Chapter 11

Dean wakes up with a stiff neck and it hurts like hell. His back is still against the headboard and his muscles ache. The room is silent. There are no other sounds other than Castiel's peaceful breathing. The reaper's head is still in his lap and Dean's right hand is still tangled in his dark locks.

Castiel's eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted. For a second Dean thinks he's fallen asleep, but angels don't sleep, right? The warm breath against the painter's other hand is oddly relaxing.

Dean slightly scratches Castiel's scalp with his fingers and smirks when the angel mewls something incoherently.

It's getting lighter with each second. Nothing changes for the world. A new day begins. People get up and get prepared for a new working day, mothers make breakfasts for their children before taking them to school, young girls go jogging or walk their dogs. It's just an ordinary day.

But not for everyone.

The painter looks at his electric alarm-clock that states that it's 7:45 am, June 5th. It means two things: one - Crowley's party is in two days and two - Dean is a dead man in two days.

Dean's lips form a silent 'fuck' and his head thumps against the headboard. The sound makes Castiel shift a little, but he does not open his eyes or change a position. It looks like he's quite comfortable like this.

"I would be grateful if you do not smash your head." Castiel finally speaks with his deep voice and looks up at Dean.

"I wasn't trying to," Dean replies, smiling as he rubs his neck. He makes a small painful groan that catches Castiel's attention.

"Something's wrong?" Castiel asks softly.

"Nothing major. It's just my neck. Not the most comfortable position to sleep in," Dean chuckles.

Castiel reaches his hand out and cups Dean's neck. His fingers run up and down the stiff muscles and the only thing that Dean can do is gasp. Something warm and pleasant flows from the angel's fingers, taking the dull ache away. It's such an amazing feeling that Dean does not want the reaper to pull his fingers away. But Castiel still does and the painter instantly misses the touch.

"Are you feeling better?" The angel's blue eyes shine at him.

"Yeah… actually, I am, Cas. What did you do?" Dean looks at him in awe.

"It's my grace, Dean. I used very little of it to soothe your pain."

"Thank you," Dean whispers gratefully.

Wait, grace? Didn't Castiel mention that his grace would heal his wounds? Dean leans forward to take a look at the angel's back. He makes some unintelligible sounds: Castiel's back does not look as horrible as few hours ago. The cuts are still there but they don't look as hideous as before, already becoming scars. Dean assumes that the angel's body has started the healing process.

"How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?" The painter reaches for the ointment and uncaps the tube.

"Yes, but it's bearable." Castiel moves aside a little to give Dean some space, so he could treat his wounds.

"I am not sure if this thing can help my wounds, but I appreciate your efforts." The reaper's fingers slightly brush over Dean's hand and the painter has to bite his lip to choke back a moan that's trying to escape his mouth. When Castiel touches him, the sensations feel ten times more powerful than they would if it were just a human.

"Yeah...well, no problems, man." Dean laughs awkwardly and mentally slaps himself in the face. "Concentrate, you idiot!" he screams in his mind.

Castiel's body is truly celestial. His skin where The Tamer has not touched it is soft and smooth like a baby's bottom. And Dean is sure that the wounds will not leave scars after they are healed completely.

The ointment is cool and obviously feels nice against the hot skin, as Castiel makes little humming sounds. He slides his palm up and down the bed sheet while Dean covers his buttocks with the ointment.

As the painter's fingers travel up the angel's body, Castiel's humming becomes louder and when Dean finally touches the spot between his shoulder blades, the reaper bends his head back and moans.

Dean freezes like a deer caught in the headlights and drinks in the sight before him greedily: Castiel's eyes are closed but his face is flushed pink, lips parted, and his expression shows utter and sheer ecstasy.

"Cas..did…did I hurt you?" Dean asks hoarsely and desperately tries to convince himself that his jeans are not getting tight.

"N-no D-dean." Castiel tries to control his quivering voice. "It's just…just my wings." He swallows loudly.

And Dean guesses that he has his hand on the spot where Castiel's appendages unfurl from. Dean reminds himself that he must finish treating the wounds before it gets even worse.

The painter quickly finishes his job and stands up abruptly. His mouth is dry. When did it get so damn hot in here? "Well, there you go. I'm gonna go and take a shower. You can stay here or…"

But the reaper gets up from the bed too and Dean's thoughts scatter around like the yellow leafs in the autumn wind.

Castiel cups his cheek and Dean can't help but lean into the touch. The invisible bond that connects him with his reaper pulses and the painter can feel that there is much more than death that binds them.

"I will go downstairs." Castiel announces as his thumb brushes over Dean's lip.

"Ok...I'll join you shortly." Dean swallows hard and watches as Castiel leaves his bedroom with a panther's grace.

And it is by no means Dean Winchester's fault that he spends a little extra time in the shower.

Castiel eats his ninth pancake with lots of butter and chocolate syrup while Dean's second pancake is still untouched. Castiel never seizes to amaze the painter. If Dean ate as much as Castiel, he would weigh more than 300 pounds for sure. But the angel is slim and toned.

The kitchen smells heavenly. Vanilla and chocolate scents are mixed together and Dean imagines he's at French confectionary with thousands of pies and cakes around, all with different flavors and shapes. He swims in his fantasies until a squeezing sound drags him back to reality. Dean looks at Castiel and laughs. It's a hearty, sincere laugh. Castiel squeezes more syrup out on his pancakes. The reaper's mouth and nose are covered in black chocolate, but he does not seem to mind, as he's too busy licking the sticky substance off of his fingers.

"Cas, you look like you dunked your head in a tub full of chocolate," Dean jokes with a grin.

Castiel's eyes are bright like the cloudless sky in summer and he gives one of his rare smiles to the painter. "I like it, Dean. This is delicious," he states with a small nod.

Dean's mobile rings and when he looks down at the screen, his face goes pale. The reaper senses the change in his mood.

"It's...it's Crowley," Dean mumbles as he stares at the number on the display.

"The man who wants the painting?" Castiel asks quietly.

"Yes. What should I do?" Dean sounds desperate and somewhat frightened.

"Tell him you will give him the painting on the due date." Castiel voice is confident and does not falter.

"But Cas..." Dean starts.

"Do as I say!" Castiel commands and Dean has no other choice left but to obey. He takes a deep breath before answering the call.

"Good morning, Dean," Crowley's cheerful voice greets him.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Crowley." Dean forces himself to sound nonchalant.

"Hope I have not interrupted your beauty sleep?" the man laughs gently.

"No, no it's fine. I get up early in the mornings," Dean assures him.

"Good to hear that. So, how are things? Hope you have finished my painting?" Crowley sounds curious.

"Sure. It's finished and you will have it on the party day." Dean wipes the sweat off of his forehead.

There is a small pause on the other end.

"Hmm, I thought I would come over and take it today." Crowley sounds little bit disappointed.

Dean's mind frantically thinks of a solution and then he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "Um, you see the paints have to dry and I'm sure after two days it will be in perfect shape." The painter's heart feels as if it might explode.

"Oh, I didn't think about that," Crowley chuckles. "Alright, my friend. You know better. In two days then."

"Yes, in two days." Dean stares at Castiel, who encourages him with a small smile.

Crowley is satisfied with the answer and Dean disconnects the call. As soon as the call is finished, Dean buries his face in his hands. "I'm fucked," he whispers.

Castiel frowns, as he does not understand what the painter means, but touches Dean's arm gently. "Dean, look at me," he says softly.

The painter glances at the reaper, whose mouth is still covered in chocolate.

"I will help you. Just give me until dawn so I can heal completely." Castiel sounds cryptic.

"What are you gonna do at dawn?" Dean stares at him incredulously, not understanding what the reaper means.

"You will see." Castiel smiles at him and licks his fingers.

Dean tosses and turns in his restless sleep, when someone touches his shoulder. His eyes instantly snap open. "Cas?" he mutters sleepily.

"Get up, Dean, and get dressed." The angel pushes the bed sheet aside.

After his daily morning procedures are done, Dean goes downstairs to the living room, where Castiel awaits him.

"What the hell is going on, Cas? It's fucking 6 am." He sounds confused and irritated.

"You said you had no inspiration for your painting," Castiel states calmly.

"Yeah, and what does it have to do with getting up so early?" The painter sounds exasperated.

Castiel just gets closer to him. Their faces are only inches apart. The reaper wraps his arm around Dean's waist and the painter feels like ice left to melt in the sun.

"What are you doing, Cas?" he whispers, bewildered.

"I'm taking you on a journey." Castiel nuzzles his nose against Dean's neck and inhales his scent.

"A jour...ney? To where?" Dean's tongue is like sandpaper and he feels like he has crawled 200 miles in the Sahara desert.

"To Rome, 771 B.C." The reaper states, and everything sinks into darkness as his two fingers touch Dean Winchester's forehead...

To be continued…