Approximately a Month Ago:
Cas will always remember the first time he realized he loved Dean Winchester. It started with a dream.
Castiel can feel the sunshine paint his face with its warmth. A sweet, gentle breeze ruffles his hair. He is stretched out on the ground, sunken into the overgrown grass, pillowing his head on his hands, with his legs crossed. He can smell Dean, who is using his stomach as a pillow, and hear his slow exhales. Cas sighs in contentment. He doesn't know where they are, but it's warm and soft and hazy. Dean rolls over onto his side, looking up at Cas. He opens his eyes slowly, and smiles beatifically. Dean is so light, easy here, like a weight has been removed. Cas feels so clean, pure of soul and free of guilt that it makes Castiel realize he must be dreaming. It's not real.
He wakes up in his own bed, alone. Despite the crisp, clean sheets and warm air something is missing, something important from the dream world that set him at ease and was a comfort to his troubled soul. A fundamental fault or difference in this universe as compared to the dream world. Something changed in the atoms, the souls, and the natures of men here. Castiel breathes all at once again. He decides it must be Dean. Cas hasn't slept so well in weeks, yet here he dreams about Dean and suddenly he's out like a light. Not bothering to get out of bed, Cas reaches for his phone. He checks the time, finding it almost 3 in the morning. Which is rather inconvenient.
Despite his better judgment and common sense, he texts Dean, rather than calling him. He doesn't expect an answer, yet a split second later the screen lights up and he slithers out of the cold, dry bed and runs to slip on his boots.
They've only been officially dating for a few weeks, but it's been a few of the best weeks of his life. Dean is genuine and caring and if Cas isn't careful he might just fall hopelessly in love with the green-eyed wonder.
Cas sneaks out of his dorm, sticking to shadows despite how deserted the place is. He's only been to Dean's apartment a few times, but he remembers the way perfectly. Before he knows it, he's shivering outside the front doors in just his sweatpants, pajama top, trench coat, and thick winter hiking boots. He pushes the buzzer and the door unlocks. He rushes up the stairs, two at a time. Dean lives on the second floor so it's four flights and Cas is panting by the time he races to the top.
He pounds impatiently on the door, and it swings open to reveal a sleep ruffled Dean in thin pajama pants and no shirt. The pants ride low on his hips, displaying the indents of his hips. For a moment, Cas is caught off guard. Dean's hair is sticking up in all directions, and Dean looks bleary. He blinks a few times before shuffling aside to let the crazed looking Cas into his home. Cas has long since stopped caring what Dean thought of him, being more focused on more important issues. Such as this.
"I apologize for waking you." Cas steps inside as he speaks. Dean nods.
"What was so important it couldn't wait till tomorrow?" He asks, shutting the door and heading into the kitchen area. He pulls a pot of tea off the boiler and pours it into two mugs.
"Mom always said nothing can't be fixed by a good cup of tea." Dean says in response to Cas's blank stare at the hot water in his hands. Cas looks up. Silence falls. He stands in his dripping boots and oversized jacket and after all that fuss, finds he cannot verbalize it. The world became clear to him, the dream prompting a realization of rather great importance, yet here he is, frozen.
Realizing as you lay alone in your bed at three am how madly in love with someone you are is not quite the same as standing in their kitchen at just after three am and saying it to them. Dean is patient though. He sips his tea and hums a Beatles lullaby as he waits. The fluorescent lights blair. The shiny linoleum floor glares. The refrigerator hums along, the rhythm to Dean's melody.
Finally, after what seems like eons, Cas realizes he just can't say it. What if Dean does not feel the same profoundness in their bond? The doubts are too many, and the realization too fresh. Cas sets the mug on the counter and approaches. Maybe he can't quite say it, but he can show it.
"I just needed you. I need you nearby. I need you." He places a hand on Dean's cheek, and watches intently, to catalog the emotions he sees flickering. He doesn't attempt to understand them, but wants to recognize them at the very least. It's not exactly what he feels, but it's close enough, and he hopes Dean understands him. He thinks he does, because Dean's eyes go wide.
Instead of shying away like Cas thought he would, Dean moves even closer, wrapping his arms around Cas. The beauty of Dean is that he never pushes Cas. He takes what Cas will give him, and he is happy with it. Cas thinks his heart may burst, so he swiftly closes his mouth over Dean's.
Dean let's him, before breaking it off to say,
"I'm here. I need you, too. I never thought I would need another person, but I need you. I don't understand why you need me though." And then Cas has to kiss him or let him see how close he is to tears. He thought he could never love again, but here he is. The only problem is he doesn't deserve Dean's love. Dean doesn't know him. He doesn't know what he's done, who he's been. But… they need each other, apparently. And that's enough for now. Life is too short to always be analyzing and overthinking things.
"I just do. Come on." He delves back into
Back into Dean's mouth , running his tongue against Dean's. Dean, ever the alpha male, fights him for it, but Castiel is determined. Dean must break away or submit.
Eventually, Dean's jaw loosens, letting Castiel take the lead. He licks and sucks and nips, leaving Dean panting. Castiel pushes forward, trying to meld his body into Dean, and backs him against the kitchen counter. Dean leans heavily, held up only by the counter behind him and Cas. Cas grips Dean's hips tightly.
After ravishing his mouth for an indeterminate amount of time, Cas breaks away to mouth along Dean's jaw and suck at his pulse point. Dean's head falls back, and he lets out a small noise. Castiel can feel Dean's hands shoving at the wet trench coat still on him, and he lets go of Dean with his hands in order to shed the extra clothing. His mouth stays latched onto Dean. Cas kicks off his shoes and shoves them away.
Dean starts working on his shirt, pulling it up. Its hot, the air around them and between them heating up with their combined arousal. Cas traces over Dean's shoulders, hands running everywhere he can reach. They settle on Dean's ass, and Cas grips him tightly, slotting their erections together. Through the thin pajama pants he can feel how heated Dean is, and he groans. Dean is making small grunts of pleasure, and Cas begins a slow, controlled grind as he kisses the breath out of Dean. He eats up each and every precious sound Dean makes.
They've gotten this far before, some impromptu make out sessions getting very overheated, but Cas has always stopped things from progressing any further. But, tonight, he doesn't care. Dean is gasping so desperately into his ear, and Castiel wants Dean. He wants to be as close as possible both mentally and physically to Dean, he wants everything Dean is. He can feel Dean, his Dean, who needs him and who he needs touching him and he needs more. He breaks away to breathe, never stopping with his slow rhythm, and gasps,
"Dean, do you- do you t-trust me?" Dean nips at Castiel's jugular, and Castiel chokes out, "Dean." And then Dean is looking up at Castiel and placing his hands on Castiel's chest and nodding while maintaining eye contact.
Castiel backs off a few inches, stopping the slow burn of pleasure, about which Dean makes his complaints known. Cas swoops in for a quick kiss, rather chaste after all that, and then walks backwards, leading Dean with his hands on his perfect ass towards the bedroom. When they get halfway there, he has to stop and slam Dean up against the hallway wall for a fast and sloppy kiss. He can't help himself. Dean is his now.
But, Dean trusts him. He must do this right. So he becomes gentler with Dean, easing off him and leading him the rest of the way to the bed. He lays Dean down on his back, legs hanging off the edge. Cas drinks in the sight. Dean's hair is ruffled, from sleep and from his hands gripping it. Dean is flushed, his mouth swollen and slick. His arousal is obvious in his thin pants, a small damp spot appearing. Cas isn't much better off.
Cas removes Dean's pants slowly, mouthing over Dean's erection through the cloth, making Dean fist his hands in the blanket and let out a breathy sigh. He pulls the pajamas all the way off, throwing them in some dark corner. He stops, mouth inches above Dean, breath ghosting over him. He leans down, and at the last second diverts and kisses Dean's inner thigh lightly. Dean whimpers.
Cas intends on working Dean into a frenzy before giving him what he wants. He climbs up over Dean, bracing himself above him so he touches no part of him, and looks him in the eye.
"Dean. I need you to be good. Do not come until I tell you. Can you do that?" Dean looks wide eyed at him, slightly scared, but underneath that there is implicit trust. Dean nods.
"Say it for me." Castiel demands. He is perfectly in control, and this is how he likes it. Dean is his.
"Yes. Cas…" Dean runs his hands up Cas's sides lovingly. The look on his face is a combination of lust and affection. He looks almost… worshipful. It's too much and Cas bends down to slowly explore Dean's mouth again, wiping the look right off his face, leaving him panting and thrusting upwards helplessly. Cas grips Dean's hips, hard enough to bruise lightly, and he growls possessively. He flips Dean onto his stomach.
Cas removes his shirt and spreads Dean's legs as far as they go. He heads over to the bedside table, looking to Dean for confirmation before rummaging around for the lube and condom. He sets the supplies down on the bed next to Dean, who squirms in anticipation. Cas lays a hand softly on the small of Dean's back, just above the gentle swell of his ass. He murmurs in Dean's ear,
"Be still." And Dean is. Dean is so good for him, so patient and trusting. One would never think it to see Dean, the alpha-macho male stereotype of toughness, but he needs a firm and gentle hand to make him truly feel loved. Which, of course, Cas needs have someone to take care of, and worship and love. They're like a puzzle that fits together perfectly.
Cas prepares Dean slowly, drawing it out. He uses one finger to work him open carefully, then adds a second when Dean starts to get really anxious. He lets out the most delicious little noises and Cas relishes in making sure Dean doesn't stop. He loves hearing Dean feel happy.
Dean starts to push back when Cas adds the third finger, and Cas slows to a stop and uses his other hand, previously massaging Dean's lower back and ass, to hold him down.
"Dean, you've been so good for me, but I said to stay still. I'm going to have to change my plan if you can't follow my directions."
"No! Cas… please… I-I can be good. Let me- I can show you, please!" Dean pants. Cas can see the bed beneath Dean is beginning to soak through. Cas has been ignoring his own arousal in favor of taking care of Dean, but he feels it acutely now. He needs this just as much as Dean.
Dean flattens out completely, fisting the sheets and spreading his legs even wider. Cas's pupils dilate even further, and he can't help but let out a small groan of desperation. Dean is so perfect, displaying himself for Cas, and all his. Cas has always had a possessive streak, but with Dean it's becoming downright dominating.
At two fingers he had found Dean's prostate, Dean jerking up in surprise, throwing his head back slightly and gasping delightfully, but Cas avoided it in order to help Dean not come before he was allowed to. He looked down again at Dean, spread and ready, with three fingers stretching him out and started slowly moving his hands again. He stroked over the prostrate again, relishing in the shudder that wracked Dean's entire frame in response.
"Alright, Dean. This time I'll let it slide, but next time you will need to face the repercussions." Both Dean and Cas shiver and moan at that promise; the promise of skin pinked and tingling from punishment, the promise of the burn of a slow and torturous pace. But now was not the time for that. They are both far too desperate for that.
So, Cas nudges Dean up the bed, following him and kneeling between his legs. He gently guides Dean into a position facing him, and lays him back. On his way up the bed he stops and grabs a pillow, placing it underneath Dean's hips. He smirks up at Dean as he lifts his hip, and Dean winks at him. He settles between Dean's legs, stomach to stomach and kisses him within an inch of his life.
Dean reaches down between them, and grasps Cas's hip desperately. Cas slowly mouths down Dean's chest, teasing him.
Finally, he slides back up and slides inside slowly. He holds Dean's legs up with one arm, the other hand reaching up to cup Dean's face.
"Look at me Dean. Don't close your eyes." Dean struggles, but keeps his eyes open. Locked in a staring match far too intimate for Dean's taste, they move together.
Afterwards, sweaty and filled with a light feeling which could only be described as happiness, Cas snuggles into Dean's arms, falling asleep while sharing their body heat. Cas tangles their arms and legs together so tightly; he can't tell where he Dean begins and where he ends. Just before drifting off, Dean whispers into Cas's hair,
"I need you. I shouldn't, but I do." He kisses Cas lightly and then they fall asleep together.
Present Time:
Castiel has barely heard from Dean for a week. He worries, sure, but Dean isn't even in the state, so he assumes he's busy with his brother or something. In any case, whenever he feels too lonely or he sees something that reminds him of his Dean, he sends him a text or picture. It's not more than once or twice a day, but it keeps them in contact, and Dean's enthusiastic replies leave Castiel smiling stupidly for hours.
To occupy his free time, Castiel reconnects with Anna and Gabe, and has lunch with Missouri sometimes. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he meets with Pamela, although she insists he call her 'Pam'. He ignores this direction. He spends his time at the library or working, the break making the club surprisingly busy, even on weeknights. Cas is on a break when an unwelcome face joins him.
"Castiel. It's been a long time." Alistair's lisp and nasal-y voice rattle in his ear. The puff of breath ghosted over his neck, and Castiel spasms. He never thought he would hear that voice again. The proximity throws Castiel. He flashes back to being strapped down and tortured, how gentle Alistair's voice had been, breath caressing him in the same way as when Alistair bent over him to reach for his second smallest scalpel and forceps when he was eleven. It's been nine years, but Castiel is far from free of his clutches, apparently. He shakes the memory away.
"I'm so glad they forced you to remain close by. Made it so much easier to find you." Alistair slid into the seat in front of Cas. He puts up money and is passed a drink. It's pushing midnight, and the club is packed. The college students trying to cram in as much fun as they possibly can before going back to school. The room is dark, but Alistair is lit up from the small red lights flashing all over the club. Drenched in the red light, Alistair looks positively demonic. Very fitting, Cas thinks.
"What do you want from me?" He allows a bit more of a growl to slip into his voice, subtly standing straighter and trying to exude an air of power and command. It's the only thing Alistair responds to, other than depravities. Alistair laughs and sips his drink. The lights flash, the people thrash, and Alistair watches them with all the calm interest of a lazy, yet hungry lion. They are so unaware of the predator within their midst. The college girls and boys are drunk and unaware of how short their lives may actually be at this particular moment.
"I think I should be asking you that question. I have something. Something you put a claim to." Alistair peeks out of the corner of his eye at Cas, grinning when he notices his confusion. He returns to his study of the lowly humans.
"Think back, it was a while ago. But you're message was quite clear, my dear. The incident with a certain Mr. Fergus Crowley?" Cas's brow furrows in thought. He had stabbed Crowley when he had threatened Dean… Dean. It was Dean. Alistair was claiming to have-
"Dean!" Cas groaned in despair.
"Yes!" Alistair exclaimed in delight.
"Yes, you're precious Dean-o. We've been having such fun, Cassie. Just like when you were mine, but… not quite as pathetic." Alistair finished his drink. Cas sat in shock, rage paralyzing him. He wanted to behead Alistair, but… he didn't know where Dean was being kept, and Alistair was better at hand to hand combat than him since he hadn't kept in fighting shape at all over the last two years. He couldn't help Dean if he was dead or had no idea where he was being held. He clenched his hands, the tendons on his arms standing out. He gripped the drink so hard, it shattered, water spilling all over the bar and embedding glass shards in his hand.
"So, I've got a bit of a conundrum on my hands, here. Your boy here won't give you up. We keep telling him and telling him and showing him fake proof of your alleged and oh, so tragic death, but he just… keeps his faith in you. Wants to 'save you, please god'. "Alistair pauses to bend over snickering. When he regains his composure he says, "It's completely pathetic, but, well, I give you good credit for stringing him along so completely, I suppose."
"Ho- how do you mean?" Cas's voice breaks but he needs to get as much information as he can so he persists.
"Well, I know you, Cassie. I molded your soul. You aren't capable of loving. I made sure of that, and so did Naomi. It's an empirical weakness, as we've always told you, and here it is, being used against you. That boy doesn't know you don't love him, but he sure loves you." Alistair hisses like a snake, the last of his words curling up like smoke into a singsong voice at the ends.
"Where is he?" Cas knows it's futile to ask, but he has to. He has never felt so powerless. He picks the last of the glass from his hand and wraps it in a cloth napkin.
"Ah, Ah, Ah, not gonna happen, Cassie, dear. Come on, you know me better than that. I just needed a bit of your blood…" He picks up the glass shards Castiel pulled out of his hand, and places them into a bag.
"It's not like he'll recognize me from my blood." Castiel points out helpfully and desperate.
"True, but he will be able to run this against your DNA at his apartment, using the FBI records from your oh, so convenient immunity deal when you flipped on us like a slutty dog getting a belly rub, and confirm your death." Alistair grins at him, straightening up and tucking the bag into his breast pocket.
"Thanks for all the help, Cassie." He pats Castiel on his cheek, and Castiel flinches away. He wonders if they intend on letting Dean go in order to do this, which will prove stupid since Castiel can just take him and run. Unfortunately, as Alistair waltzes out the door, six thugs approach, two of which are his own siblings, Uriel and Raphael. Uriel and Raphael do the honors, taking him by the arms and leading him out the door and into their car. He could try to struggle, but Raphael and Uriel were trained just as well as he was, and there are just too many to fight off.
When they reach the car, instead of shoving him in the back seat, they pop the trunk, and Uriel produces a rag drenched in the strong, yet familiar scent of chloroform. Cas struggles, but is eventually sedated and stowed in the small compartment.