last chap ('cept epilogue)

37

Nirvana

The relief that Dean didn't hate him wasn't quantifiable. This secret had been wearing him thin, a fear that clouded every moment he had with Dean wondering if each memory would one day be viewed through a lens of loss.

The moment Dean took his hand, Castiel transported them to a place Sam had told him about back when Dean was unpredictable. A stocked cabin in the woods away from the world. It seemed a good place for them tonight.

Dean stood quietly, their hands still linked, as he took in the change in location.

"Now this is more like it," he commended.

Castiel had to agree. The poor excuse for a place where marital unions were made was too bright, too fake. The quiet of this cabin, with its warm colours, earthy smells, was much more appealing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Dean angled his head. "No. I really, really don't. Not 'cause I'm mad or anything—I'm not." Stepping closer, Dean let go of his hand and placed his palms against Castiel's cheeks.

"I trust you, Cas. You'll explain it all to me one day. But right now—" Moving in close, closing the gap between them, Dean whispered, "Now…I want to be with you."

Even with guilt weighing on him, Dean's husky voice made him instantly hungry for the lips so very close to his own. Close enough that he felt Dean's breath in his mouth already.

The last inch was erased with a needy inhale, moving in to attack each other. Between sloppy, frantic kisses, Castiel muttered apologies anyway. Each time Dean silenced him with a look.

Things would soon get carried away. And there was something Castiel needed to do first.

Breaking away from Dean, he mumbled needing a minute alone and transported himself outside. The air was thick with humidity here, the scent of the trees strong and unyielding. Still, he registered all this through his angelic senses, able to weed out individual components at will. He could break apart the molecules of scent, focusing on the acidity of pine needles, versus the more earthy nature of the bark, less dense in the air generally.

These were not things he would miss. The complexity was impersonal, and unrelatable. Releasing his angel blade at will, he knew he had to hurry. He hadn't gone far enough from the cabin to keep Dean away for long, but enough that he could do this and the walk back wouldn't be excessive.

Why now? Dean would've asked. And he wasn't sure if a single answer existed. Sometimes things felt right with no logical explanation.

Taking a deep breath, readying himself for the familiar pain, he sliced against his throat, cutting the skin of his vessel, but also the fabric of his true being. The pain of it was excruciating, more so as the grace poured out into the vial he'd brought. The sensation was like being drained of a life that once held you up, empowered you, leaving you scared and uncertain.

The fragility of being human he felt immediately. It took several steadying breaths before the lingering feelings calmed. He pocketed the grace, wondering what he'd do with it.

Absorbing the glorious collective scent of the forest and the dim sounds of scurrying life, he walked back to the cabin. The light of the day was still high in the sky as he made his way over the burnt-orange pine needles, the hard-packed earth under his feet. The few ferns scattered about brushed against his dress pants, and Castiel could feel the warm trickle of blood seep down his throat, but he didn't care. The closer he got to the cabin—to the beginning of forever with Dean—the happier he became.

Dean was pacing the porch when he came into view. Stopping, it took a fraction of a second for Dean to know what he'd done.

They both seemed to hold their breath, but then Cas smiled, starting to laugh. "I suppose it would have been better to wait until we had a car"—he laughed some more—"I've stranded us."

Dean's own lopsided-grin slipped out. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Moving into the cabin, they headed over to the woodstove and silently worked together to get it going—yet another task that would have been easier with his grace. That said, Dean did most of the work anyway. When the licks of flame spit and crackled, the thick iron door was closed over, a knob turned open for the allowance of oxygen, and the warmth was quick to fill the room.

It hadn't been necessarily cold, but there was the unspoken reality that they'd both be naked soon enough.

This time, no angel was around to heal the wound created by ripping out his own grace, so blood had oozed down to his collar. With the first aid kit in hand, Dean pulled Cas to the couch in the centre of the large room set three feet from the stove.

Moving to sit, Dean tsk'd, grabbing for the backs of his knees, he guided Castiel into his lap. Splitting himself over Dean's hips, he felt a heat build in the pit of his stomach. It was made worse when Dean shifted, his thigh muscles hardening under Cas.

Neither of them said a word while Dean cleaned the cut. Once the band-aid was peeled and stuck on him, he thought Dean might say something. Instead, the silence lingered, heavy between them, causing his own arousal to gradually climb higher.

Listless green eyes shifted downwards, taking note of Castiel's ruined shirt beneath his worn trenchcoat—having decided to wear it for the wedding knowing that for endless reasons it meant something to both of them.

Slipping his hands into the jacket, Dean pushed it off his shoulders. It fell to the floor. Next, his suit jacket, and then the tie—which also had some blood on it. And finally, Dean untucked his shirt from his pants and undid each button, starting from the bottom.

Dean sat there looking up at him. Without straying from Dean's stare, he began to undress the man beneath him. Necessary shifting during this had a breath-stealing effect. One that reminded Castiel how badly he wanted their pants gone.

When they started to kiss, it was unhurried. Slippery tongues pressed together in a building dance that made him feel heavy. He began to drag himself back and forth in Dean's lap, the build-up so gradual that it wasn't all that noticeable at first, and then suddenly he was gyrating hard, and panting. His skin became hot, his pants chafing. The fabric was like sandpaper against his thighs.

Dean's lips were an amazing contradiction of texture from everything else, soft and plush, moving with him. Awareness of his surroundings seemed to come and go in passes. He could feel Dean's hands gripping the back part of his pants, urging his movements deliciously onward.

This feeling; the ability of the human mind to be so easily clouded by touch and physical reactions was addictive. Cas thought he might drown in it and never come back.

Dean shifted on the couch, moving to the edge. The disruption of rubbing and kissing was mildly disorienting. Even worse when Dean said: "Put your legs around me."

Awkwardly, he did, hooking his ankles behind Dean's back.

Dean stood them up and walked them to the bed to the left of the woodstove. Letting Cas' weight slide lower, they used their combined strength to rub together. It wasn't easy, what with his arms pulling on Dean's neck, Dean's hands digging against his skin to move him roughly up and down. It didn't occur to him—or Dean apparently—that the whole adventure would be much more gratifying laying down and naked.

Hoisting himself higher, he sucked the soft part of Dean's ear into his mouth, eliciting thick, throaty sounds from the man of his attention. The feeling of scratchy, short facial hair scraped against his cheek and neck, sending shivers rippling down his spine—directly to his ass.

Smiling at Dean, he pushed off to land on his feet. Not wasting time, he grabbed for Dean's dress pants and deftly undid the clasp and zipper with excellent speed. Leaving Dean there in tight boxers, Cas dashed over to his forgotten jacket on the floor and retrieved a necessary item, tossing it onto the bed before getting back into a warm, waiting embrace.

The fire had put the room into a sweltering state. Because of this, it was an immense relief when they got down to skin and nothing else. Both of them sighing and rejoicing in the air against their overheated bodies.

Wearing a broad smile and nothing else, he approached Dean's body with a list in his mind of everywhere he wanted to touch and kiss. Wondering just how different it would be with his basic human senses. What would Dean taste like? What would his breath feel like in certain places? These were mysteries that he would spend the rest of his life uncovering.

Dean's hands passed over his skin in aimless patterns, his gaze contemplative.

Significantly casting a look downwards, Castiel asked, "May I?"

Dean stroked himself, nodding his approval. Excited, Cas fell to his knees on the unforgiving floor and sank Dean fully into his mouth. Considering his newly human gag reflex, he was a bit too eager. Still, it didn't take long to adjust. He sucked at Dean's cock until his jaw hurt, pausing frequently to pull Dean—sometimes unwillingly—from the brink of release. He did not want either of them finishing just yet.

They had all night…

Actually, they had forever. Or about sixty to seventy years if they were extremely lucky.

/\/\/\

"—Jesus Christ!" Sam screeched, having turned from the computer to find Death standing two feet behind him.

"Quite the greeting. Nice to see you too, Sam."

"What are you doing here?" And more importantly… how the hell did you get in? Sam wondered, grateful that Jody was out with Crowley.

"I hear you've met my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Sam looked at Death curiously. "You mean the Gatekeeper? That's—She's yours?"

"All beings are once young and stupid, humans are not alone in that," Death droned as he moved to sit in the chair near him.

"Good to know," replied Sam.

Despite Death kicking back in a chair a couple feet away, Sam felt relatively at ease with his presence. The guy had come when Sam was on the edge of life and he'd been proud of the way Sam had lived it—whether that still held true, he didn't know—but regardless, he didn't fear the Big Daddy Grim Reaper the way he once had.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here."

"Yeah… kinda," Sam smiled.

"I'm here for the young man's body, Cale Harden."

Shit. "Seriously? What are you gonna do with him? "

"Bring him to his final resting place where nothing or no one will be able to wield his death for destruction."

"And where's that?"

Instead of an answer, he got a glare and a raised eyebrow. "Okaaay. Why should I trust you? He was our friend. And for all we know you could be spell-bound by some monster. Or worse…the Omega."

"Ugh. That pathetic imbecile has no powers over me, I assure you. How he's become as powerful as he is, I'll never understand. He's nothing more than a cockroach that even the heaviest of boots fail to squash dead."

With a sigh, Death continued, "Listen, Sam, I'm here to help. Take it or leave it. I promise you he'll be at rest and without fear of anything bad coming of what he's done. The inscriptions on his skin are dangerous here."

Sam perked up. "It's the way to unlock Hell, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"Shouldn't his body be destroyed, then?"

"What a simple solution that would be, were it possible. Every spell, as you've seen, every supernatural act, has some form of undoing. But there are trade-offs, balances that must be kept. The spell that is now his body, if enacted, would cause havoc in this world—I'm sure you can imagine. But as such, unfortunately, the body remains."

"Do I have any choice?"

Death grinned. "No."

"That's that then."

"That is that, Sam Winchester."

Death rose to leave when Sam jumped out of his chair, needing to ask the question.

"If I'd summoned you, asked you about Cas and Dean and Heaven—would you have given me the truth?"

"No I would not. God," he said disdainfully, "has his stories, like a small child. Unfortunately for me, I'm affected by his prophetic romanticized tales perhaps even more than you. Did it not all work out?"

Sam smiled. "I guess it did."

"Well then, you must be pleased I did not take you away before."

"I am now, yeah."

"Perhaps next time," Death teased as he disappeared.

Curious, Sam raced down to the bunker's morgue. Wrenching the suctioned steel chamber open, he found it—not surprisingly—empty.

"Huh."

Walking slowly back upstairs, his mind turned over the last year, from the fall of the angels, to his death and life as an angel-ride. To Dean leaving...and the aftermath of that night.

The bunker was empty and too-quiet but he moved through the halls knowing that it was fuller and more home that it had ever been before.

They'd lived year after year in shitty motels and the Impala. They've been burned by love, their faith in the good getting tested and beat down time and time again. It took unparalleled tragedy to get them here. For the first time in a very long while, Sam felt sure of their future—all of their futures.

Even Crowley, he grinned, making his way into the library finally.

/\/\/\

Strung-out, a little dazed, Dean stared down at the dark head of hair between his legs, and thought, holy crap, that's my friggin' husband. It astounded him more that he was married than the fact that he'd married a guy. Besides, Cas didn't exactly fit the mold for your typical male. Sure all the right parts were there, even the ridiculously deep voice that Dean felt right down into the centre of his chest. But Cas was made up of more than outward appearances, and Dean saw it all. And he loved it all.

Closing his eyes, he mapped out where tonight would go. He knew what Cas wanted. Could see it written in those eager blue eyes, practically sparking with anticipation. Any other time, he might've laughed, maybe teased Cas a little. But not tonight.

There was no question that he'd deliver. Despite his fears, he wanted it just as bad. Whatever anxiety remained in him would have to shut the hell up for tonight because, rationally, he knew that it was allowed. Yes, images would assault him, and yes he might go way too slow and too gentle for what Cas might prefer, but goddamn it this was their wedding night and there was no way Dean wasn't gonna make love to this man.

After his knees had gone weak, he'd sat on the bed, as he was now, with Cas hunkered down between his thighs. Slipping his fingers into the mess of Cas' hair, he stroked and scratched, and watched.

When it got to be too much for too long, he palmed Cas' cheeks and eased him off, pulling the now human over him, laying back onto the bed.

Cas was wearing this stupid grin, made all that much better by swollen red lips.

"Damn, I'm lucky…"

Dropping his forehead to Dean's, Cas laughed. "Based on your life's events, I highly disagree, but I think I know what you mean." And then those puffy lips pressed against his own; warm, soft, and tasting of himself.

It was amazing that something so simple could feel so good. How was it that Dean Winchester was reduced to mush with a kiss? Seemed crazy… Especially after the extreme torments his body had been put through. It was a goddamn wonder that he could still appreciate the little shit. And not just appreciate, but relish in it.

Cas' body was cooler as a human—making Dean realize just how unnaturally too-warm he'd been before. But his newbie human spouse was definitely easier to distract than before. Every time Dean tickled down the length of his spine, Cas would shudder and squirm. It quickly became one of Dean's favourite things to do.

After long minutes of unhurried stroking between them, and deep—borderline raunchy—kisses, he rolled Cas over onto his back. The once-angel's thighs split open for him without hesitation. It shocked Dean, even after everything they'd made it through, that Cas would just…open up for him like that.

Dean kissed his face in gentle presses as he moved smoothly over Cas in a teasing wave. They couldn't seem to stop touching each other; fingers tracing the curves of muscle, palms moving to frame the other's face.

It was a long time before they moved to anything more intense. As always, Cas was the insistent one, gently (but not at all discreetly) nudging Dean's hand down between his legs.

Shaking his head, Dean laughed. "Okay, okay, I get the point."

"Sorry, but…I, umm, I want you. Bad."

Goddamn, did that ever sound good to his ears.

Moaning and all sorts of eager, he lowered and tongued into Cas' mouth, rolling his hips in time with his tongue. Dean continued to kiss with everything he had, moving his hand down to stroke and grip Cas' ass and down the back of his thigh, grasping behind his knee and dragging his leg up tight against Dean's side. Cas writhed against him, groaning wantonly into his mouth. It didn't matter what he did to relieve the pressure, his man was nearing that desperate edge, the familiar body blindly seeking greater stimulation. It was beautiful to see Cas strung out by arousal, body twisting and hard, the fear in his eyes that the whole build-up would collapse on him.

"Cas, babe, relax for me," Dean breathed against his ear. The only response he got was a loud, swift exhale and the feel of Cas pushing his hips up.

Each move, every touch, Dean approached cautiously for his own sanity. Slicking up his fingers, teasing Cas' rim with gentle nudges, pushing inside slow. All the while, he examined Cas' face, cataloging every blink, seeing his mouth hinge open, gasping for air when Dean pressed in a second finger.

Dean was poised, ready to stop at a moment's notice if what he saw below him was anything like what he'd seen before. The telling creases that spoke to a grimace, or sudden pain. Or a grunt that said 'ow' instead of 'more'.

"I won't break," Cas told him.

"But I might," Dean replied honestly, continuing to go too slow for Cas' overall enjoyment. It wasn't easy, seeing the strain on the once-angel's face, the banked desperation that he must know to keep quiet. It hurt his pride some that he couldn't go all out and blow Cas away with stellar love-making, the kind that would drive Cas wild. With his fingers gently stretching Cas to accept him with ease, he vowed, with a hard suck of Cas' neck, that he would make it up to him one day.

When the time came, his cock primed and pressed close to Cas' body, Dean started to lose focus on the moment, his breaths coming faster and his mind beginning to spin.

Pausing with a long inhale, he lowered his forehead down, resting on Cas, their faces smushed. "I know, Cas," he argued preemptively. "Just let me stay here a minute."

Below him, Cas didn't say word, choosing to let Dean work his way through the moment. Finally, he took a deep breath, kissed Cas hard on the mouth, sucking in the man's gloriously husky scent and went for it.

Dean must've blacked out, because he was suddenly there—all the way in. A snug fit, with Cas' body taking a minute to absorb the shock of it. After all, he'd been an angel before, so this had to feel a little different.

Fuck! Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Hopefully a lot fucking different! Considering…

Lifting and trying to clear his head, he pegged Cas with intense examination. "All good?"

Unperturbed, Cas smirked and kissed the corner of Dean's mouth. "Absolutely, are you?"

Sure, he could've lied. But even newly human, Cas would've seen through it. "Honestly, kinda weirded out. But I'll get over it."

Trying to do just that, Dean started to move; slow and gradual. The feeling of Cas' inner walls sliding against him, that tight ring of muscle gripping him hard, Dean went suddenly nauseous and had to concentrate and try to reset his brain somehow in order to break away from the past.

"Open your eyes," said Cas.

Damn, he didn't even realize he'd closed them. "Please talk to me."

"Move, Dean. Everything is fine." Castiel cupped his face and fiercely met his eyes, encouraging him, openly showing his trust.

Keeping locked on that fiery stare, Dean drew back, his slicked cock moving inside all that heat and pressure. Pushing back in, shaking, he saw Cas' eyes flutter, that full mouth falling open.

"You sure you want me?" he asked, falling closer together, his balls pressing up against hot skin.

"Every inch of you," Cas answered with a grin.

Dean managed to chuckle, the sex suddenly easier. Easing his cock in and out, the two of them sinking together, bodies meeting and separating in an ever-continuous wave.

In the far recesses of his mind, the former atrocious scene played out, complete with the running commentary of Abaddon's voice, but he ignored it as best he could. It wouldn't go away, and he just hoped to—well, not God—but someone, that it wouldn't always be this way.

"I love you." Dean said on a deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt, his erection kicking with a flare of liquid arousal, and feeling Cas' body respond with a distracting spasm of its own.

"Mmm…I love you too," answered Cas breathlessly.

Those long runner's legs locked around his hips, and smooth arms stretched back over the mattress, accidentally shoving the pillow there onto the floor. It landed with a thump and Cas smiled, fully stretched out under him.

Damn, thought Dean, when the hell had his luck gone from shit nothin' to full-up with every damn thing he'd ever wanted out of life? Part of him feared and questioned its reality. But with Cas there gazing up at him, eyes innocently giving him away, Dean had to believe it was all true.

Dipping his head low wearing a silly, over-excited grin he sucked a mark on Cas' throat, licking across the reddened skin, tasting salt and the faint hint of copper from blood pumping too close to the surface. He paused on a kiss, breathing in their mixed scent—all sweat and sex—feeling Cas' beating pulse tapping away under the skin.

There it was: Life. Real honest-to-goodness life.

As Cas began to squirm uninhibitedly, the more he groaned with desperation, each inhale getting chopped up with gasps, it all made Dean realize how real Cas was. How alive he was. Whispering into the hollow of Cas' ear, Dean laid out a prayer of endless promises and devotions.

Kissing up over towards Cas' slack mouth, Dean adjusted his pace, his angle, and dragged himself out painfully slow, all the way out. Cas outright whined, and Dean smiled, pushing back in just as slow, driving them both mad as he kept it up. Slow out, slow in. Inch after inch of salacious torment.

Reaching over Cas' head, Dean slotted their fingers together and braced his weight, snaking his other hand down between them and started to stroke the familiar erection, a perfect weight in his palm. This was where Cas' was warmest—at least on the outside. They were close enough that he could press Cas' cock up against himself and stroke and move at the same time, letting his sweaty abs create friction on the underside.

"Kiss me." Cas whimpered, turning his face up.

Dean did, sinking into that wet mouth, his eyes closing—overcome with a feeling that his chest was about to burst. The vibrations of low moans tickled his lips, causing his mouth to stretch into a proud grin. Cas returned the sentiment; their noses bumping as they stared dizzily at each other. Blue eyes shone up at him, dark with arousal but so bright with emotion that it trumped all the bad feelings he had buried inside of himself.

Breathing heavily, broken kisses marking the time, Dean languorously rode them both closer to release; to the point where his awareness reduced to sensations. To the stroke of himself moving in and out, the squeeze of Cas' body around him, the two of them staring at each other, the intensity and passion of it so commanding that at times they'd both forget to breathe.

Cas' deep blue eyes widened a split-second before Dean felt the tremors rock through him. Sliding in deep, he brought them together as tight, as full as he could. In a wave of stimulus, Cas began to spasm around his cock, clinching tight, at the same moment the erection in his palm jerked and shot warm jets of come onto his hand and both their chests.

It pushed Dean over the edge, following in seconds after Cas' orgasm had claimed his senses. Surprising himself, he didn't pull out, as he'd originally planned. With sharp precision, Dean rode out the pulses, feeling each flow of ejaculate spilling inside the man he loved. The pleasure that rushed over him was like a hot blanket, warm and heavy, flung over him, leaving him sweltering and full of shivers at the same time.

Breathing hard, his heart hammering in his chest, he laid motionless over Cas, not wanting to leave the warmth of their connection. He didn't think he could feel any better, until Cas began stroking his head, pushing the sweaty hair away from his forehead.

Dean moaned and thrust in once, both of them losing themselves to an aftershock.

The hair playing turned into a tight hug, mixed with lovey-dovey kisses and contented little sighs. Cas was blissed out under him; the man's body limp, legs starting to droop in a way that started to push Dean out.

Nuh-uhn. Dean shifted up on the bed, digging himself back in. "Not yet."

Making a gruff noise of agreement, Cas wrapped his legs around Dean and began to kiss his mouth in earnest. Oh man, he could fall asleep pretty damn easy right now. Waking up would probably be a bit gross though.

Groaning, already dreading the sense of loss, he pulled out.

And yup…he hated it.

Embracing his craving for some serious cuddling, he wrapped around Cas like a magnetized octopus, and Cas, the perfect angel that he was, exactly returned the gesture, chuckling softly against Dean's ear as they rolled onto their sides.

They tangled and twisted to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable; faces squashed so close they were likely reduced to a steady stream of CO2. Not that he cared. Christ, he'd die happy. Instead of a pillow, he had Cas' bicep, and instead of a body pillow he had Cas' leg right up between his. And who needs blankets when you have warm arms around you and a chest sweatily stuck to your own? In all his life, Dean couldn't remember a single time he'd cuddled this ridiculously with anyone. Despite the odd lumps of body that dug into various parts of him, he dimly began to hum his contentment—squeezing, and rubbing, and sighing like a dumbass. Every square inch of him tingled in a way he never imagined, and it felt fucking damn good.

As though Cas could still tap into his thoughts, he said, "I feel tingly."

Dean huffed a snort of a laugh. "Mm-hmm."

Laying there, all Dean had to do was purse his lips and they were that close that he could just peck Cas' pliable mouth. Which he did…several times. Getting sloppier and sloppier as drowsiness pulled him under.

"Dean?" he heard Cas say in a feather-light voice, half on the way to sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks…for loving'm 'nough to t'marry me," Cas slurred, eyes closed.

Smiling with the lift of one corner of his mouth, he answered quietly, "Thanks for sayin' yes."

With one last kiss, nearly falling asleep attached to Cas' face, Dean hummed and checked out for the rest of the night.

/\/\/\

The next morning, Dean woke in the middle of a stretch, his arms and legs shaking out kinks as they brushed against warm skin to his left. A soft disgruntled mumble made him smile and he shifted sideways to open his eyes.

"Hey," he sighed, tucking in closer.

They'd drifted apart in the night for some fresh air. Otherwise, both of them would have overheated for sure.

"Dean," answered Cas dreamily. It was damn adorable.

The drowsy lull in Castiel's eyelids caught Dean's attention and he found himself reaching through the sheets and between them to touch along skin, watching those lids droop and flutter.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" he wondered idly, his mind skirting around so many possible disasters as he felt up his husband through the sheets.

Smoothly, as if he held some great secret, Cas smirked at him, licked his lower lip and said, "Yes. I think we're going to be great."

"You seem pretty damn certain, Cas. I gotta say, past experience says otherwise."

"And yet, despite the past, here we are, in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Naked. Both of—yes—both us very much ready to get down to business… If you know what I mean." Cas winked.

With a snort and a grin, Dean gruffly said, "Yeah, Cas. I know what you mean."

In the end, Dean had to agree. Of all the bad shit that happened, of all the times he'd thought he was done for, or that he couldn't bear the injustice of his life another goddamn minute—this was where he'd ended up: In love…in bed…naked…and married to Cas.

Even in his most daring adventures into optimism, he'd never considered this a real possibility.

For the first time, in his whole shitty life, Dean had endless hope in the future. And damn, did that ever feel good.

Ooh, fuck. Speaking of things feeling good—

"Mmm, yeah, keep doing that…"