Edited.

28

Something for Me

Crinkled lines at the corners of known green eyes captured his attention. Sam smiled at his brother, enjoying the beer he swallowed as they stood, side-by-side, like the good old days.

"Dude, that was awesome!" Dean grinned, sipping his light brew.

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it? Man it feels good for things to be normal again," Sam chimed in, running a hand across his jaw. He turned to Dean, "Really, you're good though?" he asked for tenth time, getting a hateful scowl from Dean.

"Relax, Sammy. Yeah, I'm cool. Those vamps were hilarious! Man, they really took the whole 'creatures of the night' thing a bit far though with all the black and coffins. So lame!" He cackled, gulping back more beer.

Castiel had left them when the hunt was done; giving them time to do their own thing and Sam was appreciative. Looking back, Dean slicing off heads with expertise and no apparent hidden pleasure from it—at least no more than normal—was an immense relief. Even Cas seemed to think everything was going really well.

But the better Dean got, the more it seemed to annoy him that they kept on asking, but after remembering how Dean had been in the beginning, Sam couldn't help it. The crazy thing was, they were closer now than they'd ever been. It was so wrong of Sam to be thankful for that, considering the cause.

/\/\/\

Dean was wired and bouncy. In all the good ways, and it felt great. He'd managed a hunt without getting weird or emotional and hallelujah for that! The beer tasted great. Sam's company felt like a breath of fresh air, and he and Cas lately had been fantastic. Cas valiantly tried to keep his raging hormones under control and Dean tried not to panic whenever they thought about doing other things.

Not that they'd actually done other things yet.

Still reticent, Dean kept making excuses and knew Cas would catch on soon enough, if he hadn't already. There were a list of possible reasons for maintaining the status quo, but part of him—that frightened little boy part—was still cowering in a corner somewhere in his subconscious, utterly panicked about screwing it up or getting all pathetic and running away like a moron—arms flailing comically, probably.

There was no anger this time around though, just really solid hesitation. In moments like this, he found he rarely thought about how he used to be, taking his new personality quirks in stride. Much of his free time was spent playing the guitar, and he still worked out every day he could, excluding days consumed by a hunt.

The two of them chatted or were silent as the mood struck them, and after a few hours and a couple beers, they called it in. The three hour drive back to the bunker was quiet, Dean intermittently humming out a tune he'd been learning, tapping his fingers on his knee.

An idea kept resurfacing in his mind, like a whale breaching water, splashing everywhere. Glancing sideways at Sam, he asked, "You ever thought of getting another tattoo?"

Sam pulled a face and looked up to the side. "No, not really, why?"

"Eeh. Just wondering I guess. Something that's been on my mind," replied Dean, watching the landscape rolling by. Mostly evergreens and the sides of blasted rock-face left over from the creation of the road. It was the only brief break in an otherwise flat landscape from here to their part of Kansas.

"Of what?" Sam wondered, eyes shifting from the road to Dean for a quick second.

Dean shrugged, lacing his fingers together. They stayed quiet for the rest of the journey. But Dean still couldn't get it out of his head. Ever since seeing himself in the mirror that first hunt back, he'd felt a distance from the man he saw and the man he felt he was. Like the picture wasn't whole somehow. At first, he'd believed it all boiled down to the memories encased in nightmare realities that couldn't be seen from the outside. But as the idea lingered about markings and memories, he tried to tie down the most important of them. The one thread of his life that, could his soul be dissected, that particular mark would be what they saw.

He rubbed over the back of his neck and leaned against the side of the seat, taking the stretch of nothing to spend with his thoughts on the angel he'd likely find in his bed when he returned. Dean smiled as he remembered the first time his musings had taken the direction to gay-town. Nearly laughing out loud, he instead pressed his lips harder together, not wanting to have Sam asking questions or wondering about his sanity.

October 2009 (2014)

Okaaaay…

So, 2014 Cas lived in a hut with a beaded curtain? Dean stepped through the clinking links with apprehension, not sure what he would find. The angel, normally so indifferent and composed, was seated cross-legged on a tattered carpet over worn hardwood surrounded by hot women. They exchanged an odd greeting, Dean wai—

"—Why don't you all get washed up for the orgy?"

Whaaaaat. The. Fuuuuuck?! Cas is having orgies!

Dean's eyes split wide, the women walked off and he was left with the—apparently—orgy-loving Castiel of five years from now and had no fucking clue what to say to the guy.

Castiel stood, an appreciative gaze following the women as they headed off to 'wash up'. Cas stretched his back, grunting as his spine arched.

"What are you—A hippie?" Dean blurted, eyes stuck on the sight before him.

Castiel's hazy blues rolled back with worn irritation. "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me."

Dean briefly wondered what other labels his future self has applied in order to elicit such an 'I'm so done with your shit' tone. He brushed it off for the time being.

"Cas, we gotta talk," he said, walking closer, seeing Cas' eyes bug out as he approached.

"Whoa… Strange." Castiel gave him a once-over, eyes rolling from the floor to his face.

"What?" Dean leaned in, searching the blue depths for answers of his own.

"You…are not you. Not now you, anyway." Cas noted, a familiar squint observing Dean. Christ, thank God for angel powers, Dean thought.

Dean sighed his blatant relief. "No! Yeah. Yes, exactly!"

During the day he spent in the future, he began to notice the way his future self watched Cas, and vice versa. It was more than unsettling and necessitated the wheels turning in his head. After the first few curious glances, Dean decided to ignore it. But by nightfall, a prickle of awareness settled in his brain and refused to leave. No matter how many years and tragedies had passed, he knew himself too well. And the look his future self had been giving Cas in this alternate timeline was…something else. It was indicative of a type of relationship that Dean couldn't quite define, and he was certain it was something he'd never experienced before. They had a closeness that wasn't best friends, or comrades, or trench-buddies, but a mix of all of the above, and yet, something else there as well.

Something that made his heart falter in its rhythm. It was unnerving.

Late that night, before leaving for the 'Kill the Devil' crusade, Dean found his eyes following Cas' movements, much the same way his future self did. He paid attention to the way the angel's body moved a little more limberly than the Cas that he was used to. Probably all the sex, Dean thought, smirking. For unknown reasons, his eyes flashed to his counterpart, his other self, and he wondered…

Stiffening as an unexpected image flashed across his mind, Dean found his focus drifting back to Cas; the safer of the two options. Dean, or himself, was scouring maps and plans, paying little attention to his past self and present angel.

It was then, that Castiel crossed the room, coming too close, breaking into his errant thoughts. At least some things stayed the same, he reflected, looking into the blue eyes not six inches from his face.

"You're so different Dean," Cas whispered, radiating dejection, an odd expression passing through his stoned blue eyes, the whites a little pink.

Forlorn—That was the emotion Dean was seeing. A bubble of hatred targeted at his future self gurgled up.

"Yeah, how so?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Instead of replying, Cas reached out and touched his face. Dean froze, looking half cross-eyed downwards at the hand on his cheek. He flushed, feeling the red shade blossom under his skin. An uncomfortable warmth grew inside him, and he tried his damnedest not to wonder why.

"I wish things had been different," the angel murmured, a far-off expression taking over, his eyes glassy as he traced the features of Dean's face with his fingers. Time slowed to a crawl as the soft touch of his nimble fingers mapped the angle of his jaw, edging closer to his chin. Dean swallowed, more confused than he could remember ever having been before.

Dean lingered towards the touch, leaning into it a second longer as Cas eventually pulled his hand back.

Words of some kind were on their way out of Dean's mouth, but by then Cas was already halfway across the room, rambling about something else entirely. The moment was quickly ignored in the chaos, but not forgotten. Even through the sheer confusion and muddled unknowns in that universe, it was the first time Dean had ever felt desire for Castiel. The kind that made him clear his throat and readjust his clothes. At the time, he might have been able to deny his own passing thoughts, but the endless dreams that haunted him for weeks after were clear as fucking glass.

The future version of Castiel had touched him in a way that felt like a secret being revealed, curtains being parted, and Dean couldn't deny it to himself that he'd wanted more of whatever truths were hidden there.

By the time they returned from their hunt, Dean had something, or more, someone on his mind. Sam went in search of Jody, passing off the guns and supplies for Dean to clean and put away. Dean dropped them on the floor by the map-table, ignoring them for the time being, his focus on more important, and more exciting things.

Finding Cas in his room with a book, he walked to the bed and climbed on, crawling over and taking the book away.

"Good mood?" Cas glanced up at the interruption, a smile in his eyes.

"Yes." Dean grinned, grabbing Cas' hand.

He geared them towards the shower room, closing and locking the door just in case and started to undress, still amazed that getting naked made him fleetingly short-breathed and anxious.

/\/\/\

Sam entered his room to find Jody seated cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a clutter of books and papers surrounding her like a fort. There was no way she was getting up without disturbing one of the many haphazard piles.

"We have tables in this place," he teased.

"Hmm, yeah, sorry. I really only meant to bring one single book into bed, and then I read something and went in search of something else, and…" She glanced up, shrugging. "Before I knew it, I was the center of a paper-storm." Jody laughed, absently pushing the hair off the side of her face.

Sam grouped together some of the stacks of books and placed them off to the side. He leaned over, a knee on the bed and captured her face for a kiss, slowly attempting to lower her backwards onto the bed.

A hand, and then two, pushed at his chest. "Damn you, Winchester!" she growled, shoving. "I'm doing research! And you come in here all tall and handsome like that, kissing me and being all tempting. How are we supposed to make any progress with this stuff?"

With an amused laugh, Sam offered a polite smile, waved his hand for her to continue and backed off the bed. "So any progress then?"

"Well… not much." Leaning over towards the nightstand, she snatched the handle of her mug and took a sip of the coffee before she went on. "Crowley was right on how to kill these guys, blade to the heart. But, from what I've learned, it doesn't actually kill them, more like their evil ass gets sent back to this Omega guy. It seems like he puts a piece of himself into each undead human he creates, that's what gives them life—or some semblance of it. So when they get knifed, the piece gets flashed back to the master. Which begs the question, how do we kill this guy?"

Shuffling of papers drew Sam's attention from organizing the weapons he had in his closet. He angled his head over his shoulder as he spoke, "The passage from that book that I found talked about some prophecy but it was so verbally garbled, it was hard to make much sense from it. Suffice to say there has to be some way to kill this guy. But that's only half the problem. That woman wants him dead, but him dying doesn't fix Heaven." Picking up the sawed-off from the back of his closet, Sam made a mental note to clean the guns he hadn't used in a while.

"No, but you've been getting a lot of calls about these white-haired dead guys coming up in a lot of places now, I think for now that's a bigger priority." More paper ruffling and then sipping.

"Agreed. You want more coffee? Maybe some food too, oh, wonderful gorgeous woman on my bed?" Grinning, Sam turning back, now with a black bag full of weapons to be cared for.

Jody smirked, shaking her head. "If you wouldn't mind, I would love some toast and peanut butter."

"For the price of one really good kiss." Walking to the edge of the bed, he leaned forward over the end towards her spot in the middle, having to brace his hand on the top unbalanced pile of hardcovers. With a teasing smile, she pulled up onto her knees and threw one arm around his neck and laid a hot kiss on him; all tongue and—Ohh, a hand on his crotch. Rubbing, cupping, and good old groping. Sam moaned and pushed into her hand, turning his head to kiss deeper, snaking a hand to her neck to hold her there a bit longer.

Finally, she eased back with an evil grin. "Off to the kitchen, manservant!"

Sam howled a laugh and bowed. He walked over to the door, paused, reached into his pants and adjusted himself, throwing a little grin her way. "God, woman!" he chafed in a false complaint, heading out the door, the sound of her throaty laugh seeing him out.

/\/\/\

There were few things better than seeing Cas flushed and incoherent, and those things, Dean was sure, had to do with Cas as well. On his knees at Cas' feet, Dean worked a closed fist up and down his rigid, wet cock, reaching down to fondle and stroke his sac. Keeping Cas on his toes, almost literally, Dean used his mouth to mix it up, repeatedly switching. When only his hand was in use, Dean gawked in euphoria at the faces Castiel made. It was fitting, he thought, that he should be on his knees worshipping Cas' body. At first, Cas had protested him kneeled on the hard tiled floor—considering the inherent subservient role—but Dean had plied him with soft, wet kisses that started from his ear and moved down and down. By the time, he reached Cas' hipbones, there was no more arguing.

As Dean twisted his fist towards the head, licking his lips as he watched the red, plump crown slide in and out from between his finger and thumb, he let his head fall back to gape at the ever-changing expressions of Cas' arousal.

Some were lax, with his mouth hanging open. Other times, Cas' tongue would dart out to wet his lips. Hmm, and man, when those blue eyes rolled back, brows cinching together, Dean was sure he'd have a heart attack.

Mostly though, Dean enjoyed the scrunched up expression, usually accompanied by begging as Dean brought him to the edge over and over again without giving in to demands for release. Dean fed off the reactions; it was one of the only things that made him totally and completely happy these days.

His knees started to cramp and his thighs burned from the position but he ignored the tell-tale signs that he was getting old. Grabbing Cas' clenching hands, he linked their fingers together over Cas' thighs and sank the cock deep into his mouth.

Dean loved giving Cas pleasure this way. Loved how the angel's erection hopped a little when Dean let it rest on his tongue, tightening his lips around the base, breathing in the thick scent of arousal.

Castiel's fingers pinched his hands, curving them backwards as he rocked gently, streaming sounds of Ahhh's and Oooh's and Deannn, Deandeandeandean. Geez, you'd think Cas didn't know any other words. Part of Dean badly wanted to hear Cas shout out some rough curses, and maybe get a little more unhinged. But when he really thought about it, the idea of Cas being utterly unhinged, and Cas then bracing Dean for a good face-fucking were too closely linked in his mind. The latter scaring him. The stupid thing was, he knew—he knew—Cas would never actually do that. And yet, still, he was frightened it could happen.

Contrasting the direction of his thoughts, Cas unclenched his grip and lifted his freed hand to Dean's face. Stroking his cheek in the most tender gesture, Castiel gazed down at him.

"I love you," Cas said throatily, his blue eyes mysteriously pained for some reason Dean couldn't place. But the peculiar moment was forgotten as Cas jerked, thighs hardening in a flash, and his abs tightening in a way that Dean had to reach up and palm across the skin. Looking down, both hands cupping Dean's face gently, Cas' mouth parted and then he came in ropes shooting at the back of his throat.

Like every other time before this, pleasuring Cas always seemed to get Dean's downstairs all excited. He'd yet to let Cas touch it. Still on his knees, licking away every last bit of the glorious mess he'd created, he felt the heavy weight at the juncture of his hips and tried to move his legs to dispel the tightness.

When he stood, his knees cracked and Dean went light-headed from the steam in the shower and abrupt ascension. He leaned against the warm, slick tiles to the side of the spray, his hand holding his dick up against his lower abdomen so that it would be out of the way. In the back of his mind, he considered the idea of locking it up in a cage. Cock-prison. It seemed justified.

A touch on his face brought his eyes open, having slipped off for a minute or two in the contented aftermath. Castiel was there, reading him quietly, his blue eyes still mostly dilated. Dean grinned lazily, staring back happily.

The pounding of the water seemed louder when Cas' palm settled over his heart, fingers tapping out a rhythm to match the beat. Dean blinked, water dropping from his eyelashes. He kept still even as the angel's palm slid down his torso, detouring over to his side and resting against his ribs. Coming into his breathing space, Cas' pink, wet lips captured his bottom one, pulling it and sucking until it tingled. It went that way until the sound of the shower was nothing but a thrum in his ears and all Dean registered was Cas' hands and lips marking him, touching him in exactly the perfect way—not hurried or grabby—but nimble and goosebump-inducing.

The bumps of knuckles grazed the back of his hand—the one being used to hold himself pointedly out of the equation.

"Let go," Cas asked softly; so sure that everything would be okay if he did. "It's only me."

Dean knew that, of course. It wasn't the problem he was currently having. The thought of Cas touching something that Dean had used to violate him with, among others, was nauseating. He had to swallow to hold back everything that threatened expulsion. Dean couldn't reconcile what his body had gone through, and still find it in him to let Cas touch the thing. It felt so goddamn wrong. Like he was breaking any trust he might've built between them.

"You're hurting yourself." Cas' concern permeated his thoughts. Dean refocused into reality, noticing that he had a death-grip on himself. And yeah…it hurt. Releasing a breath, Dean loosened up but didn't let go.

"Feels really wrong to let you touch me…knowing…ya know…everything," he blabbed. Oh, for the days when he could just whip it out and bang whatever was in front of him and willing. The good old days of being a mentally sound slut, Dean thought with building distaste.

Seeing a brick wall for what it was, Cas resumed kissing him—starting with his neck. A wet, slippery tongue slid down to his chest, occasionally pausing to suck at his skin. Several minutes of the good stuff, Dean was back to feeling relaxed. Enough so that he'd begun stroking himself tentatively; little squeezes just beneath the head. Cas trailed his knuckles in an endless pass over his abs, getting closer and closer, and Dean knew, in order to avoid further discussion and possibly a fight that he needed to somehow let this horrible thing happen. Who knows? Maybe Cas would touch it and he'd shrivel up or something? A man could hope…

Sucking back some steamy oxygen, Dean let go of his offensive cock and threw his arms up and against the wall. "Your funeral." His dick lowered to parallel with the floor, grazing Cas a smidge.

He wanted to throw up.

Cas regarded him flatly. Unmoving and stoic like the old Cas. Dean dropped his arms and met the stern look, chewing his lip.

"Go for it," Dean rudely insisted, immediately regretting the tone of his voice. Sagging back to the slick tiles, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying. I'm not used to being like this. I get it. I really do. Crazy's all in my head, right?" Fuck, I'm going to Hell. Might as well buy property this time around. "I can handle this." Sneaking a quick peak at his erect cock, Dean cringed. It was still all about the 'hey-how-are-ya' even though he'd been hoping the thing had deflated. "See? All good to go."

Cas went from irritated to squinty, which was sort of comical when he was naked and dripping water, his hair slicked down, dark and shiny. Finally, the angel let out a great big sigh and collapsed into Dean's chest, hugging him. Almost as if he'd given up.

Funny thing though… Cas pressed naked against him like this? Umm, kind of not awful. His cock twitched between them and Cas' head snapped up, a grin slowly spreading wide, revealing perfect teeth and gums. Goddamn giddy was what he looked like.

Okay, there, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Dean thought.

Silently asking for permission, and receiving the reluctant okay on Dean's part, Cas slipped his hand down and barely grazed along the side of his erection squished between them. An instant flash to something else broke free, but he mentally wrestled it back. Cas is an angel, he thought. Cas will be okay. All the nasty leftover on him could not leech into an angel. It wasn't possible.

Nope.

Nopity nope, nope, nope. Nuh-uh.

"You're making an odd face. Am I doing this wrong?" Cas tipped his head to the side and looked down with a clinical eye. Dean snorted a laugh, friggin' thankful for Cas being Cas.

"God, no… Sorry. I'm trying to stay on board here." The second Cas' eyes flashed up to meet his, Dean lowered for a kiss, using those familiar lips and tongue to calm himself. Closing out the shower room and blue stare, Dean let Cas' tongue do amazing things to his thought-process, and because of it, he was able to keep his shit together and actually enjoy the hesitant touch of Cas' fingers.

It was obvious after a few passes and light strokes that Cas had never done this before. Not even to himself it seemed. It wasn't that it was bad, but Dean could tell the uncertainty in Cas' movements was more than simple concern for Dean's mental health.

Dean satiated himself with Cas' mouth, tasting him, breathing in the steam and their mixed scent. After several minutes, Castiel picked up confidence as he did speed and technique, all simultaneously rolling together to give him the hardest hard-on he could remember having in a long-ass time. He had to break away from slick lips to pant heavily, his body rippling with arousal. Needing more than Cas' touch to go over, Dean lifted his eyelids and found the angel already staring hard. Their noses bumped as their faces moved closer, hot breath streaming between them, lips meeting in passes, searching for quick pecks and little tastes of one another.

A memory danced in the recess of his consciousness: Cas' vivid eyes, a thumb rubbing against his veins, of calm, drowsy safety filtering from his toes to his head.

I've got you, he heard Cas say somewhere in his mind.

The taste of copper trickled into Dean's mouth and he realized he'd been biting hard into his lip. He released it with a gasp, inhaling the steam. Cas' hand slowed, teasing the head of him, making his abs quiver with impending release. Seeing the cut on his lip, Castiel stretched up and licked over it, healing the minute slash. But damn, the drag of tongue across his sensitive lip combined with Cas' hungry stare was too much. And yet, perfectly enough to send him over.

An almost pain-sounding grunt erupted from his throat as he came, his hips quaking. Cas' free hand dropped down to grip his side, holding him still as he let go. It felt unbelievably incredible until his gaze flitted down and he saw all his come dripping and soaked on Cas' hand.

Dean fucking snapped.

Tearing Cas' hand off himself he hauled it under the spray and rubbed at the skin like a madman. It was gross, Dean thought. How could he have let himself come all over Cas' perfect skin? He might as well have thrown garbage on the guy. The image of that creamy white gloss running across his knuckles, and dripping between Cas' long fingers had him nearly hurling.

With a suffered sigh, Cas yanked his hand back and threw his arms around Dean in a restraining bear-hug of angelic strength.

"Stop, stop, just stop," Cas whispered frantically, hushing the words against his ear. Christ, Dean couldn't get the picture of it out of his head, seeing it elsewhere. Abaddon had made him ejaculate on a soul being tortured several times. She'd thought it was funny.

Ha. Ha. Hilarious, bitch!

Cas was still hushing him in rambles trying to calm him down. Confused, thinking he'd already gotten back to some kind of normal, he reassessed himself from top to bottom, noting clearly that he had some wicked shakes going on. Rebuilding the Tetris of his psyche was a process, but he managed. I'm Dean Winchester… I got this. I'm okay. Nothing happened. S'all good.

Dean nudged out of the tight hold and smiled down timidly, a tad crooked. "Point for me?" he asked, his panicked state retreating, glad for having someone who knew how wrongly wired he was. No one else would ever put up with this shit. And the best part was? He didn't want it to be anyone else. 'Course he was still freaked about his grodyness getting all mixed in with angel fluff. But Cas didn't seem corrupted or anything at the moment. Dean looked him up and down, checking for damage, or fuck, he didn't know. Anything to prove or disprove his theory that he was going to tarnish the angel somehow with his funk. But all he saw was Cas staring back, eyes narrowed but apparently fine. His skin was still perfect, wet streaks cascading over his shoulders, down his chest and stomach as the shower rained down above them.

"Tell me everything is okay," he pleaded, reaching out to push the waterlogged hair away from Cas' forehead.

"Everything is perfect." Cas circled his arms around Dean's middle and pulled him in close.

/\/\/\

Lying in bed later that night, Castiel watched Dean for any relapse of some kind. He seemed, for the most part, calm and content. The man was sidled against him, arms and legs secured around his body in a way that, were Castiel human, he would likely have been trapped.

He didn't mind in the least.

Dean was humming the latest song he was learning, Castiel hadn't heard it before but enjoyed the rumble of Dean's voice against his ribs. It sounded country, or sultry maybe. He wasn't the best at deciphering genres.

Scratching imaginary lines and pictures on Dean's back, they laid content for hours, happily basking in the aftermath of hurdles passed.

It was warm in the room, especially under the blankets with Dean's furnace-imitating form along his side, meeting skin to skin in every possible way. A part of him was tempted to give Dean the truth about all the things happening outside their safe little haven. But instead, he selfishly held on to the moment.

Recalling the look on Dean's face when he'd seen his seed on Cas' hand, a weight sunk in his heart knowing the things Dean had been put through and how damaged he still was as a result.

"You're not dirty or unclean in any way. I know that's what you think, and you're wrong." The words had the expected result of causing Dean to tense up, muscles bunching hard. To counteract the stiff lines of Dean's body, Cas trailed his fingers over a long arm draped over his chest. He followed the lines of bones all the way to Dean's hand, dipping between his fingers. Picking up a finger at random, he played with it as he spoke. "The past can't hurt you, or me, I promise you that. And I've lived for greater than a millennia so I am, therefore, smarter than you, and as such you must take my word for truth, understand?"

He wiggled Dean's finger to try and get a reply. A soft exhale preceded Dean rising up to meet his eyes. "As much as I want to believe you, I just…" Releasing another sigh, Dean dropped his head against Castiel's chest. "I don't wanna hurt you," he finished in a whisper.

"You know I'm stronger than you right?" he teased.

Dean groaned. "Shuddup, ya' cocky bastard."

Castiel laughed, hauling Dean up his chest to snag his lips for a kiss. He moaned low against the touch he was beginning to know so well. Dean's lips were always soft and warm, his tongue tempting as it explored his mouth. The kiss was lazy and comfortable, as he'd meant it to be. When he felt Dean begin to sag, and his kissy smacks growing sloppier, he eased off and got them settled in the bed. Dean, as always was curved in facing him, Castiel's arm slipped under his head as an extra pillow below the real one.

Dean's eyes opened part way and he tapped Cas' forearm twice. "…Bored?"

"What's that?"

"D'ya get bored?" Dean murmured, eyes shut.

"Lying beside you at night?"

Dean hummed affirmatively.

"Never. Go to sleep."

"Still creepy." Dean's muffled voice sounded amused.

"Don't act like you don't love it." Castiel smirked, eyes cast low to watch the dim smile turn up the corner of Dean's mouth. The mouth that still glistened from their lazy affections.

Dean's adorable sleepy grin was enough to set his heart skipping a beat or two.

An angel he might be, his vessel was still human and the more he felt himself become attached to it, the more he allowed it to respond in human ways, being affected so easily as he never would have before.

Earlier in the shower, when Dean's mouth had been on him, driving him to insanity, he could no longer control his cries or whimpers, could scarcely stop his heart from beating out of his chest.

Castiel, in all honesty, had to wonder how people didn't have regular heart attacks as a result of sex. And then he thought about he and Dean having full intercourse one day… Father in Heaven, he was liable to explode. He hoped Dean didn't mind a little spontaneous combustion with his sex.

/\/\/\

Something wonderful was happening.

Oh good god, Dean whimpered with delight, feeling expert hands dig at the muscles of his back. They kneaded and stroked, working out stress and other kinks.

"You're so beautiful Dean."

Pfft, no. He parted his mouth to shoot back some retort on the contrary but nothing came out. Why couldn't he speak? What the hell? Dean panicked, instantly trying to turn around, only to realize his arms were trapped, rough binds jagged and burning against his skin.

Struck by fear, he thrashed to test the rest of his mobility and found he had none. The massaging hands, previously enjoyable became lewd, sliding lower to places that made his heart race and caused sweat to pool in every crevice of his body. Eyes burning with tears brimming up, his throat tight, Dean tried to plead for Cas to stop, but his voice remained trapped and useless.

"Did you think what you did would go unpunished?" The words made him blanch, his stomach sinking low.

"Deaaannnn… I'm an angel. Angels do not tolerate our vessels being violated. Especially not by hairless apes such as yourself." Reprimanding as that message was, it didn't terrify him as much as the fact that his legs were being pushed apart.

No, no, no.

Groping hands grabbed and squeezed up the backs of his thighs. Dean tried in vain to pull his legs closed but they simply wouldn't comply. Instead, cool air met the sensitive parts of him as he forced on display.

Cas, he prayed, please stop. I'm sorry… God, I'm so sorry. Please don't do this.

"Dean…"

I'm sorry. So sorry… It-it wasn't me. It wasn't me. I would never… Please. Anything else, please. Don't.

The frightened prayer was ignored and his body went still as he felt something sharp and cold between his legs, dragging lightly against the very thin, very vulnerable skin covering his balls.

Oh God, ohgodohgodohgod! Don't, please don't.

"Dean!"

Stop. Oh god… The chilling blade rounded under and dragged the tip in a curve between the two weights of his sac. Tears stung his eyes, his entire body bracing for pain.

Please don't do this…

Increasing the pressure, he began to feel a pinch. Suddenly he was screaming, trying in vain to drag his body away from the knife. But hands held him down, and they started to jostle him violently, shaking him—

"DEAN!"

Thrown back into consciousness with a start, his eyes flashed open, finding himself on his back, Cas towering above, sharp blue eyes wild with worry. Dean was covered in sweat from head to toe, the blankets rank with it, the whole room totally permeated with the scent of his goddamn fear.

Neither of them said a thing. Nights like this happened more often than either would care to admit in the light of day. Dean had hoped that with things going better in the daylight that these horrific nights would lessen but, yeah, not so much as it turned out. Tonight's little ditty was fucking terrifying though.

Breathing in rough pants, he nodded and Cas did his thing and cleaned him up and their bed.

"What was it this time?"

Dean absorbed Cas' examining scrutiny and pressed his lips together. He opted for a simple headshake.

"It was me, wasn't it?" asked Castiel, his expression all manner of crushed.

Fortifying himself with a deep breath of clean air, he squirmed out of Cas' overbearing position and flipped them so they were lying on their sides.

"Just tell me if it was," Cas demanded, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling it between them to hold against his heart. Dean could feel the blood-pumping organ thumping away.

Avoiding Cas' eyes, he focusing on Cas' chest and said, "You were about to castrate me."

Cas cursed harsh under his breath. That's how Dean knew just how hurtful his nightmare was to both of them. Cas never swore. Or very, very rarely. A hand cupped his chin, stroking his beard and the skin beneath his lower lip. Cas dragged his face upwards. "I'm so sorry Dean."

"Don't worry about it. It's not the worst nightmare I've ever had." True story. And ain't that a motherfucker, thought Dean.

Silence fell over the room and nothing but the sounds of their slowly calming breaths accompanied their straying thoughts.

"Do you want help falling back asleep?" Castiel asked him after a long while, letting the nightmare fade back to the depths where many others now piled up.

"Yeah, but no angel mojo, just scratch my head or something," he said, moving closer and tucking his body into Cas', pushing a leg between his knees and his one arm squishing in between their chests.

The second Cas' fingers spread into his hair, scratching and playing and rubbing all over his head, Dean's eyes dropped shut, his whole body going limp into the touch.

Waking to a new day after a night like that, finding that Cas was quietly wrapped around him for a change was a great start to the day. Enjoying the comfort and quiet of the moment, he thought more on what he'd asked Sam about on the drive home and decided it was something he couldn't get out of his head.

Weeks earlier, Cas' erection pressed bare against his thigh would have left him hyperventilating, but now Dean gently shifted so that he could reach down and take it in hand, seeing the pleasure build in the lines of Cas' face. First with the slight grin at the corners of his mouth, and then the crinkles near his closed eyes, as the touch gained purpose and direction.

"Climb on top of me," Cas murmured.

Making a dreadful face, he spat, "God, no." Then immediately cursed himself, not wanting a lecture this early in the morning about how he was 'Not dirty'.

"Fine." Cas groaned and made telling moves as he attempted to climb on Dean. Reconsidering his impulsive actions, he paused halfway, one knee half poised on Dean's hip. "Is this okay?"

"Uh?" Glancing up to see Cas' beautiful, desperately waiting face, he gave in and nodded.

Lithely straddling his thighs, Cas looked down to see Dean half-hard, his cock not sure if it wanted to participate or not. Thankfully, Castiel's hands lightly stroking it awoke his man-bits to full attention.

Adjusting into a lean over Dean's chest, Castiel kissed him. Moving up from his dick, Castiel rubbed over his chest, skirting up to cup his neck, and then sank his fingers up into Dean's bed-mussed hair. Having relaxed him expertly, Cas' hand travelled back down his body towards his full erection.

"Stop me if it's too much," Castiel warned before taking them both in hand.

Dean's body jolted as if he'd been electrocuted. The feel of Cas' hot, iron-hard cock a thick line against his own was like a big orange jug of gasoline dumped onto his low-grade arousal and lighting it the fuck on fire. Jerking his hips into the friction, Dean exhaled Cas' name, his eyes opening and closing as Cas fisted them together.

Mouth parted wide, Dean struggled from the lung-hitching touch, finding it hard to pull in enough oxygen. Cas deftly stroked them, leaning over to shadow Dean's face before he sealed them together for a demanding kiss so deep that his jaw hurt. And still, he wanted more. Cas' tongue plunged into his mouth, licking up along his own, working in a delicious circular movement as the angel's hand and dick moved together in a rhythm against Dean's.

The warm drag of Cas' palm, and the smooth, rigid presence of his sex crushing against Dean's overwhelmed him. His pelvis tingled with each wave of arousal, rolling through him like an incoming tide, getting higher and deeper.

Cas reached the edge before he did. Dean's body fought his release after his reaction the last time, not wanting a repeat of the freak out. Blue eyes were fierce, dark with arousal as they looked down at him. "Please, please come with me," Castiel begged, the obvious strain from holding his orgasm back showed in the crease on his forehead and the tightness in his jaw.

Feeling the pressure of performance, Dean searched within for some trigger to make himself finish, knowing in the back of his mind that he was about to come all over both Cas' hand and dick this time. "Don't know if I can," he admitted, ashamed as a man to say it.

Cas thrust forward erratically, whimpers and groans coming out as he tried in vain to hold back until Dean was ready. The brown-haired head thumped against Dean's forehead, Cas' mouth parting to plead irrational and delirious in his state. "Please, D-Dean. Pl-ease, mmm… I want to-want to f-feel you c-ahhh-ome. Uh, sshhit, I can't—" Cas lost the battle with words and fell into Dean's shoulder and bit him, blind and unthinking as his orgasm took him over.

The sharp, possessive nip combined with the feel of Cas' warm seed spilling onto his skin threw Dean right over the edge, lost in ecstacy as if he were weightless in the air. The subtle ropes of his own release landed in warm streaks against his chest.

Cas shuddered on top of him, still rocking them in his palm, pulling their twitching erections, squeezing and milking them dry. A low, husky groan accompanied the lingering strokes and it made Dean shiver.

Without warning, Cas dropped like a stone, his arm trapped between them, among other things, panting against Dean's neck. A warm, wet streak brushed over the tender spot on his throat, Cas' efforts at healing him of the reddened mark. The angel mumbled apologies, but was too fucked-out to really care.

Dean rubbed his lover's back as reassurance that he was fine, all the while, silently losing his shit over the fact that a little pain ripped the orgasm right out of him as easy as flipping a damn lever. And here he thought he'd been getting better somehow.

So much for that theory.

Once Cas calmed down back to neutral, he went ominously still, and Dean knew he'd clued in to the same thoughts.

"Dean, tell me this, lovers often nip at each other, right?"

Dean hesitated before dubiously giving his reply, "Yeah, but—"

"—No buts. You're not abnormal. I know where your head is going and just stop." Cas emphasized his growing impatience by biting Dean gently at the base of his neck. Dean's flaccid erection showed a passing interest.

"Cas, I just, I, uh, don't think we should go there with you know our…umm…sex stuff." He searched for the appropriate words as if he were navigating a dictionary. "I've got so many wires crossed up here, I don't want to one day trip the wrong one and the bomb inside me goes off. Let's just not cut any wires…or bite them, as the case may be."

Castiel kissed him, following that up with a sullen look. "Slowly but surely I will kiss you back to the rapacious man who made very crude innuendos about getting inside you." And to top off that sentence, Cas winked.

The comment and the delivery blasted Dean with an accompanying image in his mind of Cas sliding a lubed cock into him and a shock of arousal torpedoed from his dick to his ass, down his legs, and then up to his head where the blood drained. Every vein seemed to reroute down to his cock.

The surprise must have shown on his face, or maybe it was the stiffy he was sporting, because Cas snapped his head back and gave Dean a once-over. "Um, I don't think we're ready for that but I think we can safely say we're making very good headway."

"Oh my god, stop talking and kiss me." Cas did just that and the whole morning fortified Dean's resolve on the idea he'd woken up with.

/\/\/\

"Well, fuck V! Get your ass in gear!" Butch hollered, running full tilt towards the commotion at the back of the alley.

Halfway there he was blindsided by a hard hit from the right. Two bodies collided in a hard crunch against the far brick walls of the heritage building downtown. Shit, hope we don't mangle the heritage façade, Butch thought as he shoved off at the same moment as he threw his elbow back and up, feeling it land hard into facial features—a crunching jaw it sounded like. Ooh, and a pained groan.

Nice!

Three more lessers were down the way in a battle with V and Butch knew more would be coming soon. They'd call for back up if they could, but everyone else was knee-deep in the white-haired bastards same as they were. It was all systems go for the undead army, it seemed. Their roll-call had certainly cranked up in the numbers and the Brotherhood was suffering for it. From what V told him, it was all a result of Heaven being shut down for business, souls ripe for the picking only to be imprisoned in a trade-off for undead bodies. And still, no one could figure out how the Omega was actually doing it—getting into Heaven's waiting line. V said his research into fixing Heaven was coming up zilch, save for the name Metatron, which his mother affirmed was now dead.

Awesome, Butch thought, throwing his opponent hard into the bricks, seeing one crack in two.

Goddammit…

Dead-ends everywhere they went. He swore out loud, cursing harshly in rampant succession of Fucks, Shits, and Mother-fuckers! The lesser he was on had screwed his eyes shut as he fought. Damn, fuckers were getting smart.

Butch landed a fist into his gut, getting the desired reaction of lids popping up. He met those undead gray eyes and the connection linked. His prophecy-realized ass sucked the evil down, killing these bastards the only way they knew how. Killing them for good too. Done-Dee. And taking a part of the Omega with him.

As the lesser checked out Buffy the Vampire Slayer style, and the evil rolled around like old meat in his gut, he stumbled in a half run towards V, now two on one.

"Nice of ya ta' join the party, cop!" V grunted, mid-fight.

Butch pulled up beside him, saying, "Sorry, man, got a little side-tracked," and took the one light-haired, baby-powder smelling ugly for himself.

"What's up, about-to-be-dead guy?" he chuckled, throwing his body forward in a tackle, making sure to lock eyes that opened wide with surprise.

He could hear V laughing behind him and in five minutes flat the remaining deadies were sucked down—and not in the sexy way.

Yeah, nothing sexy about Butch upchucking on asphalt, he thought. His stomach heaved and he felt V come around to him, grabbing him by the shoulders to try and turn him over.

"Uh…why'd I eat soup before this? Soooo gross," Butch whined.

"Yeah that was a bad choice. C'mon brother, roll over so I can lay some of the good stuff on ya," said V in that smooth voice of his, trying to push Butch over.

With a groan, he relented, flopping down over V's knee somehow materializing behind him so he wasn't lying on the cold ground. Vishous peeled off the black leather glove that normally covered his glowing, God-like limb and its evil vanquishing abilities.

Vishous lifted his shirt, slipping that palm under and spreading it out wide over his bare stomach. Butch moaned, unashamed at the porno sound of his voice. V was used to it. Besides, they'd crossed more gay boundaries than this. As the nausea faded and his head cleared, he thought about all the other fights that were going on, or had gone on that night, and felt awful knowing that he wasn't able to do his job.

"Prophecy or not, V, I can't do this. Not now. There's too goddamn many of them. We're dropping the ball…and with other threats going on right now, I'm starting to think we're on the losing side."

Vishous gave him a light jab to the gut, "Don't talk shit, cop. We got this."

"Yeah, you said that angel can't do nothin' about Heaven, so how the hell do we stop anything? Huh? C'mon V, be straight with me."

Vishous sighed, pushing Butch into a sitting position, their heavy boots thumping on the ground as they readjusted.

"Fucking trust me, alright? Things will be fine."

Butch (AKA Brian O'Neil); hard-ass, prophecy realized within a hidden war, had also been a cop for most of his life, and despite V's awesome poker face, Butch knew bull-shit when he heard it.

They were massive levels of fucked. Red-alert, Captain…

/\/\/\

Marking in the last thick line, Dean looked down at his work. He was tempted to get Sam to double-check it, wanting to make sure it was flawless. But, in the end, he wasn't ready to share this with anyone else. This was something for just for him.

Sticking the paper into one of the empty manila folders he'd found, he headed towards the garage, stopping quickly in the range to grab a gun and knife, knowing he should have them on him when he went out.

It wasn't his outright intention to be sly about the whole thing, but he decided not to let Cas know what he was doing. There were some questions that simply had no answers.

Forty minutes later, Dean was seated in a black leather chair, chest to the back, arms curled around, his chin resting on the top of the high-back. His shirt was off and hanging on a stool nearby.

The tracing paper was held up in front of his face. "Good?" the burly man, covered in tats, asked.

"Perfect."

The paper was placed on the top of his back and set in so the design would transfer. When it was peeled off, he was told to get up and check it out in the mirror to make sure it was centered and positioned properly.

Seeing the traced blue lines, knowing their meaning, he was excited to see it full and black.

"Yeah, man, it's great. Go to town," said Dean, sitting backwards in his original position.

Now, this was the hard part. Calming his breathing, Dean tried to find some sort of happy place, knowing the needle and the pain might trigger some shit, praying it didn't.

The design had been enlarged to make it big enough to stretch across his back and the lines alone were thick, so it took over a couple hours of filling in.

That first pinch of the needle, Dean had tensed up and got a decent sweat going as memories danced on the periphery of his thoughts. But he gripped hard into the leather with his fingers and managed to find the willpower to keep himself together. After the filling in started, his back went blessedly numb. Finally, he uncurled his claw-shaped grips on the leather chair-back and flexed his fingers, wincing from the aching joints.

The rest of the experience was tolerable. And if anything, Dean actually got a little bored and wound up in a good conversation with the guy.

"Want me to add any flourish at all?" Greg, the tattoo artist, asked.

Dean moved his arms and stretched a little, his back cracking. "Nope. Just simple and clean."

"That's it then. You're good to go."

When Greg, forty-something with a loving wife and a bad-ass Harley as Dean had learned, had begun tracing the first lines, he'd asked what the writing meant, and what the language was. Dean was vague, muttering something about religion. He'd seen a cross and stuff inked on the guy's own skin so he figured the topic was a safe one.

Standing, Dean stretched, lengthening his spine and stretching out his shoulder blades, feeling the tightness at the top.

"Let me just put some goop on it before you go." Greg slathered his back in what looked like motor grease.

Dean walked over to the mirror and turned at his waist, looking back over his shoulder. His breath hitched at the sight, overcome with an array of emotions.

"You alright?" asked Greg. "Is it for someone who's gone?"

Dean shook his head, not sure how to answer that. "Yeah…me," he finally murmured under his breath, even though it didn't make a lick of sense. Greg's eyes went wide and then squinted. He scratched his goatee, no doubt wondering what kind of crazy Dean was.

Turning back to the guy, Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Greg, it's awesome, really. You did great. It means a lot. Thanks."

Greg shook his offered hand and rung him up at the cash after Dean had been taped up to protect the tat, and having thrown his shirt back on. Dean blanched when he saw the numbers on the register display.

Shit, tats were getting goddamn pricey.

Not that the visa in hand would ever get paid off. He swiped quickly and headed out with some final goodbyes to the guy.

/\/\/\

Sitting at one of the library tables, Castiel poured over research into the growing problems they had, hoping to find ways to keep Dean out of it. He knew Dean had taken off, but decided to let the man be, feeling that Dean was well enough to go out and do whatever he wanted without a baby-sitter. The last thing Cas wanted to do was smother him.

Hours later, when Dean returned, he barely entered the room, purposefully hanging around the archway as if an invisible barrier separated them.

"Hey Cas, umm, I need to work on fighting a bit more…for uh…ya know reasons and stuff and I really don't wanna fight you or Sam. D'ya think you could maybe call that friend of yours?" He coughed awkwardly. "The guy from the club?"

The words flowed over Cas' head as a smell hit him. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it and found himself tipping his head to the side, looking Dean over from head to toe.

"Dean, is something wrong?" he asked. Not in response to Dean's question, but to the strange smell. He could've sworn he'd smelled it before.

"Nah, I'm great. Really. So, Vishous? That's his name right?" Dean pressed.

Cas nodded, detached as his thoughts went in other directions. "Yes, I'll send him a message with your number. I'm sure he won't mind sparring with you." He paused. "What's that smell?" he asked, too curious not to.

"Oh, just some muscle rub. Back was sore," Dean replied instantly.

Cas raised his eyebrows and felt a lie somewhere in there but Dean seemed okay, and Cas had his secrets, perhaps Dean could be afforded some as well. Deciding to let it go, he pulled out his phone and messaged V: "Dean would like to spar with you. Not comfortable with me or his brother. Interested?"

The vampire responded almost instantly. "I'm down. I'll message a time and place."

When he asked if V required the number, all he got back was a winky face, and, "Don't you know me at all?"

Vishous' text pinged almost the same second as Dean's phone went off. Castiel shook his head. V was certainly good with technology, though the bunker was supposed to be in a dead-zone of some kind, Sam had told him once.

"Shit that was fast. Thanks. He says tonight's good. I'm going out, see ya later!" Dean started to jog off. Castiel flew to the spot directly in front of his path in the hallway.

The flutter and slight displacement of air made Dean's eyes go wide. "Geez, Cas, walking too much for ya?"

Cas noticed the smell was stronger the closer he was to Dean, he still knew that it was familiar and for some reason he remembered stinging discomfort, but then maybe Dean had been telling the truth. Either way, Dean was still shooting out the door like a hellhound was on his ass.

"You seem really eager to not be here right now," he noted plainly.

Dean's shoulders sagged down and he sighed with a roll of his eyes. "I'm fiiinnne! Chillax." He leaned forward to kiss Cas quickly and marched off.

Despite his annoyance at Dean's blatant lying, he still wished he'd gotten more of a kiss than that. He frowned as he watched Dean take off.

But then he realized he had some free time of his own and thought, what better time to visit an old business partner?

/\/\/\

Dean followed the directions, meandering as they were, to a spot about forty minutes north into wide-spread country and uninhabited tracts of land that were probably marked for farmland but no one had tilled these fields in decades. He finally spotted the sharp turn in the road, and yup, just as V had said: A large barn, weathered and about to topple over was visible off to the side of the road. He pulled the Impala onto the gravel laneway and it bumped along until it was deep enough down the lane that it probably couldn't be spotted from the road. Not that many people passed by anyway.

Dean exited cautiously. In all fairness, their last encounter had been…intense. Massively embarrassing on his part, too. But Cas seemed to trust this guy, and that was enough for Dean. Besides, despite the man's non-human status, Dean hadn't gotten the evil vibe from him whatsoever. His shoes crunched and popped over the rocks covering the lane. The air was cold at night, and his jacket wasn't much against the chill, but knowing he'd be fighting he'd get too warm for the thick canvas anyway.

Out of fucking nowhere, Dean was body-checked hard. Ribs aching, shoulder throbbing as he was thrown straight to the ground. He grunted, flat on his ass now, and glared upwards to see a terrifying toothy-grin sneering down at him, with sharp-ass fangs, nothing like the vamps he'd seen before. Bright eyes gleamed down, amused.

"What's doin, hunter?" Vishous asked in his mildly accented voice.

"God, you're creepy, you know that?" Dean replied.

Vishous smiled, eyes inhumanly bright. "Just a better version of you, my friend."

Yeah, right, Dean thought. He glanced towards his feet and back up to find a gloved hand waiting and extended. "C'mon, Winchester."

Dean grabbed it and was pulled up quickly off the ground. "So, uh, thanks for doing this." He smiled awkwardly.

"No worries, man. Always good to go a round or two, true?" Vishous shucked his t-shirt to reveal a big, muscled torso. Dean had to admit he was impressed. Dean got rid of his jacket but kept on his t-shirt, then thought of the new ink he'd gotten.

"Uh…don't hit my back, alright?"

V sniffed and then grinned wide. "Can I see?" he asked, walking in a half-circle around Dean.

Feeling as though it revealed more of himself than he would like, Dean hesitated. Heck, he barely knew the guy! Hands went for the hem of his shirt anyway. "Don't be all shy and shit, just show me." Vishous tugged and Dean ultimately yielded, reaching back to pull his shirt most of the way over his head.

Vishous whistled and let out a soft chuckle. "I like it! Damn, no, I friggin' love it. I could've done a better job with a needle mind you, but whatev's."

When Dean pulled his shirt back down and turned around to get down to the fighting, he was met with Vishous' contemplative, shrewd eyes. "Hunter, do you know anything about our culture?"

Dean shook his head.

"Hmm…interesting." The odd question was shoved off and Vishous sank into a fighting stance, his sharp fangy grin big and bright. Menacing and yet not disgusting like the vamps Dean had seen before.

Dean threw the first hit, missing—The fuck? Dude just goddamn disappeared.

"Ha! Betchya didn't see that shit coming," Vishous teased, throwing a right hook and getting Dean upside the chin. The hit snapped his head to the side and the throbbing pain along his jaw seemed to beeline right to his dick. Fuck…. He held out a hand for the man to stop.

"Oh shit," Vishous blurted. The blood drained from Dean's face, knowing that somehow Vishous knew how fucked up he was.

Without warning, V threw another, and then another, and then another. Dean wobbled to the side, the world going sideways. His body's reaction seemed to be fighting two different directions, and the angrier he got, the better it was. Meaning he wasn't about to have an incident. Thank Jesus!

"We just gotta"—punch—"get you used to the fact that"—punch—"beat downs fucking hurt, friend." Punch!

Annnnnd down we go.

Where are my feet? Dean tried to open his eyes through swollen slits and saw his feet sprawled out in front of him—attached to his legs, thankfully. With his head ringing, Dean tried to stand and heard V laugh at him.

"Doesn't feel so good no more, does it?"

Dean flipped him the bird. Groaning, he rolled over in order to get vertical. Eventually he made it to his feet and reset his shoulders, shook his head—oh fuck that did not help—and then threw a wild one, his fist hitting skin and bone.

Vishous growled. Fuelled by adrenaline, they continued to go at it.

By the end of the couple hours, there had been only a few close calls where he'd gotten a little too…excited. Vishous' cool, calm, and downright comedic act did wonders at calling that reaction to heel. It was damn relieving. Dean felt a lot like his old self by the end of it, actually enjoying the back and forth of it, the quick jabs, the bursts of action and breaks where they simply watched the other move into a new position. It gave a lot of confidence for future hunts, more than he'd had on the last few, finding clever ways to stay out of the hand-to-hand.

On his way home, bloody, swollen, and sore as fuck, Dean was smiling and singing to the one song he'd been trying to master on the guitar.

/\/\/\

Castiel held Crowley a foot in the air, a fist clutching his thick jacket to hold him up off the ground. "Tell me the truth! Did you tell Sam?!"

"No! I didn't say a bloody word. Now let me down you angry kitten."

Cas dropped him carelessly and turned to face away, going over Crowley's refutes and denials. Even though his thoughts had seemed honest, Castiel wasn't sure he could believe the former King of Hell. For now, at least, it would have to be enough.

Crowley moved in beside him, eyes fixed on Cas' profile. "Making progress on that front?"

In a dry retort, Cas blew out a breath. "It will never happen and you know it."

Crowley's next words were soft and sincere, catching him off guard. "Don't be so sure, mate. It just might."

Surprised by the insinuation that there might be hope, Cas' eyes snapped to Crowley's, and yes, those thoughts too were honest. They stared for a beat longer, and then without say a goodbye he beat his wings to take him home.