The dream was different this time. The space had form and weight. It was tangible and thick around him, like a deep pool of warm water.

He felt real. He wasn't the same ghost as before, his heartbeat thumped in the silence, his chest filled and emptied itself of thick void systematically and he could feel a tranquillity sweeping through his nerves. Yet he still wasn't quite there. No matter how hard he tried, his touch couldn't find his flesh, and his eyes stared in vain through darkness in search of his body.

As his eyes scanned the dark, they were drawn, like before, to a glow in the distance. It seemed to draw back the sheets of darkness as it drifted closer, and warmth trickled off its flickering shape and into the space around Dean. What was it? Dean tried to blink its wavering form into focus. Its light packed into a human shape, and what appeared to be legs moved heavily, yet somehow lightly, back and forth as it came to him. It was too distant to make out a face, but two specks of blue light shone from its head like eyes, and lines of black occasionally flickered over its forehead like a fringe.

Dean reached out to the figure, and it turned to face him. Its face, while nearly void of features, screamed with emotion, and its intensity was almost frightening. Dean's pounding heart shook the silence with a feverish rhythm.

"What are you?" Dean's words were detached, more like a voiceover than actual speech.

The glow on the figures face dimmed, it turned around. The frayed strings of light that stretched like wings from its back were shortened. They shone with a paler glow, and the figure swayed dizzily. Something dark seeped from the tips of the tendrils as the figure's knees buckled and its eyes closed.

When Dean ran towards it, the figure collapsed into him. Dean tucked his hand under its chin, and felt an electric buzz surge through his fingertips and course up his arm. He turned the dimmed face to look into his eyes, but the figure's head simply slipped from his grasp and into his chest.

A voice, muffled by Dean's chest, came in a murmur from the figure's gentle lips. The words wove through the space and knitted into winding, strange sentences. There was something in the voice that was familiar, a tone or scrape that struck a nerve in Dean's mind, but he couldn't quite pin it. Dean strained himself to make sense of the sentences, and over time, they began to piece together, he could almost understand them.

The figure began to feel heavier on Dean's chest, and its otherworldly glow began to fade from it. A flesh-like beige tint began to seep over the creatures body, and with every second it looked more and more human. The dark streaks near it's face softened into a head of short, dark hair, and the face began to define itself right before Dean's eyes.

But just as Dean was about to move to figure to look at its face, to finally reveal who it was, he felt a sudden icy stab in his hand. He turned to find a tendril of blackness snaking over his glow. Dean shook to free himself of the vein of shadow, but it simply wrapped itself tighter like a shadowy python.

The warmth of the being was sapped away as more tendrils crept in, and was replaced by a chilling splash of sensation. A panic rose in his chest and he backed away, pulling the unconscious form with him. Dean wasn't about to let him get taken away again, not this time. He shouted and shook the limp body as the shadow wrapped around him, paralysing him with fear. He couldn't find any air to breathe, the void turned to ice and stuck him in space. The greedy darkness tried to pry the figure from his grip, but Dean stayed rigid, screaming and trying to pull himself free of the void's hollow grip.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to black out the terror around him, burying his face in the soft hair of the figure. His head was pounding, his consciousness was fading and he knew he would slip away any second. The figure would disappear again, and he'd be alone again. No Dean's thoughts were foggy but strong, resisting the murkiness brought on by the shadow, I'm not gonna let it take you. Dean clung to the form, refusing to let it flicker out like before.

No matter how painful the stabbing, how cold the twisting, Dean wouldn't loosen his grip. The being sank further into him, sharing what little warmth it had left in its body with Dean. Every second was hell, his head was swimming and his body was surging with searing pain. But he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He could only suffocate for so long. And soon the moment came.

Excruciatingly, Dean tightened his hold for a final time. The form's skin against his was soft, and for a fraction of a second, he couldn't feel the nothingness trying to tear him apart. But the moment was nothing but a moment. It ended, and Dean's world went black.

Dean felt something. Something warm and soft, moving gently in his arms. He pulled it closer to his chest, and pressed his face up against it. He sighed. So did it. The figure was still with him, he'd protected it and it was safe. A pleasured shiver slid through his bloodstream and Dean slid his hand over the warm body in his arms, tiredly dipping into its shallow curves.

The body trembled, it arched into the curve of his body and shivered, its chest shrinking as a prolonged and shuddering sigh escaped it.

Something light and wispy pressed up against his chest and tickled his skin, Dean's body tingled and he groped around the warm flesh, pulling the form hungrily into his embrace. God, he'd actually rescued it, his glowing being was with him. Dean's insides shook and all of a sudden, his pants seemed to shrink down a couple sizes.

"Oh...Dean"

The body in his arms practically moaned his name. And its voice, it was… it was Castiel's voice.

Mother of god

Dean's eyes flew open to the skin on the back of Castiel's neck. His arms went stiff and he could feel his body go red hot. He froze, one hand pressed firmly against Castiel's chest, the other dipped into his inner thigh, fingers reaching for the edge of a stiff bulge in his pants. His leg was hooked over Castiel's and his lips were pressed hard against Castiel's back. All his pleasure and ecstasy warped into panic.

Castiel noticed the sudden change and shifted in Dean's paralysed hold. Dean's dry mouth was frozen in a stupid, half open gape, and his eyes stared unblinkingly ahead. Shit, shit shit shit, shit, SHIT.

He felt like running away, getting himself out of the situation and just leaving, getting as far away from Castiel as he could. At the same time, he wanted to stay where he was, hell, continue what he was doing, but… he just… Dean tore his hand from Castiel's skin, and threw himself off the angel. His body chilled instantly, and his gut dropped, leaving him with a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. Castiel turned, looking at Dean with a pair of dilated, confused, pupils. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but just flicked his eyes away, out of breath and tongue-tied.

It was idiotic. Dean standing there, stiff as a board and red as a beetroot. His throat was dry and his body twitching . he was sure Castiel could see the bulge in his crotch. Dean turned around and walked away, just a little bit too briskly. Blood pounded against his eardrums and shivers shot down his spine. He ran a hand down his face and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down as he made for the bathroom.

"Dean-" Castiel called out, his voice was tired, but breathless and longing. Dean stopped for a half second then slammed the door behind him, flinching at the noise. He stripped off what little clothing he had on and turned the taps violently, tensing up as the freezing water hit his flushed body. It was almost painful, how icy the water was, but it was doing the trick. Dean's pounding heart began to slow down, and the knotted feeling in his gut started to ease up. He leaned against the tiled wall, breathing slowly to stop his head spinning.

He tried to think of something to turn himself off, but all that seemed to be able to find a place in his thoughts was an image of Castiel, as he was, hot, flustered, and confused where Dean had left him. And fuck that image did anything but turn Dean off. Dean could barely stop himself from jerking off, he bit his lip and swore, practically punching the wall to try and relieve the tension. He was turned on by Castiel, and Castiel was turned on by him. He felt like his head was going to explode, that his lungs were going to squeeze themselves out of his chest, hell, all of his insides were writhing, but not in a sickly way, they writhed like they did when riding a roller coaster.

He couldn't stop himself. Dean howled at the feeling, and instantly, he wanted to throw himself off a cliff. He moaned again as the light feeling swept over him a second time. He'd crossed the line. And again and again and again, he bit his lip and moaned in pleasure. He wanted to stab himself in the neck, he was fucking jerking over Castiel. He didn't just cross the line, he'd fucking torn it to pieces.

It was at least half an hour before Dean finished, before he felt like he could face Castiel again. He weakly turned off the taps, heart still fluttering in his chest and he climbed out of the shower and slowly pulled on his clothes. His hand stuck on the doorknob and Dean went rigid. He was hesitant, what if he got all…. Again? He slammed his other arm into the wall, the image of Castiel filling his thoughts. Again, his jeans seemed to shrink to an extra small, and Dean screwed his eyes shut and spat out foul word after foul word, his guts leaping as he bashed the wall relentlessly.

When he finally opened the door, arm red and swollen from the pounding , he didn't even look towards the bed. Instead, he stomped around the room, rifling through bags for no real reason, just to give his muscles something to do. He'd have to face Castiel soon, but he couldn't do that yet-

A hand on his shoulder made him shoot through the roof, and, if it was even possible, Dean's pants got even tighter, it was actually painful. His mouth drained of moisture.

The hand flinched, sensing Dean's shock- "Dean-"

"Drop it" Dean spat harshly, more spite in his voice than he intended. He felt like he should apologise, but at the same time he wanted to hurt Castiel.

"I just wanted to-" Castiel sounded off balance, like Dean's retort had thrown him off.

Good thought Dean, tearing himself away from the angel, refusing to look at him.

Castiel didn't stop. His hand found Dean's wrist and grabbed it. " Just listen, Dean" There was an unfamiliar harshness to Castiel's voice.

"No, you listen" Dean spun viciously, shocking Castiel with a piercing glare. "It. Was. Nothing." Each word struck the angel like a stinging slap. " I don't want to talk- just- shut up and go back to sleep."

"I'm sorry…" Castiel spoke softly, he looked away from Dean furtively, he sounded hurt, but he wasn't about to stop.

"Fuck off, Cas!" Dean screamed at him, rage rolling off him in waves, making Castiel shrink in terror. The limp wings on either side of the angel seemed to halve in size, drawing themselves closer, feathers pressing against his frame. His eyes flickered up to meet Dean's. They reminded Dean of something, but his frustrated mind couldn't draw the memory in.

Dean tore his wrist out of Castiel's hand and the angel backed away, wings dragging on the ground beside him. Castiel turned his back on Dean and started to stumble towards the door, looking like a kicked puppy.

Dean's heart repelled any guilt and the hunter stomped to the other side of the room. Suddenly he didn't care whether Castiel left, he didn't care if he got hurt again. He could go get mauled by hell hounds for all that Dean cared.

His head was pounding and buzzing, a constant angry murmur filled his ears. Castiel, why Castiel? Why the hell did he... The stupid... Dean's eyes began to feel hot, almost burning, like angry tears were about to rain from them by the bucket load. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this pissed off. And good riddance too, Dean had the right. didn't he?

It was only when he heard the door close that Dean realised how much of an ass-hat he'd just been.

"Cas!" Dean called out after Castiel as he ventured outside. It was pitch black and freezing. His prior scorn disappeared, and he was suddenly worried for Castiel's safety. What if his stitches tore again? Dean wouldn't be able to find him, it was too dark in the motel's poorly lit carpark. The icy wind chilled him to the bone and he instantly regretted not putting on a jacket.

He could hear the distant thump of hip-hop music playing in the nearby bar, and saw the shadows of a few people walking by, Everything was so normal, but Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

Then it hit Dean. He was looking too high. Castiel was sick, hell, he had a fucking stab wound and broken limbs. He couldn't have gotten far. He'd probably collapsed after walking a couple metres. Dean retraced his steps, dragging his feet over the black top. He dropped to his knees and started to crawl in the dark, reaching around in search of Castiel's body.

It wasn't long before he found him. Dean's hand found a small, hot splatter on the road, and followed it to the edges of a frayed wing. He stood up and draped Castiel over his back, tucking the angel's arms over his shoulders and his legs under Dean's arms. Dean felt like an absolute prick. Castiel, who had been healing up and resting comfortably, was confused out of his wits, shouted at and chased out into the cold, simply because Dean couldn't deal with a fucking boner.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean was regretful, he opened the door and looked over his shoulder at Castiel's vacant expression. He laid the angel down on the bed and gave him quick once over for any major injuries. Apart from a nosebleed and grazed knees and palms, Castiel seemed okay. He pulled up the shirt to inspect the wound, the stitches looked like they'd been pulled and the wound was a bit swollen, but it hadn't torn.

Dean looked away from Castiel and stood up, walking over to the stove. He put some soup in a pot and set it cooking, Castiel would probably need something to eat when he woke up. Dean sighed and sank into a chair by the table, head in hands. Why the hell did you have to tell him to fuck off? It wasn't his fault… He rubbed his temples tiredly.

When Dean got up, the pot was steaming and a warm, and a pleasant scent seeped into the air. He took the pot off the hotplate and looked over at Cas. The angel hadn't moved much, but he flinched when Dean dropped a bowl he was taking out of the cupboard.

The tired eyes flew open and Castiel jumped. Dean swore when the bowl shattered on the tiles and he scrambled to sweep it up. When Dean darted his eyes towards the angel again, Castiel was wide awake and pressed into the pillows. His expression was dazed and slightly angry.

"Dean-" Castiel's voice was croaky, and it was apologetic, but furious at the same time.

"Cas stop" Dean filled the other bowl and carried it over to the angel's bedside. Dean wanted Cas to be angry at him, to be pissed off, "I was an ass, and I'm sorry." He set the bowl down on the bedside table, he wanted to look at Castiel, but he just couldn't.

Castiel didn't shout at him, he just sat there quietly. Dean could tell he wanted to say something.

"Just spit it out, Cas."

Castiel lit up with emotion, it was bizarre. "Why did you bring me back, I thought you wanted me gone…" the anger was tangible.

"No- I just" Dean felt ashamed.

"What did I do?" The angel's hand shifted, finding the edge of the bed and slipping off it. He turned to face Dean, but Dean still couldn't look him in the eye. "What did I do wrong?"

Dean didn't have anything to say back. "Cas, listen…" Dean finally managed to slip his eyes up to meet Castiel's. Castiel's expression was reclusive and confused. He started pleadingly into Dean's eyes, begging for an explanation, but Dean didn't have one, not one that would satisfy him. The expression caught him off guard. He shifted his hand onto his knee and squeezed it, turning his face away and focussing instead on something in the corner of his vision. He sighed. Castiel wanted an answer and Dean needed to give him one.

"Dean?"

"It was just a…" Dean was going red in the face, his mouth was drying out, shit not again… "uh-a- a human thing"

"Could you explain?", his voice bore a snarky curiosity.

"I had a dream, okay?" Dean was speaking too fast, like he was trying to cover something up. "Just a stupid, stupid drean where I…. was… there was a light and…"he spat the words out in torrents, making sure he was speaking fast enough to make it difficult to catch. Then maybe Castiel wouldn't understand him. "And I woke up… well… you know what I was doing…" Dean was stuttering, and memories of before made his insides quiver. "I didn't mean anything by it- just" Dean took a deep breath, he was starting to sound like an embarrassed teenager. "Eat your damn soup, okay? I don't wanna talk about it."

Castiel was slightly stunned by the sudden deposit of information, and seemed to take a while to process what he heard. He didn't say anything after, he just looked a bit crestfallen. After a few seconds, he did as Dean said and slowly made his way through the bowl, spluttering and half choking every so often and looking a bit pallid.

Getting his flighty heartbeat back in order and silently thanking god, or whoever was listening, that Castiel hadn't pried any further, Dean asked "How's the pain?"

Castiel swallowed final mouthful of soup and cringed. Pretty bad I guess Dean thought, as the angel flexed his wings, only to double over. Castiell straightened up and went pale in the face, he started coughing and wheezing violently. Dean steadied him and patted him firmly on the back to clear his airway. God Cas was vulnerable like this, he couldn't even finish a bowl of soup without having a near death experience.

"Not that much better, huh?" Castiel finally stopped hacking and sunk back into Dean's arm, looking exhausted. Dean would make a crack about Cas being a baby about it, but he was still a bit wary about offending him, he'd scared him off before, and it ended in Castiel passing out.

"You're right, Dean, I am definitely not much better, I actually feel quite terrible…" His usual, slightly mechanical tone had returned, it almost sounded forced. "Do you have any more of that medication, it was very helpful…" Castiel winced again and moved a hand to the stitches on his hip, fingers jerking back as the touch stung the reddened flesh. "Though of course, its actual medicinal value is doubtful..."

Was there any more of that medicine? Dean got up and dug around in the first aid kit. Well fuck Dean found the bottle, but all that remained were a few specks of bitter powder. He'd given Cas every single pill. "Bad news Cas,"

Castiel pushed himself back into the pillows, groaning unhappily. " There isn't any left?" He didn't seem surprised, just a bit let down. "It's alright, I can-" He bit his lip as a wing moved twisted behind him. "Cope." He exhaled slowly and carefully. It was almost like there was something he wasn't saying.

"What is it Cas?" Dean felt guilty for having used all of it before, not that it was really his fault that Castiel needed just about as much medication as an elephant.

"Well last night, when you… the warm water it was very…" It was like he was embarrassed all of a sudden, that was a bit strange. "Very soothing."

"Oh, a bath?", A rigidity took hold of Dean's joints. Yes, a bath would help Cas a lot, hot water worked miracles on sore joints, and it worked great last night. But Dean wasn't sure whether he could handle it this time. Cas was delirious and only half conscious before, now he was fully awake and had, not too long ago, given Dean a very stubborn hard-on.

"Yes, that would be rather nice, " Castiel sounded like he sensed that Dean was feeling a bit strange about it, "But if you-"

"But nothing Cas." Dean had to make it up to him somehow, and he gathered that risking another extremely awkward situation to make him a bit more comfortable would count somehow, "I'll get the water running."