Episode 10 – Tweet your worries

Summary: For once, nothing majorly catastrophic happens in the bunker, so Team Free Will goes after a poltergeist.

Author's Notes: Real life keeps getting in the way of my writing, but come Friday, my second and last essay of this semester will be finished for good... Then I'm off to London for a week, but I'll be able to update nonetheless :)

xXx

The bunker door falls shut just as Dean's hair is finally dry and he gives Cas an appreciative once-over to make sure he doesn't look too debauched.

Nope, no one would think the angel spent the night in Dean's bed and a memorable half-hour in the shower while Sam was out on a run.

"Sammy," Dean shouts as they emerge from the hallway and into the library. They're incredibly lucky that Kevin's still asleep like a normal guy instead of out running at six o'clock in the friggin' morning.

"Dean, what – hi, Cas! What's going on?"

"The Bible Squad needs your Twitter skills, Sammy."

His brother blinks at him as if he's grown another head, so Dean nudges Cas to launch into his explanation. Hopefully he's still got enough brain function left to pull that off. Dean smirks at his own joke while Sam is busy looking at their angel expectantly.

"Metatron has started healing again. Social Media is heralding him as the new Messiah. Gabriel has tasked some of our soldiers with monitoring the Twitter and other sites, but they are not yet familiar with the in's and out's, so to speak."

"The Twitter?"

Cas narrows his eyes, glancing from Sam to Dean until Dean takes pity on him and ends the joke. "It's just Twitter, Cas."

The angel actually pouts at that. Adorably so, Dean might add.

"Ah, come on, it was funny."

"Well, thank you for correcting me, even if it is late," Cas replies without any hint of sarcasm.

"Right," Sam says, drawing out the word and watching them suspiciously.

"So get your laptop, we've got some research to do."

"Why can't you – oh, yes." Sam grins at him before disappearing through the door and presumably into his room, where he took his laptop last night. And Sam's got the thing inside a devil's trap 24/7 now.

But apparently Dean's allowed to use it for the Greater Good, since Sam pushes the thing into Dean's hands. "You get started, I need a shower. And I swear to God, Dean, if there's no hot water left again I'll really fix the shower up to spout holy water after twenty minutes!"

"Yeah, 'cause you're able to swing that! Don't forget who's the mechanic in the family!" Dean calls after his brother's retreating form.

"I'll summon a demon to do it for me!" echoes through the hallway just loud enough for them to catch it. Dean sniggers and pulls Cas towards the table, flexing his fingers before opening the laptop.

xXx

Sam spends the shower being confused as hell by Dean's mood. True, Dean's been more relaxed these past few weeks, but today he's downright… giddy. Huh. Whatever it is, Sam's bound to find out sooner or later.

For now he busies himself with breakfast and carries his plate out into the main area to eat. He stops in the door to the library because apparently Dean's mental age has once again dropped to five. For a reason unknown to Sam, his brother is currently teleporting all over the library, reappearing in close vicinity to Cas who, by the looks of it, tries to keep a straight face and his annoyance from showing.

"See what it's like, Cas? You've been doing this for years, man, how's it feel to be on the receiving end?" Dean asks between materializing at different places.

"Karma's a bitch," Sam comments, setting his plate down across from Cas who sends him a thankful glance. "But the library is starting to smell like of sulfur."

Dean's face falls a little. "Y'all are just jealous," he grumbles, resuming his seat in front of the laptop.

"Found anything?"

"I found Twitter, that's a start."

Sam snorts. "One would think with all the porn you used to watch you know every corner of the World Wide Web."

"Well, why waste my time when you're better at this sorta stuff anyway?" Dean shoots back, a little snappishly.

The curious thing, however, is Cas, who seems even more annoyed by the reference to Dean's consumerist online activities than the zapping ever managed to make him.

Sam's intrigued enough to keep his eyes on Cas for the rest of breakfast. At first glance it looks like every previous Dean-Cas interaction Sam has ever witnessed (at least the non-violent ones), yet under closer scrutiny, Sam discovers that the two of them are sitting together even more closely than usual.

Huh.

Sam returns to the kitchen to rinse his plate – because surely a secret society of hunters who build a super computer couldn't be asked to integrate a damn dishwasher – replaying this morning.

Dean looked freshly showered; Cas was impeccably dressed as usual. What's Sam missing?

Before he can delve deeper into the mystery, though, Dean's cell rings just as Sam re-enters the library. His brother's shoulders grow tense when he takes in the caller ID and he doesn't give away anything with his answering "Hey", yet Sam ventures a guess that that's Crowley on the other end.

Dean ends the call and turns towards them with one of his less convincing fake smiles. "Well, seems like you get to explain what Twitter is on your own, Sammy, I gotta… yeah. I'll be back asap, alright?"

Dean doesn't wait for a response, just zaps out of the library, probably into his room to retrieve the blade. Cas and Sam exchange a worried look but that's all they can do at the moment. So, heaving a sigh, Sam draws up a chair next to the angel and tries to come up with the least complicated way to make Cas understand the nature of hashtags.

xXx

348. 349. 350.

The woman screams in agony with every lash of his whip, her voice thinning after hours of torture. This one will be quick to crumble.

Merrick considers her, weighing the whip in his hands. More lashes, or something else? His mind is running through the options when he senses a presence at his back.

He turns covertly, too far away from Crowley's office to be seen clearly, yet he hasn't made it this far by being sloppy. One can never be too careful.

It's Winchester, of course it is. Merrick spies his lackeys, too. The five Knights that the former hunter has trained so far, the five most suited for an eternity of mayhem and chaos.

All of them love what they are allowed to do yet none of them are too bright. This is possibly the reason Crowley didn't ask Merrick to join – someone with a brain might devise a plan to instigate rebellion. And while there are only five Knights compared to the hundred Lucifer kept, Crowley doesn't come close to their father's grandeur. Abbadon was enough to keep the King of Hell on his toes and she was one meager Knight.

Winchester is briefing them on their mission, as far as Merrick can tell from the distance. He knows who they are after and isn't worried. Their targets aren't part of Merrick's network.

The Knights disappear, weapons already at the ready and Merrick smiles at the mutilated soul in front of him. He swings his whip again after all, hard enough to lay bare his victim's innards which he then douses in holy water and salt. The woman looses her voice after that and even if she wished to cross sides, she wouldn't be capable of articulating her intentions any more.

Merrick is in too good a mood to let her pleading eyes register while her form convulses and trembles, suffering endless torture until the Knights return and Merrick pauses his ministrations to see it with his own eyes.

The creature that returns hardly resembles Winchester at all.

He is soaked in blood, the red substance dripping down his blade and hands, his true form tainted in darkness. His powers are mounting, which is why Merrick can feel his presence even though he is hardly close. Merrick has long since deduced why Winchester returns to Hell every day now, has long since seen that the regiment keeps him in balance yet he also knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that the hunter has no idea how fast it shall all be tumbling down around him.

Merrick grins, focusing his attention once more on the soul he is torturing.

His scheme is playing out perfectly and several contingency plans are in place, accounting for every single change. One way or another he will be victorious and once the world goes up in flames he will bathe in the fire and cheer.

xXx

"You were supposed to bring them back alive, you moron!" Crowley snarls at him but Dean can barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

"They fought back. It was inevitable," is his short reply, which only enrages Crowley more.

"Inevitable? Inevitable is gonna be your punishment if this happens again, you daft git!"

Crowley attacks him then, closing his hand into a fist, the action transferred onto Dean's insides tenfold. He grimaces and grunts from the pain yet refuses to fall to his knees. The bastard can forget that.

"Get outa my sight, I got a business to run and you're dripping all over my floor," Crowley commands and Dean remains a minute longer out of pure defiance before he blinks out of existence.

He resurfaces in a dark forest in another time zone, deserted and silent. Dean breaks into a run, waiting for the high to recede and his head to clear. It takes him longer today than it used to – a thought Dean pushes into the deepest corners of his mind.

He washes in the lake in the moon light, uses his powers to dry his clothes and finally there is the calm again he learned to value so much in the past weeks.

Time to return to normalcy.

xXx

"So get this," Sam starts once Dean is back in the bunker, too excited to notice anything about him, which suits Dean just fine. "People all over the country are posting to get Metatron's attention and that alone isn't all that interesting, however," Sam clicks on another tab of the browser. "There's something in Colorado Springs that sounds like a pretty vicious haunting or poltergeist."

Dean skims the tweets – "scratching noises", "breaking furniture", "attacked our child" – and nods. "So we got a case?"

Sam exchanges a quick glance with Castiel and Kevin, who's listening in from one table over and decidedly not fulfilling his prophetic duties. "Yeah, I think we should. I explained to Cas how we can monitor Metatron's hashtag from anywhere with wifi, so if anything turns up, we'll know."

"Alright then, let's get this show on the road," Dean announces, zapping into his room to pack a duffel.

xXx

Six hours and one stop for lunch on Sam's behalf later, they pull into the parking lot of a cheap-looking motel with shabby walls that make Sam hope the inside will at least be clean.

"I'll get the rooms," he announces. "Three singles?"

Dean grunts, shaking his head. "Don't need a room if I don't sleep. And I doubt our angel over there'll need much either."

Sam raises an eyebrow when Cas averts his eyes and swallows. "Uh, I might need a bed. With my grace waning I found I have to sleep ever now and then. I grow tired after a few days. I wasn't going to mention it."

His admission is met with tense silence and Sam feels a pang of worry in his gut. Why can Cas never tell them when something is up? Well, not that Dean's any better… But how can Cas keep something like this to himself?

"What the fuck, man," Dean grouses. "That means you're getting weaker, don't it? Then why the hell haven't you told us!" It is more of an exclamation than a question.

"And what good would it have done, Dean?" Cas snaps. "I can't change the fact that my grace is depleting and there are no other angels for you to slaughter in my name. Above all else, I won't let you. I will deal with the consequences of my actions."

"So what if you run out of grace, Cas? What's gonna happen then?"

"You'll become human, right?" Sam intervenes 'cause his brother looks like any moment now he's gonna draw his blade. "It's the only explanation I could find in the lore."

Of course Sam has done research. Cas is his friend after all. Yet the latter still seems surprised by his activities.

"I think so as well," Cas answers slowly. "I won't die, but I will become mortal. Human."

Sam can't but notice how quickly the tension and anger recedes from Dean's shoulders, how quickly his clenched fist relaxes, even though he doesn't say anything. His and Cas eyes meet and hold for a few seconds and not for the first time Sam wonders if this profound bond Cas once mentioned extends to psychic abilities.

Sam coughs. "I'll get us two rooms then, and you can put your stuff with Cas."

He turns around before anyone can object.

xXx

Once they have settled in – which only takes about ten minutes, a skill honed by years on the road – and changed into some of their normal clothes instead of their FBI suits, they pile into the Impala and Dean takes them to the address Kevin uncovered for them.

"And you are sure our cover story will work?" Cas asks from the backseat, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Sure, man, just look at Sammy's puppy dog eyes. 'course they'll believe us."

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn't comment, most of all because no matter how annoying Dean calling him out on it might be, those puppy dog eyes never failed to make Dean buy ice cream when they were kids.

The house is one of many similar buildings on the outskirts of Colorado Springs, with a nice garden at the back and rose bushes in the front. Sam rings the door bell and moments later a middle-aged dark woman opens.

"Yes?"

"Hello ma'am, we are friends of Marv. He told us you have a problem and we might be able to help out. Unfortunately he is very busy, or else he would have visited in person."

Sam smiles his most innocent smile, flashing teeth and moles like he hasn't been elbow-deep in corpses, like he hasn't almost ended the world.

She is obviously religious, the cross necklace attesting to it, and probably believes that all men are innately good. There is no sign of suspicion in her eyes when she beckons them inside and offers them something to drink.

Sam's eyes sweep the rooms he can see, just a hallway with a door opening to the kitchen, and the living room where Mrs. Briggins "Oh, call me Margie" gestures to the sitting arrangement.

On one wall across the sofa a painting has been moved – the tapestry is slightly lighter above it. Scratches on the wall? Did the poltergeist punch a hole through it?

"So tell us, what's happening to you?" Dean asks once they are all sitting on the sofa, Sam himself in an armchair.

"At first it started out small," Margie begins, "with little noises, a scratching sound, door falling shut. I thought I was going insane but my husband heard it too. Then furniture shook and our favorite sculpture broke because of it. A few days ago this thing attacked my daughter, sliced her hands open, she's staying with her aunt at the moment, she's traumatized." She shudders, her eyes growing distant.

"And then you contacted Marv," Sam continues for her when she makes no sign of doing so herself.

She jerks out of her stupor with an apology. "It's all so awful. And when Danielle, she's my best friend, told me that you can tweet Marvin and that he's helped a few, I had to try it. Can you help? Please tell me you can help…"

Sam smiles genuinely. "I'm very sure we can."

"Sounds like you have a poltergeist," Dean adds, earning himself a confused expression from the woman. "They're not really ghosts, but similar. They want attention, which is why it's been redecorating your house, attacking your kid."

Margie gasps, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. "A-a ghost?"

"Supernatural being exist, ma'am," Castiel speaks up for the first time. "There are worse things that could inhabit your house."

Sam glares at him, hoping that Cas will get the implicit 'You're not helping'.

"Can you help?" Margie eventually stammers, eyes still impossibly wide.

"That's why we're here," Dean tells her, waving his arms and indicating the house. "We just gotta find out who this poltergeist was and where he's buried, then we'll take care of it and you can go back to your life."

She heaves a sigh and her hands are shaking slightly, yet her nod is firm.

xXx

Margie shows them around, indicates the small side table that held the sculpture the poltergeist destroyed and Sam doesn't ascribe any importance to it until they reach the daughter's room. Dean's EMF meter goes off the chart in here, which freaks out Margie even more, but Sam's eyes are drawn to the many shards and fragments scattered over the floor.

"Shannon took most of her creations with her, but…"

"Margie," Sam pipes up as he makes a connection, "was the sculpture that got destroyed downstairs one of your daughter's, too?"

"Yes, how did you…?"

"Maybe this is why the poltergeist's so angry and attacked Shannon's hands," he explains, turning towards his brother.

"Right, and smashes her stuff."

"Shannon got into art school shortly before this all started," Margie says.

Dean and Sam share a look. "How long've you been living here? Did you happen to know the previous owners?"

"Uh… about seven years… I'm not sure. My husband will know better; he should be home soon. I texted him after you came."

xXx

Margie's husband Mark is tall and bald, his suit cut well enough to cover up most of his soft middle. Office worker, Sam guesses, maybe higher up somewhere, judging by the expensive entertainment system he saw in the living room.

"I knew Aaron pretty well. He was a co-worker of mine, single father; his wife died of cancer when their son was 10, I think"

"Did anything happen that caused him to move out?" Sam watches the man's face for any hint of a lie and comes away with nothing, only a sad expression.

"You could say that. His son Devon committed suicide. Aaron couldn't stand being in the house after that, fell into depression, lost his job… He didn't stay in touch, unfortunately."

"You know why his son killed himself?" Dean throws in before Sam can.

"Not really. But they were constantly fighting."

"Maybe because his son was artistic? Liked to draw or maybe sculpt?"

"How did you know?" Mark leans back on the sofa a bit as if to get away from them.

"Sir, you're dealing with a poltergeist who destroyed your daughter's works and attacked her after getting into art school. The son's the only connection we have so far."

"Alri- wait, what? Poltergeist?"

"Your wife can fill you in," Sam decides hurriedly since he can see a painting on the wall starting to tremble. "Do you know where Devon is buried?"

"Yes, why?"

"Margie, Mark," Sam begins aiming for his sincerest expression, "I know you are religious and will probably object to what we are going to do. However, it is the only way we can get rid of the poltergeist."

"What are you playing at?"

"We need to burn Devon's remains."

As if to prove Dean's point, the painting suddenly crashes to the ground. Margie gasps and Mark flinches, putting an arm around his wife instinctively as the entire house begins to shake.

"Everybody out," Dean bellows, already holding the front door open – he probably zapped there; Sam didn't see him move.

Yet before either of them reaches the door, it slams shut and Dean is thrown across the hallway and out of sight. Sam wishes they had taken the iron rods with them, no matter how it would have looked to Margie.

As if reading his mind, Dean suddenly appears in their middle, shocking both the civilians and Castiel into jerking back. He thrusts an iron rod each into Margie's and Mark's hands.

"If it comes at you, hit it," he orders, meeting Cas' eyes who is holding his angel blade a second later. Dean tosses the third rod at Sam who catches it in the air and stabs at the presence he can suddenly feel on his left.

He misses and slams into a wall a second later. Everything is rattling now, dishes in the cupboards clinking together, books falling off shelves and suddenly the flat screen across the room explodes.

"Dean, please tell me you can see that fucker!"

"No worries, Sammy," Dean says somewhere but Sam can hear the smirk in his voice.

"At your left," Cas shouts and Sam attacks reflexively. He thinks he grazed something though the house doesn't stop shaking.

"Look at this," Dean shouts and Sam whirls around, holding up a sculpture. "I know fuck all about art but this looks pretty good… Probably why she got into art school. Did you apply, too?" he asks the room at large and if Sam didn't have a lump on his head from where the poltergeist smashed him against a wall, he'd feel bad for the spirit. "Oh right, your Daddy didn't like it."

A chair flies at Cas who manages to block it before it does any damage and Dean lunges. Sam hates not being able to see the ghost, so he can only watch as something breaks Dean's stride and apparently kicks him in the stomach hard enough to give him pause. The next moment Dean crashes to the floor, another chair shattering against his back.

"Oh baby, you got no idea who you're dealing with," Dean chuckles and Sam can see blood on his lips from where he probably bit it when he fell.

Then Dean is off, zapping all over the place, probably trying to confuse or provoke the spirit, or both. Sam backs off, placing himself next to Cas in front of the couple.

The smell of sulfur fills Sam's nose and it makes him sick no matter who's the cause of it yet before he can feel guilty about that, Dean reappears in the center of the room and a purple light erupts from where his blade is apparently buried inside the spirit.

Devon becomes visible for just a moment, long dark hair and angular features, before the light erupts and Sam has to shield his eyes. When he can see again, Dean is standing in the middle of the living room, considering his blade with a smile, eyes holes of black.

"Good to know this thing works on ghosts."

"Yeah, wonderful," Sam mumbles, looking around to check on Margie and Mark, yet Cas's face catches his eye. The angel is staring at Dean, not in disgust but in something akin to fascination, his mouth slightly open.

"What are you!" Margie shrieks.

Oh. She must have seen Dean's eyes.

"No threat to you, ma'am," his brother says smoothly, but maybe it's not that soothing when his lip is bleeding and he pockets his knife with a toothy grin.

"Well, you shouldn't have any more problems now. Your daughter can come back and everything will be back to normal," Sam jumps in.

Margie seems to shocked to respond but Mark nods. "Thank you."

Sam smiles softly, then pulls Cas along and they follow Dean towards the door.

"Wait!" Margie calls after them, causing them to turn back. "If that was Devon's… spirit, what is going to happen with his soul?"

Neither Sam nor Dean has an answer, so it is Cas who speaks up. "His soul will find peace now. He is saved."

Something about Cas' demeanor must have a calming effect on people, Sam wonders, for Margie doesn't question it, just accepts his conclusion with a hesitant smile.

xXx

They decide to salt and burn the corpse after all, just to be sure, and by the time Dean lights the match while ignoring Cas' discomfort at the exhumation, dusk is falling over Colorado Springs. Dean drags them all to a small Mom and Pop they passed on their way to the cemetery, probably because he saw the "homemade pies" sign. Sometimes his brother is endearingly predictable.

Sam notices the looks that pass between Dean and Cas, no matter how under the radar they think they're flying. Huh.

"Well, I'm beat and in contrast to you guys I actually need sleep, so I'm gonna catch some shut-eye," he announces when they reach their rooms on the first floor parapet of the motel. Dean and Cas mumble goodnights and Sam clatters around his room a bit, changes in pajamas and a shirt before turning off the lights. Didn't even take him three minutes so when he sneaks out of bed again as silently as he can, heads over to the window and chances a glance outside, Dean and Cas are still there.

He can't hear anything, not even muffled voices, and their lips aren't moving, which is disappointing. Sam can't deny how curious he is. Have they finally managed to get their act together or are they still dancing around each other?

Finally Dean smirks at Cas, angling his body towards him smoothly and saying something which can only be a cheesy come-on judging by the way Cas blushes. Then Dean sneaks an arm around Castiel's waist and pulls him close, leans in to whisper something into his ear and Sam can tell despite the dim light that Castiel shivers in response.

Then they're gone, blinked out of existence.

Sam can't help the grin that splits his face. Finally.

xXx

"Finally," Dean growls when Castiel pushes him up against the door, rubbing his pelvis against Dean's sinuously.

Castiel latches onto Dean's throat, sucking and biting enough to sting yet not enough to bruise, pouring the pent up sexual energy of an entire afternoon into the movement of his hips.

If it hadn't been for Sam and the civilians, Castiel would have ravaged Dean right then and there in the living room but as it was he had to wait.

"Did you mean it?" he ask when he releases Dean's skin, the man's strong hands digging into his back as if trying to pull him even closer.

"Mean what?"

"Outside."

The grin Dean levels at his is downright lewd. "Sure."

Castiel licks his lips, a wave of anticipation coursing through him as he unbuttons his white shirt, grateful that he doesn't have to fiddle with a tie. Dean watches him strip every item of clothing until he is completely naked. Castiel's erection twitches under the green-eyed scrutiny.

"On your stomach," Dean tells him and Castiel can feel his eyes on his back as he turns.

He lies there on the bed furthest away from the door, hugging a pillow and listening to the sounds of Dean's t-shirt hitting the floor, of shoes being toed off. Then he climbs onto the bed, straddling Castiel's thighs and allowing his hands to roam over Castiel's back. The soft touch makes him shiver and he can feel the goosebumps covering his skin where Dean's fingers left their imprint.

The first touch of Dean's fingers on his ass makes his breath hitch.

"I'm going to take you apart, angel," Dean purrs as he places one hand on each side of his behind, gently pulling them apart and exposing him, causing an unbidden flush to rise in his cheeks. Castiel buries his face in the pillow.

"No need to be shy, Cas."

And then there is a wet tongue right there, licking a path down his cleft, brushing his perineum and ending with his testicles before making its way back again. Dean takes his time, applies his tongue to the ring of muscle until it relaxes under his ministrations, until Castiel can hardly hold back the impatient moan.

He feels Dean's responding chuckle more than he hears it, the vibrations doing nothing to calm him down. Then, finally, Dean dips his tongue inside and it is the strangest pleasant sensation Castiel has ever experienced. He could not have dreamt of anything like this.

"Oh," he gasps, but it comes out more like a keening sound than an actual word.

Dean seems to take it as encouragement, building up a rhythm, pushing his tongue in as deep as it goes and when that isn't enough anymore he spreads Castiel's cheeks even further and delves in until his lips touch skin.

Dean closes them around the pucker and sucks, hard and unexpected and that's the final straw – Castiel's hips start rutting back after that, almost of their own accord, needing more, needing it now.

Dean moans against his skin and it grows messier, hungrier, obscene slurping sounds filling the room and Castiel didn't think it could get any better until Dean slips a finger inside along with his tongue.

It reaches the prostate where the tongue can't and Dean exploits it ruthlessly. Castiel feels his cock leaking against the sheets as wave after wave of sparkling pleasure travels through his body.

Dean shifts suddenly, sitting up and straddling Castiel's thighs again. He whimpers at the loss of that hot tongue but it quickly turns into a moan when he feels Dean's hard cock against the upper swell of his ass. Dean ruts in time with his fingers' strokes, a few beads of precome coating the small of Castiel's back.

"Dean," he pleads, unable to form a full sentence, hoping the man will understand.

"What's that?" The smirk is audible. "You want something, Cas?"

"Damn it, get inside me," he growls bucking his hips up as if he actually thought he could throw Dean off.

"You think you can come without a hand on your dick?" Hot breath in Castiel's ear. He nods frantically, hoping it will make Dean hurry up.

His wish is granted – the fingers withdraw and in their stead Castiel feels the blunt head of Dean's cock nudge at his entrance. Dean caresses his sides with both hands, not quite pushing in but pressing against him enough that his cock doesn't slip.

"How you want it, Cas? Deep and slow or fast and rough?"

"Give me your worst," he growls back, pushing himself up on his elbows and successfully impaling himself on Dean's erection. The startled gasp he receives in response is delicious.

"Oh, two can play dirty," Dean purrs, bottoming out and pulling back immediately, setting a ruthless rhythm and at the same time bringing his arms around Castiel's torso.

Dean pulls Castiel up until his back is against Dean's chest, never ceasing his thrusts and oh, the change in angle is absolutely perfect.

Castiel can't quite control the sounds he is making. He is covered in Dean, Dean's hands, Dean's body heat, Dean's cock inside him, Dean's mouth on his neck and it is more than he ever dreamt he could have.

When his orgasm hits it punches all air out of Castiel's lungs. He spills his release all over the mattress with Dean growling in his ear as Castiel clenches around his length.

Dean shudders against him moments later, buried so deep inside him that Castiel can feel his seed fill him and it should make him feel dirty but it doesn't.

They collapse in a pile of limbs, exhausted and sated.

xXx

Dean holds onto Cas for as longs as he can before his skin starts to itch from sweat and the remaining grime of the day.

Dean cleans them up with a wet cloth from the bathroom and by the time he comes back to the bed the angel is obviously asleep while Dean is bursting with energy. Last night they went for hours, pausing only long enough to shower. But Cas said he needs to sleep every now and then, so Dean isn't worried.

Well, he is. Not about the sleeping but about Cas in general. At least he won't die once his grace runs out or Dean would've searched the entire earth to find an angel whose grace they can take. Hell, Dean would've tied Cas to a chair and confined him to a ring of holy oil if the stubborn bastard had refused.

But that's not it; he's becoming human. Cas will sleep and eat and get sick and die while Dean can't.

The thought burns underneath his skin like the fires of damnation.

He needs a distraction. Cas will sleep for a while.

He dresses and zaps down to hell, releases his anger on a fresh soul that breaks within an hour. He feels better after.

Back in the motel room, he sheds his clothes and climbs back into bed, plastering himself all over Cas' back with one arm over his chest so he can feel his heartbeat.

xXx

End Notes: Take this porn as an apology for the long wait! Gosh, how I love rimming scenes in fanfic…

I hope you enjoyed the update :) Don't be shy, I live off air and comments^