Dean woke up in his bed in the motel room, confused. Where am I , he thought. Did it work? Am I better? Where the hell is Cas?
He threw the blankets off and stepped out of the bed. He was wearing his blue boxer briefs and nothing else. As he searched around for his clothes, his muscles rippled in the low light from the bedside lamp. Staticky music played through a clock radio on the bedside table, a red 12:00 blinking in unison with a familiar tune Dean couldn't quite place. It was dark outside, and stormy too by the sound of it. He could hear the wind suffering through the trees and the sound of rain slamming the pavement and the roof above. He saw a flash of lightning slice through a crack in the curtain and a boom of thunder echoed through the parking lot. Just then he heard the toilet flush in the bathroom and water running in the sink. He froze, not knowing what to do, and then out walked Cas.
Castiel, Angel of the fucking Lord, stood before him. He was lit from behind by the bathroom light, a sickly halogen halo highlighting his perpetually mussed hair. He wore nothing but a pair of white boxers. His blue eyes glowed intensely as a grin spread across his face. Dean could see toned muscles sliding over his slim body. Cas ran a hand across his face, licked his full lips, and purred in his low, gravelly voice, "Hello, lover."
Dean froze, thunderstruck. He kept opening his mouth like a goldfish struggling to breathe, unable to reconcile what he saw with his existing paradigm. Is this what Cas meant? Dean struggled to form coherent thoughts. About his true form?
Castiel slowly took as step forward toward Dean who was still frozen in place. "Yes, Dean. This is exactly what I meant," Castiel said, blue eyes flashing mischievously.
"Ca-can you hear what I'm thinking?" Dean stuttered.
Suddenly, Dean's head was filled with with a husky, wanton voice that he could feel resonating within every cell of his body.
Dean, we ARE what you are thinking.
Dean's breath quickened as Castiel took another step forward, close enough to touch. Dean felt the air between them crackle with ozone, causing all of the hairs on the back of his neck to stand straight up.
"Cas," Dean swallowed hard, "I don't understand. Why are you, why are we…?"
Castiel took a final step forward, and grazed the back of his hand along the length of Dean's arm. A sensation Dean had never felt prior rocketed through his body, charging him, filling in every gap, every chink. "I am here to show you what kind of man you are, Dean," Castiel said, softly, and then he bit the corner of his lower lip. Everything about him, his posture, his tone, those eyes , screamed sex. It was all Dean could do to not succumb to the magnetic attraction that pulled fervently on his soul.
Dean had never seen Cas like this before, could never have imagined it. He loved Cas, his angel. They had seen each other at their best, but also their worst. At their weakest and most vulnerable. Castiel was the only being, living or dead, who had seen his soul for what it was: broken, useless, flawed. Dean knew they could never be together. It would be too complicated, too messy. He'd never been with a man, but then Cas was not a man. Cas was an angel, and as such deserved so much more than a broken, emotionally stunted husk of a human.
Castiel leaned in, mere inches separating their chests, and Dean ached. Every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to launch forward, tackling Castiel into the wall, feeling skin on skin. Dean could see shadowy wisps trailing off his friend's sinewy body, abs rippling down to hipbones that begged to meet Dean's.
"Let me show you what kind of man you are," Castiel murmured into Dean's ear, his cool breath tingling the side of his face, and with that, Dean was undone. Another flash of lightning caused the lights to dim and then the clock radio grew louder, filling the room.
And as we wind on down the road,
Our shadows taller than our soul,
There walks a lady we all know,
Who shines white light and wants to show,
How everything still turns to gold.
Their bodies collided in a tangle of desperation and want. Dean could feel Castiel's searching hands kneading the muscles of his back, searching for purchase. Dean brought his hands up the back of Cas' neck and into his silky black hair as they stood, foreheads pressing against one another, breathing heavily and sharing the air between them. Dean's loins ached and he could feel Cas reciprocate as he pushed his pelvis forward. Then, in a show of strength, Castiel shoved Dean backwards to the bed and commanded in a deep voice that reverberated through Dean's mind, lay down . Dean immediately complied, muscles shaking as he positioned his head on a pillow.
"Do you want to know what kind of man you are, Dean Winchester?" intoned Castiel as his eyes narrowed. Dean nodded, weakly. Castiel bent forward over Dean's face, his beautiful blue eyes fading. He whispered, "You are worthless." A maniacal grin spread across Castiel's face as terror rose in Dean's throat. He saw his angel's eyes suddenly swallowed by blackness.
In a panic, Dean tried to get up from the bed but found himself unable to move. His heart started to pound, bile rising in his throat. This was not his Cas, this was something else, something malevolent.
"Do you know why I raised you from Perdition, Dean?" smirked the doppelganger.
"You're not Cas, you son of a bitch! You didn't raise shit! Where is he?" Dean was frantic.
"Of course I am Castiel," he chuckled. "I'm the angel of your dreams, Dean. Here to save you from yourself. Little did I know, there was nothing worth saving."