Have no fear! I have not crossed over to the wincest side, just taking a short vacation, checking out the scenery, sampling the kink buffet. I'm still working on my destiel fics.

Also, if you haven't voted in the eonline poll today...sorry, but, this is not for you :P

When Castiel wakes up, the morning light playing on the cave wall is the first thing he sees. He cannot for the life of him recall ever feeling this way upon waking. But, his very skin seems to hum with the knowledge that this day, this day is going to be a gift. Could it be he's forgotten a celebration? An event? In the fraction of a second before he is fully awake, Castiel decides that this strange, soaring feeling in his stomach, must be what the bride and her groom feel on the day of their wedding.

Then, he turns onto his back, looking away from the white light on the dark stone, and finds himself staring into a pair of green eyes.

Castiel blinks, disturbed to find Dean leaning up beside him, watching him as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Then Dean's hand moves under the coverings that swaddle them both, and Castiel feels it's warm roughness against his belly. His body tenses, and he remembers losing his loose breeches, remembers his own shame at finding himself undone by a simple dream. He remembers the horrific transformation he had witnessed.

"Dean?"

The other man responds, his eyes clearing at Castiel's recognition. The hand on his belly moves to press over his heart, and Castiel feels a bare leg press between his own.

It is only then that he remembers that Dean is naked.

Castiel struggles from the bed as quickly as he can, and, wrapping his arms around himself, he looks down at where Dean is lying, an expression of deep confusion on his face. The blankets and skins around him gape in Castiel's absence, and he finds that he can see all the way down Dean's broad chest, to his deprived stomach, and his sex. A territory that Castiel's eyes devour despite himself.

He turns away, red faced and shamed, and sees the discarded and crumpled woven breeches on the ground. Castiel snatches up the fabric and turns back to Dean with averted eyes. He drops the clump of fabric onto the bed.

"Here, put these on."

When he hears no answering movement, he chances a look, and finds Dean still watching him, the clothing left untouched.

"Do you understand me?" Castiel says, frustration winning out over helplessness.

"Yes."

Castiel very nearly jumps in fright. He contains the impulse, if barely. "Then dress."

"No."

Castiel hesitates, his eyes locked with Dean's, and he is filled with the sudden knowledge that, whatever is about to happen, he has no hope of escaping it.

This does not mean that he doesn't try.

Castiel bolts, quick as a threatened deer, and very nearly makes it past Dean and out into the cave proper. But, he is not fast enough, and no match for the strength of the hands that catch at his waist, hauling him back and down.

Castiel finds his bare legs spread, knees on either side of Dean's own legs, bared by the slipping of the furs. The skins are bunched beneath him, and Castiel is subjected to the rude brush of fur on his backside. His main focus however, is on Dean.

He's unprepared for the assault of sensations when they come, the way Dean presses his mouth to the join in his neck and shoulder, sending an array of sudden feelings through him. Neither does he expect the movement of Dean's hands, pushing the ridiculously oversized shirt up, to elicit such a pleasant reaction. The shirt is so baggy that it hangs off of Castiel's shoulder, and Dean buries his face there, mouth travelling hungrily from throat to shoulder, then lower, laving his collarbone, he chest...until his mouth (deceptively soft for one so strong, for what was once an animal so vicious) embraces the risen nub there. Castiel cannot help the sound that comes from his mouth, a bolt of pleasure, heretofore unexperienced, almost tears him in half. He finds himself pushing Dean's shoulder, trying to escape the feeling, as good as pure sin, as unbearable as torture. Dean resists, and the answering swipe of teeth over the soft flesh in his mouth has Castiel shaking.

He barely notices when Dean pushes him backwards, laying him out on the rumpled furs and holding him there with the weight of his body. His physical excitement is what jolts Castiel from the daze visited on him by lust, and he struggles one more against Dean's bulk.

Dean holds him down without seeming exertion, and Castiel is reminded of how weak he is in comparison. The other man seems completely unaware of his fear, intent instead on pressing the evidence of his disturbing passion to Castiel's own rebellious member.

"I can't..." Castiel gasps, feeling the touch of that intimate flesh on his own, a divine kiss. "I can't, please..."

Later he will think on this, and recall that he did not ask, 'Stop' or demand 'No' neither did he profess his lack of desire.

All he could say was, "I can't", as tears found their way into his eyes, tears of pain as everything he wanted, fought everything he believed was right and good.

It takes a moment for Castiel to realise that Dean is no longer touching him amorously, and still longer to notice the gentle touch of fingers on his wet cheeks.

"Crying." Dean says softly. "Why?"

Castiel breathes, the air filling his chest, in out, in out. But he cannot form words, cannot explain everything that is so very wrong with him. He can't. And the mere thought of Dean moving away from him, hurts like nothing else. But the thought of him continuing to mate him is still more painful.

Dean looks down at Castiel.

Castiel's eyes are a colour. It's been a long time since Dean saw colours, anything other than shadows and light. He can't remember the name of it, but he knows it's rare. There are only a few birds of that colour, fewer flowers, still fewer animals. It's the colour of the sky, when the ground is dry and the sun is hot.

Castiel's eyes are sad too.

He doesn't know why, he's heard Castiel tell him about 'rules' and 'men' and 'the book' things that Castiel thinks are important. But, Castiel belongs to him, not to other men, not to their book, so why should it matter? Castiel is his, and Dean is Castiel's – that is the way it is. This, what Dean wants to do, now, is for them only. Only they will see, only they will know, it is nothing to do with anyone else.

Dean's instincts are a tangled mess. They tell him that Castiel is his mate, that he is a beta, that it is Dean's right to mate him, and have him bear his pups. The rest of them tell Dean that Castiel is a man, and that right now, his mate is a frightened, hurt man – who needs him.

Dean lays his head down on Castiel's chest, and allows his body to go limp, his better instincts triumphing.

Castiel shakes and sobs and shivers, but he does not push him away.

Dean understands speech, that skill never really left him, thanks to Sam. But...the words are slow in coming to him, and, like a dull tool, they were frustrating to use.

Still, when Castiel begins to speak, Dean concentrates so hard, that his brow furrows, and his blunt teeth worry his lip.

"Why did this happen?" Castiel says. "I was good, I believed in God, and doing right...living my life by His rules...and still I was driven out of my country, persecuted in this...strange new place...almost put to death. And...now, I find that I am spared, by God...but left here, tempted."

Dean does not understand 'God' it's a thing that continues to frustrate him. Sam, who knew more about the settlers even when they were younger, and even his mother, had tried to explain the idea of God to him. God was a man who lived in the sky, and who rewarded you for being good, and punished the wicked. He had created everything, and everything on earth he had given to man. Man ruled the animals, and the earth.

But...Dean was an animal, did that mean he belonged to all men, everywhere? And where in 'the book' had God created things like him? No one in it was like him, or his father, or his mother. It was a stupid story.

Castiel was sad because of the story, because this, the two of them, wasn't in 'the book', and so he thought it was against the rules. The rules God had made.

Dean knew that things were different in the world to how they were in the stories his mother used to tell. In the stories there were huge floods, and water that turned into blood or wine, a magic horn that destroyed cities, and people turned into heaps of salt. There were angels, and the devil – and Dean had never seen either one of those things. He'd only ever seen strange birds, and snakes.

But he does not know how to explain all this to Castiel. That things did not happen like in stories. They happened because people made them happen – and they either hurt or helped, pained or pleasured.

"I don't want to be here." Castiel says, and Dean understands that perfectly, holds Castiel a little tighter and is relived when the other man does not pull away. "I want...a place to call my own, a home and a family...but I have never wanted a wife. Now...now I think I know why, but, that does not make it right to..." Castiel lets out a shuddery breath.

Dean knows that wives are like mates, and they have children. He's glad that Castiel does not want one. Castiel should not want to find anyone, because Dean had already found him.

"I can't do this." Castiel says, brokenly. "I cannot allow this to happen, I can't give in, I have to...fight this...please." He starts to move, pulling away, desperation colouring his words, and Dean holds him down, holds him there until Castiel looks up at him, his rare-coloured eyes wet again. "I have to be good, clean. And I have to go." Castiel whispers, "I have to...make this better, I have to go back to civilisation...they can fix this...they can..." He swallows. "There are righteous people. In places where I won't be tempted." He struggles to keep his eyes on Dean's. "You don't know of Hell, of the terrible things that will happen to me if I let this take over...I want to go to heaven, to...oh..." He searches for words, but Dean already knows what heaven is. A good place. A place for good kind people, like his mother.

Castiel is good, and kind. Why should it matter that he is good and kind to Dean, and not to a wife? Goodness. Like God-ness. Words are too tricksome.

"Heaven is...when we die, we go there to be with God...it's a good place." Castiel tells him.

There are so many things that Dean would say, if he knew the words for them. He would say that Castiel is his, that he wants him, needs him. That this is nothing unnatural, but the most natural thing in the world. That without Castiel, he will be in Hell. That everything he wants is right here, and if it is taken from him, then he will change back, become an animal again, and walk right into a settlement, to be shot and nailed to the wall as a trophy.

What he says instead, are the only words he can marshal that seem to come from the place inside of him that aches with a pain that is somehow, a good one.

"You want to be with God?" He asks.

"Very much." Castiel tells him.

"Because you love God, God loves you."

"God loves all his children...even the flawed ones."

Dean thinks about that word 'love'. How it means how God feels, and how his mother felt for his father, but also for him and Sam. And how Dean feels for Sam, but also for warm days and hot food.

"But not like I love you."

Castiel looks at him, surprise on his face.

Dean repeats himself.

"God loves you. But not like I do." He struggles with his meaning, what he wants to say is that...Castiel will be alone, and cold, and sad. Until he dies, and only then will God love him, and be with him. Dean will love Castiel another way. The way that keeps him warm at night, and fed. That keeps him happy, and does not make him cry. He will love him even when he is a man that walks on the dirt, rather than living in the sky. He will love him, and make him sigh, and shiver, and make the sounds he had made when Dean kissed him under his shirt.

He tries to make sense of it in words.

"I will love you, even if you go." Dean says, "When you go to be with good people. I will love you. When you hate what I am. I will love you. When you die. I will love you. And when I die, you think I will be in Hell. Then I will go there. And I will love you."

Castiel looks at him, and Dean looks back, and thinks that, if God thinks Castiel looking at him like that is bad – then God is wrong. Because it is the best way anyone has ever looked at him. Like he is important, and special, clever and loved.

Castiel doesn't move, but Dean senses a change in the way they are aligned, just before Castiel opens his mouth, just a little, the slight parting of lips.

All of Dean's instincts tell him what he already knows.

Castiel is his.

He leans forwards, and this time, when he kisses him, there are no tears.