Archive of Our Own

They all miss Cas. No one more than Dean. A delicate anger blooms in Sam’s chest when he considers it. One of his best friends. Dead. Sam’s lost Jack. Lost him in an ugly way. No matter how hard he tries, he- there is a catch at the back of Sam’s throat. He’s sad.

But Dean has a pale face, sunken, sallow cheeks. His hands won’t stop shaking, and it all gives him the air of a skeletal spider, scrabbling along the floor. Sam doesn’t know what to do. After all, it’s his big brother, and he is the one who is always being taken care of. Always Sam with the vulnerability. 

Dean wouldn’t eat on Sunday, and then all he does on Monday was eat. Chokes down ten cupcakes, and won’t stop- won’t stop staring, glancing, nervous, at the pictures of their family on the wall. The older ones, Bobby and Jo with that look- Sam misses them. Badly. And then pictures of Jack, smiling. Pictures of them, and Castiel, and sitting on the porch. Eileen promises to fly in. 

She’s alive. It makes Sam feels like he’s going to cry. Dean is suddenly a man of very, very few words. And Sam’s lost. He wakes up, Tuesday. Dean is in bed. Laying on his bed, a tangled headphone wire playing dull Led Zeppelin. Sam swallows, closing his eyes. ‘Dean?’ He raps on the door. 

Miracle hops onto the bed, which finally does get Dean’s attention, and he looks up, eyes hooded and pained. ‘When’s Eileen going to be in town?’ he asks, clearing his throat and trying to smile. 

Sam feels something tear inside his chest. They aren’t a hugging family. ‘They’re having a pie eating competition,’ he tells Dean, leaning against the door. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up. He looked for hours, for this, and it was more of a miracle than the dog. Son of a bitch. Dean cleared his throat. ‘In town?’ he asks, scratching the overgrown scruff at his neck. 

‘Yeah, in town. Let’s get going,’ Sam says. Dean sighs. 

Sam can see it. On the tip of his tongue. Not in the mood, today, Sammy . Something like that. But something in Sam’s face must give him away. ‘Fine, yeah, yeah,’ Dean agrees, standing up and stretching big. 

Miracle hops down after him, obediently trotting to the door. Sam hooks in her leash, running his hand absently over her fur. ‘I heard there are forty kinds,’ he tells Dean, smiling. Is the smile honest? Is it true? Hopefully so, otherwise Dean would refuse. He didn’t like to be talked down to. Always got pissy when Sam brought up his years at Stanford- my little brother has a college degree, he’s a billion times smarter than me- and even more so when Sam had done a particularly excellent piece of research. 

‘Where is this pie competition ?’ Dean drawls, shifting on his feet. His smile is for Sam. His eyes are elsewhere. And he only snaps out of it when Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

‘Hour away. Clayton.’ Dean hums, getting into the driver’s seat of the Impala.

Sam doesn’t pull a bitch face. He does not. He strangles the vaguely rude reply he wants to offer, obediently climbing into the empty seat. Baby’s engine turns over and they’re off and running. 

Good. Sam’s got him trapped. 

Dean does miss Cas. More than he misses- at least as much as he misses- Jack. He’s wasted it. He’s wasting it. The life he’s meant to live, now that Cas is dead. Cas sacrificed his life to save Dean’s, and all he’s done is drink beer and watch poker games on the TV. 

The car is under his fingers, happy and real, which is one relief, but Dean doesn’t think it’s the same and certainly doesn’t believe that it’s okay, not without Castiel. He grips the wheel like a lifeline. Cas’s eyes are wet with tears in his dreams, and lovesick. Cas loved him . Cas loved, loved- freaking humanity, because of him, he loved everything because of Dean. It was both all he wanted to hear and more confusing than another kind of confession. 

Dean knew love like Cas’s came once in a lifetime. And look at him. He’d wasted it. Watched Cas drop dead. Dean, he could bring as many people back as he wanted and still nto have what he shares with Cas. Shared . 

A big evergreen car freshener is in the back of the car. Cas. A jar of fresh honey stowed in the glove compartment. Cas. Sensible Cas had also put in, uh, womanly products,  and snacks that weren’t just bee juice. Bee shit? ‘Hey, hey, what do bees-’

‘You need to tell me what happened with Cas.’ 

Sam says it quietly and the blood begins to drain from Dean’s face. He shakes his head, twice, eyes on the road and nothing else. ‘He died. To save me. So we have to make the most of it, you-’

Dean’s eyes widen and he jerks forward, one arm shooting out in front of Sammy to hold him still. 

Wide, green eyes meet the gaze of a trucker. He’s trying to turn the wheel, trying hard. The lights of his car are bright and overwhelming. Instead of tucking into himself, though, he flings himself out in front of Sam. If Chuck’s not in his story- this, this could be the end, couldn’t it, it could be the ending. He hears a crunch. 

And nothing. 

Fuckin’ nightmares. Sam grumbles quietly as he climbs out of bed, vividly unsettled. It reminds him of their endless Tuesdays. That had been a nasty, nasty trip. 

He sets his head on the wall of the kitchen with a loud thunk. What’s he going to do about Dean? Shit and fuck. Maybe- Eileen, he should call Eileen. And then go see about getting them to that pie festival. They have a hunt planned, which Dean is more excited about, but Sam would rather take a couple of happy moments. The coffee brews quietly, burbling under the curtain of Sam’s thoughts, until it is hot and ready. 

To be free. 

Freedom is precious. It eats up his words until he is a ball of relief, staggering under the weight of what feels like a thousand bricks. He glances over to Dean’s room. He can guess what’s in there- greasy hair, serious wrinkles, Miracle under the covers. Sam sighs, pushing the spoon around the cup, stirring. 

He sees the door creak open. A sliver of light. ‘I have coffee made,’ he tells Dean, watching a smile crack apart. He looks miserable. Sam has seen him at lows, the lowest of them, and yet still, still he wishes for Cas back. Fuck. 

Dean is oblivious to the turmoil tearing Sam’s heart up. He picks through the freezer, grabbing the cardboard box of frozen breakfast burritos. ‘You want to know what I dreamed about last night?’ he asks, out of the blue. Sam nods slowly, head facing the kitchen cupboards. 

They pause. For a moment, Dean just stares at the wall, looking weighed down. ‘It was Cas. Remember- you know that time that he tried to be a hunter?’

‘And he was shit at it? Yeah, that’s-’ Typical Cas . What a fucking idiot Sam is. He scrapes a hand through his hair. There is no more typical Cas . There is no more Cas. Dean’s guilt is eating him up. Sam has seen a lot of fucked up stuff in his life, but God, Dean like this is one of the worst. 

‘Right, well in the dream, he was going along, trying his absolute best to lie, but this woman kept coming in. Do you remember that girl from when he were conned into the movie? Jenny? Actress Jenny?’

Sam nods slowly, trying to recall a face. All those horror flicks blur together. He takes a long drag of coffee, closing his eyes. ‘Oh- oh, yeah. I remember her.’

‘She was in all of them. I guess I’ve been watching too many old movies.’ His voice fades out. Shit . Shit, shit, shit, Dean is never this broken. Not visibly. 

‘I had a dream where you died.’ Dean’s shoulders roll back in discomfort so Sam drops it, quick. ‘There’s a pie festival up in Clayton.’

Dean nods slowly. ‘You’re trying to get me to go with?

‘Oh, am I that transparent?’ Dean nods, raising his eyebrows and half-smiling. 

‘You’ve never had a talent for lying, Sammy,’ he says with a fleeting grin. 

‘Eat shit.’

Dean snorts, reaching over him to grab a muffin. ‘Get Dad’s book, the case is looking promising. I’ll get the car started.’

Sam pages through the book. All the pages are earmarked but theres a fresh slip of paper hanging out the top of one of them. Here , it reads. Dean’s handwriting is always surprisingly elegant. Sam puts his elbows on his knees, looking closely. 

He can’t tell how long he’s absorbed, brow furrowed as he scans the pages. All he knows is that he feels like shit when he realizes how long he’s left Dean. Consumed by teeth of anxiety, he walks along to the garage. 

The dream last night- blood spattering, on his fingers, as he choked on a sob before he woke up- was so vivid. It is fresh in his mind, a physical knot of hurt. ‘Dean?’

The Impala is fogged up from the inside and running. Sam moves closer. ‘Dean?’

He chokes on the fumes of car exhaust and sprints for the door, tugging on it. It’s built like a steel trap and he keeps pulling, pulling, to no use. Sweat beads on his hairline as he climbs up onto the hood, raising his hands up to smash down. His brain is everywhere at once- but mostly, mostly dean dean dean. 

He’s slumped over the steering wheel, eyes closed. Sam pounds on the glass windshield, waiting for it to crack but no use.

That is when he wakes up.

Fuck.

He is sweaty and ill at ease, crawling from the bed, Sam is. He knocks on Dean’s door sharply. It physically pains him. It hurts to do it like this. He can hear the slither of Dean emerging from his bed, in the other room. ‘It’s Tuesday.’

Dean shoots him a confused look, but Sam is all white knuckles around his coffee. ‘It’s Tuesday, again.’

Dean is still confused but beginning to look worried. ‘Fucking Tuesday, right…?’ he asks, cocking his head. ‘What, you got something against the day of the week?’

He shoves his breakfast burrito into the microwave. ‘Time loop Tuesday. Again.’

‘Time loop- what, like, like with Gabriel?’ Sam swallows; nods. 

‘Exactly like that.’ The microwave beeps. Sam startles, a few drops of coffee landing on his hand and stinging. 

They stand there, with Dean’s eyes wide and just a little uncomfortable. He never likes thinking about mortality. ‘Specially not his own. ‘Son of a bitch.’

The microwave blares- God, they really need a new one- and the door bangs open with a jerk of Dean’s hand. ‘You have that right,’ Sam echoes. 

Gabriel is dead. So who could it be?

Dean sucks in a breath beside him and Sam turns to him, raising his eyebrows slightly, only to jerk forward in badly concealed panic, hands freezing in front of Dean’s chest. He hacks and coughs- tears flow out of his eyes- eventually slumping lower and lower. 

His eyelashes flutter shut.

Dean dies ten times in the next ten days and in the meantime, they discover that it’s an actual trickster. Now, Sam knows to be careful of the vampire clowns, to keep an eye on the boiler room, and that the bar that Dean visits daily is a haven for people who don’t pay for their drinks, unless you count the business end of a revolver as payment. 

Sam is sick. To his stomach. A miserable knotting of fear every time he wakes up. He oversleeps one morning, just turns over after hearing his alarm, and doesn’t realize Dean is- is dead, dying, until the hospital gives him a call. It’s Tuesday after Tuesday. And he’s tired.

Every single night he prays to Jack and no one listening. Sam’s not the type to feel abandoned. Things, things, they slide off his back. Water. There’ve been a couple times, but he’s mostly even keeled. And he knows. He knows how deeply it hurt Dean when he left for college, not that they’ve said a single word about it, so he doesn’t mention the constant prayers to Dean when he tells him like clockwork every morning about the time loop.

Instead, Sam walks through the door to his room, intent on fixing it this time. He has a headache, can’t tell when it developed. Must have been at some point during the hour he spent zoning out. ‘Time is really fucking with me, huh,’ he mutters, getting a beer. 

And another one. And another. 

‘Whoa- who, man, is that… are you getting drunk on beer ?’ Dean asks, astonished. 

Sam jerks forward to put the last bottle down, burping and sliding to the floor. He sways. A weak willed sapling in the wind. ‘So what? Not like I’m going to have a hangover tomorrow,’ he slurs. 

Dean dives to catch him when he pitches forward onto the coffee table.

Sam’s arm swings wide and a loud, deafening shatter of glass makes both of them flinch. Dean slips, head cracking down on the table and chest hitting the broken glass. Sam feels himself start to cry. 

In bed, it is like it never happened at all. He feels the sadness and he expects to feel tears, the swollenness in his gut, not to mention the dullness of his senses, all liquored up. He feels nothing. He is nothing.

Dean feels a little bit pissed off in the third hour he’s awake. No beer, no sign of Sam, and his sheets are starting to smell. It’s not his bed without Cas changing the sheets every few weeks. It’s not home without Cas. 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. He stands up, too consumed by worry to not go see Sam. He’s always up bright and early. In the doorway, he stops short. His first thought is- damn, no beer . And then, shit, Sammy. ‘You’re drunk.’

‘We had this conversation yesterday.’ Sam lays back, head on the couch cushion.

‘Okay, so you’re really drunk,’ Dean laughs. His voice fades out when he sees the stubborn, miserable look on his brother’s face. ‘Come on. Get up. Whatever it is, it’s not that bad.’ 

‘I’m going to be living this day forever,’ he chokes out, holding his stomach. Sick-? ‘ Every day . Get out, Dean, you, you’re just going to get hurt.’

Dean nears. ‘What are you on, man? Get up, this isn’t a good look on you.’

Sam sighs. With an attitude. ‘How are you this dumb? We’re in a time loop,’ he growls. 

The smile falls from Dean’s face, replaced by a deep furrow between his brow. ‘No we’re not,’ he replies automatically. Sam growls audibly, pushing ineffectively at Dean. ‘You’ve been through a lot. Just this once I’ll get you a bath,’ Dean tells him coldly. 

‘You’ll slip and fall. Tiles will be too wet. If I had more beers I’d pull you in and you’d drown. How many times has this happened? Guess.’ 

Dean shifts forward, taking in the slack mouth, the pained eyes. ‘What have you tried?’

‘We. It’s a trickster.’ 

Dean sighs. ‘You’re going to need to take care of yourself anyway. If I’m going to help at all. Today.’ 

He staggers to the bathroom. Dean screams as a fire consumes him, in one of the beer bottles.

Sam’s eyes open the way a tulip does, blooming. If he can’t pray to Jack- which has already proven itself useless- he’s got to find another way. He gets out of bed, sitting in the war room with his eyes on a grimoire. He snatches another one, making a quick note of how to summon another nephilim- he’s not getting back into that life again- when Dean wanders out. 

‘Morning.’ 

Sam bows his head and begins to pray, he really doesn’t want to see Dean die again, he can’t, though he prides himself on being able to keep a level head, he can’t watch his brother die once. And definitely not another hundred times. He growls in a low voice. ‘Hey.’ Dean taps the back of his head and Sam narrows his eyes.

The prayer ends. He waits, holding his breath. Nothing. ‘We’re in a time loop,’ he says bluntly. 

‘Huh? I think I heard you wrong, Sammy, because I thought you said we’re-’

‘In a time loop. Today is day 40. I think. I’ve missed… a couple.’ Dean shivers and Sam feels immediately bad. Of everything, Dean doesn’t want to die alone. 

‘So what’s on our back this time?’ he sighs, taking it easily. Blunt, Sam has discovered, is the best way to go.

Dean. Is fucking tired of this shit. They’ve been researching for an hour. He hates reading. It makes his eyes hurt. And Sam is refusing beers. Keep your focus sharp! How annoying. ‘If we pray to-’ 

Dean pauses. He knows that noise. That heavy breathing. That shadow. 

‘I am Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord. You prayed for me.’

Dean whips around, slipping. ‘Cas?’

‘My name is Castiel.’ Nothing registers in Castiel’s eyes. He is identical to the Castiel Dean first met. 

Dean laughs weakly. ‘Let me guess, you gripped me tight and raised me from perdition, too?’ Castiel looks at him strangely. Before he can counter, sounding logical and vaguely majestic. Unearthly and untouchable and unfeeling, Sam interrupts.

If he had to guess how he was going to die, Dean would guess from vomiting his brains out. He can’t believe it’s Cas. Castiel . His hands scratch through his hair, shaking. ‘You can fix him. You can, right?’

Castiel cocks his head. ‘First you must prove to me that you are worthy. My Father did not send me down. It was- something else.’ For the first time he is anything but sure. 

Sam shakes his head wildly. ‘Well you know what he’s done for the world, right? It should be easy for us to prove he deserves this.’ 

Castiel considers them. ‘I do not feel any particular glory from either of your souls. They’re too familiar. Archetypal.’ 

Sam looks at Dean, confused. And then back at Castiel, lurching forward. ‘Are you sure that’s not just because you’re used to us?’ he asks. Dean nods, that’s a good idea, because angels are meant to be able to recognize souls. Cas told him that. He also told him that he loved him, which was a load of bullcrap.

‘I’m certain that’s not the case,’ he tells them confidently. ‘I do not recall you.’ 

Dean shoves his fist into his mouth. What a dick. 

But he loves Castiel. He misses him. Even this version deserves love and by God, even Dean loves this version. He’s sweet and ridiculous, overly serious, he had better take that dumb fucking windbreaker off, they still have his coat hanging in his room, he loves Cas. He loves him. He wants to touch him all over and get- fucking, fucking married or some shit. Raise a family. Dean loves kids. 

‘So? Are you going to try and convince me of your case?’ 

Dean can’t. He can’t look at those eyes and see anyone but Castiel, his angel, so he spins on his heel. ‘I’m going for a drive, actually.’ 

The noise Sam makes is awful. ‘Don’t!’ he shouts. Dean stops despite himself. ‘Cas- Cas is your best friend. Our brother. He’ll take care of it.’ It’s more begging than anything. 

Castiel doesn’t respond. ‘Like I said,’ Dean whispers again. ‘I’m out of here.’ 

The car is rumbling. He hears a pop, it gets around 100 something pounds heavier and Dean looks to his right. Castiel is sitting there. ‘This is-’ He clears his throat. ‘Interesting.’

Dean laughs, choked. ‘You took awhile to get used to it.’

Castiel looks at him in condescension. ‘But as I’ve said, we’ve never met before.’

Without a word, as Baby pulls onto the highway, Dean hands his wallet over. The picture in there is him, Sam, and Cas with Jack. ‘That’s you. Do you see that?’ he asks. 

Castiel stares at it. ‘No,’ he says eventually. ‘That is not me. I wasn’t aware you knew my vessel, though.’ 

Dean snarls, jerking over to the fast lane. ‘Believe it, you bag of angel- dicks . That’s you.’ He feels heartsick or some stupid shit. It creeps up on him, the emptiness. For a moment, he’d seen Cas and thought of something special. He wanted to sprint for him, in tears, and jump onto him, cover himself in Cas’s warmth. Kiss him fiercely, mouth open and ready for the taking. 

Cas hasn’t kissed many people. ‘You know, Sam’s right. This car is just going to crash.’ 

‘Angels do not worry about the same peril humans do,’ Cas notes absently. He’s still lost in the photograph. 

Dean snatches it, flattening it with one hand onto the dashboard. ‘Don’t, you’re going to smear the edges.’

‘I have more self control than that,’ Castiel scoffs. Dean shivers. That voice is pointlessly gorgeous to him. And in his chest, he wishes for a chance. ‘Can you explain to me… what I did here?’ he asks slowly. 

Dean clears his throat, thinking of poor, worrying Sammy at the house. Hopefully he texts Eileen. ‘Saved people. Hunted things. Fell in love with humanity, apparently.’ 

His gaze falls back to the picture. He chose it because of the look in Cas’s eyes. Overly fond. He has an arm around Dean’s waist, hand gripping his forearm. He chose it because of the look in Cas’s eyes. Fuck, he’s broken down in tears too many times, too many times since he saw the Empty take Cas, for it to happen again. 

‘You know what a time loop is?’

Castiel nods. ‘Of course.’

His words lack exasperation. Dean switches tactics. ‘What do you remember?’ 

He blinks slow. ‘I remember waking up. I was called down to Earth and sent here by- my Father.’ 

Dean taps the picture of Jack. ‘This guy. We- you, me, and Sammy, raised him. You don’t remember it. He’s God. You are his father.’ 

‘No.’ Castiel looks vaguely nauseated by it. ‘I would never raise a divine and holy man.’

Dean aggressively switches lanes again, shooting off the highway. ‘Why aren’t we fucking dead yet?’ he wonders aloud, slamming his hand on the horn. ‘Get out of my fucking way!’ he screams at a couple. 

Castiel is disgusted. ‘You do not deserve intervention.’

‘Yeah, thanks for the clue ,’ Dean spits. The car stops. It’s in front of a park. 

He stomps out, looking up at the skies. ‘What are you doing?’ 

It’s pouring rain out. He’s soaked through. It’s great. ‘Waiting for lightning to strike! Get on with it! It’s already been three hours!’ Castiel yanks him into a grove of trees. 

Dean waits for him to speak. ‘What was that for?’ he demands, in a bout of impatience.

Cas’s jaw ticks. ‘Do not be impudent. I am an angel of the Lord-’

‘You are-’ Dean grabs Cas’s face and kisses him. ‘You are Cas . Mine. Mine, you- fuckbag, you fucking let me die. Right now!’ he shouts again. 

Castiel stares at him in apathetic confusion. ‘I do not understand.’

‘That’s because you forgot everything,’ Dean retorts. His jaw clenches and he wraps his arms around himself. ‘Sorry. For kissing you. I know you don’t feel that way about me.’ Cas opens his mouth, ready to launch into a speech, but Dean opens his phone. 

It’s been going off for the past half hour like crazy. ‘Sam,’ he greets curtly. 

‘You’re still-’

‘I’m still alive for some stupid reason.’ There’s a heavy silence. ‘I wish it was real.’

Sam, ever the optimist, breathes over the phone. ‘He’s just forgotten.’ Castiel is staring at the phone, undoubtedly listening. ‘Is it raining?’ 

‘Yeah. Yeah,’ Dean says, voice breaking. He shakes the water droplets off of his hair. A drop lands on Castiel’s nose and he makes no move to wipe it off. ‘Go away . I want the real you.’

Castiel is beginning to look lost now. For some reason, it just makes Dean sadder. He blinks, eyelashes wet, and stares at the mossy forest floor. ‘Please come home, Dean.’

Dean yelps when a force takes hold of him and teleports them into the heart of the bunker. Sam stares at him in surprise, a fraction of a smile on his face. ‘Get your hands off of me!’ he shouts at Cas, yanking his arm off and backing away. His back hits the wall.

He slowly lowers and they watch, they watch , Dean is breaking the fuck down and they’re playing voyeur as he wipes snot off on his jacket and mourns the loss of that photo, abandoned in a park and- 

Castiel leans down, an intense frown on his face. His hands cup Dean’s tearful face, tipping it upwards. ‘Yes- yes, you have a good soul,’ he whispers. Dean looks into his blue eyes, relishing the temporary warmth on his jaw. Blunted fingers, a face that he sometimes imagines before he slips to bed, tangled in his sheets and preparing for a restless night. 

‘Are you doing it?’ Sam asks tentatively, in the background. 

Dean has eyes only for Castiel. He gets to his knees, at eye level with Dean, leaning in closer and closer. It’s not a kiss- he doesn’t think. The familiar feeling of being healed fills him, longer and more intense this time, as his heart pulls forward, pounding on his chest. Held in Cas’s hands, he leans in. Leans in and kisses him on the lips. 

Castiel’s eyes fly open. ‘I’m sorry,’ Dean whispers again, shaking the choking, true love out of his useless head and trying to back away. 

‘But I love you.’ 

‘Ha!’ 

Sam makes a different noise across the room, ‘ oh, ’ but Dean is still in a dream where things like this don’t just happen. 

‘I love you,’ Cas repeats gently, smoothing his hands down Dean’s chest. 

Slowly, his head shakes in the negative. ‘No, Castiel, angel of the Lord, you do not,’ he laughs, because laughing is all he can do. 

Cas’s face grows more desperate and open with every breath. ‘Dean, Dean-’ he begins. Dean’s shoulders rise. He hates his first name on Castiel’s lips. It feels wrong. ‘I know you. I love you. I love you, Dean, I know-- I, I love you,’ he says fervently.

Dean laughs lowly. ‘Yeah, yeah, you said that once.’

‘Dean. I love you. I love you, Dean, I’ve told you, and you know this. I always meant for you to know it in every sense of the word. I love you .’ His breath shakes on the last few words. ‘I told you and-  and I should have said it sooner because I meant it more than once, I meant it ,’ he stutters hysterically. 

Dean is at a loss for words. ‘Yeah?’ he says in a gravelly voice. 

‘And I belong here. Dean. You can’t keep dying.’ 

Cas is Cas. Celestial, noble, true, incredibly intense, wise in words and time. Dean shivers as a cool wind blows. 

‘Was that it?’ Sam asks shakily. Castiel nods solemnly at him. ‘Thank God.’ he turns away from them, braced on a wall.

Dean is crying. In an embarrassing way. ‘What’s this mean? You’re back?’ His jaw tics. 

‘I am, Dean,’ Cas says, and kisses him again, plastering himself on Dean’s body. It’s exactly the kind of lovesick, heartwarming thing that Castiel would do and Dean pulls himself closer, barely breathing. ‘It’s… me.’

Miracle licks Cas, who turns around in confusion. Hunger consumes Dean and he swallows Castiel again, bodies touching everywhere, plastered together.