Everything's Alright Again...

Dean sinks gingerly onto a cheap motel bed after an especially exhausting hunt, not even bothering to turn off the light. He's pretty sure that he would wake up tomorrow with several nasty bruises on his shoulders and legs, judging by the way they throbbed. Sammy had come out of the fight in better shape: that meant he had to go and get the food and painkillers, after dropping Dean off at the motel so he could have a head-start on resting his tired body. Dean contemplates taking a hot shower, tries to imagine how good it would feel on his poor aching limbs, but the bed is so soft, and his eyes so heavy. Maybe he could sneak a cat nap before Sam returns.

"Dean."

His eyes immediately shoot open. That hadn't been Sam's voice. Dean scrambles to his feet, despite his muscles screaming "no, no, nope" at him, and assumes a fighting stance, having produced a knife from God-knows-where. The knife instantly falls from his hand onto the carpeted floor when his brain registers the face of his intruder. Cas. Castiel. Here in the room, waiting for a response to his presence. Yeah, sure, he should've at least attempted to be suspicious - he's a seasoned hunter, and he knows that monsters love to play their tricks - but screw caution: it's really Cas. He can feel Cas' angelic presence electrifying every molecule in the room. It's him. Dean wants so badly to believe that, to be certain that he isn't still in bed, dreaming.

"Cas, you're-"

He's overcome with an urge to feel Cas - not just his electric presence, but solid and real and living - with his own two hands. Dean chokes on his rising emotion, has to swallow it down for just a moment so he can speak properly. "You're alive." Shaky laughter rattles in his chest as the word passes his lips, and, unable to restrain himself any longer, he bounds forward in three insistent strides to throw his arms over Cas' shoulders, wrapping himself tightly around the angel as if afraid that he would vanish from reality.

Things were different than before, when Dean had hugged him for the first time in Purgatory; Castiel had been trying to protect Dean then, had been trying to distance himself from him, and so had restrained himself from physically returning the sentiment - though he'd hoped that Dean could feel his angel grace reaching out in the same way Dean reached out to him. But this time, Dean is safe from Leviathan, neither of them are in any immediate danger. They are alive. Castiel presses into Dean's torso, his arms constrictive against Dean's waist, his hands clinging desperately to Dean's back. Dean, Dean, Dean; Everything is Dean, and nothing hurts.

It is not enough. Dean is crushing him, burying his head into the crook of his neck, murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you were left behind" and "I missed you so much" with such brokenness tinging his voice that Castiel can feel his own heart breaking for him. Metaphorically speaking, of course. But it isn't enough. So Castiel calls upon his grace, and with the power of Heaven he embraces Dean's very soul, soothing it, filling it with peace and joy. Dean - metaphorically, again - melts in Cas' touch. He chuckles pleasantly and retorts: "You're using your angel mojo on me, aren't you?"

"You aren't resisting."

"No. I guess I'm not." It feels good, Dean has to admit - like taking a warm bath, or eating a proper meal after weeks of cheap fast food. A full minute passes before either of them are willing to pull back from the hug, though they don't let go of each other just yet. Cas scrunches his hands into the fabric of Dean's coat, and Dean finds that he can't stop touching Cas, little touches such as patting his shoulders or gripping his arms or playing with the folds of that damn trenchcoat. And they simply look at each other.

"How did you get out?"

"... I would prefer not to answer that. Not right now. I- don't remember much about what happened after you left." Cas' voice is unsuccessfully indifferent; Dean can hear the strain under the facade. Takes one to know one. Still, he nods, indulging Cas in this little white lie: not right now.

"Right. Oh God, Cas- I would have- I would have looked for you. Dammit, if I'd known you were still stuck there, I-"

"I know, Dean."

"I didn't know. Benny told me-"

"Dean." Castiel moves his hands to Dean's face, grasping either side of his head in a firm hold, to keep his attention on the present. Steady blue eyes invade emotion-filled green ones. "Don't." They're so close together, so close. Castiel reacts as if pulled by an invisible force, slowly inching even closer, and those green eyes flash with a new emotion.

Panic.

Dean jerks backwards, wriggles free from Cas' hold on him. "What the hell're you doing?!" he exclaims, and Cas' heart breaks for the second time - but he isn't convinced that it's a metaphorical emotion anymore, because it physically hurts. It burns in his chest, real pain. He hates this human emotion. He hates all human emotions; they are overwhelming and cause conflict and doubt and hurt, even when it is supposed to be love. Especially when it is love. Castiel feels the emotion Anger bubble up from the burning in his chest. He hasn't endured all this physical pain for Dean, just to be hindered by emotional pain. He snatches Dean's shirt and yanks the man back to him, capturing him once again in his raw glare.

"I am expressing how glad I am to see you alive and well, after all this time. I thought it was customary to accept such sentiments with gratitude?" Castiel seethes. And then he turns them both to the left and shoves Dean into the wall.

"Cas, I'm not- I can't."

Dean can't do it, he just can't. The feelings that arise when he looks at Cas for the first time in months, the truth that claws at the back of Dean's mind, longing to be acknowledged, demanding to be expressed... He can't. It's too much. He's never wanted it exposed like this. But there's that angel mojo again, working its magic on him. Cas is trying to coax it out of him himself, the bastard. He doesn't realize that it's already mostly there, held back by a membrane of denial. Cas holds his white-knuckled grip on Dean's shirt, bringing his other hand to the back of Dean's head to seize his hair. They're both breathing heavily now, not for lack of oxygen but for the spike in their heartbeats.

"I don't believe you."

He doesn't know from what part of himself these desires sprang, doesn't know if Dean will reciprocate - or if the sinful man is capable of reciprocating, though he has faith in 'yes' - doesn't know how things will change between them if he takes what he wants. So many things he doesn't know, but for all he doesn't know, he is certain of one thing, maybe two:

1. He wants to kiss Dean, right then and there, and the consequences can be dealt with later. Nothing is more important to him in that moment than the taste of Dean's lips and the feel of Dean relaxing into him. The second part, while not necessary, is still important to Castiel because:
2? He has some degree of confidence that Dean wants this equally as much as himself. If the expression on Dean's face is really what he assumes it is, Dean wants this too.

Castiel continues staring into Dean's eyes even as he presses their foreheads together, seeking ironclad verification: a twitch of the mouth, an enlarging of the pupils, a quirk of the eyebrows, anything. The Anger in his own eyes has dissolved into Need, pure and undeniable; he is sure Dean recognizes it. He sees the instant Denial bursts and Want floods Dean's every thought. Unexpectedly, Dean cranes his head until their noses touch and slide together- here he falters. The last of Uncertainty hitches in his throat. Sensing it, Castiel reaches to eliminate it with his grace, then, victorious, he closes the remaining distance.

Cas' lips are really as chapped as they look; they feel rough and scratchy against his own. The angel probably doesn't even recognize the discomfort in having dry lips - it's the same deal with him never needing food, or a bathroom. Dean drags a slicked tongue across them to soften them up, for his own sake. Apparently Cas likes that because he immediately imitates the action on Dean. Always following directions, Dean jokes to himself. The scruff on Cas' face isn't as unpleasant as he thought it would be, since Dean has his own five-o'clock shadow to counteract it, but it's still just rough enough that Dean'll have red marks on his face tomorrow. He's suddenly aware that his hands are hanging uselessly at his side; so he places them on Cas' waist and clings for dear life. The hand in his hair clenches tighter, pulling on it near-painfully, though in just a way that sends kinky thoughts vibrating right down Dean's vertebrae. Cas tilts his head and does everything he can to press closer, his eyes boring into Dean's with an intensity that Dean swears will cause his own to burst into flames. Except that's already happening to his soul. Cas' grace pulses Desire, penetrating and fierce; he can feel his soul ache in response to it, opening itself freely to invite in the will of the angel. If the hug had been a warm bath, then holy hell, this is a boiling stew made of Tickles and Sunshine.

He can't stand it any longer and closes his eyes, humming happily into Cas' mouth. His hands roam Cas' back like explorers of a New World. It's only when he begins to feel excessively dizzy that he realizes he hasn't breathed in an alarmingly long time. Dean breaks the kiss after a good long while and inhales sharply, his lungs starved for air. When he opens his eyes in a flutter, Cas is still watching him. He silently notes how that, coupled with the forceful fingers twisted in his hair, press all the right buttons for him.

"Damn," he breathes.

Castiel ignores the itching sensation caused by Dean's stubble. It is a minor inconvenience in comparison to everything else coursing through him. Impatiently, he licks his lips and attacks Dean's mouth again, the hand on Dean's shirt sliding up to rest on his cheek, his thumb lovingly caressing the skin under Dean's eye, where the cheekbone begins. Dean clings greedily to him now, there is no longer any need to keep him in place. Castiel observes Dean's eyes slide shut again; he tries it himself, but he doesn't like being unable to see Dean's reactions to his touch. He doesn't want to leave any part of this to his imagination, which is unreliable at best anyway.

A surprised gasp escapes Cas' lips when Dean flips their positions and presses the angel's back flush against the wall, both his hands running possessively over Cas' waist and chest, while keeping their mouths firmly locked together. Dean is accustomed to being the one in charge, so Cas lets him, for now. He stops yanking on Dean's hair to grip the man's shoulders, working his grace into every muscle and healing their aches. The kiss dissipates into little nibbles and tender pecks; when Cas finally decides to pull away, he keeps their foreheads pressed together as they had been at the start, and they pant into one another as if the other's breath is the breath of Life, drinking it in, letting it seep into the spots where it's most needed. Cas' grace creates glorious friction inside of Dean, holding him at the precipice of satiated and overwhelmed. Dean opens his eyes and is blind to everything but Cas. The angel more than fills his vision, he fills a hole in Dean's heart which Dean had been trying to convince himself didn't exist. And you know what? That's fine by him, because Cas is all he wants to see from now to the end of forever. He's on frickin' Cloud Nine and has no plans of coming down any time soon.

Sam chooses that exact second to waltz into the motel room in his usual noisy, moose-like manner, permanently earning a spot (the only spot) on Dean's "people I'm going to murder before I die of embarrassment" list. But lucky Sam gets away easy with a missing angel and a defensive brother, and a few threats of violence from said brother before that brother hides in the bathroom. Sam just gives the shut door one of his patented 'You're an idiot' looks and laughs softly.