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ONE
Bring him back.
Three simple words, and suddenly Castiel is flying into Hell in a blaze of glory. He shoots down, far down, past the new souls and the old souls and the forgotten, ruined remnants of souls.
He hears pleas for help, hears screams of desperation but he doesn’t stop, he can’t. He is here for one man and one man only - the righteous man.
He’s here for Dean Winchester.
He flies for a long time, the Grace inside him searching desperately for Dean’s soul among the others. When he does find him though, it’s like a homing signal and Castiel tracks him down quickly.
The man he sees before him is not like anything Castiel expected from the righteous man. He’s holding a knife, waving it barbarically above where he has another poor soul splayed out on the rack in front of him as he teases it mercilessly with torturously slow, shallow nicks.
When Dean turns to look at him though, Castiel can see very clearly the soul held within the shell. It is broken, yes, but it is blindingly bright and pure despite the torture inflicted upon it.
Hell is no place for a soul like this.
As Castiel walks slowly towards Dean, he is hit by the strange sensation of his Grace stirring slightly inside him - yearning for Dean, yearning and reaching out towards the broken man’s soul. It is an odd feeling, and one that Castiel has never experienced. Dean’s eyes flash suddenly, and Castiel stills as he feels a peculiar intrusion; a slight pressure on his Grace. He searches inside himself, trying to find the source and is shocked to find Dean’s soul whispering around him, prodding and poking gently at his essence as though learning him.
Castiel can feel the purity of Dean’s soul, and it nearly burns him.
“Dean,” he says, laying a hand on the man’s arm. Heat sparks suddenly at the point where Castiel’s hand touches Dean’s arm, and Castiel finds an overwhelming feeling of possessiveness and love consume his being as he pulls Dean close and hides him in his wings.
“It’s time to go.”
———
TWO
Castiel and Dean are sitting together in Bobby’s lounge room, listening to Bobby talk about a nest of vampires he’s discovered a couple of towns over. It’s a dangerous plan - the nest is huge and there are at least nine vamps, but Dean never was one to shy away from a bit of danger. ‘Living on the edge’, he liked to call it.
He would never mention it to Dean, but whenever the hunter went out to kill something and Castiel wasn’t able to help for one reason or another, the angel would wait anxiously for his return, constantly praying for him to be safe.
It’s just that Dean is so reckless, his single-minded determination driving him to extremes which he would never consider otherwise. He would willingly go like a lamb to the slaughter if it meant that the life of another human could be saved.
It wasn’t worth it if Dean died, Castiel thought selfishly. He could never give Dean up to Death.
Castiel was snapped out of his reverie by the Winchester boys noisily getting up from their chairs. They passed by Bobby, taking the information he handed to them before continuing out the front door.
Sam is already seated in the car with Dean not far behind when Castiel catches up with him and lays a hand on the elder brother’s shoulder. Dean looks at him questioningly.
“Please be safe,” Castiel begs earnestly, and he leans down quickly to place a small kiss on Dean’s freckled cheek. Dean flushes slightly.
“I’m always safe, Cas,” he says gruffly, patting the angel on the arm and lowering himself into the car. He rolls down the window once he’s seated inside.
“I’ll see you when I get back, okay Cas?” Dean says, and a moment later, Castiel is watching the Impala as it rumbles out of the driveway.
———
THREE
It’s two in the morning when Dean wakes.
He’s lying in bed, trying to catch his breath as his nightmare replays itself in his mind.
Colours of red and black and the suffocating scent of sulfur threaten to overwhelm his senses. Hell. Burning. Souls screaming in pain. Alastair holding his weapons. Dean holding his knife, grinning maniacally. Image after image, over and over, and Dean rubs his eyes furiously, trying to rid himself of the memories. It doesn’t work however, and Dean buries his face in his pillow, eyes spilling over in frustration.
“Dean.”
Castiel’s voice calls softly from the chair beside the bed. Dean doesn’t respond, just buries his face further into the pillow. He hears Castiel’s trenchcoat rustle, and a moment later, Castiel’s hand is resting slightly atop his own. He places a light kiss on the bared skin of Dean’s back.
“Sleep,” he whispers, and Dean does, long and dreamlessly.
———
FOUR
Dean stood in the bathroom, running cold water over his hands. The skin of his palms was an angry red colour, and Dean could already see blisters forming where he had unwittingly held a hot metal pot in his hands.
Despite the cold water, Dean could still feel the heat emanating from his hands. He curses himself for his stupidity. Bandaged hands meant no weapons, and no weapons meant no hunts. He was completely useless against any monster until his hands were healed.
The air in the bathroom changes seconds before Castiel announces himself with the flutter of his wings. The bathroom is small, and Castiel needs only to take one step before he is standing beside Dean, peering into the sink where his hands were being soothed by running water.
Castiel wordlessly takes Dean’s hands in his own, and Dean hisses slightly when his raw skin brushes against Castiel’s palms.
“What on earth did you do?” Castiel murmurs quietly, turning the hands over and inspecting them with a feather light touch. Dean shrugs.
“I was making dinner,” he explains, “and I went to pull the pasta off the stove. Slipped my mind that a metal saucepan on a stove might be a little too hot to handle.”
Castiel nods slightly. Gently, gracefully, he holds Dean’s hands up in front of his own, pushing each of his palms against Dean’s. He closes his eyes and breathes in, and for a moment, their joined hands glow slightly. Dean watches in fascination as Castiel’s hands light up where they are connected to his own, but a moment later the glow vanishes and Dean and Castiel are left looking as though they’re holding hands in the middle of a bathroom.
Which they are.
Castiel takes Dean’s right hand and places a kiss right in the centre of his palm before doing the same to his left. When Castiel releases his hands, Dean looks at the skin.
Clear. Unmarked, unburned. Dean swallows.
“Thanks, Cas,” he says, running his fingers over the healed skin.
“It was no burden, Dean,” Castiel replies. “I must return to Heaven now, there are things to be seen to-“
Dean interrupts him, grasping his trench coat. Realising what he’s doing, he drops his hand and clears his throat.
“Stay,” Dean says to the bathmat, “stay for a bit. I made pasta.”
For a moment, Dean is sure Castiel will refuse. He’s an angel - he doesn’t need to eat, and surely Heaven needs him more.
Castiel pauses for a beat before smiling slightly.
“Alright, Dean.”
———
FIVE
Never, in all of Dean’s life, did he ever expect to have to deal with this.
Castiel is sitting on the floor, shirt ruffled and tie askew, and he’s staring pensively at the coffee table.
“It is very fine workmanship,” he slurs, and Dean reaches down quickly to sit the angel up properly as he begins to tilt to the side. Castiel giggles (seriously - he’s giggling) and pulls Dean’s hand, sending the hunter sprawling to the ground beside him. He laughs delightedly as Dean sighs, propping himself up next to Castiel.
“One of the most powerful creatures in existence,” Dean mutters under his breath, “and you’re drunk off casket wine. Who knew?”
Castiel chuckles again, falling heavily against Dean’s side. He sighs contentedly from where his head is resting on Dean’s shoulder.
“I really like you, Dean,” he says quietly into the leather of Dean’s jacket. Dean puts his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and rubs soothing circles into the other man’s arm.
Castiel shifts slightly, pulling himself up to kneel instead, and looks Dean in the eye. “That’s a lie, actually,” he corrects himself, “I love you. It’s rather good, actually - I love you and my Grace loves your soul and it would be rather nice if you maybe felt the same way, but you don’t. And that’s okay.”
Dean tries to interrupt, but Castiel silences him by sitting his finger on Dean’s lips.
“Shh, I’m not finished Dean,” he says. “You don’t, and that’s okay because I love you so much and all I want is for you to be happy, really truly happy, so I will be happy if you are content with someone else. That is how much I love you. And sometimes it hurts because I just want you so badly it aches, and my Grace actually reaches out to you, not quite sure if you’ve noticed that, but it does, so I guess my whole being loves you. And that is great.”
With that, Castiel leans forward and presses his lips to Dean’s. It’s unceremonious and sloppy and far too quick, but it’s a kiss and Castiel is delighted with it.
Then he passes out, body falling across Dean’s lap.
———
ONE~
“Don’t you ever pull shit like that again Cas, do you hear me?” Dean says roughly, pulling Castiel close against his chest. “I thought those souls were gonna kill you.”
Castiel’s skin is cold, as though the act of expelling millions of souls had too ripped the warmth from his body. Dean holds him tighter, trying to get his own body warmth to seep into Castiel through touch.
“I am fine, Dean,” Castiel tries to assure him, “just a little shaken. It was - it was a very stupid idea on my part, and I’m sorry for causing you distress.”
Dean pulls back to look Castiel in the eye. “Do you still love me?” he asks suddenly. Castiel stares at him in confusion.
“What? I’m sorry - Dean, what?”
“Do you still love me?” Dean demands again.
Castiel’s bright blue eyes stare at Dean, and his features soften as he says simply, “Yes. I will never stop loving you, Dean.”
“Good,” Dean replies, carding his hands through Castiel’s hair. He gently pulls Castiel down and slots their mouths together finally, finally doing what he had so long been afraid of doing.
His mouth caresses Castiel’s lips, nipping at the plump flesh before running his tongue over the reddening skin. He licks along the seam of Castiel’s lips and Castiel gasps slightly, permitting Dean entrance and Dean complies. He runs his tongue slowly along the inside of Castiel’s mouth, tasting and touching and feeling. Castiel moans as Dean sucks slightly on his tongue, and he bunches his hands at Dean’s hips, thumbs brushing at the bare skin of his stomach.
Something warm and pleasant uncurls itself near Dean’s heart, and he becomes aware of the handprint on his arm thrumming gently as he kisses Castiel, and he allows himself to feel right for the first time in his life. As though he is made for this - a strong sense of belonging pushes at him, and he kisses Castiel more heatedly and more fervently than he thought possible.
Castiel gives as good as he gets, and before long the two men break apart for want of breath, panting heavily. Dean rests his forehead on Castiel’s, breath intermingling, and he runs his hands down Castiel’s neck before they come to sit on his chest. Dean can feel the angel’s heart beating quickly under his touch, high on adrenalin and feelings and Grace and soul and he knows that he is no better state.
“Good,” he repeats, “because I love you too.”