Thanks for reviewing. Always helps.

Alas, I have no ramblings today. Here's the next one...

Chapter Twenty Six

Dean is in the house alone.

It shouldn't be a big deal, he's a damn grown man, but it is. It's a big deal for Sam, who Dean has sent out to socialize or go read encyclopedias or whatever geeks do. And after a lengthy discussion, Sam cautiously agreed. Which Dean is thankful for. Because he loves his brother, and knows he'd be laying in a shaking heap on the side of the road somewhere without him, but he needs some fucking space. And he's sure Sam does too. Maybe he'll go read a book, or get laid. Dean would love for the poor kid to have a few hours of Dean-less fun. Besides, Dean wants to prove that he is getting better. He wants to prove to Sam that he can be left alone. It's a test, in a way.

So Sam tells him his phone is on and charged. He tells Dean that he's going to call to check in and that Dean better answer. And he leaves post-it notes all over the house, as is customary now a days, in case Dean has one of his nervous spells.

Neither of them are naive enough this far down the road to assume Dean is out of the woods. He still has his spells - those moments where he is fine one second, and the next is staring down at the floor or at the wall, lost, utterly confused. Baffled and disoriented and occasionally hostile or terrified. For a moment, he is somewhere else. Sam can only assume it's Purgatory. It takes Dean a few minutes to come back to earth. Usually it requires Sam gripping him at the shoulders and shaking him and calling his name loud enough for Dean to find his way back to him through the haze. Sometimes all it takes is a little note, reminding Dean where he is. A couple times he's wandered out into the street, gun or knife in hand. He's never attacked anyone, but still, the armed disorientation is a close enough call.

It's the reason Sam still won't let him drive, and why he is hesitant to leave Dean alone. Dean knows his brother can't stand the thought of him home alone, staring at the walls, ready to slit someone's throat - sitting in the bathtub, trembling, knife at the ready and terrified of monsters that aren't there. But Dean needs Sam not to feel guilty about being his own person, just as much as he needs Sam in general.

Besides, Dean is feeling alright today. So far, when these spells happen he's hardly a danger to himself and others. Granted, he doesn't really remember... but he's pretty sure he just trudges around. Most of the time he comes-to lying in the bathtub or squeezed in the corner half under the bed. Usually he has a weapon, but he never wakes up covered in blood, which is a good sign.

So Dean's pretty sure everything will be fine.

It's kind of nice being alone. It makes him feel, if even for a moment, like he is a self-reliant man again.

He is halfway through tidying the living room of all of their strewn-about clothes and dishes when he feels it, the prickle on his skin and shift in the atmosphere - unmistakeable - he feels it a split-second before he hears the rustle of wings.

Dean stiffens, one of Sam's flannel shirts still absently clutched in his hand, eyes unblinking but seeing nothing because all his focus is given to listening.

Anyone else would have assumed they were hearing things and continued on, such was the length of non-threatening silence that followed. But Dean knows better. He can feel him.

The liquid heat Castiel feels in his core as soon as he is near Dean again is torturous not to acknowledge with a sound. But he clamps down on it, doesn't let any sound escape him.

Castiel had formulated a rather strong approach in his mind before he'd come, a good speech - a sensible explanation for his disappearance and subsequent reappearance. But the reality of being in the room with Dean has made any kind of plan moot. The molten weight settling in him, the trembling in his muscles all twitching forward to touch him, the shake of his breath... Suddenly, he can say nothing.

Dean turns to face him, everything in him screaming and seizing up inside at the sight of the angel. Dean hates to admit it, but it's not an entirely bad feeling. Castiel is standing there in his coat and scrubs, with his dark hair a windswept mess, his pretty skin so clean and pale, and his heartbreaking familiarity tugging at Dean. Dean looks him over without shame, he can't help it, and he watches Castiel do the same.

Castiel takes in Dean's t-shirt fitted so well over his body, the way he stands up straight so that he almost looks well, the green of his eyes so much clearer, those orange freckles... Dean looks almost like himself again. Castiel drags his eyes up to his.

Dean's stare goes hard and cold.

Castiel's jaw is tight with nerves, his shoulders go stiff, and he looks like he might have something to say but his clenched jaw refuses to let him. And before anything else can happen...

Dean punches him in the face.

Castiel's bones are steel and Dean's crack under the force, but he barely winces. It hardly registers, what with the riot of rage and other emotion coursing through him at the sight of the angel. His sudden reappearance uses up all of Dean's awareness.

In a way, Castiel almost seems surprised at this greeting. But then, as his head turns slowly back toward Dean, Castiel's eyes look dark - not in a dangerous way. In that other way, that has Dean staring at him unblinking, heart rioting in his chest, body suddenly hot, lips slightly parted and breath held in his chest waiting for the next moment to happen.

Castiel surges forward and Dean moves to defend himself, but he is no match for an angel, and before Dean can blink or even wince Castiel's got him slammed up against a wall, their lips pressed together.

Dean's soul surges violently at the feeling, the touch of Castiel's skin against his own, finally, and he wavers for a moment... it feels so damn good... But he hasn't forgotten any part of how they left this - how Cas left this. He shoves Cas away by the chest roughly. Dean is glaring, they're both panting, and Castiel takes a moment to look at Dean - livid, all fight. And God, doesn't that just look right.

Castiel surges forward again and attacks Dean's mouth with his own, easily fighting through Dean's arms, held up to stop him. And so quickly hands are grabbing and tongues are dueling and teeth are nipping, and it's as though they never missed a beat. It's violent and harsh and neither of them is sure if they're are kissing or fighting. Castiel presses his body into Dean's so hard that he knows the man is hopelessly pinned against the wall; he knows he must look desperate, animal and needy. But the thought that they are finally here again, that he's finally given himself the permission to touch him, sends a white hot lance through his guts, and it feels so good but he can't get fucking close enough. Castiel can't have enough of Dean, can't feel enough of him at once - he is frenzied.

Suddenly there's a sharp pain at Dean's lip and he grunts and pulls away.

Bringing his finger to his bottom lip, Dean traces the stinging place and his fingers come away with a smear of blood. Wide eyed and panting, his eyes slide from his bloody finger, to Castiel's face. He sees the angel wiping a finger across his own lips, shocked to find a trace of blood there as well.

And Dean doesn't know if he's angry, or fuck, if he wants Castiel to come back and destroy him, because Castiel just bit his lip so hard he's bleeding.

Castiel looks as though he cannot believe himself. "I - Dean, I'm - I apolo-"

But he doesn't get to finish, because Dean is on him, lips sliding together again, hands pulling at him roughly.

Castiel groans into Dean's mouth as Dean grabs roughly at Castiel's hair, growling at the sound the angel makes in response. Their hands are bruising at each other's hips, fisting hard in clothes and hair and grabbing unforgivingly at skin and limbs. They can't touch enough fast enough. There is no rhythm to the way they slide together, but the friction of jeans against scrubs, cotton and starchy trench and skin rubbing together is so damn familiar that they let no space come between them, even when it hinders their movement. Neither is willing to give up even an inch.

Castiel can feel the familiar heat and solid bulk of the man beneath these clothes, against his own body, and it feels so much more like home than heaven had.

It feels so much more right.

Castiel pulls back, dodging Dean when his hungry lips chase after him. He stays close but doesn't let Dean kiss him, only brush lips, just barely. He waits, until Dean knows he's trying to take control, slow them down. And then when Dean holds back and waits for Castiel, the angel comes forward and he sucks at Dean's bottom lip, gently, tasting the addictive copper of his blood. His lips are slow, gentle against Dean's as he presses kisses to those lips, opens them slowly. A much better apology than the one he was prepared to give before. And he feels Dean's frantic shaking quell, as the man sinks into the slower touch. Castiel licks into his mouth and wills Dean's tongue to play, which Dean is all too happy to oblige.

The kiss is hot, intimate and slow, and exactly what they've both needed for so long. Dean can feel his palms getting sweaty against Castiel's coat, his knuckles aching sorely, but he refuses to loosen his grip - he's scared to let him go.

Castiel opens his eyes and pulls away slightly, leaving little kisses and nips at Dean's lips as he does, so he can and see Dean's expression - the man's eyes are closed, lips reddened gorgeously, eyebrows drawn together almost... sadly. He's scared. Castiel reaches a trembling hand up and presses his thumb, feather-light, to Dean's brow tracing the feature, smoothing away its furrow. And when he glances down Dean's eyes are open and on him, wide and glassy and Castiel knows all too well, that he is frightened.

Dean holds a moment, staying still, watching Castiel's face carefully and Cas knows that he is waiting for the moment when Castiel will realize what they've done and pull away. Cas knows what he must do. He stays. He keeps himself close to Dean, he holds his stare and keeps his arms around him and refuses, with trembling breath, to waver. He shows Dean that he is sure this time - he isn't going to change his mind. He isn't going to leave him. And when Dean, heartbreakingly nervously, leans slowly forward to kiss him, clearly terrified that Cas will push him away as he so often has, Castiel closes his eyes and begs him to do it. And when Dean comes forward and kisses him soft and innocent, Castiel feels his whole body shake in relief.

He shouldn't be able to run out of breath, but he does. Gasping as he pulls from the kiss, he tightens his hold on Dean, keeping his eyes shut and just feeling the closeness, the visceral realness of Dean. Castiel leans his forehead against Dean's, breathing against his lips, and Dean can feel the shaking of that breath. When Dean presses his hands to Castiel's back, sliding them up and down soothingly, keeping him close, Castiel sighs and lets his head drop down until his face is pressed into the crook of Dean's neck.

Their bodies are warm, fitted perfectly together.

"Why did you stay away from me?" Dean asks, so quietly that it's barely words at all.

A long moment passes, until Dean thinks that Cas is going to stay quiet, and then he feels him mutter against his skin, "I want to touch you, so much sometimes... that I can't breathe..."

Dean tries not to smile with relief, with joy, at the confession. He can hear the struggle in Cas' voice. The pain behind the statement. "Why don't you?" he asks. But Castiel says nothing. Dean remembers back to the unconquerable pain of Cas telling him, point blank, that he regretted them. Dean's throat feels tight, and his jaw clenches as he surmises, "You're ashamed -"

"No," Cas cuts him off suddenly and clearly, so there is no mistake, "No."

"It doesn't feel right," Dean admits sadly. "Coming back to it, knowing you regretted the whole thing."

Castiel lifts his head and looks Dean square in the eye. He tilts his head, squinting. "No I didn't."

"You said so Cas," Dean snaps back harshly, "you told me you did."

Castiel looks down at the floor, shaking his head somberly, "You misunderstand, Dean. I meant that I regretted it happened there, under such... circumstances." Castiel's voice is rough and flat, "You were broken and I was... evil. My regret is that I hadn't found my way to it, to you, when we were here in the world. Before we were..."

Dean has the inkling Cas is about to say Crazy. Or The only two men left alive.

"I regret that we never... found each other when we were... in our right minds. Before I'd made so many mistakes. It took being half-mad to see..."

Dean stares at the angel, waiting even as he can see he's run out of words.

Castiel's voice is low, almost a whisper, almost shy, "I could never regret what... what happened between us."

Dean exhales heavily through his nose, wincing - it's all he can do to keep from sobbing in relief. He feels like a raw nerve, hurting and exposed and praying not to be ruined. All he can think is how desperately he needs this to be real. He is utterly vulnerable and the thought of finally having Cas back, only for this to be snatched away again is... it's torture. He'd die. His voice comes out rough, scratchy and low, "You better be fucking serious."

Castiel leans his head back up, cupping Dean's face in both hands and looking at him, more like leveling him with his dead-serious blue-flame Castiel stare. Dean swallows, trapped in that stare. All he can do is stare back. Castiel's face is calm and commanding as he says:

"I'm always serious."

There is silence. Dean blinks, awed by him. After a silent, tense moment... Castiel slowly begins to smile.

Dean gapes in disbelief - that son of a bitch picked a hell of a time to grow a sense of humor. Dean can't help it, he lets out a laugh, a small one, shaking his head still in Cas' hands. And he can hear Cas' light laugh as well, even as Dean himself cusses under his breath and mutters a frustrated warning.

Castiel comes forward and kisses him. Before Dean knows what's happening he's got them flipped around, he's pressing Cas into the wall, kissing him hard and holding him tight. Owning him, like he's wanted to for so long.

When they break for air, Castiel pants, breathless against his lips, and Dean sees that now it's the angel who looks raw, vulnerable and desperate. Terrified. With eyes squeezed closed and head ducking down Castiel begs, "Tell me I can stay..."

"Oh you're stayin'," Dean replies, quietly but confidently. "Cas, we're stickin' together."

It takes the form of a demand, but they both know it's a question. An offer. A request. A desperate need for confirmation. And breathless Dean barely has to wait for Castiel's reply - a frantic nod as he surges forward and kisses Dean again.

...

They're laying in Dean's bed, hearts beating wildly, just barely touching. They're minds are buzzing, racing frantically to figure out what they're supposed to do next. Now that they have time, now that they're certain.

It's Dean who finally gets up, stomach in knots, but he is resolved. He strips off his t-shirt and jeans, easily and calmly, taking his boots and socks with them. He can feel the angel's eyes on him, hear his breathing. He hesitates for a moment, and then pulls off his underwear, and he is completely naked.

Cas sits up, arms shaky, and pulls his scrub shirt up over his head. He goes to slide his pants down, and Dean comes forward, leans down and pulls them off as Castiel lifts his hips.

They look each other over, both intimately aware of how much they'd wanted to be able to do this, and had never been able to before.

Sitting up on the bed, Cas is perfect - porcelain plains and sinewy muscle. Like some sort of indestructible priceless piece of china. The kind with gold filagree and pearly patterns that Dean has always been too afraid to touch, let alone drink from. Strangely beautiful. Castiel is familiar, even though the sight of him, like this, is new. And it gives Dean a good feeling, a safe feeling. Like he knows this is supposed to happen.

Castiel can only sigh at the sight of this man, standing there beside the bed. Dean, both bold and hesitant. This scarred-up adonis that he'd touched once, so easily, and that he hopes to touch again. His smooth skin is puckered, dipped and raised with the evidence of his violent history but to Castiel, it is perfect. Beautiful. It's a roadmap to this moment. It's the story of the hero. Every mark begs to be answered with soft fingertips and lips.

He drags his eyes over every inch, every line, that he'd so wished to have the luxury to see in Purgatory - the cut of his hipbones, the strong tops of his thighs. His appreciation of Dean's body isn't as sexual as he thought it would be. He doesn't have the uncontrollable want to throw him down and take him like he was so worried he would. He's just kind of in awe. All of Dean is bared, for him. And he for Dean. Cas swallows loudly as he watches, with a thudding heart, as Dean's eyes trail down his chest and stomach, and land on the part of him that only Dean has seen and touched.

Dean lays down beside Castiel, they face each other and feel each other's breath, coming quick and shaky. Castiel reaches out first, trails his fingers over the scar on Dean's shoulder from the monster's talons, the patchwork-healed wound from their first night in Purgatory. The catalyst that brought them here, to this shared, hybrid existence.

Castiel knows what he has to do. He wants to do it. He does.

He's just... fucking terrified.

Dean senses it, comes forward to hold him close and lets out a deep breath to calm himself. One of them's got to have it together, and he's seizing the opportunity for it to be him for once. He pulls Cas' shaking hands around his body, and Cas sighs, sinking into the embrace. It's all so familiar, like a good dream coming to life. They used to do this. It was so easy then...

It could be that way again.

Castiel's hands unclench, his palms flattening against Dean's skin, and the dry sob Cas lets out when he finally holds him, skin to skin, makes Dean close his eyes and think Finally. Now it's right.

Castiel's grace surges, brings both of their attention to the wall, the intangible barrier between grace and soul, and Cas looks at Dean with nervous eyes as if to say I don't know what the fuck is about to happen to us.

And Dean looks at Cas with the expression the angel knows to say, Fuck it.

Let's do this.

Being a full angel, it hurts to feel human things. It won't be like it was in Purgatory, Cas knows that. He was practically human there. It'll be more. Now that he's an angel again, everything will be overwhelming - every human feeling, every sensation felt the way a human soul does. A way he was never intended to feel. And it will fucking hurt. Castiel's got months of backlogged emotion from not only himself, but from Dean to siphon through. He knows it is going to be hard, he knows it's going to be painful, but he also has faith that ultimately, it will put him and Dean back together again. He has to lower the wall to make everything right.

So he presses his palms to Dean's shoulder blades, he breathes deep, and he forces the wall to crack and dissolve away.

For a moment... it is utter bliss.

Dean can feel it - the barrier between them has disappeared. And he can feel what Cas has felt, all of it, every moment. He can feel that it's been just as hard for Cas as for him, he can see what Cas saw - how he's looked in his bad moments and how much regret Cas has had for not being able to help - and Dean holds him tighter because he can feel that Cas has been suffering.

It's good to feel each other so impossibly inside themselves, but so much so that it actually hurts.

Castiel feels like an electrical conduit - grace and soul and emotion and thought all running through him, sparking off of one another and making his body shake. Pressure in his head that makes his eyes white out and his ears feel like they're going to pop. All of Dean's confusion, his solitude and longing - they're all there. Countless thoughts, sights, sounds, smells, tastes. It's too much, too much for one body to hold and he thinks, oh God I'm gonna kill us both.

But Dean grips him tight and demands, silently, that he ride it out. It'll end, Cas. Just ride it out.

He lets out a strangled yell, muffled by Dean's shoulder as he bites down on it. He feels like he could fly apart - like his vessel could rip apart and kill them both, and it is baffling because it feels so fucking good. But it's torture. Dean holds him tight, presses them together from knees to chest, and strokes between his shoulder blades and whispers little promises of how it's alright and it's gonna be ok.

Castiel's body shakes, he whimpers without knowing it, and his mind is a riot, finally taking in the avalanche of everything he's refused to feel and acknowledge for all this time. His breath is stuttering, his chest heaving, and his skin feels hot - if he didn't know better he'd think he was dying, having some sort of fever-induced seizure. But Dean holds him, never lets him go through the whole thing, which he is thankful for because he doesn't know what would happen to him.

Amazingly, throughout it all Dean's soul simply opens to him, taking it all with a gracefulness and relief that belies his long wait for just this.

It gives Castiel confidence that he can do this, that it's meant to be. Because Dean is doing it so well. He's handling it beautifully - like he was born for it, to contain residue of a force that his body isn't even built to maintain. And yet he just opens for it, like a flower taking sun.

Castiel's body jerks and shakes of its own volition, but Dean never lets him go and Cas is so thankful that Dean can feel his gratitude through their bond, his silent chanting of thank you thank you thank you as Dean doesn't pull away. Never leaves him.

Part of him thinks he doesn't know how he can deserve such love and loyalty, how a person such as Dean can even exist. Castiel feels, in that moment, such faith and thanks to the Father he has railed against, that tears prickle his closed eyes. But he is calmed, and certain, and the riot inside ceases finally,one wave at a time, until it descends into a quiet ripple.

When the flood of emotion and sensation, Grace and soul, is finally done it all kind of evens out. Mixed together, like two liquids spilled into one container. More joined volume settles in the both of them than the contaminated singular sources they'd trapped inside themselves before with Castiel's dam. It's bizarre, they feel raw, overly stimulated, and full. It's sore, but in a way that assures them both it will heal. They know now that if they hadn't held off, if they'd let the bond continue unhindered upon their return to earth, this titlewave would never have occurred. But Dean is almost glad for it, for being forced to realize how much he wanted what they had. To feel the stark contrast between having it, and not. To really know how special this is, what they've got.

It's confusing and hurts like a low current of electricity, but finally, finally, he can feel Castiel again. And Castiel can feel Dean, in every cell.

Castiel is panting and boneless in Dean's arms, entirely spent, when he sees the man look down between them and realizes for the first time that at some point he'd come. He hadn't been able to distinguish it between all of the torturous pleasures and sharp feelings overwhelming him.

Dean isn't bothered, though he is baffled. He looks Castiel over, making sure the angel seems ok, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. Castiel can do nothing but look up at him, just thankful he is there. He takes a deep breath, letting his head loll to the side, where it can rest against Dean's shoulder, and he closes his eyes.

Dean brushes his lips against Cas' temple.

When Castiel's trembling subsides some, Dean gets up and goes naked to the bathroom, leaving Castiel a strengthless dead-weight on the bed, and coming back with two damp cloths. The first is warm, and he uses it to clean both of their bellies and groins of Castiel's seed. The second is cool, and he smoothes it over Castiel's chest, and presses it to his forehead, stroking a finger over the angel's flushed cheek.

They lay there together for a long stretch of comfortable quiet.

They don't have sex. They just lay naked together, sometimes clutching close, sometimes just shoulder to shoulder. And it is such a relief, that they both could have cried, so instead, they laughed - light and easy into each other's skin.

Does everybody feel better?

Well don't! Because we're not done yet! Bwahahaha!

(That was my evil laugh... did it translate?)

Sincerely though, I was going crazy trying to make this chapter work right, and I must've gone over it a million times. So I really hope you guys liked it. Brings a little relief from the soul-crushing angst at least, I hope. haha