Part 3/3: Out on a hunt, Cas and Dean end up having to share a single bed for the night, neither one content to let the other sleep on the floor.
Rated M for sexual content.
Not Really The End
No, Dean wasn't sure he was ever going to recover enough to know how to deal with this situation. Mostly because he wasn't even sure how to comprehend it in the first place. But there was no denying it – Cas was still lying on top of him, bodies still pressed together, pants still down around their knees and thighs. The stickiness between them weighed on Dean far more than it should, and Cas's breath on his ear was near enough to get him going all over again.
But the twisting apprehension in the pit of his stomach was catching any blood that wanted to find its way between his legs.
Logically, he knew he shouldn't be so worried. Cas had come on to him, kind of, and, well, they'd both participated, in any case. They should be able to handle this like adults.
Because they'd done such a bang-up job of such up till then, Dean's gaze flicking around the dim hotel room only quickly.
Outside, the storm still circled, though not with quite the severity it had during the night. Still, the warning was there – stay inside – and Dean tried not to feel trapped for it. There was no way they were going to be able to start their investigation until it died down more, which meant their was nothing to distract from what they'd done.
But maybe that was better. Maybe that was necessary.
Dean must have lain there at least an hour before Cas finally began to stir. Still beneath the covers, his body had shifted slightly, Dean pursing his lips and saying nothing when he froze again. As if Cas had only just realized where he was still positioned as well and paused.
He wasn't nearly as tentative as Dean however, and soon was leaning up, his face lifting from beside Dean's as he sat back. His weight was heavy, Dean biting the inside of his cheek and reminding himself that he was supposed to be too nervous to be affected. But the blanket had fallen away and Cas wasn't shy about the fact that his sweats were stretched out below the mark. Dean, really, had no choice but to survey the situation, his eyebrows rising as he congratulated Jimmy Novak. Because Cas was hung. Not that Dean was any less blessed, but still.
Cas had glanced down as well, but was much more tactful about the whole situation. He didn't appear uncomfortable, in any case, and was looking to the window a second later.
"The storm," his scraping voice sent Dean's heart to his throat. "It hasn't abated."
Dean couldn't find voice enough to reply.
Cas peered back down at him, Dean unable to meet his gaze. He could see in his peripherals, however, that Cas's expression had slowly waned into curiosity, his head tilting in the trademark way that it was prone to.
No, Dean needed a little more time.
"Uh, Cas, I… I need…" he still refused to look directly at him. "Bathroom."
"Oh!" Cas's blue eyes had fluttered wide. The next moment, he was rolling to the side, Dean finally relieved of his weight.
As soon as he was free, Dean took the moment. He pulled his legs over the bed and stood, pulling up his pants as he hastily walked across the room to the bathroom. Closing himself in, he allowed a shaky breath to leave his lungs, his hands balanced on the sink as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Blinking, he pursed his lips and forced his thoughts in order.
First thing first, him and Cas had… well, what? Dean wouldn't say that it was sex. Okay, so they'd done sexual things. Things with their pants down, and bodies rubbing and-
No, focus!
This was Cas. Cas, who Dean knew perfectly well he wanted more than anything. Who he'd kind of wondered about feeling the same way, but always been too afraid to actually consider. And now they'd been intimate, and Cas had started it, and that meant something.
It had to, right?
Cas wasn't the type to take advantage, and he'd never seemed interested in casual sex, not really. Which meant that he… he had to have feelings for Dean too. That was where this was coming from – had to be.
Still staring at himself in the mirror, Dean swallowed hard, trying to wrap himself around such realizations – if that was really what they were. Because he'd always known that Cas was attached to him, that they shared a "more profound bond" or whatever. But this was different, wasn't it? He didn't know, to be honest. Cas was an ex-angel, his ideals and definitions were different than Dean's.
But if Cas didn't want a… a relationship with him, then he wouldn't be acting this way. Because Cas wasn't like that. He knew better, and Dean had to have faith he wouldn't hurt him in such a way. Even if sometimes Cas misunderstood.
So, assuming Cas did fully comprehend what was going on, then that left Dean with another variable to consider. That was, the aforementioned "relationship." With Cas. His best friend. And another guy. The last bit he'd come to terms with a while ago, but he hadn't actually gotten far enough in his fantasies to believe him and Cas would actually get to this point.
Every "romantic" relationship Dean had ever been part of had ended poorly, so that wasn't exactly the most reassuring idea. But after dealing with the Mark, and reflecting back on all the opportunities he'd squandered, something steady – meaningful – was what he wanted. He was finally ready, he thought, to properly value such a thing. And, fuck, did he want Cas. Wanted him so bad it hurt. In every way.
But it just seemed so unbelievable that it'd be possible. Because what had Dean done to deserve this? First Cas's protection, his power, then his friendship. His closeness as family, and now this? Cas, who'd once been this powerful force of sheer will and had given all that up for one measly human man. Really, that should be enough to reassure Dean, but it wasn't that simple.
His insecurities wouldn't let it be.
No, he couldn't ruin this too. He'd never forgive himself. He needed to take a leaf from Cas's book. Be direct and honest for once in his life.
Leaning back, he took a deep breath, nodding to himself in the mirror. He could do this. He was going to march out there, sit down, and they were going to talk about this. About their… feelings… and other nauseating topics.
And Dean was going to…
He was going to come clean. He was going to tell Cas everything. Their relationship was already teetering because of the night before, and he needed to do everything he could to tip it in the right direction. Which meant no sarcastic quips, no defensive avoidances, and no pretending it hadn't happened.
"You can do this," Dean pointed to himself in the mirror as he said it. The words didn't do much to make him feel better. Actually, they only made him feel stupid. Rolling his eyes at himself and how much of a wuss he was being, he finally whipped back around to the door. Huffing in determination, he ignored how his stiffened shirt rubbed against his chest and reached for the door.
Yanking it open, he practically stomped back out into the room, forcefully pushing his attention to Cas.
Cas, who was lying in the bed again, atop the sheets.
And who was completely naked.
"Shit," Dean muttered to himself, his panic taking over quickly enough for him to turn around before Cas's stare had intercepted his own. Hand still on the knob, he practically flew back into the bathroom, the loud slam of the door causing him to jump.
For a moment, his thoughts were jumbled. Caught between "serious feelings and business" and "holy fuck, Cas was naked, in bed, waiting for him, and damn was he hot."
A helpless, silent whimper left Dean's throat, his own pants already tightening as his blood pushed aside his control.
He caught himself in the mirror again.
Really, with how pale he was and how scrunched his eyebrows looked, he was pathetic. Because, Christ, what was he doing? Cas was out there, totally fucking naked, and waiting. And he was, well, what was he doing? Freaking out like some schoolgirl! Dean Winchester, who could bed any woman he set his eyes on (usually). Who never left a partner unsatisfied, and who usually took it all in confident stride.
Yet, last night, he'd been a whimpering, pitiful mess.
It was embarrassing, and now he was hiding in the bathroom. What the hell? What was he doing?
Cas was waiting.
No, he couldn't let it keep on like this, not with his reputation. Cas wanted him? Screw the reasons. He was going to go for it. Because that was what Dean Winchester did.
They could talk about their feelings later.
Shoving his way back out into the hotel room, the door tossed violently to the side as he emerged. As he looked directly to the bed again, Cas sitting up against the pillows now, like he'd been considering getting up. His wide eyes fell to Dean, a blinking question in their depths, but before he could say anything, Dean held up his hand.
The silence continued, Dean resolute as he took a few steps closer to the bed. As he looked Cas obviously up and down, thinking of what they'd done the night before and how little he'd offered in assistance.
He wasn't that guy.
So what if Cas had made him whine like a lovesick virgin? He could do that too. He was going to make Cas beg.
Approaching the end of the bed, Dean cocked a single eyebrow in Cas's direction. Cas, who was staring in blatant curiosity, but who wasn't making any motion to move again. Reaching down, Dean took hold of the bottom edge of his dirtied shirt, swiftly pulling it up over his head before tossing it to the side. His pants and boxers followed shortly after, his aroused desire clearly apparent.
Finally with nothing in the way of physical barriers between them, Dean crawled up from the end of the bed, eyes locked with Cas's, who'd lost their perplexed questioning and had become shadowed with something darker. With the same wanting expectation that had inspired them the night before.
A night Dean was determined to make up for.
Sliding between Cas's legs, Dean let his hands skim along his thighs until they were caressing those pointed hips. One side of his lips pulling into a smirk, he sent his challenge quite obviously through the space between them, Cas's eyebrows quirking, as if to say, "oh really?"
Dean's lips stretched into a full, devious grin.
Yeah, he had this completely under control.
Slowly allowing his focus to fall from Cas's eyes down his neck and across his chest, Dean leaned lower, Cas's knees splaying as he pushed his shoulders between them. As he nosed his down along Cas's hardened length, breathing in the heated scent of both that moment and the night before. Chin pressed against the dark hair leading him in, Dean allowed his tongue to then drag upward – to lie flat against the backside of Cas's length before he gradually drew upward again. Until he was slipping his mouth around Cas's tip, tasting the saltiness as a rasping groan echoed through Cas's whole body before leaving his lips.
Attention flicking up again, Dean felt his own skin shiver some at the expression painted across Cas's face. Tanned cheeks flushed, he was wide-eyed as he watched Dean, mouth parted some as he breathed heavily.
As Dean closed his lips around Cas fully, pausing for only a second before sucking him in.
Something mixed between a growl and moan shook up through Cas, his length twitching even as Dean surrounded it, hand leaving Cas's hip to grip at the base of his shaft. Holding him steady, Dean tightened his mouth, his tongue still sliding in purposeful strokes as he began to pump his head up and down. His hand twisted at Cas's base, pushing up further tightness as his thumb caressed in a manner to mimic his bobbing. He sucked up and then drank him back down again, Cas's hips beginning to reach for the movement. Beginning to fall into thrusting motion as Dean repeated his action over and over again.
Reaching up with one hand, Cas's fingers sifted through Dean's hair, tightening their grip and tugging at the locks greedily, spurring Dean to keep going. To meet the way his hips plunged up between Dean's lips, demanding, more than anything, that he keep going. That he suck harder, faster, Cas's teeth gritting. A low moan echoed around the room, Dean unable to hold back how he grunted lightly in response, the vibrations from his throat encouraging Cas to release another whine, this one bordering on a gasp.
Dean smiled despite himself, a sensation Cas could feel.
One that caused his grip to twist in Dean's hair, pulling back until Dean had no choice but to lift his head. Eyes meeting, he saw the way Cas's blues had narrowed, his cheeks still flushed as Dean made no attempt to hide his pleased grin.
Despite how he clearly wanted it however, Cas didn't allow Dean to go back down on him. Rather, he continued to pull Dean up until he was sitting back, Dean's chest heaving as Cas slid his legs out from around him. Sitting back on his feet, legs folded under him, Dean watched as Cas bent forward. As he resituated himself on the bed until he was the one with his head lowered, his chin falling between Dean's thighs as – with no hesitation – he swallowed that waiting length fully.
To the hilt, Dean's eyes bugging as his hands fell to Cas's shoulders. Stomach tightening, a surprised, pleasured whimper fled from his lips before he'd even realized it was there. But Cas was taking him in so deeply, and so abruptly, and that tongue was churning almost violently, Dean barely able to keep up. Since when had Cas known how to do such things? No gag reflex?
Dean's brain was a garbled mess within moments.
Cas's hands were on Dean's folded thighs, travelling swiftly along their sides, sliding around to his ass and gripping harshly, all the while he was dipping his head up and down, Dean rising to meet him. Which gave Cas enough space to slip his fingers down between Dean's thighs and calves.
Until his hands were hooked around the backs of Dean's knees.
Releasing a surprised huff, Dean blinked in momentary confusion, suddenly staring up at the ceiling. With one swift motion, Cas had pulled his legs out from under him, tossing him back on the bed, his head balanced just on the edge of the mattress.
But Cas was still stretching Dean's stiffened need inside his mouth, and his muscular arms were pushing Dean's thighs up, flexing with an insistent stress that sent burning throbs through Dean's whole body.
He was exposed, Dean knew he was, but he was ten steps behind, the fact that his feet were in the air and that Cas was rolling him back until more of him was seeing the light of day than he'd ever experienced before only vaguely making sense.
Then that mouth was letting him go, popping loose as Cas's tongue slid down his shaft. Lower and lower, lips sucking and pulling and brushing, Dean's breathing labored and choppy.
And then that tongue was sliding along foreign territory, a choked moan erupting from between Dean's lips as Cas's slicking touch drew against his tight entrance. Began to ravenously kiss and caress, Dean flexing against him, eyes closing.
That tongue was pushing against him, and Dean's voice was a rasping gasp as Cas's hand continued to clutch at the backs of his thighs.
Yeah, he was liking it, loving it even, and then there was the fact that it was Cas. Cas who was licking around his rim, was holding him, and every feeling and jolted nerve in Dean's body was snapping. Was falling back against that tongue. Until he was a heaving, moaning mess.
Uncontrolled, undisciplined, and in the exact opposite position he'd wanted to be when he'd initiated this.
He had no control, he realized. He was succumbing to ever whim Cas thrust upon him – had been since this whole thing had started. He was complete and total putty in Cas's grasp. It didn't matter whether Cas was capable of using him or not, whether he felt the same way, Dean was giving in. Had been. And as that tongue tried to push into him, inside him, his heart surged with terror.
Fear of what he was doing, what he was letting be done to him. He trusted Cas, he did, but what did it mean?
Normally Dean didn't need meaning in such acts, but this was different. Cas mattered – he meant something to him – and he couldn't let the situation spiral like so many others had.
But Cas was kissing him, was nipping and asking for entrance, and Dean wanted it.
Yet, he wanted more too, and giving in to things like this never got him that. Never had.
"C-Cas…st…" his voice was failing him. His body felt light and dizzy, and he was losing. Like it was all slipping right through his fingers. "St-stop…" The word was hardly a breathy whisper, and Cas didn't stop. Couldn't hear the fear Dean knew was pumping inside him along with the sheer ecstasy.
"Please…" Dean tried again, head leaning back against the mattress, body betraying him as his mind started to shout. "Stop, Cas…"
He couldn't do this. He couldn't!
"Stop!"
He wasn't exactly sure what happened, but within the moment, Cas was rearing back, Dean's knee throbbing as Cas's hand cupped his nose. Despite the fuzziness clouding his brain, Dean could make out the red that was leaking between Cas's long fingers. That dripped onto the sheets, Cas's eyes squinting closed in pain.
Dean sobered faster then than he had from anything before in his life.
"Shit," he leaned up, hesitating before he finally reached out to Cas. Those blue eyes had gone wide however, blood still gushing from Cas's nose, and he actually flinched away from Dean in surprise.
Sliding to the edge of the bed, Cas was on his feet, a puddle of blood left in his wake as he went directly to the bathroom.
He closed the door, Dean gaping as he stared after.
Because it was all slipping away anyway.
It didn't matter what he did, from what angle he tried to deal with anything, he always fucked it up. He'd messed up so many times before and now he'd screwed this up too – whatever it was they'd had, or been aiming for.
He'd actually kneed Cas in the face. Hard.
He was such an asshole.
Sliding to the edge of the bed, he set his feet on the ground and cradled his face in his hands. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, Dean biting his lip as his whole body deflated. His chest felt as though it was being ripped apart.
Eventually, shakily standing to his feet, Dean knocked on the bathroom door and asked if there was anything he could do. Cas had responded with a stuffy "no," Dean's insides curling in on themselves.
Distracting himself with the sheets, he pulled them up from the bed, rolling them so as to hide the blood and other remnants, placing them in the corner of the room for whatever unfortunate clerk had to pick them up. He folded the blankets, stacked the pillows, and then grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet beside the mini fridge. Wetting it with water from a bottle, he cleaned himself up as best he could before grabbing a new set of clothes from his bag. Dressing quickly, he went around and grabbed up his and Cas's clothes from the night before, stuffing them into the plastic bag their food had come in the night before.
Maybe it was nervousness, or mere helpless, but the room was spick and span by the time Cas finally emerged from the bathroom. Dean dared look up at him sheepishly, if only to make sure he hadn't permanently disfigured him, and became even more ashamed at the dry, swollen look to Cas's nose, which was stained in a vague redness. It was clearly painful, and Dean could see a few specks of dried blood lining his left nostril.
Also, there was the fact that he was still naked to consider.
"Uh, here," Dean said lamely, turning to grab the clothes he'd previously pulled out for Cas. Handing them over, he looked at the floor, biting his lip. Cas was staring at him, he could feel it, but didn't dare face whatever expression was waiting for him. Instead, after a momentary pause, Cas accepted the offered items, Dean turning to the window as Cas dressed.
It was during the moment that Cas was pulling on one of Dean's blue over shirts that a great crashing shook the whole hotel, both men starting as their roof visibly cracked.
Which was how they ended up needing a new hotel all together.
A tree had been pulled down by the storm and landed on the front side of the building, the trunk lying in the room beside theirs. After making sure everyone was alright – because those were the kinds of guys they were – they gathered their things, tossed them in the Impala, and braced themselves with having to drive to another hotel through the pounding rain.
Only one police officer had asked if Cas's bruised nose was a result of the tree, to which he'd answered a quiet "no."
By the time they were finally on the road, half the day had been wasted, the storm was still looming over them, and they were no closer to locating their vengeful spirit.
"Because, Sam, there's a fuckin' hurricane, alright?" Dean was ranting as he parked the car in the lot of a hotel a few streets over. "A tree fell on our hotel. Hasn't exactly been a morning of champions." Understatement.
Cas had taken Dean's wallet from the dashboard, where he'd tossed it, and gestured shortly to the building. Dean hadn't had the gumption to comment, instead waving him off in a relatively flippant manner, which caused Cas to frown. No comment was made however, Dean watching Cas walk across the lot to the hotel as Sam chattered on in his ear.
"Are you listening?" Sam's sharp voice pulled his attention back.
"Hm, what?"
"Seriously?" No, Sam wasn't impressed. "Dean, what's going on?"
"Nothing," Dean could already feel himself bristling. "Nothing's going on. Why would you think something was going on? Nothing happened. Everything is fuckin' peachy!"
"Oh… okay," Sam backed up an invisible step. "Really, are you alright?"
"Never been better…" Dean grumbled out. Outside, Cas was gesturing down to their room, shielding his eyes from the rain as he headed that way. Dean nodded, more than happy to wrap up his conversation with Sam. "Got to go, Cas needs me- I mean, he wants me- I mean, never mind. I gotta go." Huffing, Dean didn't even give his brother time to respond, instead ending the call and reaching back for their bags.
He left the plastic bag holding their "soiled" clothes under the seat, where he'd shoved it that morning.
Jogging across the parking lot, he trailed Cas through door number six, shaking the water from his hair as he walked under the metal awning.
His heart nearly froze as he entered.
Because there were two beds.
Cas had gotten a twin room.
Blinking, Dean tried to digest the scene, his hands feeling almost numb as they gripped the bags. His knuckles turned pale with the force of it, his lips tight. On the other side of the room, Cas was toweling his hair dry, his shoulders wet and shadowed.
Cas, who, that very morning, had yanked Dean out from under himself and ravaged every bit of flesh between his legs. Who had licked, caressed, and appreciated parts of Dean he'd never thought the other man would even see. Would ever want to.
Then Dean had kneed him in the face, rejected him, so now they had separate beds.
"Dean?" Cas's voice hit him like a smack in the face, Dean aware that he was still standing in the open doorway, rain flitting in.
"I'm gonna go get food," he decided coldly, dropping their bags to the ground. Without another word, he turned and headed back into the rain, completely missing the way Cas reached out to stop him. Shoulders hunched against the weather, he felt each step he took toward the Impala was a tick on the countdown. He slid into the front seat, dripping water, and started the engine with a sense of habit, his whole body inflated and numb.
He left the parking lot. He drove.
Drove until the miles had been run out of him. Until his chest hurt so much he was sure it was going to explode. Or at least crush in on itself. Pulling the Impala to the shoulder of whatever back road he'd ended up on, he sat back listening to the idle as the radio played at a buzzing softness.
His chest shook; his hands held the wheel too tightly.
And Cas had gotten two beds.
It pushed up through him, everything he'd been trying to hold in the last few days. Like a shaken soda pop with the cap removed, it burst forth, his lips trembling as he reached up and tried to wipe at the tears that hadn't even fallen yet.
Because, fuck, he was crying. And his whole body was shaking, and he was pretty sure it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
He wasn't sure which he regretted more – agreeing to share a bed with Cas in the first place or asking him to stop when they'd gotten too close. He couldn't tell which was worse anymore, really. The unrequited feelings or the interrupted ones. Because, no matter the scenario, the outcome was the same. He didn't get Cas. He'd done something wrong.
And now he was the one being rejected.
Not that he blamed Cas. What the hell good had Dean ever been for him? He'd practically been a curse on the angel since he'd saved him from Hell, and now he was human because of him too. Cas using his grace to save Dean from the Mark had practically been a death sentence.
He didn't deserve Cas, and it'd been idiotic of him to think Cas would put up with his nonsense forever.
Finally the tears fell, Dean taking a gasping breath as he wiped them away. As he swallowed them again, forcefully. He didn't have the right to be upset. Besides, crying about it wasn't going to change anything. It didn't matter how much he wanted Cas – how much he'd learned and regretted over the last year – he hadn't earned such luxuries. He'd spent his whole life killing and fucking and pretending not to give a shit.
And this was his just reward.
Gritting his teeth till it felt like his teeth would chip, he slammed the Impala back into drive. He held his breath against the turmoil still teeming inside him and swallowed every single tear until his throat was sandpaper. Tires spinning in the wet dirt, he shot back out onto the pavement, engine revving as he sped off.
He didn't get food. He didn't eat anything.
And he didn't show back up at the hotel until sometime around midnight.
Cas had the key, and Dean had half a mind to get his own room, but the door was unlocked as he tried the knob. The rain had finally stopped, though his clothes were that stiff sogginess of drying fabric.
None of the lights were on as he entered their room. He could make out Cas's sleeping figure in the far bed, his determination to remain in control of himself already faltering at the mere sight of the other man's silhouette.
Making sure the door was quiet as he closed it, he didn't bother with the bathroom or even a change of clothes. He was too exhausted to care. Instead, slipping off his boots, he sat down on his own bed and tried to breathe in against his nerves. Because no amount of driving had settled him, and he'd been wiping runaway tears from the corners of his eyes all night. The few that managed to leak through his wavering, stick-like defenses.
Walls that felt weaker the closer he was to Cas.
Lying back, he pulled the covers up to his chin, dry eyes squinting closed as he tried to ignore the throbbing ach in the back of his head. Yet Cas's breathing was so easy, and he had no choice but to listen to it. Every time he registered that calm inhale, a nail was pounded into his ribcage. Was puncturing his resolve until his desperation was once again overcoming him.
It was pathetic, and he hated – despised – every moment of it.
But he also wanted to hear Cas's voice. More than anything, that was what he wanted.
Throat heavy with his clogged, stifled emotions, he spoke. Just one word.
One name sent out into the darkness.
"Cas?"
He didn't get a response. His broken call, no matter how many bated seconds he waited, was met with silence.
Rejection – a point he'd never wanted to reach.
He knew he wasn't being fair, that Cas was asleep. But he didn't know what else to do. What to say to make anything better. And as his dependent longing wedged up into the space between his heart and his lungs, he registered the salty wetness once again streaking down his cheeks. He didn't wipe any of it away this time. Was too tired. He let the tears fall, dampening his pillow as his breathing became choppy.
He tried to stay quiet, really, if only so Cas wouldn't wake up and be witness to such a pitiable sight. But the dam wasn't going back up this time and he eventually had to turn his head into his pillow to stifle the breathy sobs that wracked his whole body. He curled up, body tense in attempts to keep still. Attempts that ultimately failed.
Hands balled into fists, he buried himself in the darkness, telling himself over and over again that he was being childish. That he'd done this to himself. But it made no difference. His body wouldn't heed him. And it just kept coming.
Writhed inside him for hours.
There were no comforting hands holding him, no breath against his neck. Even when Cas's breathing got too easy, too controlled, it took him. He clamped his hand over his mouth in an attempt to quell some of the noise, but, even muffled, it was clear what he was doing.
Yet Cas never rose and came to him.
He spent the night alienated and alone.
Just like always.
The following morning was rough, to say the least. Dean refused to get up, if only to avoid having to face Cas as long as possible. He hadn't really slept, just wavered in and out occasionally, and already he was exhausted. His mood was piss-poor, at best, and not likely to get any better. Just the sound of Cas rising from his bed made him grit his teeth in irritation, and when the water from the bathroom sink was turned on, he almost barked out how loud and inconsiderate of a bathroom partner Cas really was.
But he didn't. He stayed under the blankets, glaring at the door.
Until Cas began to awkwardly stand and sit, dressed in his FBI suit as if waiting on him. Which was nearly the most annoying thing Dean had witnessed all morning.
Growling, he tossed the covers aside and threw his legs over the side of the mattress. He knew Cas was watching him, and for the first time in days he wasn't afraid to look at him. Eyes swollen and red, he turned on him, barking out a ferocious "what?!" as he pushed himself to his feet.
Cas didn't comment. Rather, he glanced quickly away, cheeks pale as his hands rubbed together.
Marching to his own bag, he yanked out his own monkey-suit before heading to the bathroom.
He slammed the door on his way in.
His shower was short and only washed away some of the swelling around his eyes. Dean hardly had the patience to care however, soon emerging dressed and ready to leave.
No words were exchanged as he headed out the door, nearly tossing it back in Cas's face as they went to the car. He was backing out of their spot before the passenger door had even closed.
Cas was staring at him, and, suddenly full of bravery, Dean whipped around to stare back while they sat at the first stop sign they came to. He wasn't aware of the snarl that was pulling at his lips until the growl erupted from his throat, which sent Cas up against the door, gaze wide as he shied away.
Those blue eyes stayed appropriately focused on the ground for the rest of the morning.
Getting information from the police didn't go as well as usual, probably because Dean wasn't being as civil as he normally would be – which Cas tried to make up for as much as possible. And questioning locals and family members went even worse, to the point where Cas was having to make up excuses for Dean's attitude.
"He didn't get any sleep last night." "He doesn't do well without breakfast." "There was a recent death in the family."
Yet the more Cas spoke, the more aggravated Dean found himself to be. Until that familiar gravel in his throat sent Dean into a new kind of temper. He actually walked away, seething, from a conversation they'd been having with the manager at a local grocer – the father of one of the victims.
Cas was nearly as fed up as Dean was by that point however, tired of being snapped at and threatened by Dean's aggressive posture. And he was really tired of barely being in the car before they were driving away – like Dean was trying to dump him out the door or something.
"Dean!" He called, deep voice booming through the store as he followed him up a toiletry aisle. But that broad back never turned, and Cas was tired of being cowed. Picking up his pace, he reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulder.
"Do not fucking touch me!" Dean hissed out as he turned, nearly smacking Cas across the face with the sharp gesture of his hand.
"You're being an asshole!" Cas rebuked, glare burning. "You've been being an asshole all day! We've hardly gotten anyone to say anything to us because they get tired of talking to you!"
"Guess that makes two of us then." Dean turned and headed off again.
"Excuse me?" Cas trailed at his heels, standing his ground when Dean whipped back on him again.
"Step off," Dean threatened.
"Go ahead and make me."
"Don't test me, Cas. I'm not in the mood."
"So I've noticed. What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me? You! That's what's wrong with me!" A woman had turned into their aisle, but upon hearing their heated argument, she'd turned around and gone back the other way.
"What the hell have I done to you?!" Cas's voice was almost accusing. "You're the one that kicked me in the face!"
"You fucking deserved it!"
"Dean!"
"What?!" Dean's breath was huffing. "You're the one that came on to me," he was hissing now, voice lowered dangerously as Cas's eyes widened. "You crawled into my bed! You started this!"
Cas blinked, adjusting to how direct the conversation had gotten. "I thought that was what you wanted."
"Oh, so that's reason enough? Thanks, Cas, how thoughtful."
"What?" Cas was shaking his head, lost. "If that wasn't what you wanted, then you should have told me!"
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is?!"
"You took advantage of me!" The words were terrible, and Dean didn't want to actually believe them, but he didn't know what to think anymore. Was sick of trying to puzzle it out.
Cas was clearly shocked by them, his mouth hanging open for a moment before it then closed and opened again, as if he didn't know what to think or say.
Lack of reasoning was as good to Dean as admitting it was true, however, and not hearing such harsh things contradicted caused his emotions to assault him all over again. They were at the breaking point, the two of them – right in that moment – and if something wasn't done, the whole thing would fall apart. Not even their friendship could recover from this. Not as it was then, not with Cas staring at him and saying nothing.
"You knew…" Dean said quietly, his lips trembling some. "I know you did."
"Knew… knew what?" Cas found his voice, finally, head shaking. "Dean, I didn't- I would never…" As if pushed by the familiarity that was normally between them, Cas reached up, his hand skimming Dean's arm. As if he'd wanted to grab it, but Dean had taken a step out of the way – blatantly avoided him. "Dean," Cas was hurt, infinitely so, by the sidestep, his confusion apparent in the apprehensive shifting of his eyes. "I would never take advantage of you."
"Then why did you do it? Any of it?" Dean was speaking through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself under control for as long as possible.
"I don't understand what you're asking me."
"You knew I had feelings for you," Dean finally admitted, his breathing shaky and his posture unstable. "You knew." He was pointing at him, finger quivering as he did.
Cas blinked again, trying to keep up. But he didn't know what was the right thing to say – what Dean wanted to hear. "Yes," he admitted. "I knew."
His words caused Dean to look away, his emotions reeling across his face faster than Cas could comprehend them. This whole thing was so far beyond him. He'd only been human a short time, and always felt as though he was floundering. Usually Dean was there to help him, but for some reason, that wasn't the case this time.
"I-I've known for years," he continued. "When I was an angel, I could feel it. Like longing. From you. All the time."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean's hands went to his hair, pulling at the locks as he turned in frustration and grief.
"I thought it was what you wanted!"
"That doesn't make it okay!"
"What?" Cas was so confused.
"So you knew and decided it'd what, be fun? That I'd be okay with… with that just because I… God dammit, Cas!"
"I don't understand what you're saying!"
"You can't dumb your way out of this!" Dean didn't mean to shout, but he couldn't help it. "Don't play stupid with me!"
"I'm not!"
"Fine, you know what, fuck you, Cas," Dean swallowed hard. He had to keep it together. Just long enough to get out of there. "Don't ever fucking talk to me again."
"Dean!" Cas was pretty sure that it was panic that had taken hold of him, that was making his body jittery and hard to control. Things he'd never had to deal with as an angel. It was all so overwhelming, and new. And sometimes it was good, like it had been a day or so ago, and sometimes it was beyond his limited understanding. Like then. The only thing he knew for certain was that never talking to Dean again was one of his biggest fears, and that was something he was sure he couldn't live with.
He'd given up his grace, his livelihood, his entire existence, in order to avoid never seeing Dean again.
He didn't know what to do!
Cas wasn't gifted with words, he knew, so he tried to remedy the broken string in another way. In a way he thought Dean would understand. Coming forward, he grabbed Dean by the arms, holding him forcefully in place as he slammed their lips together. It seemed like so much less to Cas than what they'd already done, but he was running out of options.
Lips pulling at Dean's, Cas sucked desperately at him, eyes closed fiercely as he did. A first, he got no reaction, nothing from Dean. But he didn't give up. He pressed harder, until he knew both their lips would be bruised, and tugged at Dean's bottom lip desperately.
And then Dean was kissing him back. For a moment – one fleeting, extraordinary moment – Cas was the closest to flying he knew he'd ever be again. That was the only thing he could compare being with Dean to. The only sensation he'd ever felt that might be similar. Free and high and spinning and wonderful. But carnal too, natural and physical and so heavy. Overwhelmingly so.
They pulled at each other, sloppy and unfocused, but together. Dean's hands were harsh on Cas's chest, shifting across the fabric of his shirt. Clinging and needing and all things Cas had thought Dean had always wanted from him – that Cas had been hesitant to promise until he'd become human. Because when he was mortal, he was dependent on Dean. And that meant they could always be together.
Their whole lives.
But then Cas's teeth were caught in a sudden motion, snapping accidently as those strong hands propelled him backward. Stumbling, and blinking in shock, Cas gaped at Dean, whose heavy breathing and bleeding lip were vibrant echoes in every one of Cas's senses.
But those green eyes were so full of pain, and Cas realized within seconds that he'd failed.
"Don't… do that," Dean snarled, his whole body trembling as he took a step back. As he stared in the same way he had when he'd realized Cas had been lying about working with Crowley. Like he'd betrayed everything they'd ever been.
It'd taken Cas years to right that mistake, but this time he didn't even know what he'd done wrong!
Dean wasn't going to listen to questions however. He was turning away, walking off, and Cas was only able to force his slow, stubborn, human legs to move after it was too late. He tried to fly through the store, but he couldn't. He had to run, but by the time he was out the automatic doors, he was watching the Impala speed off down the road.
Dean had left him.
A feeble whimper left his lips, the few humans standing about, watching him, casting him odd looks as they walked by. Cas couldn't have cared less about them however, his brain seeming sluggish as he tried to figure out what to do.
He pulled out his phone.
Dean. It rang. No answer.
Another whine left his throat.
Sam. Sam would know what to do. He picked up after a single ring.
"Hey, Cas, what's up?"
"Sam!" the name was breathed through his teeth, anxiety lacing every word.
"Whoa, Cas, what's wrong?"
"It's Dean, I don't know!"
"Is he hurt? Did something happen? Are you alright?"
"No, it's not that. Sam," he shook his head, glancing around the parking lot like that was going to grant him answers. "He's angry at me and I don't understand what I did."
"Oh…" Sam's voice dropped considerably. "Well, give him a little while and he'll get over it. That's not something to sound so-"
"It's not that kind of angry," Cas interrupted, beginning to walk down along the front of the store, toward the sidewalk. "He said he never wanted to speak to me again."
"Okay, calm down," Sam was as level-headed as ever. "Tell me what happened."
So he did. He told him about the single room after the vampires, and how they'd slept in the same bed two nights following. That they'd been close, and that they'd even gotten intimate, which Sam quite loudly objected to hearing the details about. But Cas felt he needed to elaborate some, because he'd done something wrong in order to cause Dean to knee him in the face.
"While I didn't need… that much detail," Sam was replying, clearly understanding how serious this really was, "you're telling me, basically, that he kicked you because he didn't want to… keep going?"
"I don't know, that's what I assumed." Were he not headed in one certain direction, Cas was sure he'd probably be doing what humans called "pacing." "I didn't want to push him, so I made sure to get a twin room after it happened. But then he drove off and didn't come back until midnight. And then he…"
"What?"
Cas actually paused on the sidewalk, his eyes closing as the memory came back to him. It was painful, thinking back on it, and he was ashamed to even admit he'd somehow made it happen. "He was crying, Sam," he muttered lowly. "I heard him say my name, but I didn't know what he wanted. So I didn't do anything. And then he was crying. All night."
"So you…?"
"I didn't do anything!" he started walking again, his pace a little calmer than before. "I was the reason he was upset in the first place. I thought I'd only make it worse!" It'd hurt to listen to all night, especially because he'd known Dean had tried to hide it, but if he'd been the cause of it, then wouldn't he have only made it worse? Had he been wrong? He'd gone to Dean the other nights and that had gotten him a nosebleed, so he'd stayed away that time.
"You two are morons," Sam muttered.
"Insults are not helpful."
"Well, have you talked to him?"
"I tried, but…" Cas sighed. "I don't understand what he was saying. He thinks that I… that I took advantage of him." An idea that horrified Cas. Because he knew enough of that to realize just what such could potentially imply. Yes, he was new to humanity, but he was pretty sure that Dean hadn't objected to what they'd done. Not until the knee thing. He was almost too afraid to consider otherwise – that Dean hadn't wanted any of the touching and had allowed it for some other reason that Cas couldn't fathom.
"Okay…" Sam took an audibly deep breath. "Cas, let me just…Have you actually told Dean how you feel about him?"
"I thought I'd made that pretty clear."
"No, I mean, with words. Like, did you go up to him and tell him how you felt."
"I… no," Cas knew he hadn't. "Dean doesn't appreciate blatant references to such things. They make him uncomfortable. I've been trying to go about this in a fashion that would make him as comfortable as possible." He thought he'd been feeling out the situation pretty well, at least until everything had gone down hill.
"But, Cas, that's the whole problem, don't you see?" No, he didn't. "Look, you know Dean, just like I do. We both know that he doesn't give himself enough credit. Dean's insecure and he's really hard on himself. But most of all? He doesn't think he deserves to be happy."
"I know that." And Cas hated it. Dean deserved everything – him and Sam both. A better life than the one they'd been given, and a family that was better than their sad excuse of one. Dozens of people that cared for them, and a place to call home that wasn't a bunker tucked away in the depths of secrets and lies.
"That's why you have to actually say it to him," Sam reiterated. "I see it, and anyone who sees the way you look at each other can put the pieces together, but it doesn't matter how many times you give up your grace to save him, there's always going to be that little voice in the back of his head that tells him it's not true. That there's some other reason behind it all. It's ridiculous, but it's true. Then things like this happen, and he's left alone with that voice too long. It gets louder and louder until that's the only thing he can hear anymore."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that he doesn't know how you feel about him. Yes, you've made it pretty clear, but that's not enough. With Dean, these kinds of things have to be spelled out. If they're not, then he finds all kinds of loopholes to reason his way out of it. That's why he thinks you took advantage of him. Because his insecurities can't trust the situation enough for him to see the logical side of it all. He's too busy finding reasons why you shouldn't feel that way about him for him to understand that you do."
"He thinks that I knew how he felt, and that I used him," Cas finally deduced.
"Sounds like Dean. He'll believe just about anything if it means he gets to be miserable."
"But he has to know I would never do that."
"It doesn't matter if he knows that you wouldn't. If that's the only other way that things between you two could have gotten this far – the only other reason besides the real one – then he'll entertain it."
"But why?"
"Because he's afraid."
"Why would he be afraid of me?"
"Because, Cas, he's in love with you," Sam almost laughed. "And that means you have the power to completely destroy him. Just like our mom did when she died, and our father did. Because if you reject him, or leave, you'll be a hole he'll never recover from."
"But I won't do either of those things."
"Then tell him."
Yes, maybe Cas understood then. Finally. An issue of communication – as it always seemed to be with the Winchesters.
The conversation with Sam ended shortly after, Cas continuing on down the street until he reached their hotel, which hadn't been but a few blocks from the grocer. He paused when he saw the Impala parked over the line between two spots, clearly in an uncaring fashion, which spoke volumes about Dean's state of mind.
The fact that he was there, however, at their hotel, said more. Because Dean could have gone off somewhere else. But he'd returned to a place where Cas would find him. He wanted to be saved from it all, he just couldn't do it on his own. He'd been giving Cas dozens of chances over the last few days, and he'd thought he'd taken them. Yet, really, it'd been something so much simpler. Just a few words; some clarification. That was it.
Dean had been right, he realized – when he'd said relationships were difficult. Even if the solution was seemingly easy, getting there was a different trip entirely.
Feeling more settled after talking to Sam – as he usually did (Sam had a wonderful head on his shoulders) – he pushed his feet across the parking lot and to the door to their room. It was unlocked, the fact almost humorous. In a bitter, ironic way.
Gently, he pushed his way inside.
His eyes fell to the hunched figure sitting on the end of the far bed. Dean, with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He was upset again, Cas could see that, and as he slowly approached, Cas tried to organize how he was going to address the situation.
No. No more trying to be as careful and considerate as possible. Sam had said to just say it, so that was what he was going to do.
"Dean," he said the name softly, his hand gentle as he placed it on Dean's shoulder. As if oblivious to the fact that he was no longer alone, Dean jumped, glancing up just as Cas was seating himself on the mattress beside him. His cheeks glistened with smeared tears and his lips trembled. The surprise in the green of his eyes was quickly overcome by suspicious defensiveness, Cas reminding himself not to take it personally.
"Cas, get-"
"Listen to me." Cas's voice was firm – deep and commanding. Like it had been when they'd first met. Before his respect for Dean had rid him of his ability to silence the human. Because he didn't like to speak to Dean so – he was only deserving of soft words and gentle praises. Honest, true things. But perhaps Dean needed to be told once in a while, if only so he could be ordered to appreciate himself as he ought.
Dean's lips had clamped shut, surprise dancing across his expression. It'd been years since Cas had talked to him that way.
"Dean," Cas's eyes narrowed, his hand moving up to draw along the base of Dean's jaw. "I'm not taking advantage of you."
"Cas, don't-"
"Enough." Silenced again. "Enough of this. No more." The backs of his knuckles brushed Dean's cheek, a soft smile pulling at his lips. A smile that Dean had taught him. Because Dean had been the first person he'd ever truly smiled for. In all his existence, in all his lifetimes, that single, small thing was Dean.
That which he treasured above all his father's creations. One man. One soul.
"Dean, I love you."
A word that had never seemed sufficient to Cas. It didn't say enough, didn't mean what he wanted to say. But language was limited, and his attempts to show Dean hadn't worked out how he'd planned. So that was what he'd come to.
"I've loved you since the day I pulled your soul from Hell. As my brothers and sisters have said, that was the day I was lost – the day I truly fell.
"I fell for you."
He could see the fear Sam had spoken of in those wide green eyes. In the way they stared, and how they flitted back and forth. As if searching for something – for a reason, Cas realized. A reason why what was said couldn't be true.
"You're everything to me, Dean," he assured. "I live for you."
"Cas-"
"And I'm sorry if that got lost somewhere along the way. I only wanted to show you how much I loved you. And when you wanted to stop, I wanted to make sure you understood that that was okay too." His other hand came up, caressing Dean's cheeks, thumbs rubbing at the tear streaks. "Whatever you want, that's what I want too."
Those damp lashes closed, hiding that beautiful green, and Cas could see the way Dean was gritting his teeth, his lips parted some. Like it was painful to hear such things. A bittersweet agony.
Hand shaking, Dean reached up, his fingers slipping around Cas's wrist. His other pulled almost hesitantly at the lapel of Cas's jacket, as if that on its own – accepting even that small part of Cas – was near impossible.
"It's okay," Cas whispered, leaning in. He allowed his thigh to slide against Dean's, his hands pulling him closer. Their noses brushed, Dean's breath hitching, and Cas laid his words against the path of Dean's fresh tear. "You're okay. I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere.
He kissed him softly, salty skin on his lips as he did.
"Let me love you."
Maybe it was the final barrier between them being broken, or the soft, encouraging way in which Cas trailed kisses over Dean's cheeks, nose, and chin. Until, finally, he was on lips, Dean drawing in a haggard breath that Cas caught mid-caress.
Soon Dean was allowing his hands to pull up under Cas's jacket, unsteady, but certain. And Cas was laying him back in the sheets, never allowing their lips to part until Dean had to take in a gasping, heavy breath. One that Cas found he needed as well, but had been too distracted to realize.
Because Dean was his air.
With careful hands and constant reassurance, Cas slowly pealed away Dean's suit, Dean doing the same to him. Until they were only each other inside the sheets, Dean's legs wrapped tightly around Cas, holding him close as his hands clawed as Cas's back. As Cas let his lips explore every scar, every crevice, every muscle and freckle that existed within the stretch of Dean's skin.
Until they moved together – with curling toes and whimpered names and bowing spines. Sinking hips and grasping fingers. Ecstasy that burst between them; that became more than what Dean had ever thought it could be.
Because it wasn't just sex with Cas. It never would have been, which had perhaps been part of the problem. They'd become too close, gotten to know each other too well. Until nothing was "just" something.
Dean wasn't sure he'd say Cas made love to him that afternoon. Maybe on the surface, that was what it looked like. But, really, the love had always been there. Cas hadn't made it – just made it possible for Dean to see it.
Allowed him to feel more important, and more cherished, than he had in his entire life. Like he was more than just a desperate man looking for something to live for. Like he had that, and so it was okay to finally let his life take him.
To allow himself to experience it all differently than he had before.
To be, for the first time, standing in the sunlight he'd spent so long trying to shine on others. To look into those blue eyes and know that what he saw was real. That it didn't matter how short their live were, or that they spent them at the end of a knife or the barrel of gun.
For the first time, his life wasn't defined by how it'd end. It was reflected in the people that loved him.
A fact he could finally see for himself.
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