up cake?
Dean stood and thought some more. He thought about Castiel, the Seraph who gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition. He thought about the Angel who had time and again given everything to help Dean, even when he was being a mountain of dicks, so hurt and angry at the world that he lashed out and wounded everyone around him. He thought about his friend Cas, both the trench-coated implacable ally and the stoned hippie with his yoga pants and wooden beads and penchant for substance abuse. He knew this Cas had long since given up hope of killing Lucifer, or of rescuing Sam, or of doing anything more than living out his mortal span in as pleasurable way as possible, but he never failed to help Dean when he needed it. Never failed to follow him on insane suicide missions and forays into Croat hot zones.
And so Dean thought. But not for long, because Dean Winchester was a busy man.
Dean spent the rest of the day in a fog. Chuck asked questions about medical supplies, Dean mumbled something about planting potatoes in reply. A woman hit on him in the supply room and he just stared at her until she sidled uncomfortably out the door. In weapons training Dean lost track of his opponent and ended up in the medical tent with a wickedly deep cut on his arm. His adversary was unnecessarily gleeful about taking down the fearless leader, so while he was getting stitched up Dean darkly promised himself that he'd send the man on the next supply run to the middle of Croat territory.
At dinner Dean stared at his food, aware that if he didn't eat people would talk, it was unheard of for their leader to turn down food, even food as oddly… gloopy… as this was. He sighed, having to forcibly will himself to take a forkful of (potato? Some kind of pureed meat? Dean couldn't tell) and put it in his mouth. And then he very nearly stabbed himself in the face with said fork when he went to take the first bite and Cas (sexy, sexy, bed-hair and eyes… oh hell the eyes… Cas), put his hand on Dean's shoulder for a brief moment in greeting as he went to line up for dinner. The gesture was friendly, casual and familiar and not at all intimate, but somehow that brief touch burned through his shirt, burned him down to the hand print already branded there, burned through Dean like the fires of hell itself. Dean put the fork down carefully, mumbled a hurried apology to a startled Chuck, something about checking the perimeter, and practically ran from the mess hall. The second time that day he'd lied to Chuck and run away like a little girl.
Dean hurried through the camp to his cabin, pulling his jacket close against the cold. What was happening to him? Since Sammy had left all Dean had was Cas and the camp, and every day he made sure that the angel didn't get himself killed and the camp ran like clockwork. He could no longer take care of Sam but he, Dean Winchester, was in charge of this colony. This was maybe the only camp of uninfected humans left in the world, and he could not, would not jeopardize that by becoming a sloppy, horny teenager who thought only with the brain in his pants. Dean was The Leader, he was a warrior dammit, an honest-to-goodness post-apocalyptic war hero with responsibilities and no time for THIS. Whatever 'this' turned out to be.
After what seemed like an eternity of these unhelpful thoughts and internal ranting monologue Dean finally stumbled into his cabin and flopped backwards across the mattress. Lying there with an arm over his eyes he decided the only sensible option was to get a decent night's sleep and put all the day's ridiculousness down to a lack of rest and the constant stress of the job.
Dean soon discovered that sleep was not something he could wrestle to the ground and make his bitch. He was too used to getting only a couple of hours of shut-eye, and his body and mind were still humming with the tension of the day. As he lay there his mind drifted inevitably back to what he'd seen that morning. As much as Dean tried to fight it, the images just kept playing on repeat. The hunter had participated in enough meaningless post-apocalyptic sex to know that it was a great way of blowing off steam and stress, especially before big missions when no one knew if they would survive, and after, when no one could believe they had. Dean didn't have a problem with the orgy and certainly not with his best friend losing himself for a little while. The grief and pain in Cas after he lost his mojo had eaten him alive, Dean knew his friend needed the sex and drugs just to keep going, to feel something other than the pain of living. Of being human. A pain Dean himself knew all too well.
Cas… Dean's treacherous mind continued to replay the scene, drifting over and over to his friend, lying there amongst the writhing bodies, calm and serene and sexy as hell. His hand drifted mindlessly to the hand print branded on his shoulder, tracing the outline of the mark under his shirt as he thought of the angel. His traitorous body responded and he began to think less about what had happened and more about what he wanted to happen, about the thought of Cas stretching out underneath him, wanton and disheveled like in the cabin this morning. His piercing blue eyes open and looking straight at Dean, no silence this time but moans and begging and heat. Cas… Dean moaned to himself, half in a daze. I want… I want…. Oh fuck, Cas!
The former angel was sitting at the table in the mess hall when it happened. He had a forkful of whatever disgusting mush had been served up for dessert that night hanging forgotten in his fingers as he laughed at Chuck's recount of Dean's encounter with a spider that morning. Dean had left the hall without eating, he'd been acting strangely since he'd walked in on Cas's morning sexy times and Cas suspected it wasn't a spider Dean had been running from. Cas grinned even wider as he remembered Dean's eyes going wide as saucers as he tried to silently get out before he was noticed. Of course Cas knew he was there. He always knew when Dean was nearby.
Cas ate his forkful of 'weird orange' as he'd dubbed the dish and let the table's chatter wash over him. He replayed the scene in his head, the look on Dean's face as Cas had stretched out, showing off just a little, the jaw dropping, the flash of shock and … confusion?... as the angel watched him surreptitiously through his eyelashes. Yes, this was a pleasant memory to get him through the next few days. Something to revisit the next time he was drugged to the nines and thinking thoughts about his friend he only allowed in the quiet corners of his mind.
Just as his thoughts turned away from the hunter and back to the slop on his plate a voice rocketed into his mind like it had in the old days, his name whispered inside his skull.
"No…" he breathed. It couldn't be. It could not possibly be a… prayer? Could it?
Cas… the voice begged. Cas leapt up like a scalded cat, sending plates and cutlery flying as he stumbled backwards, hand across his heart as he tried to stop it beating out of his chest. What the fuck was that?!
Chuck started to get up to ask what was wrong and every eye in the room was staring at the wild-eyed angel as if a kitten had suddenly grown into a lion in their midst. Cas waved the questions and concerns away and stumbled out into the night, knowing his odd behavior would be chalked up to yet another bad trip. And maybe it is, he thought. He'd been taking some funky stuff recently. The cold air knifed through his thin cotton shirt and yoga pants, but Cas still didn't feel the cold, not like Dean did. A moment of clarity came. That had been Dean's voice. His friend was in trouble.
Cas started to run.
Cas was halfway to Dean's cabin when he heard the voice say his name again, and almost there when he heard Dean say he wanted him, both in his mind and now with his ears. Cas pulled up short outside the cabin's porch, not sure if he had heard what he thought he had, or if he had heard it, if he was interpreting it correctly. He shucked his thin sandals and crept closer. A moment later his suspicions were confirmed, Dean wasn't in trouble, wasn't even aware that somehow he was praying to the angel, something he hadn't been able to do since Cas lost his mojo.
Cas eased back and rested his forehead against the outside of the cabin, trying to calm the heart that had been straining first with fear and now confusion. Dean… wanted him? Cas felt a flutter start low down and build as he heard Dean moan into his pillow. He'd long ago come to terms with the fact that Dean didn't want him, not like that. Had come to terms with being his friend, his confidant, his adviser, but never his lover. Now it seemed that Dean was alone in his cabin fantasizing…about him.
Cas didn't know whether to laugh or cry, to barge in there and pin his friend to the wall and kiss him senseless, or slink back to his cabin and let everything remain unchanged between them. The decision was taken out of his hands when Dean moaned his name into his mind again, filled with longing and hunger. That single word went straight through the angel and down his body like a jolt of electricity, and before he knew it he was leaning casually against the door frame, arms folded.
"You rang?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but his breath hitched as he saw his friend sprawled over the bed, still with his clothes on but obviously aroused, his pupils blown wide, a hand frozen in the act of sliding down his body towards the hard bulge in his pants.
Dean was lost in a haze of lust and confusion. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about Cas that way before, but only as a passing 'I wonder' kind of thing, when a hand had brushed his in training or when they'd been sitting out at night under the stars, drinking beer and talking about days long gone. This was different. Seeing the angel so wanton, so damn sexy, had shifted something in Dean and he wanted, needed to work this out of his system before somehow Cas found out and he saw disgust, or rejection, in those beautiful blue eyes.
The part of Dean that was the old Dean, the Dean who still had Sammy, who still looked up to his father, who hadn't lost nearly everything and everyone in the whole world that he loved, that Dean screamed out that this was wrong. That feeling this way about your best friend, about your guy best friend was wrong, morally reprehensible, shameful and any other words that meant 'fucking wrong'. But the larger part of Dean, the Dean that lived in the new world, the Dean who had seen how quickly people lost their inhibitions when death stalked the camp every day, where people reached out and held on to anything human, just to feel a few minutes of companionship and comfort, that Dean couldn't care less about the meat suit that held Cas. He just wanted Cas. As long as, and this was the big problem, as long as Cas wanted him back.
It was just as Dean was caught in the middle of fantasizing about his friend, freaking out about fantasizing, freaking out about Cas freaking out, and his body not caring about the freaking out, that Cas casually announced his presence. Dean practically levitated off the bed in shock, then leapt to his feet and stood there, hair mussed and breathing hard, as the object of his fantasy stood leaning against the door frame with a look of amusement, and something darker, in his eyes.
"Dammit, Cas!" Dean spat, straightening himself up as best he could and trying not to blush furiously, wondering what Cas had seen, or worse, heard. "Do we need to have another discussion about personal space?"
"I don't know," Cas said lazily. "Do we? The door was open. Also, I seem to remember you forgot to knock this morning too."
Dean spluttered a curse. Cas laughed. The laughter shifted from light-hearted to a dark, throaty chuckle as the angel moved from casual to intent in the blink of an eye, padding softly into the room on bare feet. Dean watched, able to feel the heat radiating from the angel even at the good meter distance that still separated them. The bastard never did feel the cold, Dean mused, unable to think of something more profound as Cas came slowly, warily, closer.
"You called me here, Dean," Cas said calmly. "I'm here. What do you want?"
Dean stared wildly, "I…"
"Called me," Cas replied, lifting an eyebrow. "Prayed to me. I heard you. I am here, Dean Winchester."
Hearing his name said the way Cas used to say it, when he used to show up in a flutter of wings, all blue eyes and power, a force of nature like a hurricane or an avalanche, snapped something in Dean. He grabbed Cas by his cotton shirt and practically flung him against the wall, hissing as their bodies pressed up against each other. He pressed them both into the wall and stared at the angel, face only inches away, breathing his breath and trembling with longing, or anger, or fear, neither of them were sure which. Cas stared back levelly, calm, in control. He lifted a hand to Dean's waist but the hunter growled, a feral growl deep in his throat and Cas let his hand fall back to his side. He then used that hand as leverage to push slightly off the wall and roll slowly against Dean's hips.
"Stop, Cas," Dean ground out, staring into those blue eyes that suddenly weren't full of mischief and laughter, but full of heat and fire. He breathed out raggedly. "Stop."
"Why?" Cas asked curiously, head tilted to the side. It was a calculated move, he knew Dean saw the old Cas in that gesture, the one he could trust to be there for him, not the drug addled wreck he was now. He knew he'd hate himself for the manipulation later, but right now all he could think about was the man pressed up against him and if Dean didn't do something soon Cas would die, he was sure of it. Dean moaned as Cas rolled his hips again.
"Because if you don't stop I won't be able to," he panted. "Talk to me Cas, tell me what you want before I lose control and take it for myself."
Cas shut his eyes for a second, stilling his movements. "I want..." he breathed out.
"What? Cas, what?" Dean all but hissed, trying not to terrify his friend any more than he must have already, having pinned him against a wall and practically threatened him. Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could stop himself from tearing the angel's clothes off and taking him where he stood. But he needed to hear Cas say it. Needed to know that the angel wanted this, wanted him, just as much.
Cas opened his eyes. "I want you." he said simply.
"Fuck, Cas!" Dean growled, all pretense at self-control gone. He crushed his lips into the angel's and they kissed, if it could be called kissing since it was more like a battle, all heat and tongues and teeth. Cas broke away first.
"Touch me, Dean!" he gasped, "I want, I need you to touch me!"
Dean quickly ripped the angel's shirt away, and his own, running first his hands and then his mouth across the angel's smooth chest. As his tongue found a nipple Cas practically melted into him and Dean, who didn't think it was possible to be any more turned on, got even harder.
"Anything you want, baby," he gasped, "Anything. I'm yours." They both moaned as Dean pushed their hips together, the fabric still separating them suddenly maddening. Cas finally reached down and freed Dean from his remaining clothes, running his hand along its length and squeezing gently. "Oh fuck, Cas!" Dean moaned, "Baby… oh, Angel."
Cas practically came when he heard Dean call him Angel, and suddenly the hunter was no longer calling the shots. Cas pushed him back, until Dean's knees hit the bed and he fell, somehow also ridding them both of pants in record time. Dean scrabbled backwards until he hit the headboard, as Cas stalked after him and straddled his lap.
Dean lay back and looked up at the angel, reaching out to run a hand down his smooth skin, lower and lower until finally he wrapped his sweat-slick hand around his length. Cas moaned, a guttural noise that was the sexiest damn thing Dean had ever heard.
"Dean," Cas gasped out, "I'm not going to last. I'm so close already. Just having you here, under me... it's too much."
Dean gazed up into the lust-glazed blue eyes above him, stilling his movements. Completely unable to resist he reached out to bring his friend down on top of him and kissed him with surprising gentleness. Kissed him with all the passion and tenderness and longing coursing through his veins. This kiss was everything their first kiss hadn't been, instead of hard and fast it was soft and languid, tongues lazily exploring and expressing an infinity of tenderness. Dean ran his fingers softly through Cas's hair and thought that nothing in this fucked-up world had ever been as perfect as the angel in his arms. A new feeling started to spread through him, both relaxing something inside he didn't know was wound so tightly and simultaneously firing up every nerve. He wanted the kiss to last forever, but eventually his body reminded him that kissing was only one of the things it wanted to do. Cas apparently felt it too, moaning against his mouth, reaching down between them.
Dean shook his head and rolled them so he was on top, grabbing Cas's hands and pinning them above his head. Cas was taken by surprise by how strong the hunter was, but put up minimal resistance to this new arrangement. Dean leaned down and bit his shoulder gently, sending a flash of fire through Cas that took him completely off guard, bucking against Dean's hand, trying desperately to get Dean to finish what they'd started. Dean looked at him and grinned darkly. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asked, licking the spot he'd bitten. Cas moaned in agreement, writhing urgently now with need.
"Talk to me Cas," Dean said in an echo of his earlier command, biting down again, not gently this time, but hard. Cas howled Dean's name. "Dean! Dean! Please!" and finally Dean did as he was asked, taking Cas in a sweat-slick hand and using all the skills he'd used on himself over the years, before covering the angel's face in kisses and whispering in his ear. "I've got you, Angel. I'm here. Now come for me. Come for me Castiel!"
At the sound of his full name, which no one had used in years, the angel came undone, a white-hot pleasure spiking through him, so intense he thought he was going to black out. All the orgies, all the sex he'd had since his fall and none of it had felt like this. Dean had no experience with other men, the whole affair was rushed and messy and like two teenagers fumbling in the dark but it was so hot and so perfect and everything he'd dreamt of, everything he'd searched for so long to find.
Dean was panting now, watching Cas. "So fucking hot Cas, so fucking hot, the way you look…!' he groaned, looking down at his angel, wondering if he was going to come without even having to be touched he was so turned on by the sight below him.
Cas grinned lazily up from under him, a toothy smile and messy hair and the eyes that Dean had fantasized about glazed with the aftermath of passion. Then those eyes sharpened again into a piercing look that had every fiber of Dean's aching body, still crying out its need, shiver with anticipation.
Cas continued to grin as he expertly broke Dean's hold, flipped them so Dean was on his back, and began to kiss his way down the hunter's stomach. Dean grunted his surprise and Cas paused, looking up at him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the hunter, his green eyes staring at him with lust and longing, and something else that nearly undid the angel. He thought he could get lost in those eyes, could easily stare into them for eternity without pause.
"Don't you dare stop!" Dean ground out, but Cas paused for a second longer, his long-fingered hands holding Dean still, stopping him from bucking no matter how hard he tried. Cas found he enjoyed having Dean at his mercy, wanted to take his time and wring every cry, every expletive, every moan from the hunter. He wondered briefly about the echoes of Grace he had felt in the intense throes of passion, but that train of thought was soon derailed by his impatient hunter.
"Tease!" Dean cried out in frustration, grabbing Cas's hair in his hands and forcibly trying to push the angel downwards. Cas put up a token resistance, then grinned and resumed his exploration of the hunter's body, the hard muscles rippling with need under his questing lips and fingers. When he finally reached his destination, Cas leisurely, torturously, oh so slowly took Dean into his mouth. The hunter fisted his hands in the sheets, trying to get enough leverage to push his hips upwards, but Cas was suddenly strong, stronger than he had any right to be.
"Look at me you son of a bitch!" Dean gasped and Cas obeyed. As he gazed up at the hunter he winked mischievously and suddenly all Dean could feel was mouth and tongue and soft, wet heat and all he could see was his angel's blue eyes, looking at him, into him, through him. It was so intense he barely had time to grind out the word 'Cas…' before it all went white-hot and he came so hard he thought he saw the shadow of two enormous black wings, the size of the room, springing from the angel's back and enfolding them and the bed in their protection. The moment seemed to last an eternity, yet no time at all.
When Dean came to his senses he looked up at the angel who had straddled him again, staring down at the hunter with an intense look that was so like the old Cas he felt a sudden stab of wistful melancholy.
"Fuck that was hot," Cas said matter-of-factly, and Dean burst into startled laughter at the unexpected profanity.
The angel looked down at his friend, pinning him with his stare, waiting for the moment Dean would realize what had happened and pull away. It didn't happen. Instead, Dean reached up a hand and cupped his cheek.
"Cas, what is this?" he asked quietly, searchingly. When Cas didn't immediately reply Dean rubbed his thumb gently along the angel's lips.
"Castiel?" he whispered, the question clear in that one word.
"I thought you'd given up trying to label things," Cas finally replied with a shaky laugh. Dean didn't respond, staring up at the angel with a look Cas couldn't describe. He felt a sudden desperate need to bring the intensity down a notch before the hunter withdrew from him, all too aware that lying naked underneath another man was as far out of his comfort zone as the older Winchester was ever likely to get. The angel knew instinctively that he needed to be careful, to take things slowly, even though that was now similar to closing the stable gate after the horse had long since bolted.
With those thoughts uppermost in his mind he grabbed the hand that was still stroking his cheek, kissed the palm and proceeded to say the stupidest thing he'd ever said in his long, long life.
"We were just fooling around, Dean. It's not the end of the world."
Three things happened then. Firstly, real, genuine, intense hurt flashed across Dean's face, so fast that only Castiel, who had learnt everything he knew about being human from the man underneath him, would notice. Secondly, he cursed himself to the depths of hell itself for ruining everything with his good intentions, again. Lastly, with unbelievably awful timing, the perimeter alarm howled.
Dean unceremoniously pushed the angel off and jumped to his feet, hastily wiping himself down with a shirt before dressing with the practiced speed of someone who lived constantly on the edge of disaster.
"Actually Cas," Dean said as he grabbed his gun and strode to the door, "I think you'll find it is."
As the hunter vanished into the night the former angel put his head in his hands and couldn't help but agree.