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Dean kicked the door of the motel room closed with his foot, dropped his canvas duffle on the floor and tumbled onto the bed. Only one bed, it would have to do. He couldn’t even find the energy to kick off his boots. He’d been up for the past thirty-six hours looking for a cursed amulet. He found it then handed it over to Castiel to destroy. Cas’s angel frequent-flyer miles were racking up. Why must cursed objects always be thrown into volcanoes?
Finding the amulet wouldn’t have taken so long if Sam was there. Sam was back in the bunker trying to figure out the next cursed item needing forced retirement. Dean hoped he could get in a few hours of sleep before Sam called in with the next object and possible location.
The amulet was the third cursed object in the past ten days, five in the last month. Before that Dean and Cas recovered a mirror, crystal bowl, dagger, and a golf tee. Ah the golf tee! Even with his eyes closed Dean saw the purple-plaid trousers he wore sneaking into the country club locker room to snag the tee. The first and last time Cas was in charge of disguises. Otherwise Cas was a good partner, better than good. Dean trusted Cas in a way he didn’t trust anyone. He had other feelings for him too. He tried not thinking about those but it was becoming impossible the longer they worked as a duo.
“It is done, Dean. The Goshen Amulet was destroyed.”
Dean groaned, “Cas! What did I tell you about knocking?”
“But I am in the room Dean. Why would I knock when I’d already procured entry?” asked Castiel.
“Never mind,” said Dean. He sat up and unlaced his boots. “Which volcano did you use this time?”
“Stromboli.”
“Isn’t that the guy who puts Pinocchio in the birdcage?” said Dean.
“I don’t see how or why a volcano would do that to a wooden puppet.”
Dean glared at him. Castiel’s bright blue eyes stared back at him with earnest. He didn’t know what to call that color. He was sure Sam would know, but discussing the exact color of Castiel’s eyes was not a conversation to have with your brother. He quickly looked away before Castiel caught him staring, again.
“Tell me about the volcano,” asked Dean.
Dean kicked off his boots then scooted back against the headboard. His eyes were open but just barely. When a hunt like this was over he’d sit in bed and listen to Castiel tell him about the volcano. It started out as Dean being Dean, demanding to know everything, in hopes it would point to the next cursed object. It never did. Now, it was his reward for finishing the job.
“You are tired, Dean. It can wait until morning when you are rested,” said Castiel.
“I can’t sleep until you tell me. Details,” said Dean. Castiel stood unmoved. He must look half dead for Cas to wait him out instead of argue with him. In all fairness Cas might be right, but Dean didn’t play fair. He wanted to fall asleep listening to the low rumble of Castiel’s voice. Even if it meant dialing back the demand and utilizing a different tone. “I want to hear it. Please, Cas.”
Castiel loosened his tie even more then sat on the edge of the bed facing Dean. Dean bit back a smile at his triumph. Dean had fought and won another argument weeks ago about Castiel standing over him as he slept; it creeped him out. Bad enough Cas didn’t sleep, but no way was Cas to watch over him like some sparkly vampire. Dean infinitely preferred this arrangement. And if it meant sometimes sharing his bed with the angel, he would never complain.
“Stromboli,” began Castiel, “is a small island in the Mediterranean off the northeast coast of Sicily. Conical in shape, the volcano constitutes the entirety of the island and has been active for the better part of the last two millennia. There are no trees, but yellow grasses and stout shrubs ring the island. On the north side, a small village of less than a hundred people hides in its shadow furthest from the lava flow to the south. The low light of morning made the lava visible through the white steam; the sky around it a deep azure.”
Dean asked for details and Castiel delivered. Azure? What kind of color is that? Some kind of blue. Was that the color of Cas’s eyes. Cas probably knew the exact color of his eyes, but he was the last person Dean would ever ask. Dean sunk down into the bed and rested his head on the pillow. His eyes remained open enough to see a blurry Cas illuminated from behind by a yellow light. He had a halo. Dean couldn’t contain a chuckle.
“I do not understand what I said that was humorous, Dean,” he said. Cas’s tone was not defensive, far from it, he honestly wanted to understand.
“Nothing, Cas. Continue.”
Dean intently listened for the next few minutes before sleep took him. A deep sleep the body insisted on when neglected for too long. Times like those the nightmares grabbed him. Not the flashbacks of Hell this time but a more primal fear for Dean—falling. Nothing to grab, no land in sight, just Dean falling through clouds. Air rushed past him scraping at his skin like sandpaper. He had been to Hell but somehow this was worse. Complete lack of control. At the mercy of the nothingness surrounding him. By then Dean understood he was dreaming but sleep had its claws dug into him. He couldn’t wake himself. He was alone. Helpless. He couldn’t catch his breath. With his very soul he called out a single word—Cas.
Strong arms grabbed him from behind. One arm around his waist, the other held him firm across the chest and gripped his shoulder. No longer falling, the air around him stilled and Dean inhaled. His anxiety tucked back into the deep corners of his mind; never gone but no longer overwhelming him. Breathing again, he took stock of the situation starting with who grabbed him.
“Cas?” asked Dean.
“It is me, Dean,” he answered.
“Got that,” said Dean, drawing on his endless supply of righteous indignation. Not that it ever worked on the angel, but it made Dean feel better. “You’re in my dream! So we’re doing that again?”
“I had not planned on it, no, but you called out to me in distress,” answered Castiel.
Dean’s phony exasperation dissipated into the air around them. He called Cas, not with his voice or his mind, but with his very soul. And Cas came.
“Well, Houston, we have a problem. I can’t seem to wake up. Think you could give me a hand with that?”
“You still need your sleep, Dean,” said Castiel. “I’d advise you against waking.”
Dean could not see Cas’s wings, even in dreams, but felt the soft gush of air around them as Cas’s wings beat hard, keeping them afloat.
“Then don’t let go ‘cause I’m still not a big fan of falling, dream or not,” said Dean.
“I do not mind holding you, Dean.”
Dean had no answer to that. Not one he could give voice to. But he didn’t mind being held by Cas. And if honest, he liked it.
“Dean?”
“Tell me again about the volcano. I fell asleep soon after my head hit the pillow.”
“I can do that,” said Castiel, “and this.”
The air around them pushed away as Cas’s wings beat faster and the clouds parted. Below them, an island surrounded by the deepest blue water Dean had ever seen. The descended lower into the steam to the spot where Cas tossed the cursed amulet into the lava. Then Cas described how it melted as it sunk beneath the flow and the green steam that rose from its remnants. It was that green smoke that worried them, which was why Cas took each object to a different volcano—spread the wealth. Whether or not it would make a difference, they would have to wait and see.
Dean sunk deeper against Cas and the sky dimmed. Everything around Dean faded into muddy blackness except Cas. Dean still felt the angel holding him. It gave him comfort. Few times in his life had he the feeling of home; fewer still were instances he felt safe. With Cas, he felt both those things. Had felt that way for some time. The knowledge weighed as heavy on his chest as the firm arms still snaked around him.
Castiel stirred. With eyes still closed, Dean clasped the arm across his chest willing it to stay. Dean didn’t want to breathe fearing he was still dreaming and the warm feeling would fade. No chance of fading, it deepened when Cas buried his head into Dean’s shoulder. Dean shivered as Cas’s breath hit the back of his neck. Could Cas be feeling the same?
He could do this. He had to do this. Dean twisted in Cas’s arms and was met with blue eyes focused on him. That intense stare shot straight through him and he froze. The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.
Cas’s eyes frowned and he whispered, “Dean?”
Come on, Dean! You’ve bested the nasties of Heaven, Hell and all that lies between and you freeze up now? Nut up or shut up, Winchester.
Dean closed the gap capturing Cas’s lips with his own. That first touch felt like . . . no, not heaven, it felt like hearing your favorite song on the radio when you least expected it. For the longest moment of Dean’s life, he waited for Cas to respond. Was Dean wrong? Did he just ruin the best—the thought vanished when Cas’s lips softened then deepened the kiss. Cas set a slow, gentle pace and Dean followed. Soft lips mingled creating a deep ache in Dean’s chest. Arms tightened around his waist and crushed what little air remained in his lungs. When Dean broke the kiss to catch his breath, his eyes fluttered open spying the stupid grin on Cas’s face. Half-drunk from a single kiss. That image burned into his mind and he wondered how Cas would look after a second?
Cas didn’t wait until Dean was ready before resuming the kiss. Dean smiled at his impatience and ran his fingers over the stubble along Cas’s jawline. He was a good kisser but Dean was done with chaste. He bit Cas’s lower lip and his breath caught. Dean swiped his tongue along that same spot and the angel moaned. That’s when Dean gained entrance, pushing in just enough to taste him. He tasted like ocean air mixed with something sweet—honey. In that kiss, Dean tried telling Cas all the other times he’d wanted to kiss Cas. And the angel slid in a few instances of his own, which made the ache in Dean’s chest swell. He vibrated with energy. No, wait, something beneath him vibrated. His phone. Ugh.
Cas stopped and pulled away so Dean could answer. Guess he had to answer now, but he refused to be happy about.
He glanced at the number then sat up before answering. “What is it, Sam?”
“Good morning to you too. Do you want to know what you’re going after next?”
“Lay it on me.”
“It’s a cursed guitar pick.”
“Please tell me you know more than that.”
“Last confirmed sighting of it was a small town in Washington State called Aberdeen,” said Sam.
“What’s a guitar pick doing in the land of Bigfoot and overpriced coffee?”
“It has quite a history. Last known owner is a guy named Kurt Cobain.”
“Might’ve heard of him,” said Dean.
“Thought you might. Then I’m sure you’re familiar with the previous owner—Jimi Hendrix.”
“You’re telling me we have to destroy Purple Haze’s guitar pick. Sammy, that’s just wrong,” said Dean.
“Has to be done,” said Sam.
“Yeah,” said Dean and hung his head. “It’ll take a while to get there. Cas and I’ll head out when I get off this phone.”
“Before you hang up on me, let me talk to Cas,” ordered Sam.
“Why?”
“Just hand him the phone.”
“Nice talking to you too,” said Dean. He held out the phone to Cas. His lips were pink and swollen and Dean tried not to stare but failed. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Thank you, Dean,” said Cas and he took the phone. “Hello, Sam. Yes, Sam. I believe that would be an accurate assessment. No specifics have been discussed. Your absence was never necessary. Goodbye, Sam.”
Cas returned the phone to Dean then said, “Sam shall meet us in Aberdeen.”
Dean grabbed Cas’s shoulder preventing him from standing, “Wait! How can Sam meet us there if he needs to be at the bunker looking for the next ‘one ring’ on the list?”
“Being at the bunker is not necessary for Sam’s research. The work can be done utilizing the internet.”
“So he’s been hiding out while we’ve been doing all the work!”
“That was not his intention by remaining at the bunker. His position there served his plan of giving you time alone with me.”
“Come again?” said Dean.
He gripped Cas’s arm as he tried to calm the storm brewing in him. His little brother set him up. Who was he to meddle?
“Your brother believed you had feelings for me, and he knew of mine for you. He theorized with enough time, close proximity, and lack of sibling that you would ‘make a move’ as he said.”
“Me? Why not you?” challenged Dean.
“Some time ago I decided against the idea of confessing my feelings. I did not want to influence you for fear of pushing you away, Dean.”
“You could’ve given me a clue,” said Dean.
“I conveyed it through my actions. I left their interpretation to you.”
“No wonder Sammy figured it out before I did,” said Dean and he shook his head.
“You are upset with me. You believe my reasoning flawed.”
“No, Cas,” said Dean and softened his hold, but still unwilling to let go. “Though it kills me to admit, I needed to figure it out myself. This is kind of a leap for me.”
“For both of us, Dean,” said Cas.
He took Dean’s hand from his arm but didn’t let go. He held it. Not a weak hold, nor was it suffocating. It was firm reminding Dean Cas was there. Dean squeezed his hand in response and Cas’s blue eyes smiled again. No more guessing, Dean decided it was Castiel blue, and no one would ever convince him otherwise.
Dean sighed, “What do you say, Cas? I’ll jump if you will.”
“I do not believe with your aversion to falling that is the best course of action. But if you decide to jump I’ll catch you, Dean.”
“Close enough.”
Dean leaned in for another burning kiss. Would their kisses always feel like that? He hoped so. And that desperate ache in his chest returned with a vengeance. It threatened to consume him. Maybe it already had.