Chapter Twenty-Five

Castiel is released from the hospital the next day, when it becomes clear that he has no real injuries to speak of other than his minor confusion and dehydration. The orders are to keep him well-hydrated (obviously) and check his memory every day, which Dean plans on following to a T.

It's a quiet ride back to the hotel room Dean's booked, with just a brief interlude of: "You want to get something to eat?" "I'm not hungry." "You sure?" "Yes, Dean," and then Castiel spends a suspiciously long amount of time in the bathroom, taking a shower, and Dean's half a second away from bursting in to make sure he's still conscious when he comes out with shaggy wet hair and a flushed face.

"Good shower?"

"Yeah."

"Long."

A slight pause. "Yeah."

And a moment later they're both sitting on opposite beds, a pregnant silence weighing between them.

"So," says Dean. He's been thinking constantly since the trip to the warehouse, and the conclusions he's come to feel too large to say yet. "How do you feel?"

"I feel… fine," says Castiel cautiously. He swallows. "And how are you?"

"Fine," says Dean in a brief tone. "I'm fine. I -" he has to close his eyes for a moment before he can say, "I'm guessing that's due to you?"

"What do you mean?"

He's going to make him spell it out then. Sighing hard, Dean looks away, and why the fuck is this so difficult for him? "Back there, when I was - they got me pretty good. Thought it was going to be the end for me, actually; had all my goodbyes written out. Very poetic, really. And you… stopped me from dying, didn't you? So really, you stopped art from happening. Wow, thanks." The joke falls flat. He forces himself to go on. "And that's not the first time you've done that sort of thing. Is it." It's not a question.

"I - Dean -"

"Come on, Cas, just be honest with me."

That's all it takes for Castiel to look stricken and straighten up, voice falling into a monotone when he says, "It happened before. At the car wreck, like I said. You could have been paralyzed and I couldn't let that happen. I'm sorry if you feel - violated."

Dean drags a hand over his face and then gets to his feet. "Violated? Seriously, what the hell, man."

"And then - the dogs."

"What dogs?"

Castiel looks down at his hands miserably. "At Metatron's house. I had some sort of. Control over them, I don't know. I spoke in Enochian, and they obeyed. That's how I got them to do what they did as a distraction."

So what Cas is saying is that he's now saved Dean's bacon three separate times.

So why does he still have such a foul taste in his mouth?

"I know I've done some bad things, Cas." Dean stands with his back to the teenager, unable to look at him. "I see that, extraordinarily clearly. Trust me, I see the mistakes I've made every single day. But you watched me make them - seen what happens when I don't tell you shit, so why would do the same thing?"

He turns back around, almost expecting Castiel to look ashamed or on the verge of another breakdown, and takes a step back when he sees Cas up and standing right before him.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks in a low voice.

"Um," says Dean, taken aback. "Sure? I mean, I'm not too thirsty but…" he trails off as Castiel moves around him, going into the bathroom and grabbing one of the glasses in there. The faucet turns on.

Which, of course, is Castiel's way of deflecting the conversation because he just got out of the fucking hospital and Dean's a shitty partner-slash-boyfriend-slash-whatever who can't give him a moment's respite.

"Thanks. You - should get some for yourself, too. Since you're recuperating and shit." Dean accepts the drink and takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving Castiel's face, and yeah, he's definitely a piece of shit because he can't help adding, "This isn't over," as he lowers the cup. "This is an ongoing subject, Cas. I'm - God, I can't even think about it. As if we don't have enough to worry about with Metatron getting away."

He realizes, as Castiel blinks slowly at him, that he sounds an awful lot like his father. God damn. "I just - Cas, I can't believe you wouldn't tell me - me, of all people -" and he's getting angry now, despite what he says. "I'm going to take a fucking shower. I swear I'm not angry. I'm just. I need some time to take it all in."

His fingers dip clumsily into the bedspread as he pushes himself to his feet and Dean throws out a hand, his feet going sideways as he stumbles away and then there's a sound that he belatedly connects with shattering glass. He knocked over the lamp. "What the - fuck," his lips feel heavy and his tongue won't cooperate properly. What's happening? The world sways in and out as he aims for the bathroom. "What's - happening -"

"No, stop," Castiel says, coming up behind him and taking his arm gently as he pulls him back to the bed. "Lie down for a moment. It's starting to take effect."

"What's… starting," slurs Dean. His muscles don't seem to be connecting properly with his head; he staggers heavily before landing face first on the bed. There's a moment where he breathes in the smell of detergent and old cotton before Castiel's hands are on him, turning him over and pushing him more firmly in the center of the bed. "Cas...siel…"

"Shh," whispers Castiel, and then the bed dips as he climbs up next to Dean. Cool fingers run through Dean's hair and he turns his face towards Castiel's heat questioningly, his thoughts growing and shrinking and melting and freezing and burning him. "Dean. Just let it sink in."

"What's… tell…" he manages out, and Castiel lifts his head up tenderly and then sets him back down in his lap.

"It's my Grace," Castiel whispers. His voice is a long twisting strand that winds into Dean's head and swirls around, magnifying large for a moment and then spinning dizzyingly out of control. Dean cannot seem to focus on any one thing that's happening except for the fingers still combing patiently through his hair and then all of a sudden he connects it.

"Grace," he slurs.

And then his entire body seizes up, all his muscles tightening at once, and he's letting out an excruciating yell. Turning, he buries his face in Castiel's pants and dig his hands into the covers, a hot shiver wracking through his body.

"Oh no," says Castiel above him, sounding fazed for the first time since the drink entered Dean's system. "It's - Dean? Oh no, is it too much? It's -" His frantic hands pull at Dean's face, trying to pull him upright as Dean curls in on himself and screams. "It's pure Grace - Dean, I didn't think, I didn't think about it -"

And then suddenly Dean is filled with the purest energy he has ever felt. It is everything beautiful and righteous in the world - it fills every pore of his body, a burning heat that seems to bypass the strongest euphoria. He sits upright, his eyes glowing the brightest blue possible, and looks at Castiel with wonder in his face. "I feel," he chokes out.

Castiel looks wrecked. "What?" he says. "What do you feel, Dean?"

Dean lifts his hands, marvelling over the way the slightest wind brushes over his skin and the way he can hear his own hair moving just barely. Everything is magnified, highlighted, everything is quick and fast and hot and clear. He feels as though he has been blind his entire life and now he understands why this is the most addictive drug to enter the market, why people kill for it - because how can he possibly go back to his old, dim life without it?

This is seeing for the first time - this is fucking flying.

"I feel everything," says Dean in a raptured voice, and jerks up off the bed. His muscles are tight and compact, reacting to everything he thinks five seconds before he thinks it. He needs… he needs - he knows what he needs. Spinning on his heel, he strides powerfully to the door and throws it open, ignoring Castiel's startled yelp behind him. The stairs. Not the elevator, too slow. Everything's too slow, like the world is a murky fish tank and he is the predatory shark aching to sink his teeth into something.

He moves down the hallway, walking quickly at first and then breaking out into a sprint. A wild laugh escapes him, euphoric. He wants to do everything. He wants to live, for the first time in his life. Castiel shouts out behind him, but Dean ignores it, instead aiming for the stairwell and darting inside. Up, he goes. Up, up, so fast his thighs burn. But at the same time, it's not enough. He wants more. He could withstand anything at this point, any kind of pain, it's nothing, nothing! He is Dean Winchester, he is a lightning bolt, he is a hurricane captured and tied down in a human body. He laughs again, and it spirals down the stairwell.

"Dean!" calls Castiel frantically behind him. "Stop!"

Stop?

Stop? The word is meaningless. What are limits? What are restrictions? He races forward, surging up two stairs at a time, he's on the twelfth story, the fourteenth, the sixteenth, up.

Then, abruptly, it comes to an end. He's panting hard, eyes alight, and doesn't hesitate as he pulls the door open. There, at the end of the hallway, is an exit to the open roof. He's reached it in a flash, pulling that door open too, stepping out into the icy night air. There's a pool out here, the water completely undisturbed. He ignores it entirely, moving instead to the edge of the roof where a high wall separates him from freedom.

He climbs up on it, unwavering. The width isn't very wide; no one intended for anyone to stand on it, but he does, legs strong. A breeze ripples his hair, flattening his clothes against his torso as he stares out at the night.

An unadulterated smile crosses his face.

Bliss, that's what this is. Pure bliss. He knows he can do it. He knows he will feel so much better… falling. Flying. Slowly, his arms spread out from his sides, his head tilting back as he soaks it in. The moment before, that's what he loves. The anticipation.

His wings spread out behind him. He can't see them, just knows they're there - wide, dark wings, with feathers ruffled from the wind. Tilting and turning, spreading as they wait for the drop. How has he never noticed his wings before? He feels so complete with them open, like he has waited his entire life for this moment.

He flexes his wings, testing them. Readying them. He's ready.

The door bursts open behind.

"Dean!" shouts Castiel hoarsely, as though he's been shouting this entire time. "Please! Please - you - you can't! Get down!"

"Relax," says Dean, wings flaring out sharply at the intrusion. "I just want one go. I'll be right back."

"Dean - Dean, stop!" cries Castiel, and his voice breaks. "You don't - you're hallucinating! You can't fly; you'll die!"

He ignores this, opening his eyes and studying the landscape again. He wants to go… there. Between those two buildings. Then he'll swoop around, show off a little, be back in a flash.

"If you die, I'll die!" shouts Castiel.

And that gets Dean's attention.

It's like a quick flitting thought, too fast in his whirling mind, just there and gone: He, of all people, can't die.

Slowly, Dean turns around, staring down at the boy before him. He's bent over in half, sobbing silently. The gasps are escaping him one after another, like he can't control it, which is odd. Odd, because the Grace came from him, and Dean has never felt more in control in his entire life. Surely if Cas has a surplus of Grace rather than just one drop - surely he would be fine in any situation, right?

But now he looks like he's falling apart. And that gives Dean just one moment of hesitation. Just one twinge of worry. He loves this person. He doesn't want…

"Please," gasps Castiel again. "Just… just get down. Please, Dean."

He cocks his head, considering. His wings flutter impatiently behind him, arcing out impressively. They yearn to feel the wind beneath them, to carry his weight like they're meant to. But that would break Castiel. And he… can't. He cannot do that.

He drops to the pavement, the Grace dimming in his veins just barely.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go back to the room."

Cas looks like he might collapse in relief. Instead, he just nods weakly and follows Dean back to the stairwell, back down the stairs, back into the room. At the edge of the room, he says, "Dean," and Dean turns to him, and Cas kisses him.

It is as if he has never been kissed before in his life, and Dean does it again - and again, pulling back to breathe for a moment only to capture Castiel's lips hungrily, nothing satisfying him. Everything is lightning and fire but instead of overwhelming him, it's as if his mind's able to process everything five times faster and needs five times more to be satisfied.

The urge to fly disappears. Another urge entirely takes it place.

"Cas. Cas, I need you," growls Dean, nipping at Castiel's jaw and then pushing him to the bed, pushing him down and straddling him. Castiel lets out a happy, relieved little whimper underneath him, reaching up to unbutton his shirt and push it off so that Dean's shirtless. "You are - so beautiful."

"I'm sorry I lied to you," says Castiel, but Dean doesn't care about that - doesn't care about anything, is only fixated on the taste of Castiel's skin under his searching tongue. He wants to take and take and give nothing back. Castiel squirms as Dean roughly attacks his nipple, licking and then biting down without warning. "I -" he keens sharply. "I want us to be okay."

Dean says, "I'm going to fuck you."

Castiel takes in a harsh breath. "Dean -"

"Shh," whispers Dean, and plants his hands on either side of the angel's head, leaning in and kissing him deeply again. He drags his tongue against Castiel's, feeling the teenager shudder against him, and then draws his lower lip into his mouth. The Grace whispers hurry up, hurry up, but he takes one more moment to kiss Castiel deeply before pulling back and focusing his attention on undressing Castiel as quickly as possible - which, with Grace pounding in his veins, is faster than ever before.

All of a sudden, the angel is naked before Dean, ready for his perusal, and Dean is still half-dressed and harder than he's ever been before in his life.

"I can hear your heartbeat," says Dean. "Does that mean you can hear mine, when all is quiet?" It's a thought he can't get rid of and he rests his hand on Castiel's smooth chest, feeling him shiver underneath his touch. "Is this how you feel all the time, with your endless Grace?"

"Are you mad, Dean?" asks Castiel in a hushed voice.

Dean closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath through his nose, smelling the sweat starting to gather on the angel's skin.

"Dean?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't find out until -"

Dean's hand clenches, his short nails digging abruptly into tender skin and causing Castiel to cry out in alarm, Dean's eyes flaring open. "Why didn't you tell me? As soon as you found out?"

"Because I was afraid," says Castiel.

Dean stares at him for a moment, seeing every individual fleck of blue in his eyes, and then unbuckles his belt and unsnaps his pants. He barely seems to notice when he's off Castiel and standing but a sore noise from Castiel shows that he definitely noticed. "Turn over," he says, and his voice sounds hollow to his ears. "On your hands and knees."

Castiel scrabbles to comply and Dean feels his cock twitch at that, at the utter control he has over this angel - this young, vulnerable angel who would be willing to do anything to appease Dean, to earn his forgiveness.

Dean slides his pants and boxers off and then he's naked, cock hard and leaking.

"You should have told me," he says quietly, and watches as a shudder ripples down the angel's body.

"Dean," whimpers Castiel.

He's never felt this alive. He's never felt so destructive. He wants to strike down the immoral and burn down everyone who's ever offended him and he wants to fuck someone so hard they scream.

Wants to fuck Cas so hard he screams Dean's name.

"Prepare yourself," he orders in a hard voice. He can see Castiel's legs trembling underneath him. Slowly Dean reaches down, taking himself in hand and tilting his head back at the instantaneous relief and pleasure it brings.

"Do - do I - can I use lube?"

For a moment, he considers saying no. The really sick thing is that he knows Castiel would obey - as eager for praise and forgiveness as he is - if he told him he was allowed only spit and nothing else. If he made Castiel lick his cock and make it nice and wet and told him, "Better make it good, because that's all you're getting," and Castiel would only lick harder until his lips were red and lips were covered in shiny spit.

But angry and destructive as he is, Dean's not a sadist. And he's definitely not a rapist. No, he won't be doing anything tonight that Cas isn't begging and pleading for first.

"Get the lube," he says in a husky voice.

Castiel scrambles to obey and then sits back on the bed, moving to rest against the headboard and then immediately looking to Dean for permission; Dean nods, and then Castiel's attention is diverted as he opens the bottle and squirts a generous amount on his hand. He's still shaking but there's nothing but anticipation in his expression as he reaches down past his cock and then slowly, leaning his head back and spreading his legs, he presses a slick finger into himself and let outs a tiny whimper.

Dean drags his hand teasingly against his own dick, eyes locked on the angel before him. "That's it," he says lowly. "Keep going."

Castiel's stomach is tight, his chest heaving with controlled breaths, but he listens to Dean, slowly moving his finger in and out and then in a circle, stretching himself.

"Another," says Dean.

Castiel's head snaps up. "Another?" he rasps out. There's sweat clinging to the tips of his hair, gathered in the hollow of his collarbone. "Dean -"

"Another," says Dean tightly.

Castiel takes in one harsh breath, then another. He lifts his hips off the bed slightly, maneuvering, and then hisses through his teeth as he pushes another finger in and waits.

"Move," Dean orders.

He makes an odd little noise, the muscles in his thighs tensing up and then Dean watches as he seems to get himself under control, closing his eyes and leaning back against the headboard and taking one deep breath, slowly, before pushing his fingers in deeper. His cock is neglected and only half-hard but it twitches a little as he slowly fucks himself on his own fingers. In and out, disappearing into the tight ring of muscle again and again. It's only a matter of moments before he's enjoying it, moaning now and arching his back up as he begins to move his fingers faster.

"That's it," says Dean approvingly, still slowly pumping his cock. And then Castiel starts to make little choking noises and Dean's eyes harden. "Don't you dare fucking come."

Just like that, Castiel seems to remember what he's doing and for whom; he stills almost instantly, fingers buried in his hole past his first knuckle, and he opens his eyes and stares heatedly at Dean. "Please."

"Please what?"

He cants his hips up, expression pleading, wanting. "Please, Dean, please, I need you."

"Hands and knees."

Castiel lets loose a broken little moan as he drags his fingers out of him and then he's moving, turning over and sliding back, his back dipping down as he gives willing access to Dean. It's a tantalizing view - his hole open and wet, sloppy with lube, waiting to be filled. He's a quivering mess. Dean moves and finds the abandoned bottle of lube, letting it drip onto his hand and then sliding it against his cock. Takes his time, lets Castiel grow impatient and needy. The bed creaks as he gets on it and moves to position himself behind Castiel, gripping the bottom of his dick and Castiel's hip as he presses the head of his cock into Cas's hole.

"Oh," says Castiel, and shudders.

Dean says, "Fuck," and also, "Shit," and then, "Baby, come on," as he pushes in with little rocks of his hips, now both his hands gripping Cas's hips as he slips in, inch by inch. It's the tightest thing he's ever fucked, pushing all the way in until his balls are resting against the curve of Castiel's ass and he can't move any more.

Castiel's whimpering. His head is down, resting on his forearms, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his skin.

It's partly the Grace, he knows. The way his skin feels like lightning and his muscles thrum with energy. It feels as though he could come and come and still have stamina to go all night; he pulls out, forcing Cas to cry out, and thrusts back in, hard. "More?" he grunts.

Castiel's shaking, sweat glistening everywhere, and for a moment it seems as though he's not going to respond and then: "More," he rasps out.

Dean doesn't hesitate. Pushing in, pulling out, lost in the animalistic rhythm of it. Brutal in his conquest, unable to help the little groans slipping out as Castiel squeezes around him like a vice.

Yes, part of it is the Grace, the euphoria of it - but the other part is Cas himself. Beautifully hot, young and lithe, a masterpiece. Moaning and whimpering and shaking and calling out Dean's name, over and over like a prayer. And then when Dean slows slightly - thrusting in harder now, deeper - and reaches beneath him with a hand still wet with lube to take Cas in hand, stroking him in time with Dean's thrusts - the teenager reacts like nothing else, whole body tensing up.

"I'm - I'm -" he sounds like he's dying, "coming, oh, Dean, don't stop - fuck - fuck, don't stop, Dean -"

He contracts sharply around Dean and Dean growls, slamming in over and over again with all the force of a hurricane. And then all of a sudden his orgasm knocks him into him and he stills, throwing his head back, whole body tense as it rides through him. He's gritting his teeth together, a noise escaping him unlike anything else, and it is pleasure that he's never felt before. Power and adrenaline and bright lights and Cas still moaning into the sheets, begging for more, more.

He pulls out - almost enjoying the slight hiss Cas makes - and watches as his own come slides out of Cas's filthy hole down his thigh. Unthinkingly, he reaches out, swiping a finger through it and coming up with a glob of it - and when Castiel turns around, he holds it out, still feeling the fire roar through him. "Lick," he says.

Castiel looks up at him, unkempt and mussed and looking well-fucked, and then leans forward and draws Dean's finger into his mouth, tongue swirling against it as he sucks.

Dean pulls his finger out, watching the way Castiel's hazy eyes follow it with longing. "Still want something to suck?" he asks in a low voice.

Castiel just looks up at him, dazed and lustful.

"Clean me up. Get it all up. I know you want it."

"I do," murmurs Cas, and he shifts forward on the bed, dragging his tongue up Dean's sensitive member lovingly. Another little moan escapes him as he licks away at the come there - and then he takes it into his mouth, eyes closed as he moves his head up and down it.

Dean can't believe what he's seeing. Cas - moving with limbs heavy with exhaustion and clearly still lost in his post-orgasmic state - dragging up come off a cock that was previously just in his ass. It's the hottest thing Dean think he's ever seen and if he hadn't just come, he would be ready for round two. As it is, it gets to be too much after just a moment and he pushes Cas back by the shoulder, moving his hand up to cup the boy's face afterward to soften the movement. "Come here," he murmurs.

Castiel struggles to get up on his knees, still eager to obey, and kisses Dean sloppily, messily. Here is someone who would do anything for Dean's touch - anything just for half a second of affection and approval, and Dean gives it to him. Back down on the bed he pushes him, covering him up with his body as he kisses the angel with everything he has.

He can taste his own come on Castiel's tongue.

"Dean, Dean," says Cas after a moment, breaking away and looking up at him with those muddled eyes. "I - I'm sorry -"

"Later," Dean says. "Tomorrow." Already he can feel the Grace dying away in his veins, leaving him empty and exhausted. He wants to sleep a thousand years. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Don't leave, okay?"

"I won't. I said I won't."

"I just couldn't bear it if you did," says Castiel in a quiet voice, and after Dean turns the light out - not even bothering to clean them both up, that can wait for the morning as well - he clings to him in a pathetic sort of way, as though he still doesn't trust Dean to not be there in the morning.

Dean falls asleep hearing every beat Castiel's heart makes.

His body aches when he wakes up, and Dean just lays there for a moment with closed eyes, feeling both incredibly hungover and like someone just beat the shit out of him. He never wants to drink or do drugs or smoke ever again in his entire life - how do people become addicts? How do they willingly ingest it knowing they'll have to face this moment right here as soon as the high is gone? It doesn't seem worth it in the slightest.

Beside him, a body shifts, and suddenly Dean remembers exactly why he feels this way.

"Dean?" comes the quiet inevitable whisper.

He feigns sleep. A gentle hand touches his hair, running along it then dipping further down, combing soothingly through his hair. It's no wonder Castiel likes it so much when he does this - it pushes Dean back towards sleep, soothing the throb that's started up in the back of his head.

"Dean. I'm sorry," Castiel whispers again.

Dean shifts, throwing an arm up over his face, and regrets it as the fingers in his hair still and then slowly withdraw. "Why'd you do it, Cas?"

It takes the teenager a moment to speak, as though he first has to gather his thoughts. "It was wrong of me. I - I was scared."

That he knew, of course. They were both terrified, all the time. "Of what?"

"Of… you leaving me."

Dean lays there for a moment, arm resting heavily over his eyes, and then he moves his forearm and rolls to his side, staring at Castiel who he now sees is also on his side, watching Dean with a petrified expression. "How would drugging me solve anything?"

He swallows hard. "I thought maybe. If you felt it. You would see that I'm worth it. That it's not all bad that I'm an angel." A slow flush is creeping up his neck and he looks shameful. "I can make you feel good, Dean. All the time, you can take whatever you want."

Dean wishes he still had his arm over his eyes, that he didn't have to see this expression before him, so wanton and longing and young. "Cas, you know I don't want Grace. You know that. I don't want you here because you're useful to me, I - I thought you knew that."

"I'm sorry I lied," whispers Castiel, looking more mournful than he has a right to. "It's just - I was afraid you would get angry and then you - you did -"

"God, Cas," says Dean, and pushes him onto his back and curls up on top of him. He feels Cas shift underneath him to get comfortable and then press his cold nose up into Dean's throat, a small noise escaping him. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just. Get angry sometimes and can't control myself. I'm not leaving, I told you that."

"I know," whispers Castiel. They're both silent for a moment and then he says, "I like you like this. On top of me. It makes me feel safe."

"Mmm." They don't have too long; at some point they'll have to go in to work and face what damage's been done by screwing up the Metatron thing but for now - for now, Dean just breathes in the smell of Castiel and tries to forget everything else.

"I guess," he says after a little while, "we're even now, huh?"

Castiel makes a questioning little noise.

"I mean - I gave you the pills. You gave me your Grace. Does this make us even?"

"Oh. I don't know. Does it?"

The way Dean sees it, he has two options here. The first is simple: he can let it go. He can pretend it never happened, forgive and forget, go about his life like he did before and pretend his boyfriend didn't drug him. Perhaps not the healthiest option, but it's the easiest for everyone involved. Dean has always been rather exceptional at pretending certain things never happened.

The second option is messier. It involves long, emotional talks about what is Right and what is Not Allowed and will probably end in either one of them crying or one of them punching something. Neither sounds particularly appealing.

He realizes he loves Cas. He'd said it before - in the heat of the moment, dying as he was - but now he thinks it again to himself, calmly and rationally. Tries it out once, then twice, seeing if it fits. Like trying on a shoe or tasting something for the very first time. How do I find this? I love him. I love you, Cas.

Shifting, he moves his head down until his lips can press against the tender skin of Cas's neck, kissing his way till his reaches Castiel's shoulder and then back up. He pauses at the fluttering pulse he finds midway, presses his lips down more firmly on it and then sucking lightly. Cas's breathing hitches, and it is a beautiful noise.

He does. He does love this person. This angel. He would do anything for him, he thinks. Even forgive him for giving him that particular drug. Cas had no idea of knowing what that drug meant for him - no idea of knowing just how personally Dean despises it. He was just an innocent kid, acting out in fear. A lost animal, who didn't know any better.

"What was it like?" asks Cas in a rough voice, not meeting Dean's questioning gaze. He stares off into a corner of the room. "The Grace?"

After a moment of thinking, Dean says, "It was like flying."

"Oh."

"It made me understand why people are so willing to hand over their life to it. Why they take more and more, despite knowing that it will one day kill them."

"It was that good?"

"It was that dangerous."

"Oh," says Castiel again.

"There's too much of a good thing, Cas. It felt good, yeah, but… it wasn't worth it. It was too good, you know?"

"Hmm," says Cas, and they fall silent. Dean kisses him again, on the underside of his jaw now. Wonders when Cas will be able to really grow a beard, if he'd like that. Would it scratch him? Would that feel good? He rubs his own scruffy cheek against Castiel's throat and thinks he'd like to try it. He can feel the vibrations of Castiel's voice when he speaks again. "Actually, I don't know. How was it too good? How can something be toogood?"

Dean pushes himself slightly off the angel, moving to the side and propping himself up on his elbow as he looks down in the innocent face. "It was… it was fake, Cas," he says slowly. "It heightened the experience, yeah, but… Sex with you doesn't need heightening. I don't want to think, 'Oh, that was great because of the drugs.' I just want it to be good enough on its own. You take one hit like that, and it makes everything else seem so… small. But I don't ever want something to dim this. I don't want to think, 'Oh, that was nothing compared to the Grace.' I want every touch from you to be a drug on its own. That's why it was too good. Because it wasn't real."

Castiel studies him. Sometimes it is so much to be on the receiving end of that gaze - to see so much intensity trained solely on him. Cas makes him feel like a god, with those eyes on him, and it's all Dean can do not to shy away. "I think I understand now. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"I'm not angry," says Dean, and he's not. "Come here." And this time it's Castiel climbing on top of him, and when their lips meet, it is a slow ember that warms Dean to the core.