Chapter Eleven

It only takes a couple of minutes for it to end, but it feels like hours.

Feels like hours of clenching his hands into fists, of struggling to keep from reaching out - knowing it will only worsen the situation. Feels like hours of just listening, of hearing every little sound that Castiel makes, of watching as he writhes in pain and then finally, finally falls still, curled up on the ground in the fetal position. Only three minutes have passed, and it's already over.

Still, even then, Dean can't seem to make himself move.

What has he done? What kind of person would do that to a child? He sits with his back to one of the twin beds, knees drawn up and head in his hands the entire time and if there is one thing in this life he regrets, it is this right here. Sick, twisted. Deranged.

He's ashamed of what happened with Alastair, no doubt about it. He turned into someone that truly deserved to be locked up, maybe kept in a straitjacket for the rest of his life - he knows this, he wears it around him constantly like a cloak. But at the same time, Dean has always recognized that Alastair deserved it. He'd been locked up for days at that point, been tortured in ways he'd never known existed - had seen his best friend and partner murdered, all for the purpose of turning Dean into Alastair's pupil or whatever the fuck was his reasoning - so yes, when Dean had sunk his knife into Alastair's skin for the first time and felt a feverish joy, he had excused it on the basis that, of anyone in the world, Alastair deserved it most of all.

But Cas? His innocent partner who has done all he possibly can to try and please Dean? Cas?

There's a terrible little thought that's been niggling at him throughout the whole process - squirming into his brain and refusing to leave him alone and that terrible little thought finally settles down in the forefront of his mind, heavy and despised and the harsh truth: You don't want another man's hands on him.

Jealous. Is that what he was? Is that what this is about? If so, it's even worse than before. He's fourteen goddamn years old older than him - he's his superior, his co-worker, he's wrong wrong wrong in every way for Castiel. And he fucking hates the idea of someone else taking advantage of him.

No, says a snide little voice. Because that's your job, isn't it? Your job to molest him.

I haven't molested him, he argues silently back, which is thankfully true - but that doesn't mean if he was approached, he would turn it down. A willing Castiel… but no, he can't think of that now, guilt-ridden and self-resentful. Disgusted with himself. Imagining over and over the line of bodies with his name on them.

A death wish, he thinks. That's what he is. Anyone that chooses to be around him - that's all they ever get from him, in the end. A death wish, a bounty on their head.

What would Jo do to him right now if she saw him like this? If she heard the thoughts running loose in his head? Probably kick his ass for it. Definitely not feel sorry for him. First thing she'd tell him is, "Fix this," no question about it.

But how? he wonders. What do you want me to do?

But Jo had never been one for giving solutions that easily; no, she liked to make people work for things, him especially, and in his imagination she merely gives him a hard little smile before wandering off.

Across the room, Castiel abruptly stirs and makes a weak sound that vaguely come across as, "Water."

He's up and moving before he can think, dashing to the bathroom to get one of the dusty glass cups the motel provides and filling it halfway before darting back out to crouch over the trembling boy. "Here - water, take it."

Castiel slowly twists up, reaching for it, and his eyes are bloodshot and puffy, like he's been crying hard. The glass shakes as he takes it, but it doesn't spill and he drinks the whole thing down in two long gulps, his throat working as he swallows. "More," he says, and doesn't look at Dean.

This time, he fills the glass to the brim and takes it to him a little more cautiously, handing it to him and then taking a step back as he allows the dark-haired boy his space. Castiel once more gulps it down and then places it on the floor and looks away, looking hunted.

He doesn't know what to say or if it's okay for him to even speak - and he stands back up, staring down at him for a moment. "Is… is it still hurting?" he finally asks.

"Please," whispers Castiel in a hoarse voice, not looking at him. "Please don't report me to the OBIT."

It breaks him.

"Cas - Cas, I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't know what they did, I swear I didn't know," says Dean desperately, stepping forward and then coming to an abrupt halt as Castiel scrambles backwards away from his, entire body tense and face fearful. Because what kind of monster does that? He knew the pills were from the OBIT - what else could they do, but inflict tormenting pain? And even if they had only produced a small headache, Castiel had only done what he'd done for the mission. For Dean, in his own twisted way.

And what had Dean done about it? Betrayed him. Punished him for doing what he thought was the right thing. Out of some sick jealousy.

"Cas," whispers Dean, and blue eyes flicker up to his, still wide with pain and fear. Dean's own beg for forgiveness, plead for reprieve. "Cas, please. Please just - " slowly he bends down, still a few feet away, and stares at Cas on his knees. "Please," he says again, like a mantra. He pitches his voice down low and soothing, like Cas is a wild animal with his hackles up. "I won't do it again. I'll never hurt you again. Cas, please. I'm sorry."

He shifts forward a tiny increment at a time, hearing each shaky breath exhaled and inhaled from the boy in front of him, and then finally he's close enough to reach out and touch him; he brings his arm up, his hand hanging in the air for a moment in a wordless question. Castiel stares at him, frozen with his arms wrapped around his legs and his shoulders hunched forward, and then closes his eyes, a silent acquiescence.

Dean touches his hair first - slowly drawing his fingers through it the way Sammy used to always crave, sliding his fingers through the dark strands. Castiel shudders at the first touch and then grows still, eyes tightly shut, body held tense.

"I'm sorry, baby," says Dean in a low voice, and doesn't stop. He strokes his fingers through Castiel's hair, dragging his fingers against his scalp slow and steadily. The tension in the air seems to dip a little, dropping just barely as the tension in Castiel's body lessens slightly. "Is this okay?"

A pause. Then, the slightest nod.

"Can I do… more?"

His breath catches in his throat at the question and for a second he thinks Castiel is going to draw away - but then he nods again, eyes still closed, and he drags Castiel towards him, pulls him in between his legs until his back is pressed against Dean's front and wraps his arms around him. "You're safe now, you're okay. I'll never do it again, I promise, I promise they'll never have you. What do you need from me? What do you want from me?"

"Keep touching me," says Castiel in a ravaged voice, finally lifting his head up though his eyes are still pressed tightly shut.

"Okay," whispers Dean. He strokes his fingers through Castiel's hair, repeatedly, soothingly, and slowly feels the hard tension lessen in the boy before him. Dragging his fingers against Castiel's scalp, clearing out the tangles in the dark hair. Like petting a cat, his other arm wrapped snugly around Castiel's side. They're both quiet for a moment, and the tension drops again, just barely. He can hear Castiel's heartbeat rocketing against his chest, and hums a little soothingly, his fingers still methodically dragging through the boy's hair. Time creeps forward. Slowly, Castiel's heart rate lessen. His breathing evens out. His skin cools, and his body relaxes. And then, almost unthinkingly, he leans forward and presses his lips briefly against the nape of his neck. It's a silent apology, a plea for forgiveness, but it is also because there's something sweet and vulnerable about this place that just begs for his lips to touch it.

They both instantly freeze.

"I - shit, Cas, I didn't mean to -" he begins, automatically drawing away with a horrified expression, and then suddenly Castiel's hand shoots out, clutching Dean's wrist and holding him still.

"Don't," he says in a low voice. His eyes are still shut, like a child. Like maybe if he doesn't open them, it's not really happening.

"Don't what?" Dean asks, afraid to hear the answer.

"Don't move."

Cautiously, Dean relaxes back against him, staring into the dark-hair so close to his eyes. Castiel's head tips back towards him slightly and after a moment Dean lifts his hand, running it through his hair again. The silence is so heavy he can almost feel it pressing painfully in on him from all sides, like a tangible force. He can't move. He just - he just, and Castiel told him not to move - his mind whirls. There is absolutely no way on this fucking earth that this is happening right now. Too much all at once; his head spins.

"Can you - can you, Dean -"

"What?" whispers Dean. "What do you want? Anything, sweetheart, I promise."

"Can you… do it again?"

Dean sucks in a harsh breath and everything in the room spins for a moment as he tries to process the request made by the seventeen-year-old before him. The age difference alone is enough to give him pause - but look at what's he done, look at how he's hurt him - how can this possibly be what Castiel wants? He can't take advantage of him, not like this - and then Castiel shudders in his arms, opening his eyes finally and looking up at him with pleading, longing eyes.

"Dean," he rasps out. "I - I need it. Please."

This is what he wants. What will maybe erase the mind-numbing pain produced by the pill. Slowly, Dean drags his hand down Castiel's face then tilts Castiel's head back, his eyes locked on the parted lips so close to his own. "Tell me you really want this," he whispers hoarsely.

Castiel's eyes flutter closed for a moment and then open again to lock onto Dean's, burning hot. "I really want this."

Unconsciously, almost in response to this, his thumb strokes his cheekbone, brushing the silk skin almost too lightly to feel before leaning forward with half-shut eyes and kissing him. It is an agonizing kiss, as light as it is, and he doesn't do much more than drag his lips over Castiel's, breathing into his taste. It feels like a sob. It isn't forceful or heady or controlling - it is I'm here and I'm sorry and I think I might need you all at once, slow and tender.

It is then that Dean Winchester makes the decision to erase the OBIT. To erase what he's done.

He is beautiful to him then - before, he had been a vague, secret fantasy that Dean would have never spoken aloud to anyone. A teenager, incompetent and too young. Nothing special. Now, though, he is excruciatingly vibrant, he is the sunset as it burns from deep orange to a flaming red, casting everything else in deep shadow before him. Castiel's lips are firm against his, just as he'd tried so hard not to imagine, and he draws his bottom lip into his mouth just for a fleeting moment, sucking down on it before releasing it and letting out a shaky breath all at the same time. "Tell me you want this," he says again in a low voice, eyes closed as he leans his forehead against Castiel's. "Tell me you have to have this."

There is no hesitation in his voice as he says, "I have to have this, Dean. Dean." He shifts, turning around and putting his hands on either side of Dean's face as he leans in and kisses him again, far more forceful than Dean ever expected. His voice is a jagged whisper when he pulls away again. "All of it."

His whisper shudders through Dean and all the lust he's been stifling comes raging back in a tidal wave - but even as his fingers push Castiel's shirt up to count his ribs, even as he leans in and kissed a hot line of kisses down his razor sharp jawline, he still remembers his ultimate goal in this. His mouth finds Castiel's neck now and he draws his skin in between his teeth, biting down hard and then lathing over the sore spot with his tongue generously - and then his mouth is at Castiel's ear, breathing out, "I'm not going to fuck you, Castiel. When you come, it won't be dirty or forgotten in an hour, washed away in the shower. I'm going to give you everything you need, Cas, and you will," he draws his earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it for a moment before releasing it and he wants to imprint himself onto every part of his body, "you will never forget what I do to you, and when you come, the goddamn angels will cry."

He kisses him again, tongue finally pressing into his mouth, tasting something sweet and painfully forgotten, like the last note of a love song.

"Dean," gasps Castiel, his voice coming out raw. "Dean, please. Now. I need all of you now."

"Come on," says Dean roughly, and gets up, reaching out a hand to pull Castiel up off the floor. "On the bed."

Castiel looks at him for a moment, standing there with his reddened lips and mussed hair from Dean's fingers. There is a longing in his eyes that starts up a fire in Dean's stomach. Slowly he reaches up and unbuttons his shirt, his eyes latched to Dean's as he goes one by one. Then his shirt's hanging open and he shrugs out of it, letting it fall in a heap to the floor before he moves to sit down on the edge of the bed.

His chest is smooth except for one little trail of hair leading from his navel to his pants; his muscles are tight and the jut of his hips drags Dean's eyes down. He is sharp angles all over, like a razor blade that Dean wants to cut himself on, just to see how deep he'll bleed. His eyes are dark and focused intently on Dean, watching his every movement. It makes Dean ache. Compared to Dean, with his scars and his grief and his guilt, Castiel looks pretty and pristine.

"Back," Dean says softly. "Lay down. Middle of the bed."

The air thickens around them as Castiel slides back to comply. This isn't rushed and panicked any more. It's slow. Deliberate. There is no turning back.

Dean crawls up on the bed, crawls over Castiel and murmurs, "Gorgeous," the mere word sending Castiel arching up the bed towards him. Does he know? "Do you realize what you do to me? The thoughts you put in my head?"

"You're wrong," says Castiel, as though he can't seem to help himself.

"I'm not," says Dean.

He really doesn't believe it. He doesn't see it. He has been told all his life that he is a tool, a test subject, an unimportant hive worker, with no reason to ever see himself as the glorious piece of art he really is.

Dean wants to make him see it. "You drive me crazy. Without even goddamn meaning to. Fuck, Cas. You've been on my mind for weeks now."

"Can't be true," says Castiel.

"Why not?"

"Why didn't you do something before now?"

"I was - I didn't know if you wanted to me. It's wrong, Cas," Dean ducks his head. "Even if you want this, it's still wrong."

Soft hands come up and land in his hair, tentatively moving through the strands. "Please."

He leans down with some hesitation, tongue coming out once more as he drags it roughly over one pebbled nipple. A moment more and he draws it into his mouth, sucking hard - feeling it harden further in his mouth, and Castiel gasps, his fingers tightening against Dean's hair. He turns to repeat the process with the other nipple.

He lets his weight settle on Castiel fully now, straddling his hips, and he can feel Castiel's erection pulsing through his jeans, aching for release. The teenager is laid out before him and for a moment he feels like a conqueror - because he has been closed off from the moment they met, he has always been fierce and now Dean has made him fragile. "Have you forgiven me yet?"

"I don't know yet. I won't, if you don't hurry up."

Dean says, "Well, in that case," and leans down, flattening out against the lithe body beneath him as he places his forearms flat on the bed on either side of Cas and kisses him deeply, searchingly. He rocks his hips against Cas's, loving the breathy whimpers that Castiel makes with each movement, and then draws away long enough to sit up and pull his shirt off, wanting to feel skin against skin.

Once his shirt is off, he immediately reaches for his jeans, unbuttoning them and then jerking them down - and a quick glance reveals Castiel is working on his pair as well, the heat in the room thickening in anticipation. There's a bit of a scuffle as they both struggle to get their pants off - and then they're both nearly naked, Dean in his blue boxers and Castiel in little white underwear.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," Dean tells him, and then shifts back on the bed so that he is between Castiel's feet. The teenager props himself up on his elbows to look down at Dean, his expression unreadable. "Please let me."

After a moment, Castiel nods, and Dean sucks in a quick breath and then moves, his hands skimming up Castiel's calves and feeling the muscles flex and tighten under his palms. He moves slowly, sliding his hands up Cas's legs, dragging his fingertips over the open skin and pausing at his knees, pushing his legs up into a bend with his strong hands - pressing a warm, tender kiss on the inside of Castiel's knee and then further up, down his thigh towards his underwear. He kisses the area just underneath his navel, fingers digging into Castiel's sharp hipbones, and then kisses his hip. Kisses his pelvis, kisses the trail of dark hair leading into his underwear, kisses the edge of one rib until Castiel is panting loudly beneath him. And finally, finally he drags his underwear down and takes in the sight of the pretty pink cock nestled there, perfectly erect and shining at the tip with pearly pre-come.

"Beautiful," says Dean, and presses a kiss to his hipbone again. He looks up at Castiel. "What can I do to you?"

"Anything," says Castiel, and the expressionless look is gone now - he looks needy, hungry, aching. "Do anything to me."

"God, you need it," Dean marvels.

"I need it," pants Castiel, lift his hips up slightly as though unable to stop himself. "Need you."

"Please forgive me," says Dean, and then leans in and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss right at the base of Castiel's cock. Cas whimpers, and Dean does it again, and again, kissing his way up to the head.

It's been a while since he's done to this for someone - since those early days in college when he was fucking everyone at every chance he got - but he still remembers what feels good, what other people like, and so he doesn't hesitate before he draws Castiel's member into his mouth, moaning at the taste.

Castiel lets out a high-pitched whine, his hands automatically moving to Dean's hair and when Dean looks up through his lashes, he's sees an utterly wrecked sight: Castiel, head pressing back into the bed, chest up and rising and falling heavily with his groans. "Dean, Dean, Dean," he chants in one quick stream.

Experimentally, Dean tightens his lips, pressing his tongue flat against the underside of Castiel's cock, and drags his mouth up slowly, sucking down hard.

"Oh - oh," the little whimpers leaving Castiel's lips are intoxicating to Dean. "Oh, oh, God, Dean, I need - I need -"

"What do you need, baby?" asks Dean, pulling off slightly and breathing heavily. A thin strand of saliva connects his wet lips to Castiel's cock and he watches as it quivers, then breaks.

"More."

Dean moves away briefly - addicted to Castiel's squirm and helpless thrusting into the air - and retrieves the bottle of lube he keeps in his bag.

"What - what are you going to do?" asks Castiel, eyes hazy as he looks up.

"Shh," soothes Dean. "Just relax, baby. This will make you feel so good, I promise." And he kneels back down between his legs, gripping his wet cock with one hand and fisting him slowly. Cas's head drops back down to the pillow, a groan escaping his throat, and his entire body shakes as Dean leans in again and takes him back in his mouth, dipping his head up and down as he tries to reach a rhythm.

Dean slows before pulling away again, turning attention to the bottle of lube for a moment as he uncaps it and then squirts it on his palm, generously covering his index finger. "Relax," he says again at Castiel's apprehensive look. "I'm going to take care of you. I'll take such good care of you. I'll never hurt you, Cas, not any more."

He drags a pillow down the bed and helps to put it under Castiel's hips - and then leans in and licks at his balls, feeling them tighten underneath his mouth.

"Oh - God," chokes Castiel.

Tongue back up to his cock - moving slowly now, teasingly - and then Dean places a finger at Castiel's entrance and circles his finger around it, feeling it contract at his touch. "Baby, you're going to have to trust me," he says, and glances up.

Castiel is laying there, hair drenched in sweat and stomach flat and taut, anxiety clear in his face. "I don't know," he says. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do you feel good?" asks Dean, his free hand moving to stroke Castiel's cock. It's lost some of its hardness in Castiel's nervousness, but strengthens at the returned attention to it. "Do you want to feel even better?"

"Yes," whispers Castiel.

"I'll stop as soon as you tell me it hurts," Dean promises.

A long moment of silence and then Castiel jerkily nods his head, his hands fisting in the sheets. "Go on. Do it."

Slowly, achingly slow, Dean pushes his index finger into his tight little hole - and fuck, but it's tight. His muscles cling to Dean's finger, dragging against it, and Castiel sucks in a hard breath and then another one. "Keep breathing," Dean says.

It's incredibly fucking hot doing this - knowing no one else has ever done this to Castiel, never given him a lover's kiss or paid so much attention to how he's feeling. He can only imagine his cock in this tight place - and he pushes his finger into the first knuckle and then pauses, hesitant to move further.

Castiel pants and then whines, keening, and his expression is the most glorious thing Dean's ever seen.

"How - how does it feel - do you want me to -"

"Don't stop," he growls out, unexpectedly fierce. "Dean - don't. Stop. Oh, God," he's wrecked. "More, more, I need more."

"I don't want to hurt you," Dean say, but Castiel is already shaking his head frantically and shifting his hips, groaning as this forces Dean's finger in further. "Fuck. Baby. You're doing so good." He pushes his finger in up to the first knuckle and then slowly moves it in and out, watching with fascination as the skin at the opening tightens around every moment his finger makes. Slowly he twists his finger in a circle, watching as this causes an entirely new range of emotions to cross over Castiel's face, and then crooks it, searching for the hard little nub he knows is close -

"Dean, Dean," gasps Castiel, nearly coming off the bed as his eyes widen, pupils dilated until his eyes are nearly too dark to see - and he grips the sheets tightly, another drop of pre-come squeezing out of his cock. "Please - please, I need another."

"Fuck," says Dean, and slowly pushes another lubed finger inside, watching Castiel's face carefully for signs of pain and then, when he only sees frantic lust, scissors his fingers open and twists at the same time, forcing Cas to cry out.

"Like that, huh?" asks Dean in a low voice, and his other hand moves to stroke Castiel's forgotten cock, sending another shiver quaking through his body. "You're going to like it even better when I'm fucking you open. Watching my cock disappear into your tight little hole… you'll be screaming for more, and I'll give it to you, as much as you can take -"

"Dean, oh - oh, more, oh, my God, please," gasps Castiel, thrusting harder now, fucking himself down onto Dean's fingers and then up into his hand and he's shaking and panting and then - "Coming, Dean, Dean, Dean," and Dean lets out a little groan as Castiel's entire body tenses up, his hole squeezing down hard around his fingers and his head thrown back. Come splatters his stomach, white and thick and beautiful.

"God, you're incredible," he says, and shifts forward, leaning down to lick right through the puddle of come. It's still warm.

"Dean," slurs out Castiel, clearly still on an orgasm high. "What're you -"

"Shh, relax," whispers Dean, his thumb stroking a soothing pattern against Castiel's hip. His cock throbs, neglected - but this isn't for him. "Let me clean you up, baby. You did so good for me."

"I - Dean…"

He ignores the sleepy protest, instead licking up more come - pressing his tongue flat against Castiel's flushed skin as he gets up every last drop. It's warm and salty against his tongue. "You taste so good, baby," he says, before shifting up and kissing Cas again, long and hard. The idea of the teenager tasting himself on his tongue makes Dean's cock pulse, but he's already accepted that he's not getting off tonight. Tonight isn't his.

"So," whispers Dean, pulling away to look down at the loose body before him. "Am I forgiven?"

There's silence as he smooths sweaty hair off Castiel's face, running his fingers through the damp locks and detangling it, and he's about to ask again when thin fingers close around his wrist and he looks up, studying Castiel silently.

"Don't," says Castiel. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Don't do that again."

"I won't," he says in a low voice. Shame is there again, deep in his stomach. His erection is disappearing fast.

"You can't. I can't fight them and you at the same time. I just can't."

He's fucked up an unbelievable amount and there is no way he deserves to be forgiven - but then Castiel's eyes soften and he lifts his head up, seeking. Dean leans forward and kisses him again, dragging his lips over Castiel's and inhaling needily, painfully.

"Sleep with me," murmurs Castiel after that, and Dean turns the lights off and then slides up behind him, pulling his back to his front and burying his face in Castiel's hair.

"Am I enough for you?" asks Castiel, just as Dean's about to fall asleep.

"You are everything to me," manages Dean, and he knows it's wrong, knows that what he's just done is considered despicable by half the population and illegal by all standards of legality - but he pushes it out of his mind, unable to focus on it as he holds Castiel tighter and they both drift off to sleep.

Castiel wakes up once before Dean, his entire body seizing up in his nightmare. Quickly, he shoves his fist against his mouth and bites down hard, struggling not to scream. His eyes squeeze tightly shut and he bites down harder, digging his teeth into his skin. He feels too tense, strung out, like he's about to break apart and the pain - and then Dean sighs against his neck and cuddles closer and Castiel stops.

Stops breathing for a moment, trying to remember. Not in pain any longer, no. Aching, but that's it. The mind-numbing pain from the pills is gone. He's fine. He's safe. He… he and Dean?

He almost has another panic attack then, remembering Dean's lips pressed up against his, the heat in the older man's eyes as Castiel sprawled out on the bed. How did this happen? What is wrong with him? He hadn't meant for it to slip out, but Dean's lips on his skin had felt so good and his only rational thought had been his mouth will feel even better against mine.

And it had. Even with the exhaustion and ache in his muscles, he had still fully appreciated the pleasure Dean's mouth had brought him. Is that wrong of him? Is he unnatural? The logical side of him says that he shouldn't want to be with someone that would give him pills like that - but the other side of him craves it, needs it. How can once be enough? How can he possibly give it up now?

And Dean said he didn't know what the pills did. He'd looked honest, too, when he said, like it really hurt him to watch Castiel suffer.

The thing is, Castiel's seen evil. He's seen it up close and personal, laughing in his face as he chokes on his own vomit with tears streaming down his face. He's seen evil looking in on him on the fourth day of solitary, while he's going mad and maybe starting to hear voices. He's seen evil a thousand times over, and evil is not Dean Winchester.

So he shouldn't have given him the pills. Should've known better. But he also hasn't been exposed to the OBIT as long as Castiel has. He didn't know to be as wary of them as Castiel is.

And the sex was…

Castiel hadn't known he could feel that way before. Nothing compares to it. Nothing in the entirety of his entire life compares to being laid out bare before Dean. He has been degraded to nothing his entire life, but that - that was worship, that was reverence Castiel doesn't deserve.

It is as he's lying there, lost in the warm memory of Dean's tongue dragging against his erection, that he abruptly remembers Dean didn't come. Did he?

He hadn't. He most certainly hadn't.

Suddenly, all Castiel wants in the world is to see Dean come. He remembers his own rippling pleasure of the night before - remembers it shuddering through him, washing over him - but Dean hadn't reached that point. No, he'd definitely gone to sleep unsatisfied.

And if he's unsatisfied about that, he might not want to do it again with Castiel.

While before, he'd assumed this would become a regular occurrence for them, now he's awashed in uncertainty. Was that just a one time thing? Was it a mistake on Dean's behalf? Would he wake up and tell Castiel in no uncertain terms that they would never be doing that again?

No. No, Castiel won't let that happen. He's seen the way Dean's eyes travel with him, the way he sometimes watches Castiel with that hidden desire. Last night only proved that he's been holding himself back this time. If Castiel were to somehow harness that…

But maybe it won't happen. Maybe Dean will wake him up and kiss him long and hard the way Castiel wants him to. Maybe things will finally be easy for once in Castiel's life.

Maybe.

Until then, he snuggles back more warmly into Dean's arms and closes his eyes, deciding to enjoy what he has while he has it.