Originally this was going to be all Castiel, then this chapter hit me and would not go away. Once again I blame Londo, miserable plot bunny that he is. Still, plans change and hopefully the end will make up for it a little bit. I also had a very dull day at work. If this is the result of one of those, I should have them more often.

Chapter Six.

Dean Winchester's dreams are not such a nice place to be anymore, not since Hell and Sam dying and all that. These days if it is not images of the pit and his demonic master intruding upon his subconscious, it is the days that Sam spent dead, his brother dying in his arms any one of a number of ways, or it is the angels. Mostly the last week it has been angels, one in particular, and Dean would be happy if he never saw the smug being who has stolen his mother's face again.

"Hello, Dean," his mother's voice is just as he has always remembered it, soft, feminine, loving and young, he has never really appreciated how young she really was when she died. Now he knows and he understands and that does not make him resent Michael any less.

"Michael," Dean hisses and wishes that he had something to recline against or sit on or a weapon of any sort, because having this archangel in his head just makes him feel afraid, makes him feel vulnerable and violated and for a long moment he even wishes that he had Castiel at his back.

This time Dean has to admit that he does not really pay any attention when Michael starts talking again, he lets his mind wander. Besides he has heard all of this before, had heard how it is his duty to accept Michael in so that mankind can be led to paradise and Lucifer can be killed and so on and so forth. Dean is not really buying into it and he knows that Michael is aware of the fact that he is not paying him any heed. Neither one seems to care overly about that.

Instead Dean thinks about all the things he would rather be doing, or dreaming about. He could be dreaming about pie, or his car, fishing or even being back in Hell again would be preferable to this. Sex, he could also be dreaming about that and given his experience Dean could be having a great deal of variety in that department. He thinks about all the faces he could see, about the waitress at the dinner that evening, the brunette at the gas station, Castiel against the motel room wall and he hastily scrubs that one from his thoughts as he turns his attention to Michael for a moment. The archangel looks disapproving but does not comment on Dean's thoughts so the hunter goes back to his preferred distraction, thinking about the twins from two days ago, all soft curves and big blue eyes and dark hair that could not be tamed.

Against his better judgement that leads him straight back to thoughts of Castiel again, of bending the angel over the hood of the Impala and taking him hard and fast and messily, of laying Cas in his bed and taking their time, whispering promises into the darkness of a alleyway in an unknown town, in the shower, frantic and urgent, soft and slow and Dean figures that the reason all of these images are not freaking him out overly is because this is a dream. He refuses to admit that any one of these has been a fantasy of his at some point or another relatively recently.

"...so that Lucifer can lay claim to him." Michael almost snaps and Dean's turns his attention from his private fantasies, which he is embarrassed to realise have given him quite an impressive erection, to the archangel who is staring at him from his mother's body with something akin to annoyance, if such creatures can feel such things.

"Lucifer isn't getting his hands on Sam," Dean tells him, watches as eyebrows shoot up and comes to the conclusion that Sam is not the one that Michael was talking about.

"Samuel is not the one that I went to the trouble of returning to you, Dean." The hunter thinks for a long moment before the answer to the question he has not asked comes to him. Cas. Michael nods when he breathes the name of the rebel angel. "I had hoped that Castiel would realise the error of his ways and aid me in persuading you that becoming my vessel would be the only way to win this war. Unlike my Father, I am not infallible."

With that the archangel is gone and Dean wakes up in his motel room with a start, lying in the almost darkness, broken by a line of light through partly open curtains, and listens to the reassuring sound of Sam snoring lightly to one side of him. Under the bedclothes he can tell that he is still hard, uncomfortably so, and since a glance at the red numbers of the bedside clock tells him that he will need to be up and about in less than an hour, he decides to take advantage of the extra, and evidently much needed, alone time.

He pads quietly into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and turning the shower on before pulling off boxers and t-shirt. He stands under the water with his eyes closed for a long moment, trailing his hands down his stomach before taking himself in them, biting back a gasp at the shudder that runs through him simply from the feeling of his own hand. For a moment he tries to imagine that it is a woman rather than himself, then decides that since thoughts of Castiel started all of his, thoughts of Castiel can finish it too.

Dean knows what he likes, and soon he is stroking himself to completion, firmly and without any hesitation as he imagines Castiel's mouth on him, imagines the angel on his knees before him and staring upwards with innocent blue eyes as the hunter thrusts into his mouth over and over. It is not long before he is muffling his cries for the angel with his palm, back pressed against the tiles and eyes clenched shut against the harsh glare of the bathroom light and the loneliness of reality as hot water pounds against his face and his legs tremble beneath him.

It takes a long moment until he can open his eyes, a moment where he becomes more and more aware of the feeling of someone watching him and after taking a second to compose himself he opens them, meeting Castiel's stunned gaze. He hopes for a foolish minute that the angel has not been stood there long, that he did not see or hear Dean's actions. He wants to explain, to try and find some excuse, except that he is naked and wet and even though he is not a teenager anymore, his body is trying it's best to do an impression of it at the sight of the angel's darkened, lust filled, eyes.

"Cas," the name is a harsh breath and a stunned gasp as he takes a step away from the wall, because, until this moment, Dean has never before considered just how much he wants Castiel. For the first time Dean can feel the tension in the air around him as he realises how intense the angel's gaze is and even though a part of him is quietly freaking out, a larger part of him is focussing on the want and the now and foolishly he thinks that this has never felt more right.

Castiel is obviously not on the same page, however, taking two steps closer before vanishing and leaving Dean alone in the steamy room with nothing more than a head full of confused fantasies. He shakes his head and scrubs himself clean, uncertainty beginning to set in now that he has had a moment to cool off a little.

What he wants to do right now is freak out, because Castiel just saw him and heard him and there is no way that the angel is usually Dean's type. Except that, in some truly bizarre way, he is and Dean has to chase that thought from his head before he can pursue it too much further.

Besides, his focus right now should be more on coming up with a believable excuse to give to Sam when his brother realises that the awkward between the hunter and the angel has just shot up a notch.

I promise, I'm not utterly shower fixated, but I do have a reason behind this one that will be fully explained in time. Not all that much time if I carry on the way that I am.

Artemis