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Dean had only felt pain like this once, and he had never thought he would have to feel it gain; not for awhile, at least. But Crowley didn’t seem to care that Dean had made a promise to himself, a promise that he would never have to feel this pain again; that was the only thing that had kept him going.
As Crowley drew the knife down Dean’s chest in whatever patterns struck fancy, Dean prayed. He prayed to Sam, to Bobby, to Castiel. Especially to him. At first, he prayed for help, for someone to come find him, save him, goddammit, ‘cuz he sure as hell wasn’t getting out of this himself. And then, when it seemed like no help was coming, when it seemed that he wasn’t going to be saved, Dean prayed for God to show him one mercy, and kill him- save him from the pain.
Castiel was in the middle of exorcising a demon when he heaard Dean’s prayer. It was sudden, and loud from the force of Dean’s emotions. Castiel faltered, and it cost him a brief scuffle. With the demon back in the Pit, Castiel took flight and flew.
The sight before Castiel when he landed was so horrific it caused him to trip. Dean was hanging on a cross in a sick imitation of Jesus, his hands and feet crucified. Bloody sigils were carved into his chest; a few of them were leaking pus. Castiel noticed fingers were missing from both of Dean’s hands.
Carefully, Castiel stepped over the various instruments of torture and places two fingers to Dean’s forehead. The changes are immediate.New skin form over the wounds on Dean’s chest. The nails unscrew themselves from Dean’s feat, and he falls into Castiel’s waiting arms. But he does not regain consciousness. Castiel suspects it has something to do with the fragility of the human mind.
Castiel would’ve taken Dean to Sam right away, but he thinks it would be best for the both of them if Dean was up and about. Or that’s what he tells himself.
On the flight over, Dean had been moaning in his sleep. It left Castiel worried that Dean was suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress; after all, Castiel was an angel, and he had only what little information he could gather from Sam and Dean, and you wouldn’t exactly call them normal.
So Castiel had taken shelter in the nearest hotel he could find, hoping that the familiarity would help calm Dean down. But it hadn’t.
Now Castiel sits here, staring at Dean, pondering what he’s feeling. As Dean’s moaning had gotten more insistent, Castiel had started to feel a pleasure deep in his gut, something he had never felt before; not to this intensity. It drives Castiel insane.
Just when Castiel is going mad with pleasure, he feels Dean awaken. The energy surrounding him shifts and he sits up in bed, staring at Castiel. His eyes travel slowly down Castiel’s body, until they stop below his waist. He smirks.
Without a word, Dean gets out of bed and straddles Castiels waist. Whatever protest Castiel might have hid is drowned out by Dean’s lips on his. His tongue darts out and pushes open Castiel’s mouth, exploring. It elicits a loud moan from Castiel, a moan that Dean responds to by jerking his hips.