"I'll rebuild you again," he whispers against the back of Dean's neck. "I'll fix you."
He kisses the trail of freckles adorning his shoulders, over the side that's charred under the bones and the side that's still embers. Surrounded by hellish filth the golden spots are no longer stars, they're merely blemishes. But Cas still follows them, his lips warm against the cold skin. The Mark has swallowed the Righteous Man whole, left the shell of a beast it made him into, slouched and heaving, trembling under Cas's caress.
"I'm evil, leave me be," he cries.
But Cas doesn't.
Their fingers, interlocked, rest on the sheets; the hand that brings slaughter with the hand that heals. The raised scar burns red like the day it was inflicted and it's never leaving his arm and his soul. The angel leans to press his lips to it, with ceremony; he doesn't falter at the foul taste.
I'll take you. I'll take you as you are.
Reluctant at first, under the coat of self-loathing – the only thing he knows anymore – Dean falls to the softness of the pillow. The sweetest fall that drags Cas down with him, as always, and covers him with the holy weight. The tongue attacks, leaving wet paths along the old scars, hands bless every inch of his body to awake the man from his numbness.
"Why won't you leave me be?" If there's anger building up, it doesn't show, drowned in by resignation. "You said there's no fix for it."
"Then I'll invent one." The timbre of his voice is firm like a consecration, his mouth finally finding its way to the lips. "I won't give up on you."
I'll make you anew. I'll make you mine.
He utters sacred phrases, the profound whispers of love and they make Dean's dried eyes sting. The most painful words he's ever heard. From the mouth of the angel, clinging to his blackened soul with razor sharp paws. But they'll never get through, there's nothing to get through to, not anymore.
"Please, Cas…" His resistance weak, gets weaker with every kiss, "Cas…" every touch, "you can't…" every push, "please…" until his body is whole Castiel's.
The impact of his repay hits Cas hard as their lips meet halfway. For the first time in weeks he feels alive, as he surrenders unto his angel, follows wherever he leads him. They turn into friction and sweat till the heat brings them both fever. With wild desire turning every slipping second into torment, Dean is demanding, desperate, his teeth sink in hard, his fingers bruise.
"Patience," Cas teases to buy himself time, reach for the bottle, have the liquid drip down his fingers like holy oil.
He's a creator and this body is his finest work; he rebuilt it from the scratch, stretching fresh muscle on bones, embroidering the new skin with miles of nerves and he mercilessly uses each one of them now to drive him mad. He's a destroyer; his mending fingers break Dean apart, crawling inside and working round and round in circles, agonizingly slow. And when the gasps give way to whimper, Cas knows he opened Dean up in more ways than one.
"Fix me," Dean pleads breathless. "Give me…"
He's needy, he's greedy, he's been brought to the edge. Too thirsty to waste another second, too hasty to admire the solid statue hovering above him.
"I'll crush you" he says, gripping Castiel's thighs with a force that paints the flesh purple. That's something he's good at: physical, animal. Hurt and death. That's all he is and if there was ever more, he doesn't remember.
Brief, deep chuckle escapes Cas's throat.
"I'd like to see you try," he dares him.
Without a warning he thrusts. He watches the man's breath get lost halfway out. He watches him crumble like the walls of Jericho. With every sway he brings him to ruins, until the levee breaks and the Divine fills the Damned. Until Heaven and Hell become one.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Cas.
He's got Dean panting and shivering beneath him, laid out hot, unfocused and shattered in the only right way. A mess of beauty and abomination, with salty trails streaming down his face. He's got him overwhelmed with the corporeal sensations and with the devotion that wrecked the old and the implanted defenses.
With the love that tore him into pieces.
He's got him awaiting, ready to be built on. Patient if remaking comes slow in stages. Prepared if this was the undoing.