Episode 9 – Second Chances

Summary: A demon attacks pastor Kahr, a valued helper to many hunters. Gavin meets his new companion. Dean and Cas get up to… other things.

Author's Notes: *drum-roll* The plot thickens…

I hope it's right to call the character "pastor" since he was married and has children, so he's probably a protestant priest.

xXx

Richmond, Virgina – eight days ago

The church stands proud in the middle of fields. It might seem eerie in the moonlight if it weren't for the house next to it. While the church is completely dark, some rooms of the house are lit and voices drift through the canted window.

Alex pushes a strand of black hair out of her eyes and puts the heavy bag in the trashcan before returning to the house, where her younger brother is washing dishes while her father Patrick, still wearing the priest collar, dries them.

He smiles at her and she opens her mouth to say something but a persistent ringing interrupts them.

"Could you take over, honey?"

"Sure," she says, accepting the dry dish as well as the towel while Patrick hurries across the room to the five telephones. He picks up the one that the crepe tape identifies as "FBI".

"Kornberg," he barks into the line and Alex suppresses a snort. "Yeah, I'm the SAC… Yeah, that's my agent, is he giving you trouble, Officer? … Yes, I sent him down there to investigate, weren't the local police informed? … Well, I'm truly sorry about the confusion. Thanks for your cooperation."

Patrick hangs up with a huff.

"Mackenzie?"

He shakes his head. "Nope, that one's still hunting down that vampire nest in Michigan. It's Wilson. Werewolf."

Alex shrugs, handing the dishtowel back to her father.

"But is he sure the werewolf's harmful?" Tyler pitches in. "I mean, Garth's pack in Wisconsin –"

"Garth's pack is an exception, Tyler," Patrick explains, but knowing her brother, it'll only evolve into an argument because the kid could never rest his case.

"I'm going for a run!" she calls over her shoulder, already aiming for the staircase that leads up to her room.

"Alex, it's dark out," Patrick cautions, just like every time they have this discussion.

"Dad, I'm 22."

"You know what's out there."

"Which is why I'll bring my gun with the silver bullets and my salt spray. Like I do every time."

Her father sighs but he doesn't forbid her to go. Well, she'd love to see him try – she's an adult now.

She jogs down her usual path, street lights illuminating the way just enough for her to see. She only has one ear bud in, classic rock playing loud, yet still low enough for her to hear suspicious noises.

At one point she glances over her shoulder, though there is nothing. Just the empty road couched in darkness.

When Alex returns there is a light on in the church – just one, lighting up the entrance. It's motion activated and stray cats are enough to trigger the sensors, so Alex doesn't pay it much mind.

Until she hears the shouting.

She is inside the house immediately, gun drawn, salt spray in her other hand. The first room is the kitchen, which is in complete disarray. And there, on the threshold between the kitchen and the dining room, lies her father, his eyes open but unseeing.

The thought doesn't register, her blood doesn't run cold. Alex feels numb as she steps past her father's corpse, following the sounds through the dining room and into the living room.

Tyler is backed into a corner; holy water bottle still in his hand but a strange woman with auburn hair and dark clothes has her arms around his throat and is squeezing tightly. An old book lies on the floor and Alex gasps when the reason for the home invasion becomes evident. It wasn't a cat that triggered the light.

Just then the woman's eyes turn black and Alex starts reciting the exorcism, more reflex than conscious thought.

Suddenly her whole body flies backwards through the air until it hits the bookshelf, hard and unyielding. Alex falls to the floor with a thump, already scrambling to her feet again but she simply isn't fast enough, would never be fast enough.

The demon places her hands on each side of her brother's face. Their eyes meet one last time before the monster twists and breaks Tyler's neck with a chilling crack. The sound reverberates through Alex's body, a physical sensation although nothing is touching her.

She can't afford to dwell on it, though. Within a split second Alex dives for the book, yet the woman anticipates her move and Alex feels a foot connect with her jaw, pain blinding her senses long enough for the demon to get her hands on the book and teleport away.

"Tyler?" Her voice is barely a whisper. Not that it matters. She still crawls over to where her brother lies, gathers him in her arms and pulls him close, lets herself have this moment and lets herself have the tears that burn as they flow down her cheeks.

"I'll stop her, alright? I'll stop her. I promise, Tyler. You hear me? I promise."

She doesn't receive an answer but maybe he still hears her if his Reaper was kind enough to let him linger.

xXx

Somewhere in America – eight days ago

Gavin remains in the shadow until a flicker of light shows him that the man approaching in the dark alley is Merrick.

Gavin has learnt a lot in the past weeks.

"Why did ya want to see me?" he asks. Merrick doesn't answer right way but steps to the side. Behind him there is a woman, wearing trousers (which is still a strange sight for Gavin) and her straight auburn hair open. She has a book in her hands, bound in leather, which looks more like those tomes Gavin saw back in his time than those shiny things that pass for books nowadays.

"Gavin, Beth. Beth, Gavin," Merrick introduces them. Gavin nods, unsure if he needs to pay the lady more respect of if she doesn't need it. "You can get to work now."

"Ya mean -?"

"Yes. It is done."

Merrick's smile turns wicked and Gavin feels thrilling anticipation course through him.

Finally.

xXx

Dean walks into Crowley's office without knocking – not that the King of Hell looks surprised by his lack of manners.

"Ah, my employee of the month!"

"What d'you want, Crowley?"

"Impatience will get you nowhere, now sit your lily-white arse down."

Dean glares at him as he does so, yet he makes sure to slouch in the most subversive way possible. He's in no mood to hang back; he's got a date with an angel later…

Crowley smirks once he believes to have Dean's attention. "Just wanted to give you a little evaluation, you'll be out of here in a tick and then you can do whatever it is you do to make your brother think you're still the good little hunter who raised him."

It's a bait Dean doesn't rise to. No matter how true the words ring.

"So," the demon sneers. "We're all very satisfied with your work. I heard you're making tremendous progress ever since you got our most resilient houseguest to pick up a blade. I just have to say, Dean, if anyone can make even the most righteous pull their own weight, it's you."

"Yeah, whatever, send me my prize and stop yacking."

Crowley's smile broadens. "Of course. Everything for our new star."

With a snort, Dean zaps out of Hell, not even bothering to walk out of the office. It's one in the morning when he reaches the bunker, letting himself in through the garage and making it look like he was down at the range all this time.

Kevin ain't nowhere to be seen, his notes scattered across his usual table and Sammy is just stretching his limbs when Dean finds him.

"Hey," his brother greets around a yawn. "You not going out?"

"No, club's still closed 'cause of the murders." Both their eyes flicker towards the table where this morning's newspaper's still lying. Killings even made the front page and someone leaked the pic of the chick Dean stabbed online. Everyone's panicky and the police are looking for the killer but they won't ever find him.

The way Sam looks at him, all reproachful with maybe a minor hint of disappointment mixed in, pulls Dean out of his thoughts. "What?"

"Did you have to stab her? She was just an innocent vessel."

"Yes," Dean grits out. "The situation was fucked up; I had no choice."

"You seen Cas?"

"No." It's a flat out lie but it's none of Sam's business.

"You liked having me on your lap?" Dean remembers asking Cas late last night. "Like me ride you, take you like that?"

And Cas freaking caressed his cheek then. "I liked everything."

And he liked the rest too, how Dean jerked them both off, with a hand around both their cocks while Cas was playing with his balls and saying he'd be back tonight…

Dean clears his throat. "Figure he's back with the Bible Club."

"Well," Sam sighs, pushing himself up. "I'll hit the hay. Night, Dean."

"You too, man."

As soon as his brother is gone, Dean looks at the clock on the wall with a wicked grin. Less than an hour until Cas is coming – in every sense of the word.

xXx

Somewhere in Utah, three days ago

Alex burnt the bodies, the crackling of the fire still echoing in her ears a few days later when she tries to follow the demon's trail.

She took the truck (not that Dad needs it anymore, she thinks bitterly), packed all the weapons she could find, holy water, rosaries, salt, stakes, the works. It's not the first time she's been on the road so she knows the gist, melts into her fake identity, forgets that she's an orphan and brotherless all of a sudden.

She took their family iPod too and the music's blaring loudly. It's almost nice, the open road ahead of her, nothing but the hunt.

There's a ghoul in a town she passes through, stumbles across it more than anything but it's good practice. She knows what she's looking for; she's been studying this book ever since she discovered it while sneaking around the church. Gosh, her father was so angry. But he let her read it, translate it, study it. It's a good thing or she wouldn't have a clue where to start.

Alex reaches the city about four days after she lost everything.

To choose a Mormon family is a bit lacking in the innovation department, though demons never were the brightest of the bunch. It's almost midnight when the house comes into view. The windows are dark, which is either a great sign or a very bad one.

Gun raised, audio file for the exorcism ready on her phone, other weapons concealed under clothing but easy to reach, Alex enters through the back door. She shines the torchlight around the room, checking floors, corners, doorframes. Nothing.

Then she reaches the master bedroom.

The first thing Alex notices is the smell of blood. The second thing is the actual substance, soaking through the sheets and beginning to dry. The woman on the bed must be the mother and the corpse on the floor, throat slit by her own hand, is the daughter. Barely a teenager.

The father is nowhere to be seen – maybe away for business. Alex feels for him.

She's too late. The demon was faster, possessing the girl who then murdered the mother and turned the knife on herself, aided by superhuman strength. A teenager wouldn't have been able to damage the spine like this.

There is nothing Alex can do. Except…

A twinge of ruefulness is probably all this is, but it's enough to make Alex write a note. Nothing major, just a note explaining that it wasn't the daughter who killed the man's wife. Maybe the knowledge that the child was possessed will soothe the father's worries.

Matricide.

Alex huffs, wipes down all the surfaces she might have touched, and leaves the house.

xXx

Gavin's seen his fair share of demons and monsters, but witnessing such a spectacle without having to piss himself or run away in fear is just brilliant.

"It's fascinating, the way ya can just smoke out like that, black smoke and whoosh!"

Beth looks at him like he's daft. He always gets the feeling that he's daft when she looks at him. She doesn't like him very much, Gavin's sure.

"Blimey, we've done it, we've got another one."

That earns him a derisive snort, but oi, excuse him if he's excited. For the first time in his life he's in a place where he's stronger than his enemies (well, mostly because he has Merrick in his corner now) and his existence has some kind of purpose.

"You're like some stupid puppy. I was promised someone who can actually hold his own in a fight."

"Well, ya just have to stick with me now, don't ya? And for the record, you're not what I expected either."

Beth raises an eyebrow, jerking her head a bit to shake the hair out of her face. She has nice hair, Gavin notices. Not that he's supposed to. Notice, that is. That woman is a demon.

"You're a lady!" he tells her, only to see her rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry, but women don't fight where I come from, and they don't wear breeches –"

"It's pants, you dimwit."

"Excuse me if I haven't learned my new words yet," he snaps at her, almost regretting it. He usually isn't mean to women at all. That was his father's job.

"Shut up and keep moving, we'll be at the hotel soon and you can satisfy your boring human needs."

"Wha'ever," he comments, actually proud of himself that he managed to use that phrase without making Beth laugh at him for a change.

"No, really, get your beauty sleep, Marty McFly, we're having a big day tomorrow. Those nuns won't wait for us."

"My name's Gavin," he insists, hating it when she calls him something else. It's probably witty, too. Merrick laughed once, but Gavin hasn't figured it out yet.

"Whatever you say, dear," she sneers and wishes him a pleasant night. Gavin throws himself onto the hotel bed with a huff.

One thing that definitely makes this century better are the beds, he thinks before sleep claims him.

xXx

Rhode Island, now

The air smells like freedom and fills his lungs to the brim with opportunities. Metatron is utterly proud of his followers. His trail is in the wind, nothing to find and he can plan his comeback with minute precision.

Time has come for the first step.

The Crescent Park Carousel is the only vestige of the once flourishing amusement park in East Providence and has become a tourist attraction for mostly families and children. Even today the place is busy and Metatron wanders around, outside and inside the building until he finds what he is looking for.

A little girl falls and scrapes her knee on the ground. She starts crying immediately. Metatron approaches the mother with a friendly smile.

"May I help?"

"Are you a doctor?" she snaps, already judging him by his shabby attire.

"Of sorts."

He waits and it is probably the girl's curious gaze that makes the mother nod. Metatron brings his finger to the wound and in the blink of an eye it is healed and the blood is gone.

The girl giggles. "It tickles!"

The mother, meanwhile, stares at him open mouthed. "How did you do that?"

He smiles mysteriously yet before he can reply, a passer-by speaks up. "You're that healer! You're Marv!"

Metatron ducks his head. He doesn't even need to say anything – the passer-by draws a crowd all by himself.

"That's Marv! He healed a man of diabetes and he cured a woman who was hit by a car!" The awe is evident in his voice and his eyes are huge as saucers when he looks at Metatron again. "Thank you. You are an inspiration."

Metatron turns his gaze onto the man's soul. He is a true believer but there is something tainting his body, a sickness… The man has HIV.

"Do you pray?" he asks.

The man nods solemnly. "Every day."

"Today your prayers shall be heard." Metatron steps forward, aware of the small gathering that is watching and diligently filming with their fancy phones. He touches the man's arm, never breaking eye contact. "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God."

"Th- thank you, sir," he stammers and doesn't question whether or not he is actually healed. He doesn't need scientific proof for he has faith.

Metatron smiles and turns towards the crowd. They hold their breath as his eyes roam their faces until he sees a little boy with a bald head, body marred by leukemia. He beckons the child forward and he follows the request with tentative steps and a nervous expression.

"What is your name?" Metatron asks after crouching down on one knee.

"Daiki," he answers shyly, his eyes darting to the ground.

"You are a kind soul, Daiki." And with a touch to the side of his head, the boy is cured.

The crowd cheers and erupts into questions, requests and praises and Metatron couldn't be happier.

xXx

Castiel can barely concentrate, not in Heaven or on Earth. His thoughts circle back to green eyes and soft moans, which is incredibly detrimental to his duties.

At least he hears the emergency horn that sounds across the ethereal plane, commanding every high-ranking angel to seek out what Gabriel has begun to call the 'situation room' immediately.

His brother looks grimly triumphant as Castiel enters, one of the first to arrive but closely followed by the other generals.

"Have you found him?" Hannah is the first to ask.

Gabriel smirks. "Rhode Island, Providence Park. It's all over YouTube and Twitter – he's healing folks again, playing the whole Jesus angle. I doubt he's still there but it's the only lead we have."

For a beat, tense silence fills the room until the archangel groans.

"Get going!" he orders, which sets the room aflutter with movement. Castiel calls his garrisons and heads to Earth.

xXx

"Why're you asking abou' Marv?" The elderly woman's tone is gruff as she glares at Castiel while the sun sets over Crescent Park.

"I feel inspired by his work. I want to offer my services," Castiel lies almost smoothly. He likes to think Dean would be proud if he saw him.

"Well, he's gone off, hasn't he? Said people are after 'im, that's why he's been scarce."

"I heard that as well. He needs protection."

She considers him. "He's a miracle worker, y'know. He's the real deal. They're callin' him Messiah and that's true. Cured a little boy of his cancer. Made a gal in a wheelchair walk again. He said he'd do what he can, but he's in danger, that one."

"So he went into hiding?"

"'Course! Wouldn't you?"

Castiel hangs his head. It might look a bit put-upon yet it has to be an improvement on his previous attempts when it comes to, uh, 'working the witness'.

"Sorry, luv. I can't help you find him. But he'll be back. He promised."

Castiel nods and thanks her. As soon as he is out of sight, Gabriel is at his side again.

"You found anything, Columbo?"

Castiel laughs. He likes this joke. He understands it, which still seems to confuse Gabriel until he remembers and his features even out.

"Metatron has covered his tracks well. Everyone here wants to protect him."

"Well, he's internet famous now, Cassie. We'll station a few soldiers down here, have them monitor the hashtags and we'll find him."

"Monitor the hashtags?"

"Oh, yeah," Gabriel barks a humorless laugh. "He got one of his own already. 'MarvTheMessiah'. Yeah. They're talking about the second coming of Christ. If I gotta read one more tweet about Judgment Day, I'll jump from the next cloud."

Castiel merely nods, processing the information.

"Well, come on, the trail's still warm, let's keep looking."

xXx

"Okay, I get it, the trail's cold!" Gabriel growls hours later. Night has fallen and there has been no additional sighting of Metatron, except the two they followed but every time it was too late.

Gabriel kicks a nearby brick wall with his foot, crying out in frustration. Castiel chooses to frown instead. They are in Palo Alto where, according to the Twitter, Metatron gave a deaf man his hearing back and cured a mother of six from Chorea Huntington.

"We should abandon our quest, Gabriel."

"Yeah, I get it, I get it. But let's rope the Winchester in, alright? They're better with this computer stuff. Our guys are still too excited about Mahjong to be doing their jobs right…"

Castiel has to suppress the soft smile threatening to twist his features. "Of course. I shall seek them out right away."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his attempts to hide his joy. "Take your time, little bro. I doubt our favorite douchebag'll show his mug shot anytime soon."

Castiel blushes, yet thankfully the archangel has already turned around.

It takes some time to travel from Palo Alto to Lebanon with having to open a portal to Heaven and then again one that will lead him back to Earth. It beats hitching rides like Castiel did after the angels fell, however Castiel has rarely missed his wings more. He is itching to reach Kansas, not only to convey the news but also to see Dean again.

He wonders if they should talk. Really talk about what they are doing, not just about what Castiel liked… Yet when he can't even think of appropriate words – how is Castiel supposed to voice them? The knowledge of many a romance novel and popular movies isn't helping either. Maybe he should let his actions speak for him? Would flowers be an option, or does that clash with gender roles assigned by American society?

By the time Castiel's feet land on asphalt, he is none the wiser.

"You're early."

"Dean. You're outside."

Castiel's hand is already on his phone, intending to dial the hunter's number to let him know he has arrived, though the person in question is leaning against the garage door.

"Thought I'd wait here, safe you the call. What you got anyway, Cas? Prepaid or contract?"

Castiel blinks, glancing down at his phone. "I don't know," he says slowly. "But the lady never told me I was running out of minutes again."

"Well, that's something."

Dean grins, genuinely grins. There is no tension in his shoulders or around his eyes as far as Castiel can see in the dim light and his true form appears… balanced. It is an even more beautiful sight. That is, if true forms can be described in such categories – Castiel has found they usually lie beyond the scope of human languages. Enochian is much better suited, yet Dean would probably object to being referred to using angelic poetry.

Castiel realizes suddenly that he has been staring. Dean doesn't comment; he merely jerks his head towards the garage door and opens it. Castiel steps through, taking in the spacious room, softly lit by a few bulbs here and there instead of the too-bright halogen lamps.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he hears Dean purr close behind him so Castiel turns around.

"I have news, first –"

Dean interrupts him with a groan and lets his head fall onto Castiel's shoulder. "What news?" he mumbles into Castiel's neck and the suggestion of lips on his skin makes Castiel shiver.

He swallows, trying to loosen his suddenly tight throat. "Metatron started healing again. He has a hashtag now and Gabriel wants to ask you and Sam to help monitor – ah, Dean…"

It is rather hard to concentrate on forming coherent sentences when Dean Winchester is sucking at your pulse point.

"I'm listening, Cas…"

"Ugh, we want you two to help us monitor the Twitter –" Dean chuckles for some reason and his chest is so close to Castiel's own that he can feel the vibrations. "- but Gabriel said he isn't likely to make any more appearances tonight…"

"Then you can chill out and get with the program, Cas," Dean whispers in his ear, scraping his teeth along Castiel's jaw and finally bringing their lips together.

Castiel faintly recalls plans of slow kissing and letting his actions speak for himself, though the temptation to simply devour Dean's mouth is far grater than anything Castiel has ever dealt with.

Only when his legs bump into something does he notice that they were moving and now he is leaning against the Impala's trunk.

"Sorry," he mumbles, his hands palming Dean's back muscles through his t-shirt.

"My baby can take it."

"May I return the favor, then?"

Dean pulls back, raising an eyebrow in silent question while his thumbs are still massaging Castiel's hips.

"Last night you pleasured me orally. I would like to do the same to you."

The sound Dean makes in response comes out strangled. "Fuck, Cas…"

It is presumably be the closest he will come to a 'yes', so Castiel turns them around, which is harder than it used to be with his grace waning, but he pushes that thought aside to worry about the implications later. Instead he tries to remember everything he knows in theory about oral sex.

Castiel kisses Dean again, messy and heated, while his hands work open the fly of Dean's pants and cup his erection through his underwear. Castiel sinks to his knees, pressing his chest against Dean's and making sure to rub against the bulge on his way down, aware of green eyes on him.

Castiel hasn't allowed himself to imagine this moment often, but he has thought about it. Just like in his fantasies he slips his fingers under the waistband of the boxer-briefs, pulling them down slowly until Dean's cock springs free. Castiel recalls how erotic the sight of Dean on his knees in front of him was so he looks up, wetting his lips with his tongue.

Dean curses above him, gripping the car with his hands for support.

He takes his time, then, no matter how much he wants to taste the flesh on his tongue. He intended to show Dean rather than tell him how he feels, so this is what he is doing now. Castiel uses his hands to map every inch of the cock in front of him, caresses the testicles, wraps his fingers around the shaft, traces a vein a the side and watches the entire thing twitch when he cups both balls.

Only when he feels like he knows every inch does Castiel lean forward, licking the tip and gathering the beads of fluid. It tastes like Dean and Castiel needs more.

He makes sure his lips are wet before he closes them around the glans. Dean releases a shaky breath; his knuckles white on the Impala. Castiel bobs his head experimentally, but covering his teeth is more difficult than he has imagined. It takes some time and he flails a little, trying to make up for it with a firm grip around the base and shallow but strong strokes.

Dean isn't complaining, which encourages Castiel to attempt a rhythm, soon using his tongue as well. He hollows his cheeks and sucks like he recalls Dean doing and the reaction is instantaneous – a growl from the depth of his partner's throat and suddenly, there is a hand in his hair. It feels good, grounding him a little because the taste and smell that is simply so Dean is beginning to make him dizzy.

The persistent pressure also helps with his rhythm and soon Castiel aims to take Dean deeper, suck harder, find out which spots are most sensitive to his tongue. The slit is a prime candidate he discovers with one hand still wrapped around the shaft and his eyes drawn to Dean's abdominal muscles that twitch deliciously.

Dean's breath is ragged and his eyes closed by now, his erection covered in saliva which eases the way as Castiel swallows him down, takes as much of the velvety flesh as he can until the tip hits the back of his throat. He relaxes his jaw and swallows intentionally around the glans.

"Fuck!" Dean shouts, almost jumping off the hood so Castiel tries it again and again. His right hand is dripping with spit and precome so he uses the left instead, but he doesn't want to wipe the right one on Dean's jeans.

His next thought is not even that – it's pure instinct.

Castiel moves the hand back, past Dean's testicles until he can touch the spot behind them and the small ring of muscle.

Dean's hand tightens in his hair while Castiel traces the outlines of his perineum, exerting gentle pressure but not slipping in.

"Damn it, Cas, do it!" Dean barks above him, hips jerking forward and Castiel is proud when he doesn't splutter.

He draws it out a little moment longer, noting how Dean's back is on the car now and Castiel has shuffled back a little without actively noticing. Not that it matters as long as Castiel's fingers can reach Dean's entrance and finally breach him, just one digit. Dean keens and bears down, silently demanding more.

Castiel complies gladly, moving his finger in and out, venturing deeper with each thrust until it is buried to the hilt and left to explore the tight heat surrounding it. He finds the little bud of nerves soon and Dean goes wild above him, moaning from deep inside his gut and asking for more, Cas, please, gimme more.

Soon there are two fingers buried inside Dean and Castiel manages to time the movements of his head with those of his hands. The twofold stimulation proves incredibly effective. Dean is whimpering, hands clenching and unclenching in Castiel's hair, cock jumping inside his mouth every time he brushes his prostate.

Dean Winchester is coming apart underneath his ministrations and the rush makes Castiel's head spin and his own erection pulse in the confines of his pants.

Boldly he takes Dean deep into his mouth, left hand rushing down towards Castiel's own fly, desperate and eager to free himself, to stroke himself while scissoring his fingers and stretching Dean's hole.

"Fuck yeah, that's it, jack yourself off, Cas, so hot, you got no idea," Dean pants above him, rolling his hips with the rhythm they have built.

The feeling is incredible – Dean is everywhere, filling his senses and setting his nerves on fire. The heat trickles down Castiel's throat and curls low in his stomach, sending shivers up his spine. He is close, he can feel it, so he speeds up his strokes and seeks out Dean's prostate again without planning to leave it alone until Dean comes down his throat.

Castiel can't see his eyes since Dean throws his head back when he comes with Castiel's name on his lips, but he can imagine them clearly, black pupils expanding and taking over the vibrant green until all that's left is darkness.

Castiel eases his fingers out and slows the movement of his mouth, letting Dean ride out his orgasm before he pulls off completely, gazing up at the debauched form of Dean Winchester, bottom lip slightly swollen from biting it, flaccid cock resting spent against his thigh, shining wetly in the dim light.

When Dean looks down, eyes pitch black and yet so expressive, it hits Castiel like an electric charge, starting at the top of his spine and coursing down until it hits the heat in his stomach and ignites it. Castiel doesn't simply come; he erupts, coating the floor with streaks of white.

For a while the only noise inside the garage is their breath, heavy and ragged, until it evens out and Castiel thinks his legs might support him again.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Dean says, pausing to draw a breath. "We're gonna head to my room where we're gonna spend the next hours until Sammy rises from the dead and then you can fill us all in about whatever fuckface has been up to. Sound good?"

A bed. Somehow the thought makes warmth spread in Castiel's chest.

"It sounds wonderful, Dean."

xXx

End Notes: What happens in the bedroom shall be the subject of chapter 2 of "Escapades" :) (but I don't know when I'll add that)

Anyway, I want to thank you all for the positive feedback, it always makes me smile when I look at them (which I do quite often). I love writing and I have to write this, but knowing others find pleasure in it as well makes the experience so much better!

Trivia: I don't know if the carousel is open in March yet. Let's pretend Easter has already passed and it is^^

Metatron is quoting Matthew 5:8, for those interested.