Febuwhump Day Eleven: Chronic Pain. Cas tries to give Dean a back massage three different times.

Title: Grace in Your Hands

Dean fiddled with his phone beside Cas at the kitchen table. They returned from a ghoul hunt around midnight and Sam had gone straight to sleep, but Dean settled beside Cas to nurse a beer while his friend stayed awake. Cas had his own room, but usually Dean could find him up at all hours somewhere in the kitchen or library. Dean wondered if he got lonely in the quiet of the night with no one to accompany him but the sound of groaning pipes.

Dean glanced at Cas as he flipped a page in the tome he was studying and his phone slid out of his hands and clanked against the tile. "Shoot," Dean leaned over to pick it up. Pain pinched his back, sweeping from his neck straight down from his spine. It stabbed into him like dozens of blades collectively piercing him, sharp and overwhelming. He hissed and froze, allowing the pain to wash over him before it dissipated again.

Dean was always in some type of pain. Decades on the job and a thousand injuries sustained left him with aches and gnaws all over his body, but he refused to admit it. He knew Sam experienced the same thing, but the most either ever complained was to mutter a curse when it suddenly flared up.

"Dean?"

Dean snatched his phone from the floor and straightened. "What's up?"

Cas regarded him with a tilted head and concerned eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Cas reached out a curious hand and rested it on Dean's upper arm. "You're in pain," the angel observed.

"Yeah," Dean watched as Cas's hand fell from him, "It's not a big deal. I kinda always am."

"You are?"

"Hunting's rough on you. Know how many times I've been thrown across a room?" Dean flashed a grin, trying to dismiss the subject, but Cas continued to look troubled.

"I can heal you."

"It's not really the type of thing you can heal unless you can find me a new body."
"I'm sorry, Dean."

It was touching that Cas cared this deeply. No one else would give it much thought, but Cas looked at Dean like it was some terrible affliction that his friend should ever be in pain. "It's okay, Cas," Dean laughed, "You don't have to look so upset," he rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to loosen the constricting knots there.

Cas watched the movement. "Does that help?"

It was a small relief, barely noticeable, but the best he could do. "I don't know."

Cas lit up. "Metatron showed me books about physical therapy. Let me."

"What are you-" Dean began, but Cas was already jumping up. He positioned himself behind Dean and anchored his hands on his shoulders, digging his thumbs into the muscle below. Dean wasn't used to being touched like this, especially not by Cas. It was intimate and embarrassing. "Cas-" he began to protest, but suddenly it felt like he was melting beneath Cas's hands. Cas kneaded him like clay. It was hot and tingling and the omnipresent throbbing pain faded. For the first time in years, he didn't ache. "How are you doing that?"

"I'm using my grace to stymie the pain," Cas said.

Dean hated displaying vulnerability of any type. He never learned how to be intimate with his friends, especially the men. He should be embarrassed, pull away, swat Cas and tell him to knock it off, but there was no one to pretend for, and for the first time in God knows how long, he actually felt physically good so he let himself focus on the massage. "You don't have to do that," he mumbled out of obligation.

Cas moved further down his back, rubbing the tight muscles next to his spine as he traveled. "I'm happy to help, Dean," Cas said brightly. He did sound happy and it pulled at Dean's heart to know he had a friend like this. He was lucky to know Cas, after everything they'd been through, Cas was simply glad to ease some of Dean's burden.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean shut his eyes and took steady breaths to relax his body, but anxiety still itched inside his chest. He groaned unexpectedly and his face turned warm at the noise, but he reminded himself Cas didn't care. Cas never judged him. He let go and allowed the sensation of floating to take over as he concentrated on Cas's hands.

Dean was pretty sure it was a one time thing. He wouldn't know how to ask for Cas to do it again. When he tried to formulate a sentence, he grew embarrassed and could hardly look at Cas, let alone force out the words.

A ghoul hunt resulted in Dean being thrown across the room, through a table, and into a stud behind crumbling wallpaper. The pain was severe enough for Dean to ask Sam to drive them home. Even Sam was worried, demanding to know if he was fatally wounded.

When they got back to the bunker, Dean shuffled through the library. Cas watched him from the hallway and as Dean limped past, he placed a hand on his back like an old man. He wanted to say it wasn't on purpose, that he hadn't emphasized the pain for Cas's benefit, but there was that shameful spark of hope that Cas would take pity and offer to massage him again. But Cas only asked if he was okay and Dean replied with a curt 'fine' before retiring to his room.

He pitched himself onto the bed and lay perfectly still, not daring to exacerbate the pain with movement. There was a creak and Dean watched as the door of his room gradually pushed open. Cas peered in.

"Hey," Dean said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

"Sam told me you got hurt," Cas walked to the bed and sat, dipping the mattress next to Dean.

This was where he said 'It's nothing. I can handle it. Don't worry about me,' but for some reason, the words didn't come out. Cas was already here, already willing, and the door was shut tight.

"Yeah," Dean admitted.

"Let me help."

Before, they had been in the kitchen, in a public space, albeit in the dead of night, but now they were in his room where he slept and jerked off. The anxiety that twinged in him last time was now clasped around his chest. "Okay," he sat up and waited for Cas to make the next move. Cas was somehow unfazed by the whole situation, wiggling so that he was squeezed behind Dean and in front of the headboard. He put his legs on either side of Dean and began to work his muscles. Dean let out a deep sigh as the grace in Cas's strong hands wrung out the pain.

"That feels really good," Dean had debated the words, but he decided to test the water, to see what Cas would reply.

"I've been studying."

"You have?" that meant Cas had been thinking of this too, wanting it to happen again.

"Yes, YouTube. I asked Sam to help me."

"You- You did this with Sam?" why in God's name was he hurt by that?

"No, I just had him pick out some videos. He said that the wrong technique can worsen the condition."

"Oh," Dean quieted and all that filled the room were the sounds of their breathing. Cas's fingers roamed up his back, but when they reached his shoulders, Dean took his hands and rested them on top of Cas's. He dreaded hearing Cas ask why and if he should stop, but he said nothing. Cautiously, like Cas would snap at him if he moved too quickly, he leaned backwards. He laid against Cas's chest, still holding his warm hands, and neither of them spoke. After several minutes, Dean let out a long breath and allowed himself to relax. Even though Cas wasn't massaging him anymore, he forgot about the pain. All he could think of was this, cuddling his best friend and the safety he found against his body.

Both Sam and Cas flashed Dean glances as they flew down the highway. Having an angel on your team that could heal any wound was a game-changer, but there was something unnerving about having had a piece of metal pipe lodged in your stomach only minutes ago. Dean glared at the road. He should have never let the vampire get the jump on him in the first place. Whenever Cas was able to heal him, he was left with the reminder that another time, he would have died. He scolded himself for being sloppy.

When they got back to the bunker, Sam retreated to his room without another word, sensing that Dean was a bomb set to explode with the slightest irritation.

Dean started to stomp to his room, but he paused. He could feel Cas's eyes on him, waiting patiently in the library for Dean to flee before making any sudden movements. "Cas," Dean didn't turn around, "Would you come with me?"

"Of course," Cas answered easily. Dean fought back guilt. He was the one imposing on his friends, while they were all eager to help him when he asked for it. They walked on eggshells when he was in a mood, expecting him to become violent, but beneath all of that anger, he just wanted to be touched. To Dean, it was more acceptable to act pissed. Christ, John had messed him up, huh?

Dean led the way to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. Cas settled beside him and extended a hand, placing it on Dean's shoulder. Dean reached for the hand and took it in his own, pulling it to his lap. "I just wanted you here."

He threaded his fingers through Cas's and the way they fit together so perfectly tore down his last defense. Dean leaned forward, sliding his free hand around Cas's waist, and pulled him in close. Cas pressed his head against Dean's chest and it was like he had been built to conform to the dips and hills of Dean's body. They were puzzle pieces interlocked and it felt overpoweringly right, like he was complete for the first time. He had never been held before this moment. All of the posturing, the overly masculine performance, meant nothing now. In fact, it seemed laughable. Cas didn't need his grace to heal Dean, all he needed was this.