AN: So, this chapter is mostly the result of insomnia. I hope it makes sense and it's not too weird. A healthy dose of destiel occurs...
The frogs had been an accident.
Castiel had been strong, was still strong, but he had unwittingly played into Beelzebub's hands. The frog had been on the bed in a tiny, plastic cage with a purple lid as if Beelzebub had bought it from a pet store. Seeing the poor thing in captivity, knowing it was destined for a horrible ritual, Castiel had to save it - so, he flew away with it, not thinking first about the overwhelming ease or possible trap. With a soft, short prayer, Castiel let it hop free of its cage into the nearest pond. Of course, his grace had almost been ripped to shreds by the expedition, but he battled through it for the sake of the frog and the world.
Castiel didn't know that Beelzebub had already performed the ritual and needed the frog to be let loose for the plague to manifest - that was the trap he hadn't cared to anticipate.
Now, he sat on the ledge of a bridge with Deans's arm around his shoulders questioning his choices and wishing he had never been sent to save Dean from Hell in the first place. Why couldn't Uriel have done it? He had been Uriel's superior; he easily could have ordered the other angel to go in his place. The traitor died already anyway. Dean would still be in Castiel's charge, but their bond would not be quite as strong. None of this would have happened because there wouldn't have been any special feelings preventing Castiel from doing his duty.
'Special feelings.'
Castiel scoffed at his own word choice. Of course he had special feelings for Dean, and if Beelzebub's psychological torture had taught him anything, it was how strong those feelings were. He had raised the man from Hell; had fought through legions of demons simply to reach him; had stitched him back together, piece by agonized piece. It was no wonder then why he had very carefully cloaked many of Dean's worst memories of Hell; had remained steadfast by the man's side to help and protect him; had proudly and stupidly defied Heaven, his home, for Dean's sake. After all, the man, with all his many faults, was exceptional. He was strong in body, mind, and spirit. Although lately a pessimist who cared not for his own sake, Dean went to extraordinary lengths to protect the precious few he called his family. The precious few Castiel was honored to be one of. Though he might be biased by his trip to Hell, Castiel truly believed Dean's soul was the most beautiful, honest, and purest soul he had ever seen.
Yes, Castiel had special feelings for Dean, had always had special feelings for Dean, and he was most definitely not ashamed of them.
However, he knew that they were the reason he and Dean were in this mess now. They were the reason Castiel couldn't find the strength to smite Beelzebub when he had the chance. He had been too weak to fight because he had been too afraid to hurt Dean. Even when Dean had been strong and ordered Castiel to do so, he couldn't. At the time, he thought Dean was only being stupidly heroic again, but he now saw that Dean had been justifiably self-sacrificing.
On this bridge, Castiel was afraid of Beelzebub's next move. Not for what Beelzebub might make him do, but, of course, for what Beelzebub might do to Dean, or worse, what Beelzebub might make him do to Dean. It barely registered in Castiel's mind that he himself was on the ledge, too. All he felt was Dean's relaxed body beside him, slouching and swaying ever so slightly forward. Castiel would throw himself off the bridge right now, if it meant breaking Dean's fall.
Surely that was the point of Beelzebub's latest test anyway?
"What a wonderful thought process you have there, Castiel," Beelzebub purred. "You give an entirely new meaning to the term 'lovebird'."
Castiel did not respond. Instead, he focused on the sensation of Dean's arm around his back and Dean's weight pressing against his side. He wanted to shrink away from the demon but to push closer to Dean at the same time.
"I'd be careful how hard you try, lovebird," Beelzebub warned. "You are on the edge after all."
Whereas Castiel heard the double meaning to the statement, Dean only took the sentence at face-value. When Beelzebub turned to look lazily at Castiel, Dean saw the devotion written plainly on the angel's face, but did not comprehend how deeply the devotion was rooted. He wanted to reach out and pat Castiel's shoulder, assure him that everything would be fine, but he still couldn't do anything. He could only draw strength from Castiel's unfaltering faith in him and do his best to fight back.
While Beelzebub was distracted by digging through Castiel's head, Dean took his opportunity to seize control. He couldn't see inside Castiel's head, after all; that was a privilege Beelzebub would never bestow upon him. Dean was in the dark, so he might as well try. He gathered all of his scant strength, energy, and concentration and pushed against Beelzebub's overwhelming presence. As soon as he started, he felt progress so unlike any other time he tried. It gave him confidence, and he shoved harder in the opposite direction of Castiel, just in case, fighting the blackness that began to cloud his thoughts. He ignored the fatigue and strain settling in and fought.
Beelzebub snapped out of Castiel's head to focus on the mutiny, but he was so caught off-guard that Dean had the advantage. Castiel felt Beelzebub's conscious aggressively jerk from his mind, and he focused on Dean as well. His eyes narrowed with hope and alarm as he scrutinized Dean's face, screwed up in both concentration and pain, for a hint at what was happening. The man's eyes were closed, so he could not tell who was winning.
Finally, after what felt to Castiel like an eon, Dean panted, "Cas? Cas, please tell me it's still you and not some robo-angel in a trenchcoat."
"Yes, it is me!" he replied, grabbing Dean into a frantic embrace.
The quick movements disrupted their careful balance on the ledge, and they tumbled down; but Castiel's wings had faster reflexes than Dean's trigger finger. Instead of crashing into the lazy water below, they fell together onto a less than comfortable motel mattress.
The first sensation Castiel felt as he gazed down at the man beneath him was relieved happiness. Dread gripped him next as he realized the toll this stretch of control would take on Dean. Then, he was overcome by fear again as he thought of what torture Beelzebub was inflicting at the very moment to regain control. However, as he watched Dean pant heavily beneath him with those beautiful, wide, green eyes, Castiel felt the overwhelming urge to not only help Dean defeat Beelzebub but also to show Dean his affection in some way. His eyes were drawn to the man's lips, and, by reflex, his tongue darted out to moisten his own pale, chapped lips.
He was about to fall off the ledge Beelzebub had teased of.
Dean very slowly came into himself again. He first blinked several times simply because he was able to. Castiel's attack of an embrace was a welcome shock. Before he could ascertain where exactly they were, they were falling, and suddenly, Castiel was slumped on top of him, arms holding himself barely a foot above Dean on a motel bed. His eyes and mouth widened in pain when Beelzebub began attacking again, but before a scream could break forth, Castiel crashed down on him to silence him.
The odd part was that the angel wasn't using his hand to smother Dean's mouth.
Utterly confused, shocked, and scared, Dean was too weak to fight Castiel off. His arms lifted to bat Castiel away, but the angel was much too solid and strong for him in his incapacitated state. He wasn't even doing anything anyway. His mouth was firmly pressed against Dean's, and he was oddly opening and closing it, but it was obvious he had no idea what to do. Still, it was something for Dean to focus on other than the pain, and he was grateful. As creepy as it was to kiss his best friend, he went with it and guided Castiel through the kiss.
Steadily, the pain in his gut from Beelzebub's assault dwindled in the place of a swirling, giddy feeling, almost like nervous butterflies. Beelzebub's presence in Dean's head was generally becoming smaller and smaller. When he could barely feel any pain at all, Dean realized that one of Castiel's hands had found its way to his forearm to cover the angelic handprint there and his other was resting lightly beneath his shirt on his chest above both his heart and mangled anti-possession tattoo. The angel was healing and branding him at the same time, simultaneously pushing Beelzebub away and cleaning up the mess he had made of Dean.
With huge, grateful eyes, Dean gently pulled out of the kiss to stare at Castiel in awe. The angel's eyes were closed and his mouth hung open for a second or two before he became aware of his surrounding once again. He pulled Dean off the bed and stood beside him, extremely embarrassed yet continuing to disregard Dean's personal space.
"Cas...tiel?" Dean asked very slowly. His voice was rough, and his eyes searched the angel's.
"Dean," Castiel responded in a gruffer voice than usual. He took a deep breath and a step back before he met Dean's eyes.
"What was that?" Dean asked softly. He had no idea why he was being so gentle. Maybe it was the grace still warming his insides.
"I believe it is called a kiss," Castiel answered in that obvious tone of voice.
"Well, yeah, but why?" Dean asked, a little less gentle, more himself. "Next your gonna tell me you learned that from the babysitter," he added more to himself. "Oh, please tell me you didn't learn that from Meg!"
"It was to help you fight off Beelzebub," Castiel said stiffly. He hesitantly added, "And... because it felt pleasurable." He hesitated again. "And, yes, I did learn it from the babysitter."
Dean huffed a long sigh and raked a hand across his face. "Damn, I need to get you laid!" he muttered.
He could feel Beelzebub hacking and slicing away at him from the inside, but with the grace working to heal him, he felt very little of Beelzebub's aggression. The grace was not only healing him, but searing the demon as well. With a sick sense of approval, Dean listened to and felt Beelzebub writhe inside him, desperate to avoid the angelic essence. Regardless, Dean knew he couldn't hold out for very long and that there would be excruciating consequences when he did fall again, but at the moment, he didn't care. The slowly-fading grace was making this very easy for him, and all he wanted to do right now was focus on Castiel.
"Cas," Dean began, voice thick, gaze averted, "I'm so sorry, man. The things I've done to you. That I've let him do to you."
"Dean," Castiel's voice was calm and sure, "you haven't done anything to me. It's all been him." He stared directly at Dean, wishing the man would look up and find his determined sincerity, but Dean went on as if he didn't hear the angel.
"I've been passing out every ten minutes-"
"It's understandable, Dean."
"-and I can't stop him, man. I'm so sorry-"
"Dean, you haven't done anything wrong."
"-because I just keep waking up to these horrible scenes-"
"Dean, you need to calm down."
"-where something bad is happening to you, and I can't do it anymore-"
"Dean, you're not the one doing it."
"So, you've gotta help me, Cas-"
"Obviously, Dean, but-"
"-you've got to stop me before-"
"Dean, nothing is going to-"
"-before I hurt anyone else or-"
"Dean, you're not the one hur-"
"-or hurt you-"
"Dean, you're not the one hurting me."
"-or kill you-" Castiel did not know how to interject there so he bit his lip hard and let Dean finish. "-like he plans to."
Dean finally met Castiel's eyes again with a wide, earnest, incredibly desperate gaze that replaced Castiel's composure with a vicious mix of anger and fear. Whatever he knew or had seen of Beelzebub's plans terrified Dean, and it pained Castiel to see. During his rant, Beelzebub took advantage of his harried emotional state. Suddenly, the wonderful, calming grace was almost diminished, and Dean felt himself skidding back into blind madness.
Castiel swallowed past the odd feeling in his throat and forced his voice to remain even as he said, "Dean. Stop. You are not to blame for this." He gripped Dean's shoulders tight and searched his face until Dean's gaze locked on his once more, but Dean was no longer fully present. The words danced past his ears being heard but not comprehended.
"Dean," Castiel continued, "it is not your fault that Beelzebub's strength is the level it is. You've never been possessed before. No one expects you to defeat him like this." Dean stared into Castiel's eyes with an expression half-panicked and half-dead.
"Dean?" Castiel tried to get a response, beginning to panic as well. "Dean!"
When the man didn't respond, he backhanded him across the face hard enough to stun but not damage. As his hand returned to Dean's shoulder, Castiel noticed a red splotch on his knuckle. Under closer examination the splotch proved to be bloody skin. Castiel's attention darted back to Dean's face, and he saw a peel in his cheek; only a minor injury but a horrible sign all the same.
Castiel swore he heard malicious laughter and taunts in his head. He closed his eyes tightly and fought to steady his breathing. The last thing he needed now was to lose his mind when it seemed to be the only thing in the room working.
Dean barely felt the slap. The past few days had involved so much physical pain on his receiving behalf that a small flick like that did not register the way Castiel intended. Rather, the minuscule itch it presented to Dean only helped him slip further away. Somehow, Beelzebub had found a new way to besiege him and was starting small. The demon was going to work up to the truly painful acts. He wanted Dean numb first, so that it stung all the more when he wasn't prepa-
Castiel kissed Dean again. It was gentle but commanding. He knew what he was doing now.
Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. His eyes snapped back into focus at this completely new form of assault. It was tender instead of caustic and hardly lasted half a minute, but it worked. Dean's hands were suddenly searching for something to latch onto, something solid. They fisted the sleeves of Castiel's trenchcoat because, somehow, the flimsy material was the sturdiest thing in the room.
"Dean. Dean, I'm right here." He nodded stiffly, and Castiel couldn't tell if he was really listening or just acting on instinct, but he hoped for the former.
"Calm down and listen to me." Dean did not respond, so Castiel slapped him again, lighter than the first time, but accidentally dragging away more skin. "Dean?"
Dean set his jaw and nodded. He blinked away the haze in his mind and fully focused on his angel.
"Thank you," Castiel breathed, visibly relaxing just slightly. "I don't think I need to explain to you the importance of our quick actions?" Dean shook his head in a short, firm movement that proved to Castiel he was back. It almost overjoyed the angel.
"Thank you," he breathed again. "First, you need to stop fighting him. Do you understand me? Stop fighting."
Dean's forehead creased in confusion. "What? No! Cas, I can't stop. I can't! He'll come back. He-he'll kill you!"
"Dean," Castiel gritted his teeth, "do you trust me?"
"Of course, Cas, but-"
Castiel squeezed the brand on Dean's upper arm again, and the swirling feeling of grace was renewed in a stronger force. "Then stop arguing and listen," he seethed.
Dean nodded once more, and the taught muscles in his face unclenched. His body relaxed, though he maintained his battle stance. Castiel watched the progress with the smallest of smiles.
"Good. Now, we need to contact your brother. Your phone, where is it?"
Dean nodded yet again, easily taking the orders. At the thought of Sammy, he practically ran to his jacket draped on the motel chair and dug through his pockets for his phone. Upon finding it, he held it up triumphantly to show Castiel, but wiped the grin off his own face and dialed a second later.