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Sam and Dean had grown used to returning from hunts battered and bruised. Castiel, however, was used to being able to heal himself and his friends with a single touch. Castiel’s “mojo,” as Dean would say, was slowly slipping away, and his typical angelic abilities were proving harder for him to get in touch with as each day went by.
The three stumbled through the front door of the bunker, Castiel’s arm slung over Dean’s shoulders as he was hoisted down the staircase. They’d found themselves in the middle of an ambush by the nest of vampires they were scoping out, Castiel having tagged along to “further understand the Winchester process of hunting monsters,” as he’d told them. Dean suspected Cas had simply grown tired of mingling with his asshole angel siblings. In hindsight they’d brought too little supplies with them, under the incorrect assumption that this was a small nest that could be taken down pretty easily if things got hairy. When they were attacked, Castiel’s angel blade successfully sliced the chest of a tall, bald vampire, who subsequently yanked the weapon out of his hands and hurled it into the woods. After a failed attempt to summon another blade from his sleeve or muster the ability to smite the creature, Castiel was stuck taking on this vampire in hand-to-hand combat. He hadn’t been trained for this kind of battle. It wasn’t until after he tumbled back into a pile of leaves, watching as Sam snuck up behind and sliced the man’s head off before he could lunge at him again, that Castiel realized just how badly he’d been scraped up.
Dean had heaved him to the base floor of the bunker the boys had recently been working to call home, and he was struggling to stay upright. Dean had returned with a gash on his cheek and Sam with a busted lip, but Castiel without a doubt came back with the worst of it. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will himself to heal his wounds, but with no result. “I’m unable to heal myself,” he said gruffly, clinging onto Dean’s shoulder tighter.
“Dean, you should go clean Cas up,” Sam called out as he quickly moved towards the library table. “This nest is way bigger than we anticipated. I’m gonna make some calls for backup when we go back out tomorrow.”
“Bathroom,” Dean huffed, nodding his head back towards the stairs they just came from. He heaved a grumbly sigh. “And back up the stairs. Jesus, I have not been thinking things through today.”
Castiel gripped the railing of the staircase as they worked their way back to the top, wincing at each step he took. They slowly but surely found their way to the bathroom next to Dean’s room, and as Castiel steadied himself with a hand against the doorframe, Dean ducked his way out from under his arm. “My bad about the stairs, buddy,” he said, dropping to his knees as he dug in the cabinet below the sink. Dean figured this was not the scenario for the typical whiskey, sewing needle stitching, and tightly wrapped bandages that he and Sam often resorted to. Way back when they’d picked up a first-aid kit at a Gas-n-Sip to have in the trunk of the Impala, and it had sat in there for likely four years, untouched. As the brothers moved themselves into the bunker, Dean remembered its existence and brought it in just in case, tossing it into a cupboard where he had once again not thought about it since. Grabbing onto it and placing it on the sink, Dean turned back to Castiel who stood dizzily, slumped against the side of the doorway. “Do you think you can get yourself up onto the counter?” Dean asked, unzipping the kit. Castiel raised his head, tilting it a bit in confusion. “It’ll be easier for me to clean you up that way.”
Castiel responded merely with a grunt, moving so he faced away from the sink and placed his palms on the countertop, slowly pushing himself up with a strained expression. The cuts and gashes and bruises flamed with the movement, a huff of relief exiting his lips as he eventually sat down. Dean was digging through the first-aid kit, tossing packaged alcohol swabs, gauze pads, bandages, and tubes of ointment to the side and zipping it back up. “First.” Dean swung the medicine cabinet open, cracking open a bottle of store-bought pills and dumping a couple into his palm. He extended them towards Castiel, who wearily picked them up and examined them in his own hand. “Aspirin. Swallow them. It’ll make everything feel better.” Dean shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Hopefully.”
Dean started tearing open the little packages of alcohol swabs, simultaneously taking inventory of the visible wounds he could see on Castiel. “Okay,” he began, rolling his shoulders. “Dr. Winchester is in the building.” He followed this up with a smirk and a small chuckle, which quickly faded as he took in Castiel’s lack of amusement. “Nevermind.” He stood in front of the angel, reaching forward to gently wipe down the gashes on his face. Castiel’s body grimaced and he instinctively moved his face away from Dean’s hand. “I know, Cas, it sucks,” Dean said, adjusting to his shifting. After wiping down the cuts on his face and tossing the alcohol swabs into the trashcan by the door, Dean tore open some Band-Aids and started pasting them on the cleaned up wounds. Not that he’d admit to Cas, or anyone for that matter, but Dean was thrilled about the opportunity to play doctor. He was close to Castiel’s face now, delicately sticking the bandages on. Castiel felt his eyes widen a bit as he took in Dean’s features, which were locked in a focused expression. He noticed the small smattering of freckles on Dean’s nose, his pale green eyes flickering to different parts of Castiel’s face, his teeth clamped down gently on his bottom lip as he concentrated. Castiel thought he was gorgeous.
As he was trying to ignore his slightly accelerated heartbeat upon noticing Castiel intently looking him over, Dean stepped back and threw his hands into a clap. “Okay, face finished. Now,” he scanned for the next best injury to cover, “the rest of you.”
“Dean,” Castiel muttered huskily, “you know you don’t have to-”
“Dude. You’ve healed me, what, like a million times? Don’t you think I owe you?”
Castiel averted his gaze to the floor, his shoulders lifting a bit in a shrug. “Thank you.”
“‘Course, Cas,” Dean replied, his eyes landing on the tears in Castiel’s trenchcoat and the bloodstained patches of his dress shirt. “I’m going to need you to take your clothes off.” His eyes pinched shut and face scrunched slightly in a cringe. Excellent wording, Winchester.
Castiel, still looking observantly at Dean, obliged. He’d been uncomfortable with how his shirt was sticking to the wounds on his skin, irritated by the roughness of the fabric on his aching limbs. He shrugged off his trenchcoat, which piled around him on the counter. He pulled his arms out of his suit jacket, loosened and yanked off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and balled the pieces of clothing up next to him. Dean preoccupied himself with opening new gauze pads and breaking the seal on the little tube of ointment, all to avoid glancing at Castiel as he removed all of his layers. He always thought seeing Castiel simply without his trenchcoat was scandalous, and now, glimpsing up from his task, Dean found him completely shirtless. He forced his vision to focus specifically on the areas that needed his attention.
“You’ve got a gnarly gash on your abdomen,” Dean told Castiel, zeroing in on the spot. “I’m gonna start with the ointment and a gauze pad and then add a stretchy bandage around your stomach. Sound okay, man?”
“Uh huh.”
Dean was now practically standing between the legs of Castiel, angel of the lord. Who ripped him from the depths of Hell and hurdled him back to Earth. Who blew out all the lights in that abandoned barn they first met in, completely unfazed when Dean plunged a blade into his chest. Who has said his true form exceeded the size of the Chrysler Building. Who was a force to be reckoned with, even while inhabiting the body of a middle aged radio salesman. Who had sacrificed everything for Dean, and had made that very clear. This absolute force of nature was slowly becoming human, now perched on Dean’s bathroom sink and being patched up like any old hunter. It was tripping Dean out.
He squeezed the ointment directly on the wound, using a fresh gauze pad to gently spread it over the area. Castiel squirmed, grasping onto Dean’s sleeve and squeezing his eyes shut. “Be strong, Cas.” Dean pressed the gauze pad so it stuck to Castiel’s skin, unraveling a bandage from the first-aid kit and reaching forward to wrap it around his abdomen. Dean was increasingly aware of how close this brought him to Cas, close enough to feel the body heat radiating from him. He secured the bandage with a piece of medical tape and stood back. “Feeling any better?”
“No,” Castiel huffed bluntly. “But I do appreciate this, Dean. ”
“No problem.” Dean let his eyes lock onto Castiel’s, eye contact that became overwhelming after a beat or two. “Few more scrapes to get through,” Dean said after obnoxiously clearing his throat, turning to gather more supplies. He finished up sanitizing and bandaging a scratch on Castiel’s neck and a slash on his shoulder. When he was finished, he backed up to get a full view. “It looks like a box of Band-Aids exploded on your face,” Dean said through a laugh, keeling over as he watched Castiel’ face, littered in small, crooked bandages, settle into annoyance.
Castiel’s gaze wandered to his hands, wincing as he stretched out his fingers. Dean’s laughter ceased. “Jesus Christ, Cas.” His eyebrows shot up. “Your knuckles are pretty damn busted up.” The first tube of ointment had been squeezed until it was empty, so Dean worked on cracking open the second one. He reached forward and grasped Castiel’s fingers in his hand, using the pads of his own fingers to gently spread the ointment over Cas’ bruised knuckles. It was a tenderness Castiel had never been shown before, and that Dean rarely provided to people.
The silence in the room was deafening. Dean’s mind was wandering. Nearly five years ago he doubted the mere existence of angels. That day in the barn, everything changed. Not only had he and Sam had to adjust to adding a whole new species of badass pricks to their lives, but had suddenly frequently been in contact with one who was an unexpected ally. An angel who popped in unannounced, stood too close, and didn’t understand any figures of speech or references that Dean threw around. He started to work with them, and started to befriend them. And four years after meeting him, Dean couldn’t imagine life without him. Their bond was unlike anything he’d had with anyone, and Dean couldn’t understand why. And why he felt like his heart was trying to bust out of his ribcage when Cas stared at him in that typical, intense way. And why sometimes all he wanted to do was be next to him. Why he felt his face get warmer when Cas said his name in his gravelly voice. And sometimes when he was drifting off to sleep at night, why instead of thinking about lying in bed with a woman, he saw Cas. It didn’t make any sense to him, or he didn’t allow it to make any sense. Because if he worked too hard to understand it, he might admit to himself something he’d been dodging for years.
Dean’s trance was broken by Castiel’s voice. “I feel the need to sleep, Dean.” He sounded exhausted, and his head hung like a ragdoll.
“Huh?” A bead of sweat slid down Dean’s face as he lifted his head to look at Cas. He’d evidently been more nervous than he thought. He let go of Castiel’s hand. “Weird. You’re like some backwards Hulk, having a human transformation.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Cas grumbled quietly, rubbing his eye with his palm.
“Right. Um, let’s get you down, then. And into some other clothes.” Dean slid his arm under Castiel's shoulders like he’d held him on their way into the bunker and heaved him off the sink, very conscious of how his arm felt pressed against Cas’ skin. “There’s an empty room next to Sam’s. I’ll grab sheets and stuff for you.” He took Cas into his own bedroom. “Pit stop first.” Lowering Cas into the swivel chair by the door, Dean turned to his dresser. He was the opposite of Sam when it came to storing his clothes, his jeans and flannels and band tees all thrown in a heap in each drawer. He fished out an old AC/DC shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, and handed them to an incredibly sleepy-looking Castiel.
“Thank you,” Cas said softly, his eyes hooded.
“Yeah.” Dean’s arm flung to his neck, scratching at it nervously. “You can change here, I guess. I’ll get stuff set up in the other room.”
Castiel responded with a mumble of acknowledgement and Dean left the room, wandering to the nearby supply closet where an extra, dusty set of sheets and bedspread sat, untouched likely since the 40s. Dean coughed loudly as the dust invaded his lungs.
“Everything good up there, Dean?” Sam’s voice called out from the level below.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” responded Dean, swatting his hand at the particles in the air and quickly nabbing the pile of fabric as if to catch the dust off guard. “What’s the 411 on backup?”
“Jody’s coming to give us a hand tomorrow. Said she might recruit Donna as well. Some mention of them getting to know each other better lately.”
“Hey, good for them.”
“Cas doing much better?”
“Not really. Said he needs to sleep.”
Sam poked his head out from the stairs. “That’s bizarre. Since when has he needed to do that?”
“Since tonight, I guess. Probably has to do with him losing his mojo.”
“Mmm.” Sam moved to the top of the stairs, stretching his arms above his head, making him more of a giant than usual. “I’m gonna turn in. You gonna sing Cas a lullaby or something?”
“No,” Dean snapped, more frustrated-sounding than he intended.
Sam threw his hands up defensively. “Geez, touchy,” he said in a chuckle, sauntering down the hall and into his room.
Dean knocked at the wall outside of his own bedroom, sheets in hand. “You decent, Cas?”
Castiel murmured something that Dean almost suspected was Enochian, and Dean turned the corner to find him atop of the comforter of his bed, his arms sprawled out to either side. He fit perfectly in Dean’s shirt. Seeing him dressed so casually, so human, it felt kind of absurd. Dean shifted the bedding to under his arm, his hands turning out into an offended gesture. “Dude.” Cas didn’t budge. Rolling his eyes, Dean mumbled, “Guess I’m taking the spare room.” He reluctantly turned to leave, already mourning the bedroom he’d been calling his own.
“Dean,” Castiel spoke, quietly enough that Dean could barely hear him.
“Huh?”
Cas lifted his head slightly. “I would like you to stay with me.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “Like, in - with -”
“Yes. If you are not opposed.”
“Um.” Dean’s head felt like it was filled with cotton. “Let me - uh - just a second.” He fled out of the room down the hall, banging on Sam’s door. “You better have your clothes on, man.”
Throwing the door open Dean found Sam lounging in bed, a bent copy of The Da Vinci Code in hand, actively drinking a glass of water. “Cas wants me to sleep with him.”
Sam unintentionally spit water all over his pants and the pages of his book. “I beg your pardon?”
“Not-” Dean dropped his face into his hands briefly before immediately lifting it and flailing his hands on either side of him, like he was trying to erase his words out of the air. “Not like that! Jesus, get your head out of the gutter!”
“You phrased it like that, Dean.”
“He asked me to stay with him.”
“So? That’d be the nice thing to do, right? Cas is your friend, he’s never had to sleep before.”
“It’s weird, Sammy!”
“You’re the one making it weird!” Sam began fanning his book to air out the damp pages.
“Grahgh.” Dean pressed his fingers to his eyes and dragged his hands down his face.
“I don’t know what’s got you all bent out of shape about this, dude,” said Sam, rotating to place the glass of water on his nightstand. “Friends can share beds. Are you worried about it… I dunno, meaning something else?”
Dean crossed his arms tightly across his chest. Sam was on to him, he’d always been able to read Dean better than he could read himself. Castiel was actively laying in his bed and wearing his clothes. And that made him nervous. Not as nervous, however, as the prospect of lying there next to him, sharing his body heat.
“I know you’d rather I didn’t pry, Dean, but you’re my brother. It’s okay if you like Cas, like, more than a good friend, you know? You don’t have to keep it all bottled up.” Sam pulled his legs into a criss-crossed position on the bed, leaning forward a bit. “And I know he’s a guy, or at least is inhabiting one, and that makes things different. And I know we didn’t grow up with anyone really telling us that was okay. But it’s okay now, Dean. You don’t have to be afraid.”
Facing the floor now, Dean felt a tear drift down his cheek. As much of a bastard his brother could be sometimes, he tended to know when and how to say things that Dean needed to hear. He cleared his throat, brushing the tears away with his wrist, as if instinctively letting his masculinity forbid him from crying. “Thanks, Sammy.” He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Now keep reading your stupid book. G’night.”
“‘Night, Dean.”
So Dean grabbed his own pair of pajamas from his dresser in the form of navy blue sweatpants and a Zeppelin shirt Sam had gotten him last Christmas, and brought them silently to the bathroom in a pile. Cas had already seemed conked out, rolled on his side underneath the covers of Dean’s bed. In the bathroom Dean pulled off his sweaty and slightly blood-stained clothes, and felt comfort overtake him as he put on his pajamas. He really was happy to have a home now, getting ready for bed didn’t seem like a waste of time anymore. At motels there was always the deep-seeded fear of danger, like any vampire or leviathan or demon they were hunting could bust down the door and it would all be over for them. He would often sleep in his everyday clothes, atop the covers, a knife under his pillow he could use to defend Sam if anything were to break in. Dean had been hesitant to really call the bunker “home” at first, thinking it was just another temporary place of residency. But as he and Sam started moving in, and cooking, and really living there, he realized how important it was to him to have a place he finally felt genuinely safe in.
He splashed some water on his face and glanced at himself in the mirror, noticing that he’d forgotten all about his own battle wound in the process of patching Cas up. He grabbed the tube of ointment that still lay atop the sink, carefully applying some to the gash on his cheek. And after ripping open another bandage, he covered up the wound. Maybe being so gentle with Cas reminded him somehow to be gentle with himself once in a while.
When Dean entered his room again, it was quiet, and lit softly by the lamp on the nightstand. He preferred to sleep with the room pitch black, but opted to keep this one light on, as if it might help Cas feel safer. Breathing deeply and slowly lying down beside Castiel, Dean was noticing just how little this bed was intended for two people. His shoulder knocked up against the angel’s back, so he shuffled further to the left, hanging slightly off the side of the bed. Any further and he’d end up on the floor. “Good night, Dean,” Castiel whispered, his face turned away. Dean didn’t expect him to still be awake.
“‘Night, Cas.” He wasn’t the most comfortable, not by a longshot. But there was something incredibly comforting about having someone to sleep next to, a warm presence beside him. And it was made all the better by the fact that that someone was Castiel.
* * *
His eyes fluttering open, Dean felt better rested than he had in years. He was unsure of what time it was, but he figured he’d been out for far longer than his typical four hours. He had a habit since moving in of waking up under the impression that he was in a motel, and it always took him a moment to adjust to his bedroom. The weapons he’d hung up, the swivel chair by the door, the walls that belonged only to him. He was on his side, his eyes dancing around the room, getting his bearings. More sensations became aware to him, his hand resting on skin, a strong arm draped over his torso and another behind his shoulder, a knee in the crook of his own knee. Soft breathing on the back of his neck. Dean’s eyes widened. Holy shit. I’ve been little-spooned. He could feel the panic rising in him, knotting in his stomach, pounding in his heart, swirling in his brain. This felt really nice. Dean had never quite been held like this. And it was by Castiel, the dorky angel who he’d come to call his best friend, who he felt different about. Not like a brother, not just like a friend. There was something here between them, something unspoken. Something terrifying… yet undoubtedly real.
Right now it was all coming to a head, with Dean under the sleepy grip of Cas, heart hammering and face flushing. Castiel was mumbling something unintelligibly in his sleep. Dean wondered what he was dreaming about, if angels could dream at all. He wondered if this predicament they were in had all come about by accident, by unconscious rolling about and clinging onto someone tangible, or if Cas had known. He assumed they were both too oblivious or too scared to have initiated this voluntarily. Dean had no desire to leave this position, he was warm, and comfortable, and safe. He knew, however, that the conversation when Cas woke up was not one he felt prepared to have yet.
Sliding his legs towards the edge of the bed, Dean slipped out of Castiel’s arms as steadily as he possibly could, watching as Cas recoiled slightly at his sudden absence. Silently, Dean left the room, burying his face in his hands after shutting the door behind him. There was no denying these feelings anymore. Not after a glimpse of domestic life with Castiel, being wrapped in his arms, comforting one another in ways heaven knows they both needed.
Dean heard voices from the base level of the bunker. Wandering down the stairs, he was met with the smiles of Sam, Jody, and Donna, sitting around the map table and cradling coffee mugs in their hands. “Look who’s up!” Sam said teasingly, but following it up with a genuine smile. “You evidently slept well.”
“No kidding,” Dean said, smiling at his guests. “Jody. Donna. ‘Morning.”
“Hiya, Dean.” Donna beamed, her shoulders rising as she smiled.
“You’re looking well,” Jody added, taking a sip of her coffee. “I’m glad.”
“You want coffee, Dean? We’re gonna have to rally here soon, though. Another missing person’s report came in and we’ve gotta make it back to that nest. These are not particularly striking me as the friendly kind of vampire.”
“Well, those are rare to come by,” Dean chuckled, rolling his shoulders. He noticed that Jody and Donna were holding hands underneath the table. Something inside of him lit up. If they could make it work in the middle of their hectic hunter lives, couldn’t he? But could it work if his partner was an angel? “Uh, coffee. No, I’ll go change. Can’t be ganking vampires in my pajamas.”
Jody and Donna giggled as Dean stomped back up the stairs, sliding stealthily back into his bedroom, collecting a pair of jeans, a flannel, and an olive green jacket, and heading for the door.
“Dean.” A gruff voice broke through the silence. Dean flinched.
“Heading out to finish the vampire hunt, Cas.” He turned towards the bed. “Get some more rest, you’re still beat to hell.”
“Be careful,” said Castiel, raising his head to look Dean in the eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I can’t heal you.”
“Well thanks for the encouragement,” Dean huffed sarcastically. “I’ll be fine, buddy.” And he was gone. Classic Dean, throwing ‘pal’ and ‘buddy’ and ‘dude’ at the end of everything to convince himself this was all platonic. He quickly changed in the bathroom, brushed his teeth at lightning speed, and landed back at the bottom of the stairs.
* * *
The hunt went off without a hitch. Sam, Dean, Jody, and Donna returned the young woman the vampires had kidnapped back to her family, and basically had to take down the whole nest to get to her. These vampires were rapid and bloodthirsty as they tended to know vampires to be, but this time they seemed more feral than Sam and Dean were used to. Maybe it only seemed this way because Dean didn’t feel all there, his mind had been wandering to Cas. Things they’d experienced together. The fear and rage he felt tearing Purgatory apart to find him. All the times they held eye contact in solemn silence, Dean unable to restrain his eyes from flickering to Castiel’s lips. He was piecing things together today, feelings he’d dismissed, which now began to bubble over. He loved Castiel. Could Castiel love him? Could angels love at all?
Jody and Donna started their ride back to Sioux Falls together, and Sam and Dean drove back to the bunker. Sam slept with his head pressed against the window while Dean tapped his hands on the steering wheel along to the songs that popped on the radio, all of which coincidentally had to do with love. Just his luck.
“I’m beat, dude. Gotta go lay down,” Sam grumbled as they came through the door, immediately wandering down the hallway.
“Yeah, okay, grandpa.” Dean hobbled down the stairs, his joints sore. He unexpectedly came face to face with Castiel who sat at the map table, dressed back in a now freshly clean trenchcoat, leading Dean to assume he did a load of laundry. He sat in front of a half-eaten pizza.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Hungry now, huh?” He eyed the pizza, covered in pepperoni and olives. “How did you even get that, Cas? We don’t have another car, there’s not stuff around here for miles. And I assume you can’t blip anywhere nowadays either.”
“I walked. I suppose humans can go to great lengths for hunger.”
“Heh…” It felt like Dean’s collar was trying to strangle him. He was never this nervous. Around monsters that wanted to kill him, maybe, but not another person. Something was different now with Cas after all his introspection. He felt like a teenager with a hopeless crush. “...yeah.”
Castiel looked like he was considering something. Dean’s gaze was wandering. “Dean,” Cas began, standing up. “You’ve seemed on edge around me lately.”
Dean felt his breath almost stop. This, whatever it was, was happening now, whether he liked it or not. “On edge?”
“Yes.” Castiel stepped closer to him. “Do I scare you, Dean?”
“Scare me? Jeez, Cas, no… that’s not it.”
“Do I make you feel uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Do I make you… happy?”
Dean bumped up against the wall he didn’t even realize he was being backed into, a breath escaping his mouth. “Yes,” he said, almost exasperated, like he’d been holding this in forever. “Yes, Cas, you do.”
Castiel softly smiled. “You make me very happy too, Dean.”
“Good,” Dean breathed, returning Cas’ smile with a sideways grin. “That’s good.”
Castiel was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been alive for centuries. In all that time I somehow never took the time to truly see how beautiful humanity was. It wasn’t until you.”
Dean’s head was spinning.
“I had long been under the impression that the human race was selfish, cruel. But you, Dean… you care so deeply about others, keeping them safe.” Castiel was looking deeply into Dean’s eyes, with such a genuineness and admiration. “I’ve seen planets form. I’ve seen expanding solar nebulas. I’ve seen seas of stars. All of the things I’ve seen, Dean, they will never compare to you.”
Dean’s hand seemed to move on its own, sliding onto Castiel’s cheek, past all the Band-Aids. A tear slid down his own face. “I’ve never been great with words, Cas.”
“That’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Dean leaned forward and closed the distance between them. The kiss was gentle, and long, and real. Dropping his hands from Castiel’s face, Dean grasped onto his waist inside of his trenchcoat and pulled him closer. The kisses got more rapid, more desperate, as if they were worried they’d lose one another. Cas threw his arms around Dean’s shoulders, breathless as he broke away momentarily. When they reconnected, Castiel allowed his tongue to slide into Dean’s mouth, resulting in a small noise from them both. After a moment Dean dragged his lips away from Cas’, littering his face with kisses, one on each bandage. Cas slid his hand under Dean’s thigh and hoisted his leg up.
“Woah, Romeo.”
Dean dove to catch Castiel’s lips with his once more, his fingers sliding into his hair. He could barely believe this was happening. It was like the world was falling away around them, like they were the only two creatures alive on Earth. Earlier this morning Dean had woken up in Castiel’s arms, and now they were pressed up against a wall of the bunker, hands desperate to hold each other, mouths pulled together like magnets.
“I understand-” Cas began between eager kisses, “why humans find this-” He planted a hand against the wall behind Dean as one of these kisses grew deeper. “- so pleasurable.” They broke apart, breathing heavily.
“No kidding.” Dean felt dazed, and turned on, and buzzed with adrenaline. He felt afraid, knowing things had changed, but eased knowing that the cosmic entity he had accidentally fallen in love with ranked him above expanding solar nebulas. Him and Cas were staring intently into each other’s eyes, something that between them had always been a common occurrence, but this time it was laced with unapologetic romance. Castiel’s hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions like a stray cat. Dean brought his hands up to Cas’ head, patting his hair down with a chuckle. His expression sauntered towards seriousness. “Cas… I think I kind of love you, man.” He immediately wished he could hit the backspace on the ‘man’ in that sentence.
Castiel glanced at the floor with a small smile, as if he was almost shy. Dean had made an angel shy. When he looked up, his eyes were swimming with adoration. “I love you too, Dean.” His voice was as gruff as ever, but there was a vague softness to it that Dean had never quite heard before. A long beat passed between them.
“We could go-” Dean cleared his throat, his nervousness still having not completely passed. “-watch a movie or… something?”
“As long as it’s not a cowboy movie.”
Dean’s mouth hung open, exaggerated offence plastered on his face. “Do you not like the cowboy movies I show you?”
“Not particularly. I do, however, like seeing you get so excited over them.”
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose as if to signal his disappointment. “That’s it. I’m breaking up with you.”
“We didn’t… we haven’t-” Castiel narrowed his eyes in playful annoyance. “Dean.”