I don't remember if JIB8 had happened before I posted last chapter but oh my chuck, Jensen is thirstyyyy and I'm still not over it. But more importantly... Wayward Sisters! I mean, idk what was wrong with Wayward Daughters, the ACTUAL fandom approved name of the show, but whatever. This is gonna be totally awesome! (woo starkid)

Thank you to the few commenters I have left :P I have definitely lost some readers along the way! This fic is way too long now but I keep wanting to write more XD I do have an end in sight now, at least I think I do. There is definite fluff and smut in this chapter! You have been warned/promised. I have to make an admission of borderline plagiarism :/ There's a moment in this chapter that was heavily inspired by a beautiful moment in 'Ninety One Whiskey' by Komodobits on AO3, one of my fave fics of all time. My scene came to me as I was writing and upon reading it back I was aware of how similar it was to Komo's scene, but I couldn't take it out because it fit really well. I didn't consciously copy anything and it's totally my own words and my own take on the characters, but yeah, it's turned out to be a definite homage to one of my favourite destiel fic moments ever 3

Just out of casual interest, are you guys more into top!Dean or top!Cas? Switching, yea or nay? I know what my opinion on the matter is and I know how I'll be approaching it in this fic, my mind is made up, but I'd like to know whether I'll be pleasing people or annoying people so I can hand out virtual high fives and apologies in the ANs :P

I lather up the washcloth in my hand with the plain bar of soap in the shower rack, placid and methodical under Dean's indignant gaze.

"What the hell, Cas?" he says hoarsely. His gaze sweeps me up and down and he gestures at my body, imploring. "You can't be this much of an asshole. Standing there all naked and wet and telling me we need to wash… come on, man!"

I suppress a laugh. "I need a shower, which means an actual shower with soap and shampoo, Dean. Don't you?"

He folds his arms grumpily. "Need a fucking cold shower now. Don't play stupid, you knew that showering together didn't mean we'd come in here and scrub our backs and politely pass each other towels like football teammates or some shit."

I raise my eyebrows, pausing in my attentions to the washcloth. "Are you saying that you were expecting… shower sex? I've heard you describe shower sex as 'nightmarish' and 'a guaranteed disaster'."

Dean watches me mutinously, arms still folded. "Yeah, well, it's still sex. And it's not like a handjob can go too badly wrong."

I grimace. "I would hope not."

I step forward and press the soapy washcloth to Dean's bicep on the side away from the shower spray, working it in firm, slow circles down his arm. He jerks in surprise, dropping his hands to his sides and peering down at my ministrations. "What are you doing?"

"Washing you," I reply contentedly. I can feel Dean looking at me but I keep my eyes on his skin. As I reach his elbow and gently swipe at the soft inner curve, he gives a little huff and turns his arm outwards for me. I smile, rubbing all the way down his forearm. I move back up to his shoulder and run the folded washcloth along the line of his clavicle, noting the slight shiver in response.

Dean watches me silently as I wipe up and over his shoulder but I escape his scrutiny as I move behind him to wash his back. He stands very still. I feel wonderfully calmed by this, by scrubbing him clean. It feels good to be caring for him, but it's more than that. It feels incredible that he's letting me. Dean is prone to scoffing and rolling his eyes when I express concern for him, so used to putting himself last that he automatically rejects my attempts to look after him. But not now. I apply more soap to the washcloth and rub it in steady circles all the way down to his lower back, resting my other hand on his waist and stroking my thumb against his skin in time with my work. I press a kiss to the nape of his neck and gently pull him around to face me, meaning to wash his other arm and then his chest.

He's crying.

Not fully crying, not sobbing, but I can see that the wetness in his eyes and on his lashes is not just from the shower. He avoids my gaze and bites down on his lip, cheeks flushed, breathing a little fast and unsteady through his nose.

"Dean," I whisper, shocked. I've very rarely seen Dean come anywhere close to crying. I step closer and cup his face with my free hand, ducking my head to catch his eyes. He raises them reluctantly and then immediately shuts them when he meets my gaze, shaking his head a little.

"Sorry," he mutters. I frown.

"What for? What is it?"

He sighs, lips trembling before he presses them tightly together and swallows. I caress his cheekbone, my worry mounting. "Dean, what's wrong?"

His eyes flash open. "Nothing! Nothing's wrong, Cas, you just- I wasn't expecting-"

He struggles for words and then sighs again, sounding defeated. He gathers me up in a hug and I wind my arms around his neck, bewildered as I stare at the shower wall. When he speaks I can barely understand him, muffled as he is by talking into my shoulder.

"I'm just not used to that. You took me by surprise because I'm not used to being treated like… I dunno, just how you were touching me and being all…"

He trails off and I nod slowly in understanding, feeling a pressure in my own throat. Dean isn't used to being treated with this kind of love. He isn't used to being taken care of and he certainly isn't used to being doted on, like he's something precious. But he is.

"I love you," I remind him quietly. His arms tighten around me. "How I treat you is going to reflect that. I hope that's alright."

He gives a muffled laugh that sounds like he's close to tears again, so I'm not surprised that he stays holding me for almost a minute under the hot shower, face buried in my skin. Finally, he takes a deep breath and pulls back, peering at me uncertainly.

"My turn?" he asks, tugging my arm down from around his neck and plucking the washcloth from my grip. I tilt my head.

"I wasn't finished."

He shakes his head. "I'm clean enough. You can wash my hair though?"

"Well, alright."

He grins and lathers up the washcloth. I watch him affectionately as he carefully scrubs at my chest, working a little quicker than I did. He swipes up over my shoulders and down my arms, picking up my hands and diligently cleaning between each finger. Then he returns to my chest. As the washcloth brushes across my nipples, he leans in and kisses my neck, drawing a startled murmur from me. I hear the smack as the washcloth hits the tiled floor and then it's just Dean's hand smoothing downwards over my stomach-

"Shampoo," I remind him hoarsely, yanking back out of the water and out of reach, pushing my hair out of my narrowed, squinting eyes. He narrows his own eyes back at me, lips pursing. But he does turn and grab the shampoo, the basic one that he and I use as opposed to the expensive 'maximum volume and shine' one that Sam buys. Passing it to me, he crosses his arms once more and bows his head in readiness, mumbling under his breath. I smile in amusement and squirt some shampoo into my palm, lathering it in both hands before excitedly stepping up to Dean and beginning to massage his scalp. He hums, shoulders relaxing as I drag my fingers through his short hair, turning it to a mess of foam. It doesn't take long and then I'm guiding him under the shower spray, watching the white fluff wash away, distracted by the sight of the suds sliding down Dean's abdomen, catching in the wet patch of hair at his groin, dissolving into nothing on his strong thighs.

I'm clean enough too, I decide suddenly. Shower sex is probably fine, really. It's certainly worth a try. I squeeze and rub the last of the shampoo from Dean's hair and then slide my hands down to cup his neck, moving in to kiss him and press against him-

But Dean chuckles against my lips and pushes me gently away, holding me in place, voice chiding when he speaks: "No, no, no. I get to do the shampooing now."

His eyes gleam covetously when he looks at my wet, slicked back hair and I sigh resignedly, knowing that I should have expected this. Dean has admitted and repeatedly demonstrated a fixation on my hair. He loves to touch it and pull it and kiss it and bury his nose in it; of course he wants to wash it, too. I slump and bow my head submissively, listening to Dean opening the shampoo and rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. I have to admit that it feels fantastic when he starts to work the foamy substance into my hair, winding his fingers in and tugging softly, massaging my scalp and rubbing behind my ears. It's gotten slightly longer than it ever was when I was an angel, which I haven't noticed until now. I sigh happily and I'm not aware of leaning forward until my forehead hits Dean's shoulder. He huffs a laugh and combs his fingers upwards from my neck, pulling repeatedly at the roots, scratching his nails lightly against the sides of my head. It's oddly soporific.

"OK," he murmurs eventually, removing his hands from my hair and pushing me gently away. "Rinse it out."

I smile and close my eyes as I step back and tip back my head in the water, reveling in the warm pulsing sensation on my sensitised scalp. I reach up with both hands and run my fingers back from my hairline, getting the last of the shampoo out.

"Fuck's sake," I hear Dean say almost exasperatedly. I barely open my eyes before he's upon me, kissing me insistently, backing me into the shower wall. I make an approving noise and then something more like a startled grunt as he reaches down and grabs the backs of my thighs, hefting me up with my knees on either side of him. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and drag in lungfuls of steam as he kisses down my neck, dropping my head back with a thud. The tiles are cool on my back as I press into them, contrasting with the wall of heat that is Dean at my front. He rocks his hips forward and I'm not sure when I got hard again, but it's definitely happened. I can feel that Dean is too. He's slick and hot against me and I arch into the sensation, moaning. I squeeze his waist with my thighs and press my heels into his buttocks, urging him closer.

"Cas," he breathes against my pulse point, mouth open. He thrusts against me, again and again, the pace getting faster. The pleasure is desperate and all-consuming but out of reach somehow, too vague and unfocused. Rubbing and slipping against each other is not enough, I'm realising. I adjust my grip on Dean, wrapping one arm around his neck and shoving the other hand down between us. I fumble a little but then get my fingers curled around Dean's cock, trapping it against mine with the heel of my palm, squeezing lightly. The feeling shudders through me and I chase it, moving my hand up and down experimentally.

"Cas," Dean groans louder, tipping his head back. I watch him through half-lidded eyes, my chest heaving against his. We start to work out a rhythm but it's not very comfortable; I find myself wincing and tensing, shifting to try to make it better, frowning. Dean meets my eyes and bites his lip, stilling against me.

"Use the soap," he murmurs, jerking his head towards the shower rack. I lean sideways, precarious in his grip, and lather my hand up generously. It's far better when I resume my attentions between us.

"Uh- Dean-"

He whimpers into my neck and I cling onto him with both legs and one arm, breath coming in throaty gasps as he thrusts into my hand and presses me into the wall. The tiles are sliding against me from backside to shoulders, up and down in time with the way Dean is moving. I want to be able to do something about what's happening, have some level of control, but instead I stay pliant in Dean's arms and focus on the steadily building pleasure as I stroke myself alongside him. It helps that he's groaning out words in my ear, breath as hot as the water still catching one side of my body.

"Cas," he slurs, nosing at my wet hair, "fuck, Cas… yes…"

I huff out an agreement, rising on a crest of sensation, eyes fluttering closed as I push my head back against the tiles. It's perhaps not my ideal sexual scenario but it still feels fucking amazing. Dean is everywhere, clasped between my legs and echoing in my ears and throbbing hard against my cock, skin on sensitive skin. I have no idea why we always kept clothes on until now. Being naked with Dean feels blissfully right. He moans, fingers digging bruises into the thick flesh of my thighs; it feels good in a way that I'm sure it normally wouldn't.

"Dean-"

He moans again in response to my low cry and bursts out with a garbled string of speech, sounding delirious: "Uh, Cas, Cas, yes, wanna- wanna fuck you so bad- wanna- oh, fuck-!"

I blink but then Dean bites down on my neck as he comes and my thoughts stutter. I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering at the thick heat coating my aching hand and trickling down my cock. It pushes me into my own climax and I roll my hips desperately through my orgasm, uncaring that Dean almost drops me with all the movement. My voice echoes in the bathroom, an incoherent babble mostly consisting of Dean's name.

Dean gives me about ten seconds of panting, slack-limbed post-orgasmic haze before he drops me with a grunt, grabbing my elbows to stop me from sliding to the floor. I swear in surprise and catch his eye with an annoyed expression, despite still feeling encased in a layer of dreamy contentment.

"Sorry," he rasps, blinking slowly at me. "You're really fuckin' heavy, dude."

I mumble wordlessly and lean into him, pressing a sleepy kiss to his neck. He hums and drapes his arms around me and we stand like that for a minute or so, enjoying the drumming heat of the water on our skin.

Until it starts to turn cool. I stir in Dean's hold, raising my head with a frown as the water begins to lose its heat. Dean grumbles and pulls us both fully under, grabbing the washcloth again and swiping the mess from our stomachs and hands. In the seconds it takes for him to do that, the shower turns lukewarm. Dean shuts it off and we both stand there for a moment, dripping in the sudden silence. Dean sighs and stretches as I push my hair off of my forehead.

"I know it's kinda caveman of me to want food right after sex, but…"

I chuckle. "Well, neither of us had breakfast. So… lunch?"

Dean grins widely at me. "Hell yeah."