Legal: I don't own Supernatural. Or its characters.
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Every night, he had same dream. And every night, the tormented screams would echo through Dean's brain as he lay in bed, motionless, staring up at the ceiling of a hundred different motel rooms. He wondered, sometimes, how many souls he'd had, up on that rack, how many he had tortured. Maybe thousands.
Usually, when he'd wake up, terrified, covered in his own sweat, he'd bury his face in his pillow, pretend to be sleeping. Dean was always afraid he would wake Sam up, or distract him from whatever it was he did on his laptop half the night. But Sam wasn't here tonight; Sam was off doing God knows what with God knows who, if God even knows anything at all.
Dean sits up, leaning against the headboard. Sometimes, he didn't think he could take another night like this. Sometimes, he just wanted to end it all. It would be so easy for him, there were so many guns in the trunk of his car; he could just pick one. Make it all stop.
But, they'd probably just bring him back. The goddamn angels or whoever.
He puts his face into his hands, closes his eyes. He should have gone out tonight, found some crappy bar, picked up some waitress who would do anything to anyone. He could have taken her back here; she could have kept him up all night long.
At first, Dean hardly notices the dark figure sitting on the edge of the bed. He isn't sure whether he should be relived, he wasn't alone anymore, or if this just made everything even worse. Castiel doesn't say anything, he doesn't even move. His eyes move over Dean's face and he reaches his hand out across the bed.
Dean leans forward. "Can't you do something…to make this stop?"
"What do you want me to do?" Castiel tilts his head.
The room is dark except for the yellow beams shining in from the street lamps outside. Shadows and reflections of headlights move across the walls. The people upstairs are fucking, Dean can hear the bed against the floor, he can hear some woman's muffled groans. "Just do something, so that I can sleep," he mumbles. "I haven't slept in maybe weeks, Cas."
Castiel glances up towards the ceiling. He wasn't exactly sure how humans did it, how they made each other forget, how they screwed each other until nothing mattered. All he knew was that they did. He lay down across the bed, his coat wrinkled underneath him, and he reaches up towards Dean's face, runs his fingers across Dean's jaw.
"What the hell…?" Dean says, pulling away.
"Sorry." Castiel puts his hand back down on his stomach, and turns his face away from Dean's.
Dean stares down at Castiel, confused, terrified. What was he trying to do? Castiel was motionless, his white shirt hanging out of his pants, his tie hanging crooked on his neck. Dean pretends to be disgusted, horrified, but really, he cares about Castiel more than he was ever going to care about any of those girls, the bartender from Atlanta, the cashier from Long Island. They all mean nothing to him. But Castiel, Dean owes Castiel, not only for dragging him out of hell, but for all the other times he's saved him, everything else.
Lately, Dean feels closer to Castiel than he ever felt to Sam.
Dean reaches down in the dark and moves his fingers through Castiel's hair. He closes his eyes and pretends this is just like every other time, with all those girls. Castiel's lips are dry against his. Castiel hardly resists, he lets Dean slide his tongue into his mouth.
Castiel wonders if Heaven, or Hell, or both is watching this. It doesn't matter.
Dean pulls Castiel's face closer to his, tugging on the collar of his jacket, running his mouth down Castiel's chin and neck.
Castiel's light eyes are wide open. He's never done this before, with anyone. Angels aren't supposed to even think of things like this. But then again, he doesn't even know how much of an angel he is anymore. He pretends not to realize he loves the feeling of Dean's fingers, unbuttoning his shirt, throwing his clothes on the floor.
Dean positions himself over Castiel, moving his lips across his ear. "Is this okay?" he asks.
"It's…nice…I guess," is all Castiel says, his hands fumble around Dean's waist. Dean's skin is warm against his own, and he can feel Dean's softly muscular stomach rubbing into him. Dean sits up, tugs on the tie still hanging around Castiel's neck. "Cas, are you sure?"
"Yes."
Castiel opens his mouth, waiting to feel Dean's lips on his, but instead, Dean's tongue moves down his chest, his abdomen, until he can feel himself throbbing against Dean's mouth. Castiel moans as Dean takes his cock past his teeth, almost down his throat. "Oh, God." Castiel laughs a little at his own words.
Dean hardly knows what he's doing. Girls have done this to him, so many times, but he doesn't know if he's any good, but Castiel isn't complaining. Dean can hardly breathe; he's nearly choking on Castiel.
Castiel clutches the blankets between his fingers. He wants to hate this, because it's wrong, because he can't believe how far he's fallen. But Dean sucks harder and harder until Castiel feels himself release into Dean's mouth. He puts his hand over his eyes, so he can't see Dean's face. "I'm sorry, Dean."
"Sorry for what?"
"Liking this."
Dean wipes his lips on his arm and lies down on the bed, his chest against Castiel's back. He runs his hands along Castiel's shoulder blades, and Castiel turns his head slightly and kisses Dean. He can almost still taste himself, all inside Dean's mouth. And he remembers all the other angels, saying he was getting too close, that he cared too much, he wonders what they would think now.
He doesn't really care. Not about the angels, and he wasn't sure he cared about God, either.
Dean's face is buried in Castiel's hair. He can't even remember the last time anyone had stayed with him, like this. Most of the time he couldn't even remember the name of the girl he woke up with; he always either too drunk, or too tired, or too busy worrying about the goddamn Apocalypse. "You can leave now, if you want."
"No," Castiel says. "I want to make you feel good."
"Cas…" Dean closes his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
"I'll be fine."
Dean tries not to think about what he's about to do. He presses Castiel's stomach down onto the mattress and climbs onto him. He hovers over Castiel for a few minutes, hesitating, resting his hands on Castiel's, before he pushes himself inside. Castiel cries out just a little, clenches his teeth, bites the edge of a pillow. Dean grinds against him, and at first, Castiel thinks this must hurt like Hell, but he doesn't really mind.
Dean leans forward slightly, pulls Castiel's head back by his hair, pushes himself deeper inside. He moves his hand down Castiel's face, puts his fingers in Castiel's mouth. He crushes Castiel down into the bed, and Castiel struggles to move against Dean, lifting himself up off the bed, creating just enough room between his body and the mattress for Dean's hand to slide down the front of his body.
Dean cums, groans into Castiel's ear, and collapses onto him. They lie there for a minute, covered in sweat, Dean's breathing slowly recovers. He kisses Castiel's cheek, rests his head on Castiel's back.
The doorknob turns and Sam quietly walks into the room. Castiel is gone, and Dean is tangled up in the sheets. Sam laughs a little, wondering where Dean had picked up whatever girl he'd had here tonight.
Dean can still feel Castiel's mouth all over him, his hands all over his body. He closes his eyes and, finally, he falls asleep.