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As far as Dean was concerned there were a lot of great things about not being in Hell. For one, Hell is hell and it’s just going to be all around the worst thing in your life. Afterlife. Whatever. Being anywhere but there would always be a plus in and of itself. Other than that there’s food to be had again, something that Dean fully indulged in as soon as he realized he was topside for good. Food aside, having his family around again rocked. Finding Sam and living on an almost permanent basis with Bobby again was great. He felt more connected to the world than he had in a long time, and he wasn’t ashamed to say he was settling down a bit.
And then there was Cas.
Cas had come as something of a shock, what with his entrance into Dean’s life kinda blowing the doors off the hinges of his metaphorical insecurities and Bobby’s literal barn. After the initial misunderstanding, and a knife to the chest, Dean liked to think that Cas had settled into the family well.
Cas liked to hang around when he wasn’t off doing angel things. He told Dean once that it was fascinating what humans had gotten up to since the last time he had been on earth. Dude was apparently older than dirt and never had any time for fun before being assigned to pull Dean out of hell to help him kill demons and shit.
Not that Cas was always the most help on a hunt. He didn’t always have the best sense of time as a linear thing and he tended to measure a monster’s threat level against his own angelic strength. Besides, it wasn’t like Dean wanted to call for help for every little problem. He could handle himself. Usually. So he might have been a little more out of practice than he thought, it was an honest mistake.
Long story short, Dean was currently being chased by four very pissed off werewolves under the power of a full moon with no backup to be found.
Biting back a curse, he ducked around another quiet home in the suburbs and looked again for anything that could provide an escape. Something crunched behind him, heavy panting so loud that Dean couldn’t stop imagining just turning his head a fraction to find sharp teeth pressed against his neck. He had lost his gun somewhere a few houses back, ripped from his hands as he pushed it up between himself and snarling jaws. His only option was to hide, and he made a mad dash for a small shed nestled in the backyard of an unremarkable family home.
If he put enough barriers between himself and the wolves they should lose interest. Werewolves were little more than glorified mutts on a full moon, bloodthirsty to be sure, but lacking the keen human intelligence that they could have in the days before and after the peak of their cycle.
He threw himself inside, immediately pushing everything he could find in front of the thin wooden door. A lawn mower and tool chest were about all he could find. It wouldn’t last him the night, so Dean frantically searched for a second option for escape. There, in the corner, a cabinet barely large enough to hold him.
He didn’t think twice about climbing in. Before closing the door he grabbed at a nearby can of gasoline, pouring the whole thing all over the floor in the hopes that it would drown out his scent before blocking himself out of sight, and hopefully out of doggie mind. It might not be enough. He prayed it would be.
Shaking and dripping with sweat, Dean hunched down in the dark, tight space and closed his eyes.
Dean had never told anybody, but he did have one memory of hell that he would rather die than lose. He opened himself to it now, building up the memory in his mind and ignoring the furious baying of wolves out in the night.
He remembered that it had been quiet, unnervingly so for hell. The screams of the damned had for some time been replaced by the screams of battle. Dean hadn’t been privy to any intel on what was happening, as far as he knew, it was just business as usual or some sort of demon in-fighting. He hadn’t realized something was different until the screaming stopped.
That was when he had noticed the light. Hell was always dim, the light only just enough to let you know you really didn’t want to see anymore.
He could feel them around him; feathers, soft but powerful wings flexing around him protectively. It was the first embrace he had felt in 40 years, and it was perfect, gentle, so gentle, and those wings had pulsed around him as a hand gripped him tight, pulling his broken soul up and up, and although the light surrounding him burned hotter than hell he had never felt so safe. That was when he heard it, the most beautiful voice, “Dean Winchester has been saved.”
Now that voice had a face, and a body, and the same holy light that was currently seeping in through the cracks in the thin, wood door as terrified animal shrieks echoed through the walls. Dean blinked, feeling oddly detached and completely unconcerned as the sound of wolves retreated. He would have to deal with them later, when he wasn’t outnumbered and caught off guard.
The sound of footsteps made its way through the shed, halting in front of his hiding spot. The door opened, and a hand reaching in to help him step out.
“Thanks, Cas,” He said, carefully walking around the puddles on the floor.
Cas frowned, blatantly looking him over for injuries. “Why didn’t you call me, Dean? That was recklessly dangerous, especially when you know I am only a prayer away.”
Dean sighed, lacing his fingers together with Cas’ where their hands were still clasped. Instead of pulling away like a normal guy would, Cas simply squeezed his hand once and allowed the contact. That was something Dean noticed early on. Whether it was a lack of understanding when it came to human contact and personal space or some other, angelic thing, Cas had few physical boundaries. He allowed Dean free reign when it came to friendly pats, hugs, and the occasional time where Dean had fallen asleep while watching TV and had accidentally used his as a pillow.
“I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sorry,” Dean said, surprising himself. He never apologized for decisions made on the hunt. He lived in the moment. Hunters couldn’t afford to second guess themselves. Cas was already nodding though, accepting his apology and reaching out to touch his forehead.
He paused just before touching. “May I return us to your motel?” he asked.
Dean let out a breath. That was something else about Cas. Where other people took, acted without thought, Cas was always asking permission. It was kind of amazing.
“Please,” Dean said, and just like that they were present in the small, dim motel room he had scrounged up for the night when this was just a quick hunt to check his reflexes. Damn.
All of this was supposed to get him back into the game now that he was topside and had people breathing down his neck about his readiness for the field. A salt and burn finished easily, and a quick rest in a no-name town before he met back up with Sam. He didn’t relish the idea of a night alone, not when he had just gotten back among humans. But he wasn’t up to mingling with unknown people yet. Sam and Bobby were right about a few things. His hunting was fine, blood spilled as easily as ever. But people. That was a little more complicated.
Luckily for him, Cas had been waiting to save his ass when ghosts became werewolves and easy became fucking ridiculous.
Dean sighed, kicking off his boots and falling backwards onto the bed. He felt several pops in his back as he stared up at the ceiling. He was glad Cas had showed up to save his bacon. True, he hadn’t prayed for help, but ever since the angel had revealed himself there had been these random visits whenever Dean was alone. So he might have expected it, unreasonably, in the part of his heart he didn’t like to acknowledge.
He couldn’t complain. Cas’ company was quiet and easy, despite the fact that being around a supernatural creature of his caliber should be anything but relaxing. Cas kept the nightmares at bay, and was good company besides. They spent nights watching movies, catching up on the real world and trading old lore, or softly discussing the impending doom of humanity. Normal Winchester stuff.
No, Dean couldn’t complain.
The bed sagged a bit as Cas sat down next to him. He looked down curiously at Dean, brow furrowed in what Dean was beginning to recognize as Cas’ thinking face. He just stared back, waiting for Cas to finish whatever he was thinking about. Cas tilted his head, considering. He looked at the bed, then back at Dean before slowly leaning back to lay down with him on the bed.
Dean immediately rolled over, moving up into Cas’ space until he was pressed almost on top of him, arm reaching out around to pull Cas closer. He wanted to say something, to ask if this was ok the same way Cas was always checking with him, making sure everything was alright. But, he didn’t even know what this was. He knew he wanted something, but he only had one idea how to get it.
While he was frozen in thought Cas had reached around his shoulder, pulling him in as he tilted onto his side to better look at him.
“Please…” Dean said, reaching up on reflex and dragging his fingertips up along Cas’ ribs, ghosting around to drag up the man’s dress shirt, watching the shudder that ran through the angel at his touch. As Cas leaned forward into the contact he fell forward slightly, bracing his palm on the bed by Dean’s face. He rose over Dean’s torso, one thigh moving around him as he swung a leg over to straddle Dean’s thighs.
“Cas…” Dean moaned, but Cas cut him off with a teasing nip of a kiss. His weight shifted, pressing Dean back into the bed, pinning him between the rough sheets and the heated line of Cas above him.
“Wait, Cas,” he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and his arms seemed weak when he moved to push against Cas. The friction between them was familiar, the anxious beating pulse of arousal an uncomfortable tempo in his ears.
Space. He needed space. His damn hands were useless, pawing pathetically along the angel’s torso as the adrenalin of the situation hit Dean, and he didn’t want…didn’t want to do this anymore…he hated doing this….
“Stop.” Dean said, voice shockingly loud in the quiet night.
All those times before, the things he did just to get a warm body next to his that didn’t want to kill him. He let them touch him, gave them what they wanted because it made them happy to feel him in them and to make him aroused, mistaking overstimulation and withdrawal for arousal and ecstasy. But it was fine, because that’s just what people do, and at the end he usually got what he wanted. It was fine, right?
It wasn’t fine. Dirty, he felt so dirty. Suddenly the sticky sweat that covered his torso was no longer the mild musk of arousal but instead the salty clotting of blood, the soft panting of the body above him –Dean? – morphing into the pained whimpers of the souls he tortured, flayed on the rack for no damn good reason. People were touching him –hands on his shoulders shaking him– groping him...no! That never happened there, that only happened when he had a body, when he was alive. Sex was for the real world, blood was for his nightmares.
“DEAN!”
He jerked, eyes flying open and nails digging into someone’s skin?
He retched, throwing himself sideways away from the person above him. He hit the floor with a jarring smack, almost hitting his head against the bedside table before a firm hand pulled him backwards. He was shaking, panting like he had just ran a marathon and disoriented as all fuck.
“No,” he said again, unsure of what was happening but sure of what he needed. “Stop, please. I don’t want to. Please. Please. Not anymore.”
Someone was asking him something, the hand that protected him from the table moving to touch his face. He flinched. But that was wrong too. Touching was supposed to be pleasant, was supposed to lead to something he liked. He liked touching, he did he did he just didn’t want to feel the way they wanted him to feel.
“I’m sorry.”
And he was. He knew he wasn’t being normal, that he would never get anything he wanted if he wasn’t normal.
“Please don’t leave.” he whispered, sagging against the couch, only distantly aware of the cold of the floor and the beating of his own heart.
There was a hurt sound from somewhere above him, and he felt someone shuffle closer to him. Something softer than human touch settled around his shoulders, and he started. This –there were wings stretching over him, large blue-black feathers trailing along the floor in front of his face. Strong muscles flexed, urging him up gently. Dean moved with the unspoken request, climbing back onto the bed and into the full, enveloping plumage. He felt Cas reach out hesitantly, and he didn’t think twice about crawling forward into the embrace.
Cas’ arms wrapped around him as he closed his eyes, tucking his head under the angel’s chin.
“Dean?” Cas almost whispered, his voice hesitant with worry.
Dean didn’t want to look at him. This was beyond mortifying, and the stress of everything was frying his nerves to shit. He wasn’t even sure how many times Cas had called his name, he was pretty sure Cas had been asking him what was wrong but he was too out of it to understand. Instead of answering he gripped tightly at Cas’ shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze to show he was here, in the moment again.
Cas released a breath, tentatively rubbing his hand up and down Dean’s back in a rubbing motion. Dean made a sound of appreciation and relaxed into it.
“I apologize. That was too much for you. I didn’t anticipate my vesel’s reaction would be so...dramatic. That wasn’t my intention.”
Dean considered this for a second, feeling his body relaxing under the continued ministrations of Cas’s hands. This was so nice, but he still didn’t know what Cas did want, if not sex.
“I don’t get it,” he grumbled at last. He wished they didn’t have to talk, that they could just do whatever this was for the rest of the evening and then pretend nothing ever happened. But that wasn’t fair to Cas, or to himself if he was being honest.
“I wanted…intimacy.”
Dean tensed up, but immediately forced himself to relax again. This game he knew.
“I can do that, really,” Dean said, trying to convince himself to move his hands a little further south down Cas. He could. He would if he had to, to keep this.
“But you don’t want to do that,” Cas was frustrated again. “And I don’t want you to do that either. I want you to be happy,” he said, fiercely, “And there are other ways we can be closer,” his wings shifted against Dean’s back. “I want to be intimate just like this, with you against my heart, where we are safe and where touching doesn’t mean pain.”
There was a pause as Dean tried to understand.
“I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” Dean felt tears of frustration forming at the corners of his eyes. He scowled at himself and his stupid body’s reflexes as Cas continued to rub his back.
“It’s ok,” Cas murmured into Dean’s hair, his breath tickling Dean’s ear. “There is nothing wrong with you.”
“But—”
“Nothing.” Cas said firmly, pulling him in tightly, as if to protect him from the outside world. “Everything you want or don’t want is natural. Please don’t pretend with me.”
“Ok,” Dean said, voice muffled where his face was pressed into Cas’ shoulder. He wanted so badly to just take what Cas was offering. It didn’t make any sense to him, because what did Cas even get out of any of this?
“Ok. But,” he pulled back a bit, straining to see Cas’ face. “If there is something you want, tell me? I know I don’t like stuff, sex stuff, for me. But. I don’t want you to hide it either? If there’s something you wanted.”
Cas chuckled softly. “Dean, I am an angel. I admit, sometimes the wants of this body are very confusing and I get overwhelmed. But trust me when I say I am much like you,” he paused, considering. “Although…”
“What? Cas?” Dean sat up fully, looking into Cas’ eyes as the angel stared thoughtfully back at him.
“Kissing is nice, with you.” the angel admitted, bashfully.
Dean laughed. He felt light, relieved. Amazing but confusing. Still, whatever this was felt better than anything he had allowed himself to have in years.
“Yeah, it is. Kissing is awesome.” Dean melted against Cas as the angel moved to lay back against the headboard. His wings had fallen to the side, feathers tickling Dean on his right as he burrowed into Cas’ chest.
“Maybe later we could, uhmm, try again. With the kissing.” He said, a bit worried. He was tired and just wanted to lay here forever, floating on a sea of feathers and enjoying Cas’ warmth.
Cas made a hum of agreement, but made no move to dislodge Dean. “Maybe later. Sleep now. You did just spend the night running from werewolves, in case you forgot.”
Dean laughed a little, ducking his face. “Right, my bad. How could I have forgotten? My whole body only feels like taffy.”
Cas didn’t reply, but he did move his hand up to scratch lightly through Dean’s hair. Dean groaned and fell silent under the angel’s sure fingers.
He must have drifted off like that, cuddled up in Cas’ arms, because the next thing he knew there was morning light shining in softly against his face and he was blinking over at a very unconscious Castiel.
For a time he lay there, marveling at the creature that was sleeping there with him. He pulled himself slowly up onto his forearms, careful not to wake his companion as he climbed out of bed.
He looked down at himself, shrugging silently at the slightly wrinkled shirt and jeans he had fallen asleep in. He didn’t smell so nice, but it would do while he went out to get breakfast. Satisfied, he quietly grabbed his keys, wrote a quick note for Cas just in case the angel woke up before he got back.
Outside it was barely morning, the sun pleasantly warm on Dean’s skin as he walked across the road to the corner gas station. It wasn’t exactly roomservice, but in Dean’s experience a hot cup of coffee and donuts never went awry for a morning after. Hands soon full of breakfast, Dean was humming to himself as he fumbled the room door open. Cas rolled over in bed at the sound, head unburrowing from the pillow it had been resting on.
"Morning, sunshine," Dean said, walking over to peck Cas lightly on the cheek. Cas blinked up at him sleepily. "I got us some grub. You haven’t tried maple bars yet, and boy are you gonna thank me when you do."
Cas grumbled and tried to pull Dean back into bed, but Dean only laughed and leaned up out of reach. "Come on grumpy. We've got a whole pack of werewolves to hunt and daylight's wasting. I got coffee."
With that temptation Dean managed to wrangle Cas out of bed and into the kittchenette while he hopped in for a quick shower. He was already pretty sure of where the pack would be camping out in daylight hours and the sooner they dealt with them the higher the chances of success. Werewolves were usually pretty wiped out after a full moon, and even with Cas' angelic powers Dean didn't like their chances of getting out unscathed if they gave the wolves a chance to recharge.
He whistled to himself as he scrubbed down in the shower. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well, even before hell. He hoped Cas could be convinced to stay with him overnight more often now that they were...whatever they were. He knew heaven chores or whatever it was that Cas did all the time could keep him busy, but he seemed to enjoy himself after all was said and done.
When he got out of the shower Cas had already pulled his bag out and was arranging the weapons Dean would want for the hunt. He passed him a donut as Dean took a seat, towelling his hair absently.
“So, I’m pretty sure the wolves are living in the crypt,” Dean said, taking a glorious bite of his donut. “The group I stumbled on seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see them. I doubt that was the whole pack too, what with the haphazard way they chased me. If their alpha was with them I would probably be dead meat by now.”
Cas scowled. “You would not if you had only called me,” he said, grumpily.
“Yeah, can’t say I am too impressed with my thinking last night,” he grinned apologetically at the angel. “So this time I got a plan,” His shirt this morning had given him an idea. “We’re gonna set a trap.”
Using the blood and sweat stained shirt, as well as some fresh cow’s blood, they made a dummy ‘hunter’ to lure out the pack. Dean was pretty sure he had only been pursued by a scouting group, and since Cas only had two hands and Dean only had guns and knives, they wanted to be cautious. In the hours of daylight ahead of them they scouted out the cemetery Dean had visited the night before when he had thought this case was a salt and burn. Determining which crypt was large enough to host a pack of at least half a dozen, they spent the rest of the afternoon sneakily blocking all other crypts, just in case, and all entrances to the fenced off cemetery.
“It’s like we’re preparing for the zombie apocalypse,” Dean joked as they finished barring the gate into the lot. They were now trapped, along with any and all weres and possible animated corpses.
“Heaven forbid,” Cas said, wryly. “Humans are dangerous enough without the power of mindless immortality,” he eyed Dean. “Besides, I don’t think humanity would be safe if it was opened up as a menu option for you.”
“Hey!” Dean thwacked Cas lightly in the stomach. “You saying I eat too much? Rude, man. I’m wounded.”
Cas shushed him, and they stalked in towards the largest crypt, ready to start the fun.
As soon as Dean doused the dummy with blood and let out the bait of a pained shout that they had decided would be the signal to start, everything was chaos. From where they had hidden on both sides of the exit to the crypt Dean and Cas watched as wolves began to pour out, attracted by the smell of blood. They had only moments to take advantage, cutting down the first few werewolves before they were able to smell the danger. Silver bullets were only as good as their distance to the wolves, and the most effective range was mere yards from the monsters. Soon the fight devolved into a dance of silver knives and flashes of holy light as Dean and Cas beat off furious, slobbering fangs.
Unfortunately Dean had been right and there were at least a dozen werewolves all told. He took a burning slash to his right arm a few monsters in, almost dropping his knife in his haste to get back out of bite range. The ugly beast in front of him gave a frustrated bark as it’s teeth met only layers of leather and cloth. Never let it be said hunter attire was simply a fashion choice.
With a shout at the effort, Dean threw the wolf down, plunging his knife into the beast’s ribs, right behind the shoulder. With a last futile snarl, the wolf went limp under Dean’s knife. He pulled it out, hand steady despite the adrenalin from the fight.
Looking around, eyes checking every corpse for signs of life before settling on Cas, Dean caught his breath. Cas straightened as Dean grinned at him.
“Looks like we win,” Dean said, wiping the blade off on his jeans. They were trashed anyway, werewolves were murder on laundry.
“It would appear so,” Cas agreed, stepping around the bodies to touch Dean lightly on the shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
Dean leaned in, bumping against Cas in a friendly manner. “Scrapes and bruises. Really amazing actually. Don’t think I could have gotten off so easily even if I had four hunters to take down this lot,” he leaned in to give Cas a quick kiss before he pulled away shyly. “Any chance you know of a good place to dispose of a dozen dead ass giant wolves?”
Cas smiled. “I think I could find somewhere.”
It was the work of moments for Cas to walk among the bodies and remove them with a touch. Soon the two of them were walking side by side back to the gate, where another touch broke the chains they were out of the cemetery.
Sitting in the car, driving down the empty back road with nothing but the hope of home ahead of him, Dean looked over to admire the angel sitting quietly next to him. He reached across the seat, turning his hand palm up towards Cas in an invitation. He ignored the fluttery bubble of nerves as Cas regarded his hand for a second before smiling in understanding and taking it in his own.
“Thanks Cas,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb over Cas’ hand affectionately.
Cas just drew Dean’s hand up, pressing his lips gently to the abused knuckles.