Chapter Nine

Heyyy! We have a lot of Dean's inner monologue in this chapter, not sure how happy I am about that, hope it doesn't get too repetitive, but I think we still might have some new information here that could be interesting for you guys. Actually, talking about that, I'm not sure if the show clarified how angel possession works, but let's just pretend what I cooked up here is possible, okay? xD

Anyway, don't wanna give away too much, hope you enjoy it!

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

It got easier.

They tried again the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. Each time it would take longer for Cas' flashbacks to emerge as he got more and more used to the feeling of Dean's hands on him. He'd figured out that it helped to try and concentrate on Dean's face, to allow himself to be swallowed by the warm green he loved so much. It reminded him whose touch it was he could feel wandering over his torso wherever his hands led it, reminded him that he'd always asked himself what those hands would feel like.

And finally, he could let go and leave Dean to explore on his own.

Dean smiled. Cas breathed. Dean nodded encouragingly. Cas focused. Dean told him how well he was doing. And the flashes vanished.

Cas had sighed in relief the first time they went through a whole half-hour session without any disturbances and the longer they kept going, the more he could feel himself melting into Dean's touch, the tense muscles that kept him on guard at all times finally relaxing.

Dean had been so kind, praising him and telling him how proud he was, and for the first time in weeks Cas felt confident enough that night to ask Dean if he would hold him while they slept. It was hardly the first time it happened, but until now Dean had only ever done it to comfort him after he'd woken up from a nightmare, and as Cas' nightmares had gotten fewer, he hadn't dared ask Dean again outside of that safe cover. To his relief, Dean didn't seem to mind and had simply opened his arms in invitation for Cas to settle against his chest.

~oOo~

Cas was doing well. Or better, anyway. As good as could be expected.

He'd even asked Dean to hold him a few nights, just for the sake of it, as it seemed. Sure, they'd kept sleeping in the same bed, but they'd usually only touched after one of Cas' nightmares. Only when it was necessary. Maybe Cas just saw it as another opportunity to practice. Still, Dean's heart skipped a beat when he thought back to the shy but hopeful expression on Cas' face when he'd asked him. They had slept with Cas tucked into his side every night since.

Dean loved it.

Only because he hoped it to be a sign that Cas was getting better, of course. Because he hoped it meant the angel had gotten more comfortable with his touch, maybe even liked it a little bit.

It was not like Dean enjoyed the cuddles or anything. Christ, get a life.

Not that he particularly minded them either but...you know. Cuddles. Snuggling. Not something he'd ever admit to being into. (Not openly anyway.)

He couldn't deny that he was grateful for Cas' closeness, however, and not just because he'd long given up on pretending he didn't wish for it in general. More than that, it helped to keep his mind quiet, built a barrier against the attacks from within.

Because Dean had started dreaming about it.

He didn't know why he hadn't before, maybe his mind had simply been too occupied, too busy worrying about Cas to even fall asleep deep enough to dream. Now that Cas' nightmares seemed to had subsided, Dean's came out of hiding as if they'd just been waiting to emerge from wherever they'd been lurking.

He'd told Sam he didn't know how it happened, how and when Lucifer got in.

That had been a lie.

He'd lied to Sam. Dean remembered. He remembered every detail.

He'd slept at a motel that night, had been drunk, tried to forget about Cas, actually. The fucking irony.

It had been one of those days when he felt especially lonely, was constantly reminded of how the one thing he wanted was something he knew he couldn't have. He had those days sometimes, those days when he felt like he didn't know anymore if he wanted to drown himself in love, vodka or the sea.

He'd been on his way home from a supply run when he saw the glowing sign of an open bar. He'd gone in there with the intention to pick up some chick, have a round of quick, impersonal, dirty sex and get his mind off the fact that that was something he didn't want anymore. Maybe he could prove himself wrong, he'd told himself. He hadn't even made it to first base.

There had been plenty of offers, but he couldn't go through with it. Even flirting felt wrong. His faked smiles were painful, their eyes shamelessly checking him out from head to toe made him wish they were warm and blue instead of dark with desire. The fleeting touches of slim delicate hands made his skin crawl.

At some point he'd just given up, sent every girl away, welcomed drink after drink instead.

He'd collapsed onto a cheap uncomfortable motel mattress later that night, both hoping and dreading he'd dream of blue eyes, messy black hair and a trenchcoat.

He did. And in his dream, the blue was hooded with pleasure, the hair even messier from his own hands roaming through it, and the coat lay discarded on the floor.

It had been in that dream that it happened, Dean was sure. He hadn't even known angels could do that. He knew they could enter dreams, but possess someone through a dream? That had been new. But it had to be then. There was no other way. And Dean had felt it. The change. He just hadn't known what it was, back then, had forgotten about it soon. He'd had more urgent matters to tend to at the time. Like a gorgeous, gloriously naked angel writing on top of him.

Thinking back, maybe he should have known, should have thought it was weird, the way Cas had asked for permission just when they were about to-

But then, Cas had always been a little dorky weirdo, so he'd thought it was probably just his brain providing him with an illusion as realistic as possible. If he had no chance of getting the real thing, it was no wonder he'd try to take what he could get, right? So he didn't think twice when Cas asked permission to...well, enter him (yes, like that, pervert), and if he'd had any hesitation it was certainly blown away a second later when dream-Cas did.

And what a fucking joke that was. Lucifer, using Cas' form to sneak into Dean. And on top of that Dean had provided him with the way to do it, had unknowingly exposed his deepest desires just so that son of a bitch could take it and twist it to use and hurt Cas. Knowing that if Dean's secret had been impossible before, it certainly would be after he was done with them...

So yes. It was all Dean's fault, no one to blame but him.

All of it. That Lucifer got in at all, that he could hurt Cas, that he knew exactly the way to do it. All because Dean couldn't get his heart under control.

Not that he was particularly surprised. It hadn't been the first of those dreams he'd had, and he'd long given up on suppressing them, even if he couldn't help but burn up with guilt and shame afterwards. They were everything he'd ever get. Or so he'd thought.

So how could he refuse the opportunity to steal a short moment of happiness, even if he felt worse and dirtier every time? He'd been a lost cause from the very start, anyway.

Dean remembered it vividly, the moment he'd realised he was in love with Cas, how it had hit him like a ton of bricks, how he realised his feelings were so deep and much that he'd been surprised he'd managed to contain them for so long. How he'd been walking around, just thinking I love Cas, fuck, I love Cas over and over, how it had both been liberating and painful. How he'd been scared, ashamed even. For loving a man. For loving his best friend. For loving an angel.

Because Cas was Castiel, Angel of the fucking Lord Castiel, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, wings and powers and true form of the size of the Chrysler Building, who had given up everything and more for them over the years, again and again.

And Dean was just...Dean. Emotional mess with an inclination for one night stands, drinking and bad anger management, completely rounded off by a healthy dose of daddy issues and possibly suicidal tendencies. If that didn't sound like 100% wedding material he didn't know what.

That he would have the audacity to want something this good, someone like Cas for himself...

That he even entertained the idea Cas might be able to feel the same way. Ridiculous.

And yet he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop loving him. He couldn't stop wanting him. Wanting him to want him back. He couldn't stop hoping.

And at some point, he couldn't even go on hating himself for it.

It was too exhausting, took too much energy, punishing himself for something he knew he couldn't change. There was no use in being embarrassed by who you were. The world was going to judge you no matter what you did.

So Dean had forced his shame into a cage and locked it to the best of his ability. And it worked better than he'd thought it would, once he understood that he wasn't just doing it for himself, because he was tired of the bitter taste of self-hatred - he also had to do it for Cas.

Because Cas didn't deserve this. He deserved someone better than Dean, and certainly someone better than a Dean who was ashamed of him, ashamed of himself for wanting him. Cas deserved someone who could run his fingers through his hair without hating himself for how badly he craved it, someone who would leave marks on his skin and ask him to wear them proudly, not to hide them away afterwards. He deserved someone who wasn't ashamed of loving him completely, openly, freely.

He'd even thought about telling him sometimes, just going for it, screw everything and confess all the things he kept locked away in this special little corner of his heart that Cas didn't know belonged to him and him alone. And if Cas didn't feel the same, it would be fine, they could just go back to how things were before, no problem, easy-peasy.

But then he hadn't said a thing. Because he realised he couldn't. He couldn't go back to the way things were. Because he loved Cas. Like...loved, major, scary, capital L Love. And if Cas knew but didn't...

No. Better have him be his friend and know nothing of Dean's feelings than have him know and not want him back.

So he packed those feelings back up and shoved them into that corner where they belonged, that small cosy place where he was going to curl up later when no one was watching.

It was tough to get out of bed sometimes after another night of sleeping next to Cas, so close yet so far away, another night of dreaming that this would be real, and he could just roll over and pull Cas against his chest, nuzzle into his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him, to close that unbearable distance and feel Cas smile against his lips. Some mornings Dean found himself just lying there for an hour or two without getting up, the angel still asleep by his side, peaceful and unsuspecting. And Dean would stare at the ceiling, without thinking anything, just worrying about what the day might hold and knowing that he wouldn't be able to deal with it.

He knew he should tell Cas, but he couldn't. He couldn't risk it, couldn't risk losing him if he ever found out that the only reason he had to go through this torture now was that Dean had dared to grasp for something that had never been his to own.

Cas was everything Dean wanted and everything Dean didn't deserve.

And what did you do when you're not enough to make someone stay? When you meet the love of your life and realize there's nothing you can do to deserve them?

He stayed silent.

And every time Cas asked if they could try and practice again, he agreed without hesitation, hating himself for the longing that ran through him at the thought of getting to feel Cas' touch again, wondering when he'd become such a weak, selfish coward.

~oOo~

Dean had tried hard not to enjoy this too much. He really had.

He tried hard.

And failed even harder.

He'd thought maybe it would fade with time, that thrill that made his heart beat faster and his skin tickle with pleasure. Maybe it was just the newness, the excitement of a long-hidden fantasy finally coming to life. But it didn't go away. Not by the third time Cas touched him, not by the fifth either.

It wasn't the unexplored that made his heart skip a beat, it wasn't even the fulfilment of his desires. It was just Cas.

Cas would always make his breath hitch and his blood boil and his hands twitch with the need to reach out and touch as well. Dean should have known. It was Cas.

And it was good. It was so good. There hadn't even really been any skin contact yet, Dean had to remind himself, it was purely ridiculous how good it felt just like this, but he'd waited too long for those hands to touch him at all to care about the layers still separating them.

Until the layers vanished.

"Dean? Would you be amenable to try this without a shirt?", Cas asked almost casually during their sixth session, and Dean almost choked on his own tongue or some shit.

And before he knew it his tee was gone, as was Cas', a slight blush colouring the angel's cheeks when Dean couldn't hold back from letting his eyes roam over the expanse of exposed skin. He shivered at the first light touch of Cas' fingertips against his skin, marvelled at the look of utter concentration on Cas' face, and when Cas' eyes met his, answering the silent question in Dean's own, granting permission to reach out and touch as well, Dean had to force his hand not to tremble.

He released a shuddering breath when his palm met smooth skin, careful that Cas could see his hands at all times while they were roaming over tan pecs, surprisingly defined arms and stomach muscles that quivered beneath his touch. He concentrated on Cas' breathing as best as he could manage (not like he was maybe a little bit distracted or something), any hitches that might indicate he needed to slow down, skillfully avoiding areas that might be too sensitive to confront Cas with just yet.

This was touching for the sake of touching, to feel the comforting quality of skin contact, not to drift off into sexual territory.

Which didn't mean it was easy for Dean to tell his treacherous body about that.

Cas' hands were so warm and soft against his skin, his eyes so wide with something that looked suspiciously close to awe, and Dean really struggled not to lose himself in the sight, the feeling, Cas.

His outside was all calm words, controlled movements and soft, encouraging smiles.

His inside was a raging storm.

Is this how I'm gonna die?, he asked himself. Would he die like this, torn in half by these two opposing emotions fighting in his chest?

He'd agreed to this because Cas had asked him to, because he couldn't say no to Cas, especially not if the angel was asking for his help. But maybe a part of Dean had also said yes because this would give him an opportunity he'd never thought would come, would allow him to experience something he never thought he could have.

He'd known it would feel good, finally touching Cas the way he always wanted to.

And it did. It felt incredible.

And he felt incredibly guilty about it.

Because did that mean he was using Cas? Enjoying himself while he knew how hard this was for Cas, that for him it was just a way to overcome his trauma, not knowing that for Dean, it was so much more than that?

He didn't know how to feel. He didn't want to feel so good, not when Cas didn't feel the same way, not when Cas would never have wanted this if he'd had another choice. But he also couldn't wish the good feeling away. Because this was still Cas, and he could never want to feel anything but wonderful when it came to Cas.

And how could he have denied this when it quietened the Cas-shaped longing in his heart, even if just for a little while...

"I appreciate what you're doing for me here, Dean", Cas said, pulling Dean from his thoughts, misinterpreting his tense expression. "I know it's a lot to ask, and I wouldn't burden you if I thought there was anyone- but I...I couldn't-"

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, hands stilling on Dean's chest, but not drawing away.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. And not just because of-" Cas swallowed. "-what happened. I know this would be easier for you if I inhabited a female vessel-"

"Cas." Dean shook his head, his heart aching at how downcast the angel sounded. "Cas, no. Hey. I'm not- You're not forcing me to do anything, Cas."

He brought a hand up to his own chest, let it settle over one of Cas', holding it there, keeping it where it belonged.

"I do this because I care about you", Dean said truthfully (not the whole truth, but close enough). "About you, Cas. And this..." He gestured to Cas' body. "To me, this is you, how I know you."

How I love you.

"And I wouldn't want to change a thing about you, Cas."

If Cas only knew. If he only knew how easy it had all been, so much easier than it should. Just sitting in silence. Or talking for hours. Even touching him. Being touched by him. Maybe because his love for Cas had existed for years, silently, secretly running beneath the surface.

Touching his wings had been incredibly special. But this...touching his skin, to Dean, it was even more. And now, finally being free to get a piece of what he'd craved for years, experiencing skin contact in all its beautifully human quality, made his heart soar.

It felt so right, Cas under his hands, Cas' hands on him, Cas just there, with him. An equilibrium falling into place where Dean hadn't even been aware that something needed righting. And he felt incredibly guilty for that thought, considering the circumstances. It would be ridiculous in any context, Cas belonging to him, with him, being right in any way. And certainly not now, not like this, when it was nothing but a duty that found him here, nothing but an endurance to Cas, nothing but a way to try and fix what Dean had broken.

Dean couldn't stand the thought of making this even harder on Cas, even if it meant he had to give some of his own covers away.

"Don't you remember?", Dean smiled softly, seeking Cas' gaze. "Don't ever change."

He could see the surprised spark flashing up in Cas' eyes, mingling with the emotions underneath, the overwhelming mixture leaving Cas in a shaky exhale.

"Dean..."

It sounded like a realisation, a plea and a question all at once, and Dean tightened his grip on Cas' hand, squeezing slightly, an answer, a confirmation, a promise.

"I'm good", he assured him. "Don't worry about it. Okay?"

Cas swallowed again, his eyes flitting between Dean's face and their lightly entwined fingers. Finally, he nodded.

"Okay."