Title: Jesus Wrote a Blank Check
Word Count: 430~
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Dean/Cas, set early S4. Dean gets a second chance, but he's not quite sure what he's doing with it.
Dean is alone in the motel room, shirtless, inspecting himself in the mirror. Smooth skin, unmarked, except for… his fingers brush the anti-possession symbol that is still tattooed on his chest.
"I thought you might need it," Castiel says.
Dean turns around. The angel has appeared behind him, unannounced as usual. "You scared me," Dean says, rising out of his fighting stance.
"My apologies."
"Why are you here?" Dean asks when Castiel offers nothing further.
"I wanted to check on your progress. Make sure you're readjusting. Sam does not seem like he can attend to all of your emotional and spiritual needs right now."
"If he's not 'attending' to me, it's because I told him not to. I'm fine."
In response, Castiel steps closer. Without warning, he touches the tips of his fingers to Dean's tattoo.
"A powerful symbol, if not exactly a holy one," Castiel says. "I preserved it because I felt it might keep you safe."
Dean twitches back, surprised by the contact. "It didn't protect me in Hell."
"That is not its purpose, as you well know." Castiel has not moved his hand; his fingers hover in the air where Dean's skin was seconds ago.
"And what about this?" Dean asks, indicating the lurid handprint branded into his shoulder.
"Another kind of safeguard. This marks you as one who is under the protection of an angel of The Lord."
"Aw," Dean says, trying to lighten the mood, to discharge the air, "I didn't know you cared."
"I didn't know I would, either." Castiel rests his hand on Dean's shoulder, covering the brand so that it might not have been there at all.
The effect is electric. Dean feels lightheaded, or maybe he just feels light, high. But he is completely in control of his actions when he leans in to kiss Castiel.
It's been a long time since Dean kissed another man, but despite his partner's angelic nature, it feels much as he remembers it. A scratch of stubble on his face, a faint musky scent unmasked (in this case) by aftershave or cologne.
Later, Dean will recognize that this feels like the opposite of the kiss he gave the crossroads demon. Then something was taken out of him, now he's getting something back. In the moment, however, he only thinks of warmth and the taste of Castiel's lips as he tries to part them with his tongue.
Dean breaks the kiss, sensing resistance.
Castiel removes his hand. "I…" he says, then flickers out of existence without finishing the sentence or meeting Dean's eyes.
The handprint on Dean's shoulder is tingling, and he is left alone to wonder what the hell just happened.