Chapter Twenty-Five
Never a Last Stand

Back at the Bat Cave, Sam walked around, replacing all the light bulbs and making note of a half dozen spoiled electronics.

"The coffee maker?" he asked loudly. "Seriously guys? How did you do this?"

There was no response.

"Dean?" Sam yelled. "What the hell?"

He pounded on Dean's door to no avail. As he popped the door open, a note fell on his head. Apparently, it had been jammed in the door's crevice like a booby trap.

Sam:

First, don't go in my damn room if the door is shut, even if I don't respond.

Second, I'm on vacation. Not fake, cut-short vacation, but actual vacation, all day. Do me a favor and don't call, even if that means you take the day off to make sure you don't have to.

-Dean

"Nice," Sam said to himself, crumpling up the note.

Rufus's Cabin had fewer electrical appliances than any motel or other hideaway the Winchesters used. It wasn't nearly as well kept, but it had all the essentials, and what's more, with Sam stashed at the Men of Letters Lair, it was completely empty. That's how Dean and Cas wound up there today.

Above all, it was his eyes - the steady, steel-blue fixtures - that kept Dean on track. Uncertainty, or embarrassment, would nip at his heels, but all he'd have to do is look into Castiel's eyes, and all that evaporated.

Kissing had long been a favorite pastime of Dean's, and he never felt a hitch in kissing the angel.

Admittedly, Dean never imagined locking lips with another man, touching him - but then again, he never thought he'd be in love, as in holy-shit-I'm-complete-with-you-fucking-soap-opera love with an angel. And the lack of imagination and forethought made the entire experience continuously surprising and blissfully thought-free. Fluid, even slippery, as time went on.

In truth, an element of angelic being is a form of spiritual telepathy similar to listening to a silent prayer, except on a physical level. Every time Castiel healed Dean, he felt every gyrating atom. Sexual contact through his vessel amplified this particular phenomenon, like accelerating the spinning of a wheel to the point of where it opened Dean up to the same experiences as Cas.

Vulcan mind-meld-like events aside, the sheer physical sensation alone could've slain its fair share of dragons, should anyone be willing to put it to the test.

Rufus's cabin was completely isolated, but had anyone passed by on this day, they would've witnessed the very stone foundation shaking as the wood splintered under the tremendous force of angelic pleasure rising into the sky.

At that particular moment, neither cared that they had literally brought down the cabin around them. It wasn't until a beam cast down next to them that they really noticed.

Instinctively, Dean pressed Cas's body into the back of the sofa, protecting him from any debris. Post-coitus lethargy set in on him, but apparently angels were immune. He rolled Dean to his other side, making him the little spoon.

"We might need to build a safe-sex room, Cas," Dean said sleepily. "One that we can't blow up."

Castiel smiled at the indication of 'we,' and replied, "I understand."

As Dean fell asleep, the angel pondered the requirements of such a room. It wasn't until nearly half an hour later that he realized Dean had fallen asleep naked in the middle of wrecked cabin that could fall on his head with only his angel there to protect him. Something about that seared into Castiel's mind and blood forever.

End of Part One: Trials of Hell and Heart

Author's Note: This chapter marks the end of the fifth episode adapted, originally called 09x00 Never a Last Stand. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and will check back for future updates.