Title: Tastes Like Forgiveness 4/8

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4,000 this chapter – 36,500 total

Summary: Season 7 AU. After releasing Leviathan, Castiel is pulled from the reservoir fully human. With only the men he betrayed to rely on, Castiel does anything he can to redeem himself, especially to Dean.

Spoilers: End of season 6, throughout season 7

Warnings: Spanking, CBT, humiliation, angst, everyone's mean to Cas, potential domestic abuse triggers

With Dean's promise to punish him for failure still on his mind, Castiel forced himself to try reconciling with Sam by making himself useful, as Dean had suggested. With a duffel bag of dirty laundry over his shoulder, Castiel knocked on Sam's door with as much confidence as he could muster.

Sam opened the door slowly, surely after looking through the peep hole and seeing Castiel, and gave him a dangerous look.

"I'm doing laundry. Can I take yours as well?" Castiel asked meekly, not quite meeting Sam's eye, and hating that he couldn't get up the courage to do it.

Sam stared at him for a moment, his face expressionless, and then without a word, slammed the door in Castiel's face. Castiel sighed. He hadn't really expected anything different and went off to do his and Dean's laundry.

Over the course of the day, Castiel offered to carry Sam's duffel bag for him, got his FBI badge from the car when Sam forgot it, filled out credit card applications under Sam's aliases, and as a last ditch effort, brought him a slice of chocolate cake.

At the end of the day, Sam took a swing at Castiel, which he barely dodged, and threw the cake on the ground. Castiel made a hasty and shameful retreat back to the motel room he shared with Dean. Once there, Dean looked at him expectantly.

"I tried," Castiel said pitifully.

"But failed?" Dean said, tsking softly as he got up to rummage through his bag. He pulled out the riding crop.

"Dean, please! It's only been one day and I tried my hardest! This isn't fair!" Castiel argued, almost feeling his testicles tightening up inside his body from the sight of the relentless whip.

"You tried your hardest?" Dean asked, sounding doubtful.

"I did, I swear," Castiel insisted.

Dean considered that for a moment, looking deep in thought. Slowly, he put the crop down on the table, and Castiel allowed a small amount of relief to release the tension in his chest. He was still wary though.

"You did try," Dean mused. "So we'll do something a little different."

Dean went to sit on the foot of the bed, and patted his lap. "Take off your pants and lie down on my lap. Ass up."

Castiel did as told without hesitating, used to Dean's strange requests and not knowing what to expect from them. He stripped off his pants and underwear, and stretched out over Dean's lap, bracing himself with his hands and knees on the sides of the bed. Then he waited patiently for whatever Dean had in mind.

"You like getting spanked, don't you Cas?" Dean asked, rubbing his hand over Castiel's bared cheeks. Castiel couldn't deny it, so he nodded. He beat down a small tremor in his heart that hoped Dean was going to spank him, because he knew that would never happen again.

"I'm going to spank you," Dean said, and Castiel's heart trembled again. "But, if you get hard while I'm spanking you, I'm going to give your cock the crop. So, you must try your hardest not to be such a slut when I spank you."

"How many?" Castiel asked, his mouth gone dry from Dean's proposal.

"Hmmm. Not sure. I'll let you know when I'm finished."

Castiel whimpered at the open ended answer since he wouldn't know how long he had to last, but didn't have much time to contemplate that, as Dean's hand fell suddenly on his raised cheeks. That mind-numbing, intoxicating heat flooded through Castiel's body, pain and pleasure mixing confusingly through his head and targeting that traitorous organ between his legs.

He gave a sharp cry from the first blow, and then shoved his fist into his mouth, closed his eyes, and imagined the crop working hard and fast between his legs, causing a chill to run down to his groin and dampen the heat.

But Dean's hand was relentless on his backside, varying the smacks so Castiel couldn't predict them. Sometimes they were light and quick, a light pitter patter against his skin that made it tingle. Sometimes, Dean's hand fell hard, jostling Castiel's body, rubbing his groin against Dean's thigh. The thought of the crop, which he had yet to experience, was proving a weak defense against his body's heated memory of Dean's hand.

Castiel racked his brain for other unarousing thoughts, to keep his groin in check against the onslaught of sensation. He thought of cleaning guns, a mind-numbingly boring activity. And he thought of when Dean had set his broken fingers, the pain so precise to his newly human body, he had passed out. He thought of the dead, cold look in Sam's eyes, and thought he was all set. There was no way he could get aroused by the thought of Sam's eyes.

Except he found his mind wandering to the thought of Dean's eyes, which were a similar shade of green, and how they looked at him when he'd done something wrong in the past. The look of determination he had when he told Castiel to assume the position on his bed. The way they'd smoldered the other night when Castiel had discovered the other man's erection and taken it into his mouth.

Castiel's breath caught as he remembered the taste of Dean, and a flood of heat rushed down to his groin, too late for him to stop it. He tried to buck his hips up, draw away from Dean's thighs, think again of the crop, and cleaning guns, and pain.

But Dean's hand held him down firmly, and his hand fell steadily, heating Castiel up, rocking him forward, pushing him over, and Castiel let out a pitiful cry of protest, his lips forming a broken "No," as he swelled with pleasure and felt it intensify as his cock grew hard against Dean's thigh, rubbing against his jeans.

"Fifteen? Is that it?" Dean asked, rubbing Castiel's hot and red cheeks roughly, grinding Castiel down harder against his thigh. "You really are a spanking slut, aren't you? Get up. Spread out on the bed."

Castiel slid shakily from Dean's lap and climbed onto the bed as Dean retrieved the crop. Very reluctantly, he spread his legs. His cock sprang up between them, like it didn't know what was about to happen. Castiel spared it a glare, thinking of it as a creature not really attached to him and completely out of his control.

"Now you see why trying your hardest isn't good enough," Dean said. He gave Castiel the gag Sam had given him, and once it was in place, whipped Castiel until he cried, which wasn't very long at all.

Somehow, Castiel convinced Dean to only punish him once a week for his failures with Sam. He argued that there was no way he could make progress in just one day, and for some reason, Dean accepted his argument. He took it as another sign of Dean's growing forgiveness that he was willing to be so lenient.

Castiel kept his offerings to Sam subtle and unobtrusive, translating texts for him unasked, and leaving them for Sam to find. The man would know it was Castiel's work, but there was no need for Castiel to present it, forcing himself into Sam's sphere physically.

He became more vocal in front of Sam, though not to him. He forced himself to speak when Sam and Dean discussed and argued over the facts of a job, even though speaking in front of Sam, indirectly to him, was still painfully awkward. He used what knowledge he could still remember from his long lifetime as an angel to give advice and insight, to get the jobs done as quickly and painlessly as possible.

But despite all this, Castiel could see no headway between him and Sam, not even a lessening of the man's glare, or his twitchy nature when Castiel was in the room. Dean noticed this as well, and when they were alone, would remind Castiel of his task, urging him to try harder with the sting of the crop.

After one such reminder, Castiel was kneeling between Dean's legs, sucking his cock, while the man rested on a chair. He still held the crop in his hand, and rested it on Castiel's shoulder, rolling it a little between his fingers.

Castiel's cheeks felt tight, where his skin had dried from his tears. He still felt a little embarrassed about crying, but at least it wasn't as bad as before, when thick, breathless sobs had wracked his chest. Now, it was just a tight leak of tears, trickling out from behind his clenched eyelids as he waited for Dean to finish his punishment. When it was done, his cock was left sore and stinging, small and limp between his legs.

Part of him wished his arousal had never been discovered, so he could continue with the heated pain and pleasure struck into his behind, but then he considered that he wouldn't have the pleasure he had now, of holding Dean in his mouth, and occasionally gaining his praise afterwards.

"Spread your cheeks," Dean said suddenly.

Castiel looked up, surprised. Dean rarely spoke while Castiel did this. He was also confused by the command, not sure what it meant, or how he would do it. But he took a guess and puffed out his cheeks around Dean's cock. This earned him a hard, hysterical laugh from Dean, and he pulled away, frustrated by his own misunderstanding.

"Your ass cheeks," Dean clarified, once he'd regained his breath. "Grab each ass cheek with your hands, and spread them wide. And get back on my dick."

Castiel complied with both orders, taking Dean back into his mouth, and also reaching behind himself to spread the cheeks of his ass, exposing the tight little hole of his anus to the air. He looked up at Dean questioningly, to make sure he was doing it right.

"Better. I want to test something," Dean said, leaning forward to get a better look at Castiel's body. He smoothed a hand down Castiel's spine, resting it in the middle of his back. "Now, whatever you do, don't bite down," Dean said, the command sounding like a threat.

Castiel's eyes widened at this odd command, but he had no time to consider it as his anus was suddenly struck with the crop, and the pain was sharp, merciless, and intense. He let out a wild cry, but it was muffled by Dean's cock. Above him, he could hear Dean chuckle as he struggled to regain his breath.

"How was that? Did you like it?" Dean asked, the crop resting against Castiel's ass, smoothing over him gently while Castiel's hole twitched with worry.

Castiel considered the question, as Dean's silence stretched on. The crop against his hole had been sharp, and intense, and instinctively, he had wanted to shy away from the pain. But that wasn't the question. Spanking also hurt, and he liked that, immensely. He looked up at Dean, the man's cock still in his mouth, and his eyes showed his indecision. He had no answer.

"How about a few more so you can be sure?"

Castiel whimpered, not sure that was what he wanted, but he had no choice in the matter, as he felt the crop rise from his skin, and then fall again, a quick, sharp sting. He flinched instinctively, and gasped. Before he could catch his breath, the crop fell again, and then again, three times in quick succession, and to Castiel's mortification, a moan worked up from his throat while the heat from the crop worked its way to his groin, making it twitch to life despite its earlier whipping.

"God, you really are a spanking slut, aren't you?" Dean asked, sitting back and watching as Castiel's cock rose between his thighs.

Castiel wanted to curl up and hide his shame, but all he could do was shut his eyes while his cheeks turned red with embarrassment at the sound of Dean's words.

"What do you say I whip your hole while you suck me off? I want to see if you can come just from getting spanked."

Castiel looked up at Dean again, startled and confused by the proposition. He wanted to ask so many questions. The whipping felt good, heat spreading through his body just from the thought of it. Why would Dean want to do that to him, for him, when before, his pleasure had been cause for anger?

"Well, come on then. I'll even let you touch your cock if you get me off quickly," Dean said, and while a wicked smile quirked his lips, his words were sweet and sincere, and his hand carded through Castiel's hair gently. Castiel gave a minute nod, and with renewed enthusiasm, started working Dean's cock over.

Dean moaned above him, pleased with the progress Castiel had made in cock sucking, and for a few minutes, he was swallowed in the pleasure of Castiel's sweet, suckling mouth. It took him a moment to remember his promise, and with his own feeling of glee, he started bringing the crop down on Castiel's quivering hole, making the man between his legs jump and moan, the sensation travelling to Dean's cock as well.

Castiel was in heaven. Or, the closest feeling to it since he had fallen to earth. Dean in his mouth, the hunter pleased with him, forgiveness beading at the slit of his cock, and a hot, hard pleasure being whipped into him, making his own cock throb and drip.

He wasn't sure he could get off just from the whipping, but if Dean would let him use his hand, he was certain he would finally experience an orgasm while being spanked, for the first time. So this encouraged his motions, and he used every trick he had learned to get Dean off, working him over with tongue and lips.

In short order, Dean was coming, the taste of his forgiveness burning down Castiel's throat as he moaned with pleasure, his dazed eyes looking up at Dean, asking for permission without words.

"Put your head down," Dean said. "Ass up in the air."

Castiel followed quickly, exposing himself more for the whip eagerly while his hand flew to his cock and started jerking it wildly. Now that Dean wasn't distracted by Castiel's wicked mouth, the crop fell steadily between Castiel's cheeks, and much to his delight, Dean moved the crop around, glancing Castiel's cheeks and thighs in the process, making the whole area red, and sore, and sweet with arousal.

It didn't take long at all, as Castiel had expected, before he cried out, gasping and moaning with pleasure as he spilled between his fingers. He let out smaller, sharper cries as Dean continued whipping him through his orgasm, the crop striking him with each pulse of his cock, stringing him out further.

When Dean finally stopped, Castiel collapsed on the floor, breathless, sweaty, and sticky. Dean nudged him with his foot, and Castiel could only moan, replete with his satisfaction, boneless and complete.

He heard Dean stand, zip up his pants, and tilted his head slightly towards the man, looking up at him. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice strained from his cries. Dean looked at him a little awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Don't go expecting that every night," he said. "I still haven't forgiven you."

"I understand," Castiel said, detecting the smallest hint of the old Dean, who said one thing, but meant another, to cover his emotions. He sat up languidly, his skin still singing, and starting to ache in a few places. He contemplated a shower, or just crawling over to his sleeping bag and curling up into it. Instead, he watched Dean as he prepared for bed.

For a moment, he had a pang of desire, to climb into the bed with Dean, to lie beside him, wrapped in the man's arms, held tightly and possessively. But he shook his head, banishing the thought, and crept into his sleeping bag for the night.

They were in Couer d'Alene, Idaho, a city the Winchesters had visited four years ago to trap a demon and torture him for information about Lilith. Castiel wondered sometimes what Dean had been like, when he knew he was damned, and had struggled so hard to save himself. Only then to discover the whole thing had been planned for centuries, inevitable.

While the Winchesters went to talk to Nora Havelock, the Wicca who had helped them before, Castiel remained with copies of the police files, getting himself familiar with the case from four years ago, and the three more recent murders.

Just a few months ago, police reports were pure gibberish to him. The pages of information, acronyms, and jargon language were completely illegible. But with patience, and also sometimes frustration, Dean had walked him through the procedures, training him like a hunter, at least as far as research went. So now he understood the short hand the police used, and most of the coroner's report as well, though that had come even slower, and with several borrowed (stolen) library books.

Several hours passed. The Winchesters had checked in, telling him their whereabouts; Sam at the library, watching a potential victim, Dean with a boy named Jeffrey, the one who had been possessed by the demon before.

Castiel was startled from his research when Sam barged into his motel room, his face a mask of panic and fear.

"Dean's missing," Sam said. "Jeffrey's involved somehow," Sam continued, his mouth running fast and sure, powered by the panic clear on his face. For the first time in a long time, that hatred he always targeted at Castiel was gone. He was too distracted for that.

"Look. The latest victims were all drugged. A demon wouldn't need to do that," Sam said, laying out the doctor's reports. Castiel scanned them, vaguely remembered the name of the drug listed.

"If Jeffrey is involved… You should search his home," Castiel offered, unused to speaking to Sam so directly, giving him his advice. But then he watched as Sam's eyes darted to a corner of the room, his eyes widening a little, and then he pressed hard into his hand, into an old wound, grimacing with pain.

"Sam, you must be careful," Castiel said softly. "In this emotional state… it will be easier for him to get in," Castiel said, and his eyes too darted to the corner where Sam had looked. Of course, he couldn't see what Sam saw, the visions of Lucifer, taunting and tormenting him.

"I know," Sam snapped, his hands still shaking a little. "C'mon. We need to find Dean."

"We?" Castiel asked, surprised. He'd never followed the men on a hunt. He wasn't allowed.

"He's in my head because of you," Sam growled, a touch of that hatred bleeding through his fear and panic. "The least you can do is drown him out while I work on this."

As he'd suspected, Castiel was of little use to Sam, offering him no information the hunter didn't already know, couldn't figure out on his own. But he listened as the man worked the details out himself, talking to Castiel, but then not really waiting for him to answer. He saw the man glance over to his hallucination of Lucifer on occasion, and called him back, with just a word or a noise, focusing Sam's attention again in the real world.

At Jeffrey's home, they found an empty box for a cell phone scrambler, a device that Sam assumed was blocking Dean's phone, making it impossible to call him. And then hidden away in a secret drawer, they found an archaic and powerful summoning spell, translated by the hand of the Wicca, Nora.

They went to her shop, and questioned her, discovered that Jeffrey was the one behind all the murders. He was trying to summon the demon into himself again. Nora had only helped to save her son. Castiel watched as Sam's anger bled away in the face of Nora's fear, her desire to protect her son. Castiel felt the same way for Dean, but hoped his emotions were not showing quite so clearly as hers.

Castiel watched with undisguised amazement as Nora worked the location spell, using her son's severed ear to find where Jeffrey had hidden Dean and the boy. For a moment, his heart ached, as he remembered when he could fly to Dean at any time, find him anywhere in the world and aid him. And this woman could do it so easily, even though she was only a human, powerless and weak.

When they went to the warehouse where Jeffrey was hidden, Castiel remained outside. He had no proficiency with firearms, and no craft to expel the demon, as Nora did. He stayed in the car, hunched down in the back seat, with nothing to do but hope that Dean would be safe.

Castiel accompanied Nora and her son to the hospital while Sam and Dean stayed behind to clean up the crime scene, disposing of Jeffrey's body, leaving the police baffled once more at the unsolved serial killer case.

"Thank you for your help," Nora said, once her son was in the safe hands of the doctors, to do what repair they could on his mutilated ear.

"I didn't do very much," Castiel said, feeling awkward in his role as the comforter after the traumatic experience.

"It's OK. You're still new at this," she said with a caring smile. A mother's smile.

"Am I so obvious?"

"A little. But I also have a touch of second sight, and it's telling me you're not a man for guns and fist fights."

Castiel bristled at that, wanting to argue that he had once been a soldier of heaven, battling his way through Hell, cutting down thousands of demons, a force of fury and might. But tamped the feeling down. He was not that anymore. He did not want to be either. So many had died under his hands, demon, angel, and human alike. Though he knew he would take up a weapon if he must, he had to admit his own relief when Sam told him to stay in the car as he entered the warehouse with Nora.

"Do you think your son will be all right?" Castiel asked, deliberately changing the subject. Nora was polite not to mention the sudden turn in conversation, not even a stutter in her speech indicated she noticed it.

"Mentally, maybe. Physically, he should be all right. I'll let the doctors do their work, then take him home to do some healing of my own."

"You're a healer?" Castiel asked, somewhat surprised.

"It's not as though I can wave my hand and replace his ear," Nora said, with a small laugh. "I don't have that sort of power. But I can stop the pain, make it heal faster than normal."

"You have an extraordinary ability," Castiel said, honestly impressed with her skill. It was not often that humans could wield magic so potently, at least, not without the aid of black magic and demon deals.

"It runs in my family, so I have an edge. But anyone can learn, hone the skill as best they can if they study and practice and focus."

"You can heal people, and locate them… What else can you do?" Castiel asked.