Note: I am so behind on Supernatural it borders on depressing, so if I got anything wrong - that's why, and I don't want to hear about it.

Dean Winchester likes to keep his secrets. He's always preferred to be alone with his demons than to share them; it's the way he was raised. Always better to keep it in than burden anyone else with it. So, there are a lot of things that people don't know about him or his past.

The problem is that a certain angel knows all of his secrets. Castiel has always known all of his secrets, and Dean knows that, but he still tries to keep them. They're not just his to keep anymore, but he tries all the same.

But ignoring the fact that Castiel rebuilt his very essence from nothing but the torn bits of his soul doesn't erase that fact. And sometimes Dean hates it; more often, though, it makes him ache. It's not a good ache, or a bad one, either. It's somewhere in between. His chest tightens and his heart pounds and he aches. He thinks it's because he doesn't know how Castiel can still look at him like he hung the moon, thinks it's probably because he never liked being special and Cas thinks he's special. It burns in an unfamiliar way, something that almost feels good but…not quite. Like alcohol on a wound – it's good because you know it's helping, but it still stings, no mind-over-matter bullshit can take that pain away.

Castiel is like alcohol on all of Dean's wounds; too good, too bright and burning, but so, so good, too. Better than anything Dean has ever been able to call his – and he does call Cas his, even if it's only in his head, and he's sure Cas knows that, too. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is really Dean Winchester's angel, and Dean figures that's probably a dangerous thought, but it hasn't let him alone since he first laid eyes on the angel-possessed face of Jimmy Novak.

All of this, compiled together, explains why Dean hardly even breathes differently when Castiel appears in his room, looking disheveled and worried.

"Dean."

The angel's voice is soft, and Dean holds back a sob. He wishes Cas wasn't here, and he wishes Cas was closer to him; he's torn between himself and the burning Mark on his arm. He wants nothing more than to forget himself and the Mark and everything else in Castiel, but he – he can't. For several reasons, and the Mark isn't even really on the list of them, more scrawled on the same paper as an afterthought.

"Dean."

This time, there is a hard tone of command in Cas' gravelly voice, and it makes Dean shudder. There is no real power behind the way Cas says his name this time, but Castiel doesn't have to show his power for Dean to know it's there. It's always been there, even when Cas' grace was fading, when he was human; there is a power that Castiel possesses all the time, and Dean knows that it's because of him. Castiel possesses a power over Dean and Dean alone. It's the reason behind their "profound bond", the reason why they're constantly in a battle between saving the world or saving each other.

Dean doesn't want to call it love, but he knows that's what it is.

"Cas," he finally whispers. "Cas." His voice is small and pathetic and he hates himself for it, but there isn't anything he can do to fix it. He can pretend, most of the time, that he is unfazed by everything that rounds the corner and knocks him on the head. But he isn't unfazed. More often than not, he's the most surprised one in the room. He never lets anyone know, of course, but Castiel knows because Cas always knows.

Cas always knows what's going on in Dean's head. He always knows what Dean is thinking, what he wants, what he needs; he's known all of it since the moment he grasped Dean's soul in Hell. Dean wants to hate him for it, but he doesn't. He can't. He won't.

Castiel remains silent as Dean muses, and Dean is thankful for it at the same time that he's angry about it. He still wants Cas gone, but closer, and the Mark burns against his consciousness like poison, like whiskey on a sore throat.

"Cas," he mumbles again. "Cas, please."

And Cas is there, because he knows exactly what Dean needs. His arms around strong and soft around Dean, and his shoulder is the best thing Dean's ever let his head rest on.

"Dean."

Cas' voice is back to soft, but with a different edge to it, almost like a question. Dean knows what he's asking, but he won't answer that question. Not right now. He can't do it.

"I need you."

The words are breathed against Cas' neck, and Dean almost wants to take them back, but then Castiel's arms tighten around him, and he feels a cold nose against his hairline.

"Whatever you need, Dean, I am here."

"I need you," Dean repeats, almost breathless, because he finally knows what he needs. He needs Cas.

Cas makes a small noise, and then they're kissing, and Dean isn't quite sure whether to laugh or cry. He decides on kissing Cas harder and holding him closer. The angel simply complies, twisting so that they fit together better, so that they can keep kissing. Dean resists the urge to sob against Cas' lips.

"Dean," Cas whispers when they break apart, the sound of his voice the only evidence of real space between their lips. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Don't," Dean whimpers back. "Don't." He repeats it several more times, but it's lost in another kiss. Cas is inflexible this time, more forceful, almost imposing. Dean wants nothing more than to surrender to it, to him, to the electricity that Castiel sends flaring over his synapses. But he can't, not really, because the Mark burns and the urge to kill pounds against his brain like an impatient, persistent Jehovah's Witness.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Dean isn't really sure anymore – he's also not really sure he cares anymore – Cas is having none of that. There's a crackle in the air, electricity that makes Dean's hair stand on end, and then he's on his back with Castiel hovering over him. Dean has no idea how they got there, but he doesn't really want to think about it for too long because it makes the Mark burn hotter, so he kisses the angel instead.

"Dean," Cas murmurs, "Dean, tell me again."

Dean almost pretends he doesn't know what Castiel is asking, but the idea makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. "I need you," he breathes back. "I need you, Cas."

It's almost like something in Cas snaps. Without warning, Dean is being manhandled into a sitting position, with the angel in his lap, and his shirts obscuring his sight. He doesn't say anything, though, just lifts his arms to ease the removal, and quickly returns the favor. If he thinks about this, he'll stop, and he knows he can't do that. Not right now. He needs this. He needs Cas.

"Dean," Cas breathes it against his throat, and Dean shivers, fingers digging into the meat of Cas' shoulder. "Dean." He keeps repeating it, like a prayer, and it only makes Dean shudder harder. The burning in his arm is fading into the background, like Castiel's approval is enough to douse it. Dean thinks it's probably the only thing that could.

"Cas," Dean whispers back, against the shell of the angel's ear, his voice hoarse. He feels almost dizzy. He feels vulnerable, and for the first time in his life, it's exactly what he wants. "Cas." He repeats it a few times, until Cas kisses him frantically, and then words are lost.

They don't speak as they finish removing their clothing. The only sound between them is soft breathing and panting and a stray gasp; Dean doesn't mind the lack of communication. He and Cas never needed it, anyway.

Dean has never felt so warm. Cas never lets them break contact, even when he scrambles to the side to reach into Dean's nightstand for lube, even then his other hand is on Dean's hip, their legs are tangled together. Dean almost whimpers, almost, the sounds cut off when he takes in a harsh breath. He wants to be vulnerable, but the Mark burning still prevents him – still makes it almost impossible for him to be weak. He hates it more than anything in that moment.

Castiel moves quickly when he finally finds the small bottle he was searching for, sliding down Dean's body with purpose. Despite the mission he's obviously on, he leaves small nips and kisses that make Dean arch into his touch. Dean tries to lose himself in the sensation of Cas' mouth on his flesh.

"Dean," Cas breaks the heavy silence. "Dean, I –"

Dean nearly growls, but manages to hold it back to a snarl. "Castiel," he murmurs, and feels the shudder that shakes Cas' entire frame, and then they're back to no words. Cas bites against Dean's hip in a way that tells him he understands completely, and continues with what he'd been doing.

Castiel is not gentle, but he is not rough, either, and Dean feels like his chest might expand into exploding. Cas always, always knows. Always has and always will, Dean is sure of it. He groans low in his throat and arches, pushing his hips down, encouraging his angel. My angel, he thinks possessively, and throws caution out the window with a final groan.

"My angel," he growls, and echoes the shiver that Cas gives.

"Yours," Cas murmurs in reply, nipping gently at the skin that connects Dean's groin and his thigh. He twists his fingers in a particular way and Dean's pride and the Mark's hold on it finally breaks; he keens, high and needy. Cas mumbles something in Enochian in response, and then he's covering Dean again, lifting the hunter's legs around his hips.

They share a soft kiss, and Dean swears his heart stops, and he really doesn't care. He wants to live in his moment forever, feeling Cas pressed against him and kissing him with a tenderness Dean hasn't felt in so, so many years. Cas is still murmuring in Enochian, and Dean hasn't got an inkling as to what he's saying, but the sound of Cas' voice in his ear is enough.

Their silence tenses and twists when Castiel pushes forward. Dean holds his breath, waiting for pain, but feels nothing other than full and that thought overtakes him. He whimpers into Cas' throat and holds him tighter, begging silently for his angel to continue.

Castiel understands perfectly, and begins to move, leaving love bites across Dean's collarbone. "Dean," he whispers every few thrusts, "Dean, I love you." Dean knows that Cas doesn't expect an answer, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he can give one, so he does, ignoring the flare of the Mark on his arm.

"I love you, Castiel," he murmurs against Cas' jaw, his voice breaking when Cas' steady rhythm falters and speeds up. Dean pants, and mouths at the soft flesh just behind Cas' ear. "I love you," he repeats, feeling like a floodgate has opened.

"I love you, I love you, I – I love you, love you love you love – you, love you," he almost cries the words, and Cas' self-control is gone, and he's repeating the phrase back into Dean's shoulder as they undulate against each other.

Dean's rambling pauses for no longer than a breath, just before he comes, and then he's falling over the edge and if he couldn't stop repeating, "I love you," before, he certainly can't now. Cas follows right after him, slipping into a mix of endearments and Enochian that make Dean's ears tingle as he comes down, make him grip Castiel tighter with his arms and legs. He pulls Cas as close as he can, eliminating all of the space that was left between them.

Cas continues mumbling and shifts back, just slightly, to wrap his arms around Dean's back and hold him. Dean sobs softly against Cas' shoulder, the Mark flaring when tears streak his face, but he doesn't care anymore. Cas is singing in his ear, Enochian, something Dean has never heard before. It's soft and unobtrusive, but Dean lets it interrupt him, lets it overwhelm his spinning thoughts.

Dean is pretty sure he's never felt so confused, but he thinks he could deal with it, really, as long as Cas keeps holding him. And he knows that Cas will, if he asks, but he can't ask, not right now. All he can do right now is cry.

For the first time in his life, Dean lets himself cry until he can't cry anymore.

Note: I am trash.