Chapter Four – The Fourth Terrace: The Slothful

And, with the coloring that love prefers,

my eyes transformed the wanness of her

And when her speech had been set free, then she

began to sing so that it would have been

most difficult for me to turn

"I am," she sang, "I am the pleasing siren,

who in mid-sea leads mariners astray-

there is so much delight in hearing me."

~Canto XIX, lines 14-21

Dean blew out a deep breath as he hunkered down against a tree in the darkness. The last few days had gone better than he'd thought; less monsters – still plenty, but not as overwhelming as before – more ground covered, more pleasant chatter between the three of them. It seemed as if fate might have given them a freaking break for once, as soon as he'd gotten back on an even keel with Cas. There were still bubbles of his anger under the surface, especially since Cas seemed completely unwilling to give Dean any solid answers to his accusations, but every time he felt riled up about it Dean just tried to take a deep breath and remind himself that it didn't really matter anymore. Cas was here with them, he was safe now, and so was Dean. Well, as safe as could be expected.

Dean even felt like his body was working better. Something about the week or so, even while he was still pissed at Cas, had him sleeping better. He still woke up with the shakes sometimes, but most times he managed to get back to sleep, and he usually ended up with a good, solid five hours or so. He hadn't had five hours of sleep every night in … ever, maybe. Not since before he was a hunter, anyway. So he actually sort of looked forward to it when he stretched out under the tree that night once Benny had gone off to secure the area and Cas had planted himself nearby. It had been a long day of walking and he could use some good shut-eye. Wrenching off his coat and throwing it over his shoulders like a blanket, Dean splayed out on the ground, closed his eyes, and let his body relax.

But sleep didn't seem to want to come that night. The shakes had taken over his muscles, his head was pounding, and he couldn't seem to stop his mind from racing. Frustrated, he curled up a little more and pulled his jacket tighter around him, but it just didn't seem to do any good. With a grimace, Dean noticed that his hands were trembling uncontrollably now and his stomach had started to heave. Nearly ready to sit up and try shaking out his hands in frustration, Dean froze when he saw Cas glance at his shuddering form and get up with a resigned sigh.

He couldn't quite explain why he felt it best, but Dean was compelled to stay quiet and maintain the illusion that he was asleep as the angel padded over to him and squatted down near his head. With a quiet exhalation of the hunter's name on his lips and a broken "I'm sorry", Castiel reached out two fingers towards Dean's temple. With whip-crack speed, Dean realized why his nights had been so restful lately. He snaked out a hand and clasped Cas's wrist before he had a chance to touch Dean's face.

"No," the hunter whispered.

The angel's forearm jumped in his grasp. Dean propped himself up on an elbow and gazed up into his friend's face.

"Dean," Cas said, not quite able to mask his surprise. "I … didn't realize you were awake."

"Yeah, I got that," he said flatly. After a long moment where the angel only appeared progressively guiltier, Dean finally said, "You've been healing me, haven't you? When I'm sleeping and the withdrawal gets bad."

It wasn't really a question. The angel's expression told Dean everything he needed to know. But he said it anyway.

"That's why I've been sleeping so well. That's why you've been looking so tired. You're tanking your mojo to help me sleep."

Cas tried to look defiant and fell well short of the mark. "It's the least I can do, all things considered."

"Cas," Dean said, his voice equal parts annoyance and concern, "I don't want you leaving yourself drained just to help me sleep at night."

Something warred in Cas's face at that, something Dean was sure he wasn't telling him, but eventually the angel just nodded. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean felt his lips quirk up at the corners without giving permission for them to do so. "Don't apologize for helping me, dude. Just don't drain yourself on my account, okay?"

Cas tipped his head to the side quizzically and something pulled in Dean's chest. He'd missed that expression.

"I want to help you, Dean."

Dean smiled wryly and, before he realized what he was saying, blurted out, "Then how 'bout you volunteer to be a better pillow than these tree roots?"

An air of mild shock graced the angel's face. "I don't see how—" he started to say.

"Honestly, Cas," Dean interrupted, "it would help just to have you near me and to have something to take my mind off it, okay?"

Cas's brows drew together but he just nodded slowly. "If that is what you want, Dean."

Dean jerked his chin towards the tree, so Castiel removed his trench and settled himself against the trunk, folding the coat across the hollow of his crossed legs. The angel stiffened slightly when Dean dropped his head into the divot created over Cas's ankles. As bizarre as it might be to get this cozy with the awkward angel, having something other than sticks to rest his head on was definitely a step in the right direction. His body still trembled, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable. More than that, though, Dean admitted to himself that he'd come to find Cas's presence soothing. After a few moments of silent shaking, Dean felt Cas's chilled fingers rest gently across his forehead.

"No mojo," Dean said, trying to sound stern but it just ended up coming out sluggish. The cool touch on his hot forehead helped chase away some of his headache; his eyelids began to droop.

"No," Castiel confirmed. "Sleep now, Dean."

Under the blanket of sleep, Dean drifted far back into his own mind. Images wove in and out in front of his eyes; belatedly, part of his mind realized that it had been some time since he had a dream that wasn't a nightmare. But this didn't feel like a nightmare. It felt safe. He didn't know why he felt safe, he just knew that he was. He also felt … watched.

Dean moved through trees that seemed to have both sprung from nowhere and always been there. The forest wasn't all dull colors and intimidating noises – though his sleepy mind didn't know why he thought it should be – but lush and fragrant with new life. Hunting. He was hunting. He hadn't been hunting in years. Though, maybe he wasn't really hunting because there was no weapon in his hand. Maybe he wasn't hunting an animal. Maybe he was looking for something. He heard the babbling sounds of water in the distance. Maybe he was looking for whatever was in the stream. Dean started off in the direction of the sounds.

It seemed to take forever to get to the water – far longer than it should have, if Dean's gauging the distance of the churning noises of the water were correct, but the walk was pleasant and he didn't mind the journey. Something was propelling him, drawing him towards the right place, so he didn't fear that he might miss whatever it was that he was hunting. A noise caught Dean's ears and he realized suddenly that that was what he'd been following: a low hum of melody and words, like a deep voice singing. The more he consciously listened for the song, the louder it seemed to get, and the louder the song became, the more Dean felt intoxicated by it. Some part of him was startled that it wasn't a woman singing, but he didn't know why he thought it should be. He had heard women singing before, so now he would hear a man. Of course the voice was deep. It only made sense. The song was perfect, and it was leading him to the water.

When Dean broke through the trees, he saw a trail leading down to the water. He knew this place, this stream. A strange flicker crossed his vision, and he saw a man in a dirty coat huddled at the stream's edge, catching water in his cupped hands to scrub across his worn, tired face. But the picture of the bedraggled man seemed to shift out of focus the instant he tried to concentrate on it. Another tiny flash and Dean smiled as the picture returned to focus. There! That was what he'd been hunting all along.

Castiel stood knee deep in the stream, water lapping against the legs of his familiar dark suit. Dean smiled as he jogged down the path to stand at the shoreline. He watched as his friend waded a bit further out into the water, the tails of his coat's belt drawing lazy ripples on the surface as they dragged behind him. When the angel turned to greet him, Dean felt a rush of contentment so warm he nearly felt sleepy from it. The angel in this dream was not a bedraggled, fractured creature running from monsters. The Castiel that strode through the water as if he were flying was the stalwart "holy tax account" that Dean had first met several years ago. Dean was surprised by this, but happy. Made happier when he realized that it was Castiel who was singing to him. Singing for him.

The words were foreign to Dean's ears but he felt them pull at the very core of his being. Without thinking, he strode out into the water, eager to be nearer to the enthralling melody and to his friend. The farther he waded into the stream, the heavier Dean felt, but now he realized that it wasn't sleepiness. The closer he got to Castiel, whose deep baritone voice composed an even more complicated tune as Dean neared, the more Dean realized it was warmth that was making him heavy. No. Not warmth. Heat

No. Not heat. Heat.i

The sensation of the cool water, now high enough to hit his groin, made Dean gasp out. Heat. He felt it roll over his body as the song sought out that place in his belly and stoked the heat. No. Not heat. Fire. Arousal lit his senses aflame, and it seemed to start and end with that song. The song that plaited lust into every nerve ending and laced every part of his body with sweet, hot desire.

Dean's lips trembled as he drew in a sharp breath. Castiel reached out a hand to Dean and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to take it. He didn't want to resist. Only their fingers touched, but Dean felt the touch, the vibration of the song, radiate throughout his entire body, stopping to pool low in that place that so ached to be touched. The song swelled and so did he. Dean didn't even consider objecting as Castiel drew him in, drew him close, drank from his lips like someone parched from thirst.

Dean's head spun as his angel kissed him, pressing their bodies together in the water that rose with every swell of the song rising around him. That's when Dean realized that it was Castiel's whole being that sung to him, clasping them together in a grip as tight as a vice but soft as lace. Smooth as silk. Plush as velvet. Dean felt the angel's body glide against his in the ebb tide of the water, a huff of breath leaving his mouth as he gripped the slighter man's hips and felt the heat of his body match Dean's. Castiel's lips quirked up in a tiny smile before catching the hunter's again in a branding kiss.

Feeling drunk with the ease – the very rightness – of his overwhelming want, Dean threaded his arms around the angel's shoulders and let his body sing along with the song as it pulled him underneath the warm, lapping waves. As soon as their grasping mouths sunk beneath the surface, everything that was himself seemed to sing out the angel's name, and the angel's deep, velvety voice seemed to only say Dean, Dean, Dean

"Dean? Dean? Dean?"

As Dean floated back to the surface of his consciousness, he followed his first instinct to turn towards the hands that were gently shaking his shoulders. The voice wasn't singing anymore, but there was no mistaking that it was the same voice. A small moan escaped his lips when he realized that those lips were alone now, no longer singing, no longer pressed up against a warm, damp pair that seemed just as drunk with euphoric lust. The shaking increased in speed and intensity and the moan turned to a groan. Dean managed to peel his eyes open, expecting to see a ripple of rainbow-prism water. Instead, Castiel's face, heavy with too many nights' growth of beard and pinched with worry, swam into view.

"No more singing?" Dean blurted without thought.

He watched dazedly as Castiel's brows knit together in confusion.

"No one was singing, Dean," he said simply. "You were groaning in your sleep. I was concerned that you may be ill again, but you told me not to heal you. I thought it best to wake you and ask because your voice did not sound particularly … distressed. In actuality, you sounded …"

Cas trailed into an embarrassed silence. Dean breathed in a deep lungful of air, laced through with a smell that he had come to learn over the years must come from Cas himself. Suddenly, reality seemed to slam into Dean full force, several epiphanies piling up against the forward edge of Dean's mind: he'd been laying in Cas's lap—while having a disturbingly sexual dream—about Cas—from which his friend had woken him because he'd been making "happy noises". Loud "happy noises". The last, most embarrassing bombshell took another few moments to land as Dean was forcing his muddled mind to take an inventory of his body: he felt raging heat and a telling warm wetness on his stomach, and he was damn sure it wasn't water.

Dean practically flew to his feet and away from the befuddled, concerned angel still seated at the base of the tree.

"Dean, are you—?" Cas started to say, but Dean didn't let him finish.

"I'm fine," Dean said quickly. "Dream. Just a dream."

Dean nearly cursed at the nervous quaver in his voice. He prayed desperately that Cas would just take him at his word and shut the hell up. Dean didn't think he could handle hearing Cas's voice right now, not while he still had evidence of a wet dream and a raging erection in his pants and the lush, gravelly baritone crooning like a siren in his head.

"A nightmare?" Cas said, starting towards him. The angel stopped short when Dean thrust out a hand to his shoulder, keeping the other man at arm's length.

"No," Dean said, unable to control the huskiness that slipped into the word. He cleared his throat. "No. Just a dream. I'm fine. I—" he glanced up at Cas's face and instantly regretted it; beneath the concern was a tiny flicker of understanding, "—I …I'll be back in a minute."

Maybe it made him a total chicken shit, but Dean took off into the forest to escape the angel. He didn't know where the fuck that dream had come from, but he needed to put some serious foot traffic between it and him. Jesus, he hadn't had a wet dream since he was about thirteen – probably since he'd been having actual sex since he was about fourteen – and now he was coming in his pants just from dreaming about kissing somebody?! And not just "somebody"; Cas. Nerdy dude with wings.

What the fuck was he going to get that damn dream out of his head? He couldn't even begin to think about what he was going to do with the erection that was starting to ache like a motherfucker. He sure as hell wasn't going to do either one of the two things he'd normally do in this situation because both of them would end up involving something to do with Castiel's mouth, whether it was his hand and a mental replay of the song from the dream or a real-life replay with the actual mouth that had done the singing –

Son of a bitch.

Dean shook his head to clear it and took another few giant leaps into the forest. This needed to stop. This place was clearly starting to fuck with him. He just … he just needed to take a few deep breaths, grit his teeth, and fuck back. Or, in this case, refuse to fuck back.

And thus man does not know the source of his

intelligence of primal notions and

his tending toward desire's primal objects:

both are in you just as in bees there is

the honey-making urge; such primal will

deserves no praise, and it deserves no blame.

~ Canto XVIII, lines 54-60

"Perhaps you could tell me," Benny asked as the two men in front of him stared at each other fiercely, "what in the actual Hell has rammed itself up both your asses today?"

He earned himself one hell of a pair of glares but he'd run out of give-a-damn after about an hour of their tense bullshit, seeing as how it had followed a week of tense bullshit. Benny felt something needed to be said.

"You," he said, gesturing to Dean with a jerk of his chin, "are about as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and Hot Wings here is exhibiting classic symptoms of a desperate case of I Need a Good Knob-Polishing Disease. Clearly, I am missing something that maybe you gentlemen would like to clue me in on?"

Castiel's grimace faded a touch as he tried to hide his bafflement at Benny's statement.

"Oh, dear," the vampire said slowly and with relish, "hasn't your babysitter given you a lesson in the birds and the bees yet?"

He chuckled as the expressions in the angel's face warred between confusion and the suspicion that he should be offended. Castiel glanced to Dean for translation.

Without taking his ferocious glower away from Benny's face, Dean said, "Cas, he's saying that you desperately need to act out one of those Pizza Man movies but wouldn't know what to do."

The angel directed his glare back at Benny, certain of his offense now; he gave a little huff.

"For your information, I was married for nearly seven months; I am adequately educated in that regard," Castiel said with a haughty tip of his chin, missing Dean's startled expression. The angel's face then flickered to something much more pensive. "The assumption regarding our roles in the scenario seem reversed, however. Given his sexual history in comparison to mine, Dean would be more likely to be the Pizza Man; I would be more plausible as the inexperienced babysitter."

"Cas!"

Dean couldn't stop himself from bellowing to shut the angel up, his cheeks heating in embarrassment as Benny chuckled.

"Jesus, Cas, do you have no idea what it sounds like when you say that shit? What are you, freakin' twelve?"

The expression on the angel's face turned thunderous, and he stalked up to the hunter, eyes flashing with self-righteous anger.

"I was a soldier of God for millennia before humans even existed!" Castiel spit back.

"Yeah? Well, that doesn't seem to stop you from being a damn child when it comes to some things!"

His human friend seem determined to give as good as he got, but when the angel scowled up at the hunter from barely inches away, something cracked in the hunter's facade. For a moment, Benny thought that he'd imagined it, but the angel seemed to notice it, too. Never dragging his eyes away from Dean's, Cas tipped his head to the side and his face melted into something more quizzical. Whatever Castiel saw in Dean's expression – and Benny would be damned if he could tell – caused the angel's brows to veer upwards and the hunter's cheeks to redden before he jerked both his eyes and his body away. Dean mumbled something practically unintelligible and started to push past Benny to continue along their pre-established path.

Given that when Benny snorted in amusement as Dean passed and was rewarded with a grimace that could take down a water buffalo, the vampire did his best to suppress a smile before gesturing that the angel follow after Dean. Whatever hornets' nest he'd managed to unintentionally stir up between the two men just then, Benny was fairly certain it would have some damn amusing consequences before this whole episode played out.