Castiel could feel something warm and soft tickling at his neck. Groggily, he made an attempt to sweep this sudden and confusing nuisance away with a clumsy flick of his hand. The sudden and confusing nuisance exclaimed in mock pain, and Castiel's eyes snapped open, startled. Dean was sitting up and gazing down upon him with imitated offence; his arms crossed and lips pouted.
"What are you doing?" Cas asked blearily, burying his face down into the pillow.
"Good morning to you too, handsome," Dean remarked sarcastically.
"Why do I have an awful feeling that it's before 10?" Castiel's voice came out muffled, but somehow Dean could make sense of the almost unintelligible muttering.
"Because it's 7:30," Dean answered coolly. The hunter resumed the practice of kissing lightly at Cas' neck, though now the effort required more awkward manoeuvring as the former angel was currently curled so tightly within himself.
"Why, Dean?"
"Why what?"
"Why is it 7:30?" Castiel grumbled. His face was becoming hot against the pillow and his chest ached as he breathed recycled air. Now it was impossible to ignore that the pillow had a very specific hotel smell that nobody liked.
"I don't know, Cas. How bout you tell me? I would've thought that you would have a better understanding of the concept of time… you know, being an ex-angel and living for millennia and all that," Dean nudged Castiel's side, amused.
"Dean, it's 7:30," Cas warned as he gave in and turned his face to the side to draw in air.
Dean took advantage of his exposed lips and kissed him gently. Castiel lazily kissed back, his hand instinctively reaching forward to find Dean and touched his bare chest. Only then did he become aware of their continued nakedness and the warmth of Dean's leg pressed between his thighs. Were it not so early in the morning, he would have smiled.
"Kissing me doesn't make me feel any better about this utter injustice," he complained. Even with his eyes closed the room seemed far too bright. And the combination of the blankets and Dean's body warmth was all that protected him from the icy morning air which was now tickling at his feet since Dean had accidentally pulled the blanket too far to his side.
"What injustice?"
"It's 7:30!"
"Always so dramatic," Dean chuckled lightly and kissed him again, "I've been awake since 6—"
"You're psychotic," Cas grumbled against his lips, interrupting him.
"I let you sleep in—"
"Do I have to remind you again, Dean, that it is 7:30?"
"I got bored waiting for you," Dean said, "I'm going to be disgustingly adorable and say that I missed you."
Castiel opened one eye and peered cautiously at Dean. He hadn't felt him move closer, but there he was within inches of him. It was a startling though not at all uncomfortable proximity. Mostly Cas was just taken aback by those gloriously green eyes staring at him as though he were the sun. It was a look he would be happy to get used to, though he had little doubt that it would forever knock the air out of him.
"This is the only time you can get away with using that," Cas allowed, though he knew that was a lie. Dean could, and would, always get his way somehow, and admittedly it wouldn't take much.
Dean grinned, his eyes suddenly alight both in mischief and self-satisfaction. He too was aware of all the future mornings to come where he could wake Cas as he so pleased in exchange for a kiss or a tired embrace. Without discussion, it became apparent to both of them that Dean was secretly clingy at heart and a cuddler in nature. Something Castiel honestly hadn't expected. Were it not the abominable hour, he would have been thrilled at the discovery.
Castiel turned on his side and pulled Dean into him so he could rest his cheek upon his chest. His arm automatically wound around his waist, and he could hardly believe how natural it all felt. Like he truly belonged there at Dean's side, as if that was where he fit best. And no place else would do. Dean lazily ran his fingers through Castiel's hair. Were he not careful, he was sure to accidentally lull Cas back to sleep.
"Would breakfast make you feel better?" Dean asked.
"Not really," Cas mumbled and nuzzled his nose against Dean's skin.
"You sure? You could, I don't know, get some pancakes? Put some maple syrup on there, a little bacon on the side… crispy but with a little fat on it—"
"Dean. Do you want pancakes?" Cas asked knowingly. He was sure Dean wouldn't give in until he got his way; at least not when it came to breakfast. Or food at any time of day for that matter.
"That's what I'm asking you," Dean answered carefully. He puckered his lips innocently and looked to the ceiling in an attempt to mask his true motive. This, of course, didn't escape Castiel who knew Dean well enough by now to know when he was thinking only with his stomach.
Castiel smiled fondly, "fifteen more minutes." He decided it would be fairer to compromise.
"Fifteen minutes," Dean agreed, though it was obvious that his mind was occupied elsewhere. For him, fifteen minutes was bound to feel like an eternity.
Unfortunately for Cas it felt like barely a minute had passed, with his eyes fluttering shut one moment and then opening again the next as Dean shook his shoulder. He couldn't be certain of having actually gotten any more sleep at all. But as he fumbled for Dean's wrist and inspected his watch, low and behold, it had been twenty-five minutes.
"Huh? What is…?" Castiel sat up and glared at the light streaming in through the open window. How could he feel so much worse waking the second time round? Where before it had been unfortunate, now it felt downright cruel and uncalled for.
"Cas, I'm starving," Dean complained and climbed out of bed. He leaned down and took Castiel's face into his hands and guided him into a tender kiss. "I'll make it up to you and get you coffee first thing," he offered.
"That you better," Cas grumbled, placing his hands over Dean's and silently insisting on another kiss. Which Dean obliged him without complaint before pulling away and gathering his clothes to change into after a quick shower.
"Wanna join me?" Dean stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him. Even exhausted and bleary-eyed, Cas couldn't ignore the glorious splendour of Dean Winchester standing naked before him.
"So we can face the torture of cold water together?" Cas wrinkled his nose at the memory of the awfully cold shower he'd had the night before.
"Good water pressure though," Dean reminded him.
"Like that helped," Cas sighed and dawdled past Dean into the bathroom. "I'll want more kisses."
"Okay, your highness," Dean agreed and turned on the shower, hopelessly turning on the hot tap only and testing the spray for even an ounce of warmth.
"Don't test me, Dean," Cas warned, leaning his head against the wall.
Suddenly Dean was kissing between his shoulder blades. Castiel sighed and leaned back into him, goose bumps raising the hairs on his arms as Dean's lips tickled at his skin. Apparently more kisses was the only way to make up for the ungodly hour.
"You're bossy in the morning," Dean commented, carefully holding Castiel's hips in his steady hands, tracing his thumbs over the bones. He gnawed gently at the back of Cas' neck, nipping and sucking at his skin, trying to elicit a moan from the former angel.
"I'm more amiable after 9am, I think you'll find," Cas reasoned, "doesn't that count for something?"
"Mmm," Dean hummed distractedly, now biting at Castiel's shoulder. "But I kinda like you when you're bossy."
"And the rest of the time?"
"Well, I like you then too. Just a bit differently," Dean explained.
Cas turned around and took Dean's bottom lip between his in a tired kiss before pulling away. He stopped to take a wary breath before stepping into the shower. Immediately he hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms, his eyes boring into Dean's with unsettling annoyance and gloom. The water was freezing, and he now resented the entire concept of showering despite it once being one of his favourite human experiences.
It was amazing, even to him, how quickly one awful experience could change everything.
"Dean, I almost favour purgatory to this," Cas grumbled sourly.
"You act as though the world's ending… again," Dean chuckled darkly and stepped in after him. He cursed under his breath and mimicked Cas' tense stance, but purposely stood and took the brunt of the cold so Cas didn't have to.
Even still, the cold bit at him and woke him up some, though he remained glaringly irritable all the same. But he could never begrudge Dean for it, and still sought to receive whatever affection he could get. As the hunter took to a rushed shower routine—shampooing his hair and lathering himself with soap—Cas mostly looked for chances to kiss him or to lean into a short embrace.
Since getting Dean, he was having a hard time knowing when he needed to let go.
"I'll accidentally get soap in your eye if you aren't careful," Dean warned, raising an eyebrow at the ex-angel who was once again leaning into his side and nuzzling his nose into the crook of his neck.
"So?" Cas asked stubbornly.
"So the first time you did that you screamed bloody murder," Dean reminded him, "I remember running into that bathroom… it was not a pretty sight, Cas."
"At least you had the gift of sight. Mine was robbed from me," Cas pulled away; immediately cautious of history possibly repeating itself, and he stepped out to grab a towel. He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he wrapped the towel around his waist, and had to quickly remind himself that there was nothing new to see.
Yet, when the hunter also stepped out and took hold of a towel, his gaze did not divert from him.
"What?" Castiel asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing," Dean smiled warmly, "it's nothing… just uh, this is still a bit weird, you know?"
"This being…?" Cas was confused.
"You know; this. You, me. Us. It's weird, right?"
"Well, weird wouldn't be the first word I'd use," Cas decided, "Is it weird? ... Am I weird?"
"Man, you always have been—and always will be—weird. But that isn't a bad thing," Dean explained and dried his hair. "I just mean that it's weird that we're… you know."
"Sexually involved?" Cas offered, he himself struggling to find the correct term for whatever it was they were doing.
"Nah, we're more than that," Dean shook his head quickly.
"Sexually and romantically involved?"
"I don't like the word romantic," Dean wrinkled his nose, "I don't know. It just doesn't sit well with me."
"Admittedly it doesn't quite roll off my tongue either," Castiel granted. "We aren't exactly… conventional."
"You're, what? A few centuries old? You are—were—another species. Hell, you had wings for God's sake," Dean seemed utterly stunned at the idea though having known this all along. Castiel couldn't help but agree and be equally as baffled.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't bring God into this," Castiel urged gently, "I haven't high hopes that this in any way plays into His plans. Though, that's assuming he's even still around with plans to have."
"Right… sorry," Dean winced, "Foot in mouth. Again."
"Generally it's alluring," Cas assured him and pulled on a clean set of clothes.
He was glad to once again be clad in some warm attire with his—Dean's—slightly oversized shirt. The sleeves hung down past his wrists, which convinced him that the shirt must also be a size too big for Dean as well. The jeans were worse, however. Where the length fit him well enough, the waist again was a little too big. His leaner frame always struggled to keep them up, and left him with the annoying task of pulling them back up over his hips if ever he forgot to wear a belt. The belt which he now couldn't find despite believing he had left it in the bathroom the night before.
Dean had somehow gotten ahead of him was now pulling on some socks before his shoes, eager again to head out and find somewhere to eat. Cas left him in the bathroom and dug first through his own bag for the missing belt and then resorted to looking through Dean's as well. Neither of them had been paying much mind to what got packed where as they shared all their clothes and didn't carry much else.
Castiel found something unusual, however, and pulled out the very same pornographic magazine Dean had purchased at the very beginning of their journey. The same magazine Cas had long ago lost track of and had assumed had been thrown away or left behind. What's more; the corners of each page were now evidently worn as if Dean had sat and idly flicked through it numerous times. Though Cas couldn't even remember a time where Dean would have had opportunity.
"Oh… yeah, that," Dean said sheepishly from the doorway.
Castiel glanced up, his face guilty at having been caught rummaging through Dean's things without first asking permission. All earlier reasoning about shared clothing and not much else had slipped his mind as if the thought had never come into consideration before opening the bag. He realised how awfully evident it seemed like he had stuck his nose where he shouldn't have, and now worried he had breached some kind of undefined boundary.
"You can just… throw that away," Dean said and rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks reddened slightly and he diverted his eyes to the carpet, as if it were important he count each strand of the off-white fabric.
"Why would I?" Cas tilted his head a little to the side in confusion, with his brow furrowing into that familiar look of curiosity and bewilderment.
"Well, I don't know," Dean admitted. "It seems stupid having that now."
"You had no issue flaunting it to me a few weeks ago," Cas pointed out, "I even recall you offering to lend it to me."
"Yeah, but that was then. Now it's just… well, I've got you now don't I?"
Cas looked up at Dean. A small smile played at the edges of his lips as he watched the pink of Dean's cheeks darken into a flush red; the silly schoolboy grin he once adorned now closely resembled something awkward and shy.
Castiel could hardly believe that he somehow made Dean that nervous.
"When did you even find time to look at it?" He asked, amused.
"You aren't as observant as you think you are," Dean explained after a moment of hesitant silence. And just like that the silly schoolboy grin was back in all its glory, and he put his hands on his hips in proud defiance. Little did he know, he had no need to defend his actions to Castiel who had learned of his interest in porn many years before—even earlier than he probably ought to have; back when he still was still strongly devoted to serving God.
It had been perplexing discovering that the so called apocalypse-ending-righteous-man would have had a subscription to Busty Asian Beauties had he only a more permanent residence.
Castiel tucked the magazine back into Dean's duffel bag the way he had found it and zipped it up again neatly; already having forgotten what he had been searching for in the first place. Dean watched him in interest, making no attempt to argue for or against it.
"You'll need something to keep yourself occupied in the morning," he explained and stood upright, "that's when you found time, isn't it?" He realised that that was the only time period in which he and Dean weren't together—when Dean was up and about and he wasn't. He smiled smugly at having deduced as much so quickly.
"You make it near impossible to have secrets," Dean complained jokingly.
"When has keeping secrets from one another done us any good in the past?" Cas said.
"Good point," Dean acknowledged. He stepped smoothly closer to Cas and nudged his chin up gently with his hand before kissing him. "What did you mean by me needing something to keep me occupied in the morning?"
"Dean—" Cas began and then interrupted himself by leaning into Dean again; this time deepening the kiss and placing his hands purposely on the small of the hunter's back. "—As much as I love you, if you ever wake me up before 9 again..." Another kiss. "I'll smite you. I don't know how, but I'll find a way, and I'll do it."
"Understood," Dean said, blinking in a stunned surprise as Castiel's kisses knocked the air right out of him all over again.
Clearly, Dean now believed that a magazine could never truly suffice for the real thing.
Over the next few days, they abandoned the hotel early in search for another that had hot water. Cas, despite all his other adaptabilities, could not come to terms with a freezing shower every morning and night and took to sleeping in past midday—much to Dean's displeasure. Trapped in the routine of four hour rests, Dean complained often of having to resist the temptation to wake Cas early despite all his warnings not to. He criticized the utter laziness of it all, and often reminded him of the hours wasted and meals missed; but Cas knew that Dean just missed him.
When Castiel eventually awoke on his own accord, he'd usually find Dean slumped on the chair in front of the television with the volume down low; his eyes glazed in an inconceivable boredom. Cas recognised the impatient foot tapping and the restless motion of his hand brushing back and forth through his hair. And Cas would remain still for a few more moments with one eye open watching him. He found it almost picturesque—the sight of Dean in a state of domesticity, with the hotel backdrop acting as a substitute for the white picket fence life Cas believed Dean truly deserved.
And he was still dumbstruck as to how he himself somehow fit into that ideology now, when he'd believed otherwise for so many years.
Quite simply, he loved Dean. And he loved the unexpected simplicity of it all. He found that being loved in return made the sensation of love itself into something he was rather than something he had. Though it remained unfathomable as to how that could be. Slowly, however, he learned that there was no purpose in questioning it.
He didn't need an answer.
The hunter had mostly opened his mind to the idea of an actual relationship with Castiel—though the former angel hadn't pushed for a label of any kind. Behind closed doors Dean melted into Cas as if there had never been any question about it. As if there had never been anything unusual or new about it at all. But then, out in front of prying eyes, Dean succumbed to an inconceivable pressure and reduced his affection to soulful looks, and flirtatious and playful kicks to Cas' legs under tables.
Everything turned secretive unless they were alone.
Though Castiel decided he didn't mind. He was grateful enough to be with Dean in whatever capacity he could get.
"Who would have thought that you'd be the hornier one out of us two," Dean mused, setting aside one of Castiel's magazines he had picked up and started idly flicking through. Cas continued to kiss up along Dean's stomach, slowly pushing his shirt upward to expose his skin. He knelt between Dean's thighs; having crawled there from the end of the bed where he had been sitting with the remote in hand flicking from channel to channel on the television.
"There was nothing to watch," he explained between kisses; his breath warm now between Dean's nipples.
"Oh so I'm just something to do, am I?" Dean asked and ran his fingers through Castiel's hair.
"Is there a wrong answer here?" Cas pondered aloud and took Dean's left nipple between his lips and gently sucked and then carefully nipped it with his teeth.
"Not when you're doing that," Dean admitted with a soft sigh.
Castiel had been the one to initiate sex most often; though he hadn't given that fact much thought until now. In retrospect, he realised that while Dean often flirted and voiced various suggestive comments—both subtle and blatant—Cas had been more physical in his displays of affection. He didn't have a way with words the way Dean did; usually stating things too abruptly and plainly to at all be considered sexy. Instead, he found he communicated best through looks and touch, and somehow Dean always understood.
"I really love you, Dean," Cas said.
"Well then kiss me, you idiot," Dean smiled, sitting up more and pulling Cas in closer.
Castiel kissed him tenderly at first before deepening it; overwhelmed again by the warmth of Dean there in his arms, and the taste of his lips. Somehow the thrill of being with Dean hadn't yet mollified, and he felt that perhaps it simply never would. Even if he ever wanted it to.
Loving Dean any less than he did was just impossible.
"Cas?" Dean murmured against his lips and waited for Cas to withdraw slightly. "I've gotta ask you something."
"Should I be concerned?" Cas asked, now leaning in again and edging his kisses closer to Dean's neck.
"No. No, not concerned. But I dunno, I feel like you'll be concerned anyway," Dean fumbled and failed to capture the words the way he intended. Which immediately sparked Castiel's concern.
Cas sat upright with his hands firmly planted on the bed either side of Dean, and they faced one another, though Dean's eyes remained purposely diverted to the wall, as if he was unwilling to make eye contact. Dean rubbed Castiel's knee gently, but his touch was not that of lust, but rather of consolation and promise—though Cas couldn't discern what exactly Dean was promising.
The faint flutter of burden swayed Cas' heart, and his expression grew stern, with the excitement in his eyes dwindling and the ease of his smile faltering.
"I'm concerned," Castiel declared.
"Of course you are," Dean sighed and ran his hand over his face, "you really shouldn't be. I wish you weren't."
"What do you need to ask me?"
Castiel withdrew further and inched his way back to the foot of the bed from where he had come from, and planted himself there as though he was resuming the task of channel surfing. As if nothing had changed. As though he hadn't caused any need for concern by acting without invitation.
"Hey, always so dramatic, Cas," Dean tried to tease, but there was an evident edge to his voice that implied he himself found reason to worry. "Look, nothing is wrong. Really. I just don't want you getting the wrong idea and making it into something it isn't."
"Do I do that?" Cas asked with a furrowed brow. Was he really as complicated as he had initially thought?
"Sometimes," Dean admitted, "but I feel like I'm making it worse by pointing that out."
"You aren't making it worse," Cas quickly assured him, lying through a forced smile for the sake of Dean's peace of mind. "What is it?"
Dean frowned and leaned forward. He reached out and placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and gave it a comforting squeeze.
"Sam called this morning," Dean began carefully, "he thinks he might have a lead."
"You're talking to Sam again?"
"Trust me, that's a new development. I would have told you sooner if it wasn't," Dean explained.
"Well, what's the lead?" Cas glanced back at the hunter.
"He thinks it could be an angel thing… though he isn't sure!" Dean said and then quickly clarified his point. "He doesn't know for certain that it involves the god squad, but he, uh, he wants our help."
"Our?" Cas asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, our. But not if you don't want to. If you don't feel up to dealing with those—" Dean cut himself off midsentence, shook his head, and tried again. "With the angels. Then you don't have to."
"Dean? What are you asking me, exactly?" Cas leaned his elbow on his leg and rested his chin against his palm. He somehow couldn't discern whether his heart was racing or if it had inexplicably stopped. Which was a sensation he hadn't yet experienced. And he found he didn't like it all that much.
"Are you okay with going back to the bunker?"
Cas turned properly and crossed his legs on the bed, now facing Dean with all the curiosity and confusion he hadn't anticipated he'd feel. Of everything he had expected, something as simple as that hadn't crossed his mind. And he wondered why Dean thought the question would distress him.
Then he wondered why he still felt the strong sense of concern nonetheless.
"That's it?"
"I uh, well, yeah? I think so?" Dean seemed uncertain; as if he too was dumbstruck as to why the simple question held so much weight. They both pondered the thought that maybe the weight was there purely because they had put it there. "I just… I don't want you to think that going back home changes anything."
"Like what?"
"Like us. Look, I don't know how to explain it to Sam. I've thought about it. A lot. And I still have no freaking idea. But that doesn't mean we'll be different."
"So you and me—?"Cas began.
"Will still be you and me. I promise," Dean assured him. But there still remained something pained in his expression. A thought he wasn't sharing. Words he wasn't voicing. And Cas could see it aching to be said. He could see the flicker of doubt in Dean's eyes, and he had to worry what more there could possibly be.
What was Dean still wanting to hide?
"There's something else," Cas said knowingly.
"You're getting better at that. Reading people," Dean granted after a moment of silence. His lips hinted at a crooked grin; fond of Castiel's occasional talent for observation, but also saddened by it was well. Cas realised that sometimes Dean wished he would make it easier for him to hide.
"So?" Cas urged.
Dean let out a heavy sigh and his posture visibly slackened. His back hunched and he crossed his arms tightly across his chest as if attempting to barricade himself from something. Or as though he was trying to hold something important within himself as it tried to break out. Dean never liked feeling vulnerable like this; not when it was real and true and demanding. The hunter had built a life out of repressing his fears and seeking refuge at the bottom of a bottle. Anything to avoid expressing his fears aloud for anyone to hear—even Sam. Even Cas.
"Do you remember telling me that I've got you? That you'd stick around?" Dean asked finally. "You know, that night when you patched up my wound?"
"I remember, Dean."
"Right… I just. I know what you said. But I uh, I still lack a little faith, you know?"
"Faith?" Castiel couldn't follow. And he searched Dean's face for any sign as to what he meant. He wanted desperately to understand as Dean's tone recognisably darkened and his words faded into one another in hesitant mumblings.
"Faith in you. Or rather, us," Dean said and winced. "That sounds so shit. I know. I just mean—"
"That you don't trust me?" Cas was hurt. But, worse still, he wasn't all that surprised.
Behind every action, in every word, and spawning every thought, was the belief that he wasn't to be trusted. That his past faults were too great to be overlooked. Or to be forgiven. He found himself to be someone who somehow, someway, always repeated history. He always made a mistake of some kind. A mistake that could never be withdrawn or forgotten.
The tragedies his actions brought into light weren't something he could fix, despite desperately wanting to. And so he didn't hesitate to believe that Dean still, after all this time and after everything they had done and had become, hadn't found a way to trust him.
"That's not it. I'm just worried that maybe, if push comes to shove, you'll pick them," Dean said. The hunter gnawed on his lip. His fists clenched and unclenched. His jaw tensed. "I'm worried that something will happen and you won't be there anymore."
Cas blinked in disturbed surprise.
"You think I'd leave you?"
"If you got your grace back, maybe. And look, Cas, I wouldn't blame you."
"I would," Cas said sternly, "if I left you for anything, I'd forever blame myself. And I'd expect you to do the same."
"It wouldn't be your fault. It's just the way it is, you know? You still think of them as family," Dean scooted closer to Castiel and held onto his wrists, trying frantically to explain in a way that would hurt him the least. What Dean didn't seem to grasp was the fact that Cas already felt the edges of himself dying a little. Broken at the thought that Dean could ever believe Castiel was capable of abandoning him now.
"Dean. I'm only going to say this once," Cas leaned forward and nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean's neck. He clenched his eyes shut tight. "You asked me to stay. I promised you I would. I have every intention to keep my promise."
Dean buried his nose in Castiel's hair and breathed him in, slowly pulling Cas into his arms and embracing him lovingly and protectively against his chest.
Cas often displayed his affection through action rather than words. He expressed his devotion best through touch. And as he placed one delicate kiss on the skin of Dean's neck—his lips lingering there for a few moments too long—he felt Dean's body soften against his. He felt the weight lift from Dean's shoulders as the promise washed over them both in the warmth of each other's arms.
"Let's go home, Cas," Dean whispered finally.
Somehow, Dean always understood.
Thanks so much for reading, guys! I'll admit I originally had another ending in mind, but I was finding that I was starting to lose heart in it. I didn't want to draw it out further because I knew I'd lose any and all sense of what I was trying to do. While I feel this ending is rather abrupt, I think it shows that there are still doubts lingering beneath the surface. And future problems to face. And things that would eventually try to pull one another apart. And it's up to your interpretation as to whether they will keep the promises they make.
I hoped you liked this story. And if not, then I hope you'll like my next one better. (I have another project under works, but it may be some time before it sees the light of day... but stay tuned!)
