Title: Tastes Like Forgiveness

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Rating: NC-17

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

Castiel had not been badly hurt since the leviathans ripped their way out of his body and left him for dead in the reservoir. He'd gotten cuts and bruises since then, and stubbed his toe once, a surprising pain that left tears in his eyes and Dean laughing at him. And of course, Dean's punishment hurt as well, but not in the same way as an injury.

But now Castiel was injured again, quite badly, and he was a little afraid that he might die. Or really, more afraid that he wouldn't die and that the pain would continue, and the dizziness, and nausea roiling in his belly, making him want to vomit each time the Impala hit a bump or turned a corner too sharply.

Sam was sitting in the back seat with him, putting pressure on the freely bleeding wounds on his arm. He was speaking to Castiel, but Castiel wasn't really sure what he was saying. Something about blood loss and shock. Dean was also yelling. Castiel couldn't make out any of his words, just the sound of panic in his voice.

It had started with a routine hunt. The brothers came across a vampire nest hunting in a rural college town. It was a small nest, with only four vampires in it. Castiel was waiting by the car, a machete in hand, though he doubted his ability to use it. They'd told him to be ready in case they had to run. They'd also told him to go to Bobby's house if they didn't return in an hour. They said that sometimes, and it always made Castiel worry.

The Winchesters had miscounted though, and as they slaughtered the vampires in the house, a fifth vampire crept out of the trees, and was on Castiel before he could even let off a yell. The machete fell uselessly from his hands as the vampire threw him to the ground. Castiel threw up his arm in defense against the rows of shark-like teeth going for his neck, and was rewarded with the teeth sinking into the meat of his arm, and then tearing, taking a chunk out.

Castiel screamed as he was showered in his own blood. The pain was blinding and disorienting, and his body went limp, giving the vampire free reign to bite into the flesh of his arm again, into the bend of his elbow to feed off the vein there.

A thick, dizzy cloud filled Castiel's head as the blood flowed out of his body, sucked out into the monster's mouth. With his one good arm, he pushed at the vampire sitting on him, but the vampire pushed his arm away violently, and Castiel heard a sharp crack. He couldn't move his arm anymore. His whole body felt heavy, limp, and weak as the blood drained out of him. His vision started to blacken, spots popping up and spreading wide across his vision.

"Cas!"

Someone was shouting his name, but he wasn't sure who. The vampire's mouth was full of him. There was another sudden splatter of blood as the vampire's head was sliced off, and then it fell heavily against his arm. The vampire slumped against his chest, bleeding copiously. Some of that blood was surely Castiel's own. His name was shouted several more times.

He was jerked up right and his whole head spun, the nausea swimming up into his throat, so that he almost vomited. His arm was being handled quickly, but delicately. There was pressure on it. A flash of blue and green patterned cloth. Checkered.

His other arm was moved and he howled with pain, his vision blacking out for a moment. When it came back, he was in the car. Sam was beside him. Dean was driving the car much too fast. One arm, the one he now realized was broken, was tied against his chest. The other was wrapped up tightly in what he thought was Dean's shirt. It had been blue and green before. Now it was a deep, dark red.

The Impala lurched to a stop, and Castiel just barely prevented himself from vomiting in the backseat. Dean wouldn't like that. He was led out of the car, and rushed through a brightly lit parking lot, into a pristine clean building. Castiel looked around dizzily, as people rushed up to them. It wasn't the motel.

His mind clicked around, trying to recall. He hadn't been in a place like this often, so he only slowly realized that the Winchesters had taken him to a hospital. The thought made his head swim. They only went to hospitals when it was very serious. He wondered again if he would die.

Sam was talking hurriedly while people were grabbing Castiel. He was pushed down, and suddenly he was lying on a bed. He heard Sam say something about an 'animal attack.' Castiel wanted to snort. Yes, an animal of a sort. One that fed on humans. And fallen, broken angels.

The bed, the gurney, moved along at a fast pace, the lights overhead streaming past, making his head hurt. He could still see Dean and Sam, the marring looks of worry and concern on their faces. There was so much talking, so much jargon he hadn't learned yet, he had a hard time keeping up.

He heard and felt the bump of the gurney against a set of doors, saw them swing open in his periphery, heard a woman's voice, strident and in command.

"You have to wait here."

And then the Winchesters were gone, which was OK, because that's when Castiel passed out.

Castiel's right arm was broken, but it was a clean break and it would heal nicely with no complications. His left arm was torn to shreds. There was a big chunk missing in his forearm, below the elbow, and another serrated gash inside the bend of his elbow. He needed 23 stitches, and they worried there would be some nerve damage. Dean carefully showed Castiel the rehabilitation exercises he would have to do, maybe for the rest of his life.

Dean told Castiel all of this a few days after his release from the hospital, after he was back with the Winchesters, and not doped up on pain killers. They were much better pain killers than the aspirin Bobby had lying around after Castiel was recuperating from the leviathans. They left him foggy and sleepy, barely able to respond to Sam and Dean when they spoke to him, and leaving them to feed him liquid based foods, so he wouldn't even have to bother chewing.

The first day after Castiel returned from the hospital, he was laid out on one of the motel beds, buried in piles of blankets and pillows to make him comfortable, and left half-asleep in a drug induced haze. The two brothers were talking in hushed tones at the foot of his bed, not wanting to wake him up.

"I'll stay here tonight, in case anything happens with him," Sam said, looking over at Castiel who was murmuring and sighing happily in his barely conscious state.

"That's OK. I can keep an eye on him. You should go get some sleep in your room."

Sam gave Dean a look, a sort of glare, one that he wanted Dean to understand, but the older brother had missed a few of the details. He shrugged at Sam, not understanding his look.

"I'm not going to leave him alone in here with you. Not with the way he is," Sam said, his voice gruff and disdainful.

"Why not?"

"I know what you do with him. About the punishment."

Dean's entire body went rigid, and he pursed his lips with annoyance. He figured Sam would find out eventually, was in fact surprised he hadn't found out sooner. He had tried to prepare for the eventuality, but was never quite sure what he would say about it. Best to just skip over the whole conversation.

"I'm not going to punish him when he's hurt. I'm not a monster," Dean said, a level of disdain in his own voice, offended by Sam's assumption.

"But you'll punish him again when he's better," Sam said.

Dean just shrugged in response, a frown firm on his face. He didn't punish Castiel often anymore, not more than once a week. There were the hole whippings, but Castiel liked those. And sleeping on the floor was more of a habit by now. He'd felt less inclined to punish Castiel of late, preferring instead to take pleasure with the other man, make him cry out in other ways that stirred his blood hot. The spanking and whipping had been the excuse before, but Dean had found it easier and easier to discard the formality and just take what he wanted. Which apparently, Castiel wanted as well.

"You can't keep punishing him like that," Sam insisted when Dean said nothing in return.

"You were the one complaining before. You said I shouldn't forgive him for what he did to you."

"That was before. You can't punish him forever. And after this? He's only human now, Dean. He can't do anything to hurt us anymore. You can go easy on him."

Dean snorted and looked over at Castiel, who was asleep and dreaming, believing himself wrapped up tight and warm in a soft bed, with strong arms, like bands of iron, wrapped around his chest, holding him close and tight.

While recuperating from the second injury, Castiel was much happier than when he had been at Bobby's. Part of that might have been the excellent pain killers, though Dean was oddly stingy with them, following the usage directions strictly. He muttered something about 'addictive personality' as he doled out Castiel's pills, individually each time, and then hid the bottle somewhere. Castiel might have wondered about that, but he was still a little foggy.

He was also allowed to sleep in a bed each night, and really, for most of the day that first week, a little too loopy to be trusted walking around, and urged to sleep, to let his body rest and heal. It was odd at first, seeing the Winchesters move around him, taking care of him, when before, it had been the opposite, with him running errands, making their lives easier. He nestled down into the pile of pillows, getting comfortable.

Strangest of all was when Sam offered to have Castiel sleep in his room, instead of with Dean. He could see Dean scowling in the background, but pointedly not looking at either of them. Something was going on, this offer meant something, but he wasn't sure what it was, still unable to read all of the body language, and secret shared looks of communication that the Winchesters had honed over the years. He thanked Sam for the offer, but declined, saying he was comfortable in Dean's room.

They stayed put for a week, just to make sure Castiel was able to handle transit, but then they were on the road again, hunting, digging up information on Dick Roman and the other leviathans. When they travelled, Castiel was laid out in the back seat, both arms carefully cushioned. At the motels, he was set up on a bed, with a laptop at hand. If it didn't hurt too much, he did research.

Just once, he suggested going to stay with Bobby while he recuperated, so he wouldn't be any trouble. Sam was about to say something, but Dean cut him off.

"It's too far out of our way."

There was that sketchy look in Dean's eye, where he wouldn't look at anyone. When his words were quick, and to the point, spat out with authority. It was the way he spoke when he was saying one thing, but it meant another. Castiel smiled slightly to himself.

Castiel healed quickly, but not so much that people would comment. When his stitches came out, at a hospital in Wyoming, everyone was pleased that there was no infection, and that the scarring wouldn't be so bad. Castiel could flex his arm exceptionally well, and there was only a slight tingle, and a numbness around the wound itself.

After Dean fell asleep each night, Castiel turned to the book Nora had given him, on Wiccan magic, meditation, and positive energy. He remembered how he felt when he could heal himself as an angel, and focused that into his arms while he did the small exercises the doctors had recommended. He doubted it had much affect, but when he spoke to Nora on the phone, in secret, while Dean was out, she praised his progress, insisted it was his own doing. She sent him another book to be picked up in a P.O. Box in the next town they were hunting in. This one had more on healing with the mind, and Castiel devoured every word, fascinated by the theory.

The whole time he was recuperating, Castiel was given no orders or jobs, and he was given no punishment. He was glad for the reprieve, because his arms often hurt too much for him to concentrate, but he also hated the tenseness between Dean and himself. It had been tense since the night they had sex, and the aborted kiss, but now it was different. Dean wouldn't quite look at him, wouldn't speak to him much outside of job details, and conversations about his injuries. Sam was much the same way, though he expected that from Sam.

There was no hatred in Dean, not even a sense of dislike, but a wariness when he was near Castiel. When Castiel tried to call him out on it, Dean brushed it off. Castiel could do nothing but assume it had to do with his injury. He was eager to be able to work again, so Dean would find him useful once more.

But when his cast came off and he no longer needed the pain pills, still, Dean urged him to take it easy. Still he was allowed to sleep in the soft bed next to Dean's. Still he was given no orders or jobs. Even when he asked for something to do, he was gently turned down. Dean had called him useless in the past, and he'd felt it unfair, but now he felt like he had to agree as he lounged around their motel rooms.

"Do you want me to get lunch?" Castiel asked one day. It was well past 1 pm, and breakfast had been hours ago. Dean was entrenched in research, pouring over files Frank had sent them about Richard Roman Enterprises, trying to make sense of the sea of information, most of which he didn't even want, but Frank sent anyway.

"Gimme a minute. I'll go get it," Dean said, not quite looking away from his computer.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly, his voice low, as if he didn't want to disturb Dean. "Do you want me to leave?"

"Leave? What? No. Why would I want you to leave?"

"You never ask anything of me anymore. No research, no errands, no tasks, not even… you don't even ask for…that…" Castiel said the last with a bit of a blush, embarrassed that he couldn't come out and say the words.

"You're injured," Dean said gruffly, and turned back to his computer.

"I was injured. I'm fine now. The doctors said," and Castiel showed his arms for extra proof, showing where his skin was pink and fresh, still ugly, but healed. "I can start helping again."

"Fine," Dean said after a long, grudging pause. "Then I'll show you how to shoot. 'Bout time you learned how to hunt properly."

Castiel's heart skipped a beat, welling with surprise and happiness. He never thought the day would come. In fact, he couldn't believe it at all, and that led to just a touch of doubt, and he couldn't leave it alone. He had to satisfy it.

"Then you've forgiven me?" he asked quietly, the doubt making his voice tremble slightly.

"Yeah," Dean said, but his eyes darted away.

Castiel was glad he'd let the doubt in. That he hadn't given in to the hope again. His heart didn't have far to fall this time from the disappointment. He hadn't let it climb so high.

"It's like you don't want to forgive me," Castiel said flatly, making Dean look at him with surprise. "You won't let me make amends, and when you were about to forgive me, the night we had sex… you pulled away again."

"You hurt me. And Sam. How can I forgive you?"

"Hurt me back. Control me, humiliate me, punish me. I want you to." Castiel added that last part quietly, desperately. The pain and humiliation were worth it when it was Dean bringing it to him. When there was the hope, that someday, Dean would forgive him. When he had fully redeemed himself to the hunter.

"You're all kinds of twisted up because of me," Dean said with a self-deprecating smile. "It wasn't right what I was doing."

"I could have left at any time. Bobby would have taken me in… but you don't want that," Castiel said, remembering the times when he could have stayed with Bobby. When Bobby offered, and when Sam almost suggested it. Each time, Dean had said no. He wanted Castiel around.

"Why do you want me here, Dean? To forgive me, or to not forgive me?"

"I don't know."

"Then forgive me," Castiel said, his voice sharp, almost a command.

"I can't."

"Then punish me!" Castiel said, and that was a command. "Every time you punished me. Every time I sucked you off, and when we had sex. I could feel it, Dean. Every time, a little more, you'd forgive me. And when I kissed you… I could taste it, and you were almost there, and now, I don't know what you want me to do… I don't know why you don't want to forgive me, after I've done everything, everything, you ever asked me to do…"

Castiel's words were a rush tumble out of his mouth, sharp and commanding, but spilling from his lips like water. He was so lost in the words themselves, lost in the depths of Dean's green eyes as he made his case, that he barely noticed as he slid out of his chair, onto his knees, and crawled toward Dean.

"You like being punished so much, Cas?" Dean asked, his own voice hoarse. He wasn't looking at Castiel, his eyes darting around the room, not wanting to meet Castiel's gaze. Castiel swelled with pride. He knew the effect he had on Dean, the learned response he had to seeing Castiel on his knees.

"I hate being punished," Castiel said, his tone still firm and clear. "I hate when you whip my cock. But I want it. I want your punishment. I need it. You have to show me what you want, or I'll never learn."

There was a moment, a hesitation, which Castiel could feel in the muscles of Dean's legs, but then Dean's hand slid into Castiel's hair and he tugged it gently, affectionately. Castiel allowed himself a small murmur of pleasure and let his eyes slide shut.

"You really want me to punish you? You wanna get whipped when you're bad?"

"You can whip me every night if you want. You don't need an excuse."

Castiel heard Dean release a heavy breath, a shaky almost moan when he heard Castiel's offer. Castiel wondered if the man was getting aroused, but had his eyes turned away from his groin, up toward Dean's face to watch him.

"I'll only whip you when you're very bad," he said finally, with some effort. It was a dark promise that sent a shiver down Castiel's spine.

"What's very bad?" Castiel asked. This time, he wanted to know the rules ahead of time, to avoid those capricious, unexpected punishments. He wanted to follow, and obey, and be good for Dean.

"Lying," Dean said immediately, that still being a fresh wound from Castiel's past life. "Disobeying an order. Not doing your chores. Sleeping on a bed maybe…"

Castiel made a small sound of disapproval at the last rule, having gotten so used to the beds he was allowed to sleep in, but he did not voice a protest. It was punishment after all. And that hesitant 'maybe' sounded promising. Perhaps it meant maybe, he could sleep in a bed, and maybe, not alone.

"What about after the punishment?" Castiel asked, lifting his big blue eyes up to Dean's green, but keeping his chin on the man's knee.

Dean reached out and caressed Castiel's cheek, sliding his thumb over the man's soft, pink lips. "We don't have to do that… if you don't want," Dean said, and Castiel could see the strain in his eyes as he said it, as usual, saying one thing, but meaning another. Saying what he thought the other person wanted to hear, and not what he really wanted himself.

"How else will I know I've been forgiven?" Castiel asked. He took Dean's thumb into his mouth, suckled it gently for a moment, to remind Dean what he could do with his mouth, that Dean had not enjoyed in several weeks. But he then bit the pad of his thumb, not too gently.

"Ow," Dean said softly, tugging his thumb away. "No biting, either."

"You'd better punish me then."