"Dean," Cas sighed, his arms outstretched.
"Cas, you okay?" Dean yelled from across the dirt.
Cas had appeared at the old, run down church in a gust of wind and a light thud; typical. What was not typical was the darkness of the sky; the odd yelp from Crowley inside the church; the colour from Sam's face, the energy from his body, gone.
"Cas, are you all right?" Dean bellowed, now frantic.
"Dean," Cas yelled in desperation.
Dean was sitting, leaning against the front tyre of his beloved Impala with Sam in his lap, unconscious. Cas dug his hands into the dirt, pulling himself to Dean; using every ounce of strength he could muster. Cas threw himself at the Impala, one hand in front of the other; he was exhausted. Cas rolled over, sat up, and scooted next to Dean, resting his head on Dean's shoulder.
"What the hell happened to you?" Dean asked incredulously.
"Dean, I did it. I did this." Cas said, looking down, away from Dean.
"Did what, Ca-"
Dean stopped. He followed as' gaze to the sky. Shooting stars, hundreds of them. It was beautiful.
"They're angels, Dean." Cas said, full of emotion.
The sky was ablaze with hundreds of angels, falling from the darkened clouds. Cas wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist tightly, seeking any comfort Dean could spare for him.
"Cas, you gotta help me; you gotta help Sam." Dean pleaded weakly.
"I can't, Dean."
"What do you mean 'can't'? 'Can't' or 'won't', Cas?"
"I can't." Cas urged. "The angels, they're falling."
"Cas?"
"From Grace."
· · ·
The steady blip of the monitor, preventing Dean from entering into some dream like reverie, keeping him planted firmly in reality against his now unusually weak will, was the only sound in Sammy's room in the hospital. Dean had curled up in the chair next to Sam's bed and he hadn't left since Sam was admitted. Cas had assisted in delivering Sam to the nearest trustworthy hospital, and Dean hadn't seen him since.
It had only been three days, anyway; there was nothing to worry about, of course! Shit; Cas wasn't himself that night. He didn't look either Winchester in the eyes, at all. Well, then again, neither was Sam. The doctors and nurses had barely said a peep about what they actually thought was wrong with Sam. They probably had no idea where to start. Of course the trials aren't exactly something you mention to hospital staff – especially when at least one of the identities you and your mysteriously comatose brother use has a paper trail pertaining to having been institutionalised. Brilliant. Any information Dean might have that might be helpful in saving his brother, he couldn't use. Time to hit the books, or at least call Bobby to do so.
…
Shit.
Bobby.
In his stomach, Dean felt a pang of grief. Quite a lot of time had passed since Bobby's death, but Dean still felt the loss. Bobby had been so much to Dean, and with all that Bobby gave him – friendship, unconditional love, a retreat from the soldier's life he had lived as soon as he was capable of holding a knife, but truly, Bobby was a father to Dean, and losing that had nearly pushed Dean over the edge. The still conflicted feelings regarding John Winchester Dean harboured were still a mess of daddy issues; a Pandora's Box of crap Dean cared not to open, but after the gruff tenderness with which Bobby treated Dean, and really truly and most importantly, unconditionally loved Dean, whereas John, well, where to start? Of course a lot of kids lived on the road, and a lot of kids barely had a childhood, and a lot of kids had had to deal with their father's obsession with something, and a lot of kids had alcoholic fathers, and sure, a lot of kids got properly disciplined whenever they let their little brother out of sight, or if they weren't fast enough in removing their little brothers from danger. Yeah. Hmm. John had given Dean the beloved Impala, his jacket, and then ultimately his life. Dean felt loyal to John, and of course to Bobby, but Bobby had never punished Dean like John did; Dean had to hide the bruises from Sammy and Bobby. It was always another monster, he told Sammy, he was just protecting them, no big deal, but explaining his stiff movement in an attempt to minimise pain to Bobby was harder. Jesus. Bobby was always there when Dean was in trouble; John was a drill sergeant, not a father for the most part, but then he made a deal with the demon that brutally murdered his one true love to give his life and go to hell for Dean. Far too many conflicted feelings to try to deal with. Shit, not even he and Jo would be able to hustle up enough money between them for all the hours of useless therapy Dean would need. What good could even come of that, anyway? Shit. He'd failed Sammy yet again, and that was all that really mattered right now, anyway.
"Mr Winchester. Mr Winchester?" A nurse pulled Dean from his unpleasant revering.
"Yeah, sorry, what?" Dean snorted. That was the closest thing to sleep he'd had in days.
"Could you please give us a little space? The usual obs as well as reassessing GSC rating, and we're taking more blood, is all. Give us ten minutes? Go grab a cup of coffee, Dean. You can't look after him if we have to look after you." The prettier of the nurses smiled.
"Oh, thanks, sure." Dean said without meeting her eyes and he stumbled out of Sam's ICU room, past the heavy double doors into the unit and found himself in an unfamiliar hallway. Dean collapsed against a wall and struggled to catch his breath. He was completely alone in the world; not even Cas wouldn't answer his prayers, and with not a single soul left on this plane, Dean really had no one. The harsh reality of the sheer emptiness Dean experienced in that moment hit him like a speeding train, and it, once again, took all the breath from him.
Shit.
Dean slid down the wall and put his head between his knees, trying to calm himself, just trying to breathe.
"Dean," A familiar voice said, concerned.
Dean didn't look up. A hand slid across his shoulders, and another on his knee, holding him tenderly.
"Just breathe, Dean. In, one, two, three, out, one, two, three." The voice said.
Dean got himself under control; he could breathe, the suffocating pain and weight in his chest had lifted. Dean dropped his knees and straightened his back out, sitting up more normally now. He turned to face the person who had helped him through his… episode.
"Cas," Dean exhaled. "Cas, you're different."
Cas' voice wasn't quite as deep and gravelly as usual, and he had a lot of stubble. He had a small scar at his Adam's Apple, about an inch long, a few days old.
"Dean, are you all right?" Cas asked.
"Cas, where the hell have you been? I have been praying to you, for three days straight, and nothing?" Dean asked, more intrigued than angry.
"Dean, the angels, they fell. Metatron took my Grace. I couldn't hear your prayers, Dean, I'm human." Cas said. "Are you all right? How's Sam?"
"Wait, what? Cas," Dean sighed, roughly stroking Cas' heavily stubbled face.
"Dean, I'm human; we all are. I don't know if there are any angels left, or what powers they have left, if any at all. I don't know if I can get mine back." Cas said, confused.
"Cas, we'll get it back. We have to help Sammy; the doctors have no idea what they're doing, and we need to get to the bunker with all the books. Even all of Bobby's have been indexed in properly. If there are any answers to this, that's where they'll be. Have you eaten? Have you slept?"
"I've eaten. Dean, I, uh, don't know how to sleep. I think I feel tired, and hungry, and I need a shower, but, I just don't know how yet, Dean." Cas explained. "Dean, you're so, beautiful." Cas sighed.
"Cas, I can teach you how to do that. Also, that's ridiculous, and what do you mean; you've seen me before?"
"Dean, when I was an angel, I saw your soul. I haven't seen your vessel before, Dean, and it's truly beautiful, like your soul." Cas sighed in wonderment.
"Let's get some coffee." Dean decided.
Dean and Cas had been getting closer and closer over the years, but at that point it was hard to tell where one started and the other began. Their romantic relationship was still blooming, and both were navigating the waters blind. Dean didn't think twice; he stood up and entwined his fingers in Cas' and led the way in trying to find the cafeteria.
· · ·
Dean found a table in the dingy cafeteria while Cas continued to unwittingly charm the staff as he tried to procure something vaguely edible. Dean lifted a mouthful of the stale pie to his lips, trying to savour his favourite food, but finding himself unable to enjoy the dry, crumbling crust of the factory made pastry. Dean swallowed, knowing that his next meal could be days away, and continued to eat. Cas sat down with the same foodstuffs as Dean. The men, two humans ate in silence. Dean kept his head down, far too exhausted to be running around babysitting Cas on this plane, but Cas kept his gaze fixed on Dean, enamoured by his corporeal representation.
"So you don't know how to sleep," Dean began, a gentle smirk drawing across his features.
"No, I tried, but I didn't know where to start." Cas confessed.
"Well, I'll have to show you some time." Dean smiled.
"Yes, that would be good." Cas said.
"What's with the Columbian necktie, Cas?" Dean asked, gesturing to the scar on Cas' throat.
"That's where Metatron removed my Grace. He used it to cause the angels to fall. It's my fault; I listened to him over trusting you and Sam." Cas explained.
"How did he make the angels fall with it?" Dean asked.
"Three trials, just like Sam. My Grace was the last." Cas mumbled in shame.
"The Angel tablet. He didn't even need it, did he?"
"Of course not."
"Well, shit. How do we fix this? How are we going to get Sam better?" Dean asked.
"I don't know, Dean." Cas answered, grasping Dean's hands. "I just don't know."
· · ·
"Still no indication of why he's unconscious. He's breathing just fine on his own, and his scans show in tact higher brain function, but we still can't ascertain the cause of his loss of consciousness. You're sure you've told us absolutely everything?" Dr Michelle Corby, the frumpy, but cute neurosurgeon in charge of Sam's case asked.
"I've told you everything, Doc." Dean lied, looking up from nervously fiddling with his jewellery.
Cas wrapped his fingers around Dean's forearm and gently pulled it down to his side, and then locked his fingers in his.
"Well, we'll make him comfortable, and keep running tests, and doing what we can to help him. Maybe you should go home; shower, eat, sleep. We'll call you if anything happens, anything at all." Dr Corby assured.
"Come on, Dean." Cas said, pulling Dean toward the door.
"Uh, okay. Thanks, Doc." Dean said, flustered. He followed allowed Cas to pull him outside, all the way to the Impala.
"Dean, it's going to be okay." Cas said, opening the car door for Dean.
"How?" Dean asked, turning to face Cas.
"I don't know yet, but it will."
"Fine. Get in."
"Dean, you're not the only one upset." Cas announced stiffly before sitting shotgun.
The Impala came to life with a purr. Dean weaved through the moderately familiar streets, with the sun in the early stages of setting, casting a charming rosy glow across the land. Dean found a motel reasonably close to the hospital, and so Dean pulled into the car park and turned the engine off. Dean dropped his hands from the steering wheel and let out a great huff of air.
"Shit. Stay here a minute, Cas." Dean said before storming off into the building marked 'Recepti n'. Upon opening the door, Dean was hit with the stench of cheap cologne and liquor. A young man sat behind the modern desk with an unlit cigar balancing on his lower lip. He was flicking through pages of an old magazine he'd likely read fifty times already.
"Hey, your best twin share for a few nights?" Dean asked.
"Sure. Card?" The young man asked.
Dean handed over one of his credit cards and received a set of keys in return. Cas remained sitting in the car until Dean opened the boot and pulled out a duffel bag.
"Come on," Dean said as he fiddled with the keys and opened the room.
The hotel room was typical of that which the Winchesters frequented, with the suspicious smells, and the façade of cleanliness, which never really sat right with Dean. If they were going to be as filthy as they were, they could at least present themselves as such. It would make them all feel better. Contextually, pretence is morally reprehensible to Dean.
Dean stepped through the doorframe, leaving the lights off, and placed his bag on the end of the bed farthest from the door. He bent down, keeping a hand, fingers wide apart, on the ageing chipped plastic that formed the surface of the bench, and opened the small fridge, examining its contents. The dim light inside the fridge cast a dull yellow glow across Dean's face, illuminating him in the still dark room. Cas stepped just in the door, just watching. The remaining light from outside cast his shadow, an elongated, wicked twin, stretching across the floor and with the sun setting low, the shadow reached up to Dean across the room. Even in the most unflattering light, with deep purple welts keeping score of the sleepless nights, with his clothes looser on him than usual, all unkempt Dean's handsomeness was striking. A bed on which to sleep, to call his own for a nightly fee, or weekly if their tenure was for long enough, was the best thing that had happened to Dean in a while, now. Blinking the dry ache of waking exhaustion out of his eyes, Dean replaced the milk he was examining, closed the fridge door with the satisfying squelch of the surprisingly functional door seal, and stood to face Cas. Cas took a few steps inside, and switched on the lights. Dean blinked, his pupils slow to adjust to the bright halogen glow emitting from the ceiling with a buzz. All Cas had was that which was on his person – the clothes on his back and a few titbits in the pockets of his trench coat and pants, so he claimed his bed by perching awkwardly on the edge of it. Dean, still a bundle of raw nerve, of hurt, similarly sat on the end of his bed, shoving his bag aside.
"African Dream Root." Dean said, turning to face Cas.
"No." Cas stated.
"Why not? It's perfect. I can go in there, help Sammy sort through whatever's going on inside his melon, help him wake up out of there, and hey presto, job done." Dean explained.
"It's too dangerous." Cas stated simply.
"What do you mean?" Dean asked incredulously.
"We don't know what's going on in there. It could take you, too; we don't know."
"So, what? We're just going to leave him in there? Alone?"
"Until we can figure out what's going on, yes."
"No." Dean decided, standing up and pacing.
"Yes."
"No. I'm not leaving him to fend for himself in there."
"You have to."
"Oh, and what are you going to do to stop me, Cas? You're human. Without your angel juice, what are you? What can you do?"
Dean stopped pacing and turned to face Cas. Cas turned his head away He resembled a small child, just sitting there, being drowned by his trench coat due to his poor posture. Cas remained silent. He'd had barely had a spare moment for him to even try process the event of the previous hours. He was no longer an Angel, and the very real sensation of emotions had started to stir within Cas. With Dean saying those things Cas felt a hot wave come crashing over him, finally setting heavily in his stomach; he felt his limbs afire with his blood surging through Jimmy's – well, Cas' now – veins. He was ashamed, and he was angry. As a wayward angel, Cas had chosen to abandon his garrison and live on Earth's plane rather than that of heaven, and with his elected disconnect, he had opened the door to feeling as much as an angel is able, but to have no control at stifling his now infinitely amplified emotions was completely new. Cas interpreted the emptiness inside him as the grief for what he had done and that which he had lost, and now that emptiness was filled with shame, anger, and unidentifiable tension.
"Exactly. You can't do anything. I don't have the time right now to babysit you while I help Sam. You know where I'll be." Dean spat, heading toward the door.
"You're not the only one experiencing loss and grief for something still alive, Dean. You're not the only one who loves Sam, and you're not the one that had the power to help him out of this mess and lost that power. You're not the only one who has lost the thing that made you who you are, Dean. What I'm going to do is prevent you from killing yourself." Cas muttered quietly with his eyes narrowed.
"If I'm not going to go inside his mind and drag him out, what are we going to do?" Dean said venomously.
"We're going to get all the information we can before we try anything that could kill you. We don't know what the trials have done to Sam. We don't know what's going on inside his head. We don't know anything that we need to know to tackle this. What we do know is Bobby Singer's phone number, and the location of his library. We do know that the Men of Letters' headquarters has an equally impressive library and other facilities. We do know that Sam is safe in hospital and that we can keep an eye on him in there. Don't be stupid, Dean."
"I'll call Bobby." Dean said in resignation.
Dean ceased pacing and sat back down on the bed, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
"Bobby, we're in trouble," Dean said, his voice cracking.
· · ·
"Come here, boy." Bobby said gruffly, engulfing Dean, his hold lingering.
Dean crumbled in Bobby's arms. He buried his face in deeper, and let out a wretched sob, and let Bobby hold him up.
"When was the last time you slept, Dean?" Bobby asked, holding Dean's shoulders.
"Yest–" Dean began.
"I mean really slept; none of this hour-a-day crap." Bobby said, wiping a tear from Dean's face.
"It's been a while since my last siesta."
"Go to bed, Dean. Cas can fill me in."
"Bobby,"
"Now, Dean. Don't make me carry you up those stairs; I don't think we'll make it." Bobby said, patting Dean on the back as he headed to bed.
Bobby turned to Cas.
"You look different." Bobby stated plainly.
"I'm human." Cas responded.
"Huh. Go figure."
"Go figure what?"
"Still the same, I see." Bobby smiled. "Come sit."
Bobby walked over to his desk, against which he leaned, and gestured to the couch near his desk. Cas sat where Bobby had said.
"How'd you become human?" Bobby asked, handing Cas a healthy few fingers of whiskey.
"Not by choice." Cas said darkly. "Metatron took it as the last trial."
"Last trial for what, exactly?"
"The angel tablet. Sam didn't finish the last trial and is in a medically unexplainable coma in hospital. He would have died had he completed the trial. Metatron manipulated me into helping him complete the trials and took my Grace to complete the last one, which caused the angels to fall."
"The weird sky thing." Bobby mused.
"Yes. I took Dean and Sam to the hospital and then left, to look for angels, but I couldn't find any. I could have walked right past them and not known, because I can't see their true faces any more, and this is my true face, now." Cas said.
Another wave of anger and regret washed over Cas; a tear fell from his eye. Cas, feeling the irritation against his skin as the air dried the tear, wiped it away, and examined it. He'd never experienced his own tears before.
"Now Dean wants to use African Dream Root to get inside Sam's head to try waking him, but we don't know why Sam's under and what's going on in there and if it could get to Dean, too. Without knowing what we're dealing with, it would be too dangerous to go in there. That's why we thought to call you." Cas said.
"Good thinking. If you're human, don't you have to eat, and sleep, and, whatever?" Bobby asked.
"I can manage nearly all of it, but I don't know how to sleep."
"Don't know how to sleep," Bobby smiled. "Come on, Dean'll show you."
"Right now?"
"You look like hell, Cas."
Bobby led Cas into the spare bedroom, where Dean was still rolling around awake.
"Cas needs to sleep. Talk him through it, will you? I'll be out for a few hours… uh, got some libraries I gotta raid." Bobby said, shutting the door behind him.
Cas stood just inside the door. Dean rolled out of the homely queen bed and stood. He was just in his plain cotton boxers. Dean padded across the wooden floor and peeled Cas' coat off him wordlessly, casting it across the room to the pile of Dean's clothes. With one swift motion, Dean discarded Cas' tie. Dean sloppily untucked Cas' surprisingly clean shirt, and struggled to free a few buttons to allow Cas liberation from his shirt, so Cas lifted his hands to Dean's and pushed them away, taking over. Dean took to Cas' shoes, untying them, and then Cas' pants. Cas shook out of his loose clothes, matching Dean's attire of cotton boxers. Dean slinked back over to the bed and lifted the cover, gesturing Cas to get in. Cas slid between the soft sheets and lay on his side, facing Dean. Dean positioned himself under the covers next to Cas and stroked Cas' face gently, smiling wistfully. Cas smiled in return; this was the Dean Cas knew. Dean glided his arm under Cas' pillow and shuffled closer to Cas. He put his hand on Cas' hip and pulled him in closer, intertwining Cas' limbs with his, tangling them in tight.
"Close your eyes, and breathe, Cas. Just wait; don't think, just breathe, and it just happens." Dean muttered into the crown of Cas' hair.
Cas shifted the unit of them both a little, putting Dean on his back and leaving Cas' head on Dean's chest. Cas focused on Dean's breathing, and blocked everything else. Soon the world of sleep engulfed him, taking him gently, and he slept.
· · ·
Cas opened his eyes. The sunlight filtering through the window hurt his eyes a little. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, and his whole, deeply relaxed body called him back into sleep. He let his eyes shut and felt the warmth of Dean next to him, and Cas had trouble gaining awareness of where he ended and Dean started; their cosiness bled into each other. Cas listened to Dean breathing, his heart beating gently beneath his ear, and started to drift in the comfortable blackness between waking and sleeping. Cas, in his state of limbo concentrated on the odd sensations overcoming him. His limbs felt light, and distinguishing what was him and what was Dean wasn't easy; his head felt foggy, and Cas was still adjusting to his true form being reduced, in some state of permanence, into Jimmy Novak's visage. What happened to Jimmy in there now, Cas didn't know; the angels never really talked about it, because circumstances in which an angel would have to face such a predicament are dire. Cas presumed that Jimmy's soul went where it belonged – Heaven – but with the recent turn of events, Cas realised it would likely be impossible. Cas felt a hole forming inside of him, which he identified as sadness. Jimmy was a loyal, devout man who sacrificed a lot in the name of God, and after all that, after Cas even promised, Jimmy might not make it into the Kingdom of Heaven.
Dean made a soft snort, and began to rouse.
"Dean," Cas exhaled against Dean's soft skin.
"Hey, Cas. How'd you go?" Dean rasped.
"I slept. It was odd. I didn't dream, but I feel much better. This is nice." Cas responded.
"Hm, not too bad for a first attempt. Yeah. Don't know what time it is, or how long we were out. Were you awake long before me?"
"No. It was pleasant being here like this."
"Beds are amazing."
"I meant being here with you."
Dean rubbed Cas' back.
"Humans generally sleep eight or so hours a day, so I guess we'll have a lot of opportunity." Dean smiled.
"You don't sleep anywhere near that amount."
"Yeah,"
"What does that mean?"
"Asks those shrinks back where that wraith was hunting."
"Oh, okay."
"Cas, it's okay, I'm kidding. I don't know. Don't have the time or patience for sleep."
"Will I be able to keep up with you?"
"We'll hit the road, and keep Bobby watching Sam while we figure out how to get your Grace back, look for the other angels and figure out what the hell is going on, and I'll train you up along the way."
"Sounds good."
Dean rolled onto his side, still a mess of limbs, and faced Cas.
"We smell." Dean said, scrunching his nose comically.
"Romantic, Dean."
"You know this is still confusing for me, Cas." Dean smiled.
"You and me both. What are we going to do? Sam's out of action, and I don't have my Grace, and the other angels are, well, we don't know. This is terrible. Dean, how do we fix this? Wait, what's this?" Cas asked, wiping a finger underneath his eye.
Dean caressed Cas' face and with a thumb he wiped away the tears.
"You're crying, Cas." Dean said softly.
"There's a first time for everything." Cas said gruffly.
"Come on, let us seize the day." Dean said dramatically.
Dean gingerly kissed Cas' forehead and rolled out of bed.
"Come on, we need to shower." Dean instructed.
Cas pulled himself out of bed and stood in front of Dean. He pressed himself flush against Dean's smooth skin, wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, and nuzzled into his neck.
"Everything is going to be okay, Dean." Cas breathed.
"I know. We'll figure this all out."
Dean unfurled himself from Cas and grabbed his hand. The two men padded across the upper level of the house to the bathroom. The natural light filtered in through the large window, illuminating the whole room. Outside the window, past the clearing around the house was the thick forest expanding from the side of Bobby's property. The sugar maple trees were tall and thin, with their smooth grey trunks rose toward the sky. The Prairie trees were thicker and darker, with the ground moist and covered with a similar amount of leaves to that which the trees kept on their branches. Dean turned on the water, a gush of steam exploded from the shower.
"It's beautiful." Cas observed, standing in front of the window.
"So are you," Dean said, helping Cas step out of his boxers and pulled him under the water.
In the spacious shower, Cas stood under the stream and put his head back, letting the needles of the stream numb his face. Dean squeezed some two-in-one shampoo/conditioner into his hand and lightly pulled Cas' head out from the stream of water. Dean rubbed the shampoo into Cas' scalp with both hands, and began to massage Cas' head. Dean dug his fingers in deep, and paid close attention to rubbing Cas' temples, and around Cas' hair line.
"That feels amazing." Cas said.
"Good Close your eyes."
Dean pushed Cas forward, putting his head under the water. He continued to massage Cas' head while rinsing out the shampoo. Cas turned to face Dean and lovingly kissed him on the lips. Dean was resistant at first, but gave in, kissing Cas back with passion. Dean disconnected from Cas, and squirted body wash into his hands and smoothed it all over Cas' gently chiselled body. He reached around Cas' back, continuing with the massage, digging his fingers into Cas' muscles. He ventured down, and gripped Cas' firm arse and nuzzled into Cas' neck. With his teeth, Dean clamped down on Cas' trapezius muscle. Swelling with desire, Cas pushed his hips against Dean's, who was becoming equally erect. Dean pushed Cas against the tiled shower wall and scratched his way down to kneeling in front of Cas. Dean wrapped his fingers around Cas' prominent hip bones to keep his balance and began to tease at Cas' cock. Dean and Cas had ventured into exploring each other sexually before, but it was usually in fits of adrenaline-induced exhilaration post hunt, whereas this was loving, which is what scared Dean, why they hadn't taken their relationship – whatever it was – further, but he wanted to do this to Cas. Dean teased the head of Cas' cock with his tongue. Cas looked down and stared Dean straight in the eye, just about to take the length of Cas in his mouth. Cas gripped Dean's wet hair, his fingers involuntarily clamping with the sensations Dean was causing with his mouth. Dean tightened his cheeks and slid down the length of Cas. He traced the thick veins along the shaft of Cas' penis with his tongue, while blinking water out of his eyes. The head of Cas' cock stretched down his throat, and Dean managed to avoid gagging as precome drizzled down his throat. Dean stroked his head up and down the length of Cas and found a different sweet spot of Cas' each time. Dean reached one of his hands down and caressed Cas' balls, before reaching back up to his hip and all the way around to Cas' arse. Ever the pragmatist, Dean knew saliva would be a far more suitable lubricant than water, so he relieved his mouth of Cas and slipped his middle and index fingers in his mouth. Cas separated his lower half from the tiled wall to allow Dean to slip his finger inside. Cas was tight. Dean took Cas' cock back in his mouth before continuing. Dean was gentle with Cas, and went slowly. Dean stroked Cas from the inside, and it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. Dean stroked Cas' prostate, which sent sparks down Cas' spine. Cas' muscles began to spasm; his whole body felt like it were alight. Cas' hips thrust forward, forcing his cock deep down Dean's throat. Dean stroked harder, and very gently dragged his teeth along Cas' penis. The sensations Dean provided Cas were something Cas was sure his Father could never consider anything but an amazing expression of love, or even simply shared experience; it was incredible. Fire rose deep inside Cas, and it pulsed out of his cock as he came. Dean took most of it in his mouth. In exhaustion, Cas slid to the floor, panting heavily despite Dean having done all the work. Dean was still erect, precome mixing with the still-hot water from the shower, so Cas took Dean's cock in his hand, and lightly reacquainted himself with Dean's cock, and in a few nimble movements, Dean had come as well.
The men stood up and took to each other with body wash. Dean washed Cas' chest, and slipped on the wet floor. Cas caught him with a giggle, and continued to wash. Stepping out of the shower, the steam cleared and the sun shone above the dank foliage and through the window once again. After towelling each other down and dressing, Dean and Cas headed downstairs to the kitchen.
"It's about time you two saw the light of day; what the hell were you two do–. On second thought, I don't want to know." Bobby said
"We were asleep, I assure you. What time is it?" Dean asked.
"You two have been up there for near on two days." Bobby said.
"Huh. Any news on Sam?" Dean asked.
"None from the hospital. I've looked into some of the library at the compound and found some relevant information. As to why he's under, some suggested that undertaking and not completing some heavyweight spells or trials can somehow poison, maim, or kill the person who started it." Bobby said.
"What can we do?" Cas asked.
"Well, it sounds like we have to purify his blood, or cure him somehow. Some suggested simply replacing his entire blood volume, and some suggested some kind of holy dialysis, which doesn't sound too safe. Seeing as none of the books were specifically talking about tablets of the word of God, I don't know how effective any of these things will be." Bobby mumbled.
"What are we going to do? Tell me what I should do, Bobby, please." Dean whimpered.
"You two are going to go find the angels and fix that conundrum and I'll work on helping Sam."