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Seasons change; leaves fall to the ground to gather in crisp piles that beg to be pressed under the weight of your heels. Those leaves get blown away; they decay and get lost to the soil only to be covered up by eventual snowfalls. Snow melts under the warmth of the sun and new leaves grow in place of the old ones. It continues on, in circles like that; a never-ending flow, always the same progression throughout the years. Castiel has seen many seasons- all of them, in fact- and yet every time he watches the first leaves of autumn disconnect from their branches and float to the ground, he can’t help but to feel a beautiful sense of calm.
Castiel feels time differently than humans; he is always present, but he is future and past too. He could tilt his head and wind back those seasons to any of the ones before it or shoot forward to new ones that had yet to pass. When he watches the leaves fall, he feels more firmly in the present, more directly tied down to the current season as it affects the world. It is wonderful, being tethered to the present.
Of course, Dean didn’t understand any of this, there was no way his human mind could process most of what Castiel knows, most of what he really is. That is why, when Dean walks out of their shared motel room to meet him where he sits at the curb, he asks him why he is staring at the trees.
“It happens so fast.” Castiel speaks, temporary hands clasped together over his knees. Being in a vessel no longer bothers him as much as it used to. With Jimmy gone, this body feels almost as much his own as his true form. He feels the change of air temperature more acutely in this body; if he didn’t have his coat, he is sure he could even get goosebumps from the chill of late October.
“What does?” Dean asks, now firmly seated on the raised concrete. The human’s leg brushes against his own; Castiel does his best not to mention it.
“The falling of the leaves. I prefer not to miss it.” He could feel the warmth that radiated from Dean, as it usually did. Without even having to look over, he knew there was a smile resting on Dean’s lips.
“Why’s that?” he prods further.
Castiel wets his lips and lets his eyes fall to his fingers, tangled together in front of him. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen it happen?” he takes his chance to turn his answer into a question of his own.
“I, uh- no?” Castiel hears Dean clear his throat, feels him settle in just a little bit closer. They were always so much closer these days. Castiel prefers it that way, if he is honest. Though he shouldn’t, he quite often finds his mind wandering into uncharted territory, to Dean. He remembers how it felt to piece this man together, to hold his soul in his then-burnt palms, to sew together the fabric of him. He remembers the lengths he went to to assure each freckle was in the right place and how he had been unable to refrain from leaving a piece of himself with Dean when he returned him to the living. As often as he remembers Hell, so too does he think of the now, of the future. So badly does he want, yet always he denies himself even the thought of what it would be like to truly see him again. Dean’s soul was pure, brighter than the sun that kept this solar system in its orbit. Dean was breathtaking; he was the essence of beauty itself, the very core of everything he himself found holy. Nothing could ever compare to his divinity.
“Cas?”
Castiel shakes his head, huffing out a small laugh as he lifts his gaze towards Dean. “I have seen every one. From the beginning of it all, Dean. It is never any less beautiful than the first.” He is unsure why, but a soft pink hue dusts over Dean’s cheeks at that.
“It doesn’t get, I don’t know, repetitive? Boring?” Dean shifts, just slightly, not any further away but not closer either.
“How could it? It may be the same process, but it has never once looked exactly the same. Autumn is the most beautiful thing;” he pauses, “well, almost.”
Dean’s brows furrow together, confused. “Almost?” Castiel notices him shiver, so he decides it is time to head back inside. Maybe someday he will be able to tell Dean that the burning ember colours of Autumn’s falling leaves comes second only to him.
Castiel stands then, pushing himself off of the curb and reaching a hand down in offering to Dean. To his surprise, Dean takes it, pulling himself up from the ground. He looked like he wanted to press him further about it, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Well, the sun's up now. I think that the morgue ought to be opening soon. Breakfast before bodies?” Dean questions, a hint of hope in his tone. He knows Castiel doesn’t eat; just like he knows he could never tell him ‘no’.
“Of course, Dean.”
Though he could fly them there in an instant, he files into the passenger seat of the Impala anyway. It’s more comfortable for Dean, and since he can’t perceive his wings, Dean never realizes the discomfort he faces. Still, he would sit there a thousand times over, watching as miles rolled under the wheels with his wings tucked just beyond Dean’s vision, the strange ache of them being stuck in the seats always pressing at his back, if it meant Dean was happy.
The diner is close and it doesn’t take long for a peppy waitress to come by their table, miniature notebook and pen in hand. Dean orders the same meaty breakfast he does at most of these places, and Castiel orders coffee. Sometimes he orders food just so Dean can have more, but with their next destination being a morgue, he finds that this is not one of those times.
Dean talks about the case; how, based off of the piece printed in the paper, it was likely to be vampires but that he wanted to check the victims to be sure. Vampires were always Dean’s favourite, so when Dean had asked him to accompany him on this one because his brother Sam was already with Jody and the girls assisting on their own hunt, Castiel agreed. He would have agreed regardless of the monster, but Dean always seemed just a little more at ease when it was vampires and Castiel lived for the rare moments that Dean smiled.
When Dean finished his platter, they left the bills on the table and returned to the car. Another short drive lands them at the front doors to the just opened morgue. It takes Dean only a minute to charm his way to the bodies stowed away in the back and Castiel follows close behind. Once left alone, they roll out the trays that rest behind closed cubby doors to display the array of victims. The first is a young woman, likely just out of her teens, with her throat torn. It had not been done delicately and Castiel almost winced thinking about the suffering she must have endured. The second body was a man’s, mid-forties and built. If it had been a regular attacker, he would have come out of the skirmish unscathed, but his neck bore the same rough tears the first woman’s did. The third and final body was another man, late twenties and scrawny. Again, his throat harboured punctures and tears.
“Well, this is a pretty open-and-close case, don’t you think, Cas?” Dean says, already placing the sheets back over the bodies to slide them back into their cubbies.
“You’re right; this does appear to be the work of vampires.” At his admission, Dean smiles.
“Hell yeah. Well, let’s head out, circle the town, scout for abandoned buildings and whatnot. Maybe we’ll even gank these bloodsuckers before bedtime.” Dean grins, speaking with excitement. Castiel nods and follows Dean back out. They give obligatory waves to the woman that let them through and slot themselves back in the car once more.
The drive is less enjoyable than the last two, lasting much longer and with no real destination to look forward to. Castiel shifts in his seat ever so slightly and is thankful that Dean fails to notice. Being cramped up in a vehicle when his wings were usually spread out was not pleasant, but he would continue to keep that to himself. Manifesting them would only make it worse, wings corporeally tucked behind him would undoubtedly be more uncomfortable than the itch of them sliding through the seats.
After close to two hours of driving, they finally come upon a run-down barn past the outskirts of town. There are beer bottles strewn about the yard, but they look old, crushed and abandoned likely when the barn itself had been. There is an eerie feel to the air here, like if you were to step in a puddle, the soft reverberations on the water would be enough to wake whatever slumbered here.
“Well, ready to check it out?” Dean asks, slipping out of the front seat without waiting for an answer, knowing full well that Castiel would follow. He does, blipping from his space in the front seat to Dean’s side as he rummages through the hidden compartment in the trunk.
“You sure you just want to barge right in? I can scope it out first, Dean.” Castiel shifts uncomfortably; something feels off. He can’t place it just yet, but there is definitely something not right here.
“Nah, if they’re here, they’re asleep. Now would be the best time to hit ‘em anyway. No use in wasting time. Maybe we can wrap this up quick and I can finally make you watch that movie I’ve been hounding you about.” Dean turns his head towards Castiel, a bright smile beaming in his direction. If he needed to breathe, it would take his breath away.
“Yes, you mentioned it earlier. “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” if I remember correctly.”
Dean just grins a little wider. “That’s the one. Now come on, we’re burning daylight here.” He shuts the trunk, locking away the other weapons safely before handing Castiel the spare machete.
Despite his apprehensions, Castiel walks in step with Dean towards the barn. They step carefully, eyeing the discarded cans and broken bottles that littered the ground. The closer they get to the entrance, the more Castiel can smell the pungent aroma of alcohol with the tangy scent of blood. Bottles towards the slightly open door are newer, left there rather recently in comparison the dented cans by the car. If he was uncertain before that this was the nest, the smell of blood would have confirmed it, but with the brash smell of alcohol present, he wonders if maybe it could be something else.
“Dean.” he says low, quietly as he can manage. Dean turns his head towards him inquisitively. He was probably trying to split his attention between Castiel and the barn entrance, so Castiel starts quickly.
“Something is wrong, Dean. I don’t think we should barge right in. I-” The sound of a bottle rolling in the dirt stops him from saying more. The air seems to still around them and absently Castiel can tell Dean is holding his breath. The movement came from inside, the mostly closed door cutting off any hope at peeking in. Castiel wants them to back up, to return to the safety of the Impala and get back to the motel, but Dean is always so stubborn and he knows it is more dangerous to continue speaking than to follow Dean’s lead.
Dean is holding his gaze intently when he motions with his head to start stepping back. He wants them to go around back, see if there is any place where they can peek through the walls to get a glimpse at what they’re up against. As always, Castiel follows Dean’s every step.
They tread around to the back of the barn with careful steps, extremely mindful of broken glass and those crisp fallen leaves that held the potential to give them away. In that moment, Castiel was sure his love for those leaves would crumble if their quick crunches led to Dean being harmed. He would throw away millennia of preferences if they betrayed him like that.
Taking his threats into account, the leaves stay quiet under their boots and they make it around to the other side of the barn. There is another door, metal instead of wood this time, hanging precariously from the beams. It doesn’t look like it fits there; it’s wrong and off-putting, resembling the feel in the atmosphere around them. Castiel takes in a quiet but unneeded breath.
There is no need to communicate out loud now; both of them have long since gotten accustomed to the silent words they were able to exchange in looks. At Dean’s instruction, given to him only by following the movement of his eyes, Castiel comes up to the small opening between the hanging metal door and the chipped wooden frame.
Inside, it looks like any other barn. There is old hay strewn about on the ground and the long abandoned stalls look broken and battered. Tilting, Castiel was able to see multiple hammocks hanging from the beams. All were filled and if he counted correctly, there were at least 12 of them.
Castiel relays this information to Dean with a look and a display of numbers via his fingers. Dean blinks, surprised at the number, but relieved it seems they are still asleep. The bottle from earlier could have been moved by a mouse, after all.
Dean decides it’s time to move, so they move. Castiel watches as Dean struggles to shift the metal door as silently as possible and he quickly slips inside after him. Machetes in hand, they walk towards the sleeping figures.
Sparing a quick glance at each other, they each raise their fists, blades aimed directly over the vampires’ necks. Practically in unison, they swing the blades down hard. Movement catches their eyes before blades connect to flesh and Castiel is knocked to the ground. When he hits, the machete falls from his grasp and he sees with abject horror that the same fate befalls Dean.
A sudden fury fills his chest. Protect him! His mind shouts at him. He stands up in one fluid motion, fueled by the consuming need to see Dean safe. When he is back on his feet, he goes to size up his opponents and-no, wait, this isn’t right. Panic fills his hollow chest and he realizes, by the unmistakable glow coming from each of the figures, that they are undeniably human.
Dean stands up next to him and scrambles for his blade. The sleeping figures start to wake and Castiel feels the burning need to get them out.
“Dean!” he yells, eyes trained on the tall man in front of him. His eyes are wild, bloodshot and dilated like he was just presented with a prime slab of steak. The sound of his voice wakes any who had managed to stay asleep thus far and the gravity of the situation sets in.
“They’re human!” is when he follows with, catching the way Dean stiffens those few steps away.
“Of course we’re human, numb-nuts.” spits the man in front of Castiel. He isn’t sure when it got there, but there is a small gun twisted in his fingers.
Dean looks over to Castiel frantically. Castiel knows Dean’s code; he wouldn’t want to kill humans. Their job was to eliminate monsters, though, and if these people were still the cause for the loss of life that brought them here, Castiel didn’t see much of a difference.
“Did you kill those people?” Castiel asks, voice unwavering despite his nerves over Dean’s safety.
“Yes... and no.” the man smiles. His teeth are mostly rotted, some gone entirely. He can feel Dean shiver from across the room. “We may be human, but we do happen to have a little pet. Jer, why don’t we show these guys what’s waitin’ for ‘em?” The man’s grin never falters despite how much Castiel wishes it would.
Both Dean and Castiel watch as another man walks into one of the stalls and returns with a man- no, this one is definitely a vampire- bound by his hands. Despite the creature’s predicament, he smiles at them.
“Looks like we got ya delivery today, Benz.” The first man speaks. The crowd steps back, not a single face without a smile. Castiel licks his lips in anticipation as he watches the man that fetched the vampire remove the ropes around his wrists.
Freed, the vampire takes a few quick steps forward towards Castiel. Castiel takes another deep and unnecessary breath; this would be the easy part. The vampire surges forward and Castiel blinks to the side, movement spurred by unseeable wings. A step out of the way, Castiel firmly plants his knee into the stomach of the beast, causing him to double over just long enough for Dean to close the distance. The vampire doesn’t even know what hit him and as quickly as that scene started, it ended. The severed head rolls onto the dirt and a stunned silence fills the room.
“Wha-? How did you-?” Comes the scratchy voice of the man in charge. Dean huffs by his side, a mere few steps in front of him, and Castiel starts looking for an escape. Unfortunately, the crowd in the barn decide escape is not an option.
Before he has time to move, a woman brandishing a shovel connects it to the back of Dean’s skull and with a sickening crack , Dean all but crumples to the ground. Castiel nearly chokes on air.
There is barely a moment between Dean’s body hitting the floor and the mass of people pulling out their own guns. The man in charge had a smaller gun, intricate likely because it was a favourite, like Dean’s. The other’s though, most of their arms were carrying semi-automatics, a few holding ones similar to their leader’s instead. The man was saying something- “not human”?- at him but all he could hear was a roaring in his ears. He could feel the presses on the triggers the second before they happened and he moves before he can process what he’s doing.
Instinctively, Castiel crosses the barn, a shout tearing its way out of his throat. Time seems to slow as Dean’s name is ripped from his lips; he’s on his knees behind Dean, cradling his limp form in his arms as the first bullets fly from their barrels.
In one swift motion, Castiel’s wings materialize, sprouting from his back into this plane of existence and folding out in front of him. As bullets fly, he blankets his wings over Dean. Pain hits him in waves; bullets tearing apart his now visible limbs as feathers fall to the dirt clumped in thick spots of blood. He was being torn apart above Dean, but under the soft canopy of shredding feathers, Dean was safe. Shots ring in that barn for what seemed like eons, but predictably enough, the once full clips soon run out. Castiel glances up, catching sight of his damaged wings, to see the people frantically attempting to flee.
Another wave of fury hits him and Castiel stands with poise. He shakes out his wings, trying not to cringe as a few more chunks of bloodied feathers float to the ground. The man who was previously so smug stands stalk still, eyes unmoving from Castiel’s body.
“You- what are you?” Castiel takes a twinge of satisfaction from the way his voice now wavers.
“I am an Angel of the Lord, boy,” Castiel grinds out, reveling a little selfishly in the way the man starts to tremble, “and you have just incurred the wrath of Heaven.”
In the blink of an eye, Castiel is next to the man, palm steady against his forehead. He feels his grace extend past his vessel and watches the light bleed through his eyes and out of his mouth. The boy falls to the ground unceremoniously and Castiel turns his attention to the rest of the crowd. He is surprised to see that not a single one of them had actually left the building, each of them now shaking as their eyes refuse to leave him. The man in charge had signed his own death warrant, but Castiel was already sick to his stomach over that kill and the worry for Dean was growing more and more imperative.
“Let this be your only warning. Heaven knows who you are; Heaven knows where you are; and I assure you, God will not be as forgiving as me.” Castiel speaks the threat in a low grumble, pushing the words past his lips, seething. It hadn’t been exactly true; God couldn’t care less about the lives of these delinquents, but they couldn’t know that, and the threat landed heavily on their shoulders. The very moment he is finished, every one of them flees. As soon as they are out, Castiel lets his wings slump down, pain permeating through them, and he moves to Dean’s side.
He is unconscious, but breathing. His breaths are shallow, desperate pulls of his lungs, and Castiel can almost feel how hard he’s trying to hold on. He falls to his knees, hands seeking him out to comfort him, to heal him. He pulls Dean into his lap and places his fingers tenderly on his forehead. Again he feels his grace flow from his hands, but this time it serves a different purpose. The angelic heat of the Heavenly host turns gentle to cradle the diminishing embers of the Righteous Man.
His other hand instinctively goes to Dean’s shoulder, a steadying hold to ground himself more than Dean. Beneath the layers of fabric, he still feels the presence of his handprint, one left there so many years ago. His grace lingers in it, a small well of power stored as a seal on Dean’s soul. Under his hands, Dean begins to stir. Castiel can feel Dean’s soul reaching out to his grace; he can feel his longing and his want, his desperate attempts to get a good grip on him. Castiel’s grace lingers just out of reach, weaving him together from the inside much like he did after the first time he laid eyes on Dean. He can feel Dean coming alive under his palms and he can see him grappling at his grace for purchase. He wants nothing more than to give it to him; to let Dean take as much of him as he wants. Castiel would wring himself dry if that’s what Dean wished for. He would give every last scrap of his grace to Dean, every morsel of divinity that wretched beneath his skin.
“Cas?” Dean coughs, beautiful evergreen eyes snapping open and immediately resting on Castiel’s own. Castiel releases a breath and without thinking, he tugs Dean close to his chest. He’s the one trembling now, shaking arms clinging to the man before him. He’s surprised to feel Dean’s arms wrap around him in return and he doesn’t say anything when Dean pushes his face roughly against his chest.
“Cas?” Dean starts again, voice slightly muffled, “Cas, what was that?”
Castiel pulls back and blinks. “What do you mean? The people? I had to kill one, but the rest I believe I scared straight and-”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I couldn’t care less what happened to them. Cas, what did you do? Just now, to me, what happened?”
Castiel swallows. “I- Dean, I healed you. I’ve done it a hundred times before, I don’t know wha-”
“Not like that. It was like… It was like I could see you. Could… could I see you, Cas? Was that you?” Dean is looking up at him, eyes stormy and unreadable but brows knitted together in unmistakable concern. His hand is twisted tightly in the soft white fabric of his button-up. Castiel could feel the warmth that radiated from Dean’s hand where it gripped above his hip, and for a single selfish moment, he closed his eyes.
“What did you see?” Castiel asks, hand still firmly pressed into the mark on Dean’s shoulder. Though Dean was safe, he didn’t want to let him go. Dean screws his eyes shut, mind grappling for a way to put it into words.
“I saw… There was this- this bright blue light and I could feel it, I- it was warm, but it was freezing. I’m- I’m sorry I’m not really sure.”
Instead of answering, Castiel raises his hand to Dean’s chest. He presses his palm over Dean’s heart and dares to extend a small bit of grace towards him. Dean responds immediately; his soul reaching out to grab at wisps while his body gasps for air.
“Cas!” Dean breathes, reverent, pushing Castiel’s name from his lips in the same way he prays. It makes Castiel shutter.
“Dean.” Castiel feels ragged; he has thoroughly expanded his grace today, the broken wings at his back proved that, and yet he wanted to give Dean more. Dean’s soul was practically begging to get a hold of him, but knowing Dean wouldn't understand what was happening, Castiel found the strength to pull away.
“It was you. Cas, I- Cas?” Dean’s voice shifts from awe to terror in a second and Castiel isn’t sure when he closed his own eyes, but suddenly they were springing open, frantically searching Dean’s face. That’s when he saw the quick way Dean’s eyes were bolting back and forth, flicking over and over from one shoulder to the other.
“Dean?”
“You- your- you have wings. ” Dean whispers, the hand gripping Castiel’s side releases it’s hold on him and slowly raises towards his back. “Fuck, Cas, what happened to them?”
“I did what I had to do, Dean. You are alive and that is all that matters to me.” Castiel is aware of how that sounds, but Dean is in his arms and his fingers are but inches from sensitive feathers and Castiel can’t find it in him to take any more steps back from this. Whatever Dean wanted he would hand over in a heartbeat.
Dean visibly swallows; his jaw clenches and his throat works despite no sounds coming out. Dean’s hand finally brushes against feathers and Castiel shivers at the touch. His eyes close, his head tilts back just slightly, needless breaths rush from his lungs. His wings burn, flares and pockets of pain cover them in a way he hasn't felt since he fell. And yet, through divots of agony, Dean’s calloused hands feel good .
“How can I see them?” Dean’s voice remains low, breathless; his fingers card through broken feathers, uncaring of the way they get smeared with crimson streaks.
“I needed them for you.” Castiel tries to keep a steady hold on his voice while his whole body shivers under Dean’s soft touch, but it wavers anyway.
“For me?” There is unease there, apprehension. Dean’s fingers slow their ministrations and Castiel is finally able to open his eyes once again. He tilts his head back towards Dean, his forehead almost touching Dean’s own, and meets his eyes.
“For you.” he confirms. A soft blush creeps up on Dean’s features, so light Castiel questions whether it’s really there. He brings his hand to rest lightly on the side of Dean’s neck and pulls Dean towards him. His forehead meets Dean’s and his eyes flutter shut. Castiel lets out a rapturous breath and he is hopeless to stop the smile on his lips that accompanies it. “Always for you.”
Castiel can feel Dean’s heart hammering away in his chest. It’s strong and steady and speeding up by the second. It thrums under his fingertips, silently begging to regain those wisps of him that he longed for. Castiel was powerless to stop himself from indulging Dean’s want.
He presses a small amount of grace through his fingers where they rested against Dean’s throat. Dean gasps against him, mouth falling open as shaky breaths tear from his lungs. For the first time in his very long existence, Castiel feels greed. As his grace explores Dean, welcomed and guided to Dean’s soul by it’s desperate cries for him, he leans just a little closer. He feels Dean get a careful grip on his grace and he stutters out a ragged breath, the heat of his mouth close enough to Dean’s that it would only take the slightest movement to connect them. He wants Dean in every way-he has for as long as he can remember- but it’s different now; there’s a heat and a pull, desire built upon years of tension, a decade of longing stares and lingering touches. He wants . He wants. He needs.
Somewhere below the surface, Dean must feel it. There’s not a single thing to be said, no words strong enough to portray his thoughts; no poems or verses that capture what he feels. Yet, he is sure Dean knows. There is no way to hide his desire from Dean, not with his grace lingering so close, barely touching Dean’s soul.
Dean must know; he must be able to feel what Castiel does through this bond because there is only a second, the smallest fraction of time in Castiel’s long life that somehow manages to feel longer than the time he’s spent on Earth, before Dean moves the rest of the way. Dean’s lips are soft, better than the first roses that sprouted in The Garden. Though Castiel has lived eternity in divinity, the warm press of Dean against his mouth is the purest taste of the divine he has ever felt. Dean is more than Heaven; he is rapture and sin, love and lust entwined. Dean moves against his lips with the same greed Castiel feels; his fingers burying deeper into the fragmented feathers and Castiel all but moans into Dean’s mouth.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice croaks from his throat the second he pulls away to scrounge for air in his lungs. It would have startled him, but from the touch of Dean’s soul he had known Dean was going to move before it happened.
“Dean.” Eyes open, they get lost. Dean’s gaze weighs on him, pulling him from grace to sin. It should be blasphemy to want this, but his grace longs for Dean and by the look he’s receiving, he no longer has to deny himself this.
Dean swallows. “Can we, uh, do this in the room?” Dean laughs then, weak and quiet, eyes dropping from Castiel’s as fingers depart from feathers. Castiel misses that touch instantly and as much as he wants to fly them back to the room that second, his wings were destroyed. Dean feels his concerns without them being voiced and he is the first to gain the strength to stand. Once on his feet, he offers his hand down to him, shy smile and all. A fluttering feeling enters Castiel’s chest again and he feels like he’s going to burst. He retracts any lingering grace as he pulls himself up by Dean’s hand and he tries not to note the flash of disappointment that crosses Dean’s features.
They make it back out to the car and as his own reflection looks back at him through the dusty windows, he finally catches sight of the damage done to his wings. They were already starting to heal, slowly but surely; delayed by the siphoning of grace to Dean as well as the slower recharge time applied to him due to his consistent absence from Heaven. The wings were visible, not only to himself, but to Dean, to any human that laid eyes upon them. They were broken and bloody, red stains splattered over the oil-slicked black.
He tucks them against himself and-despite his need to be close to Dean- slides into the back seat. Dean gives him a disappointed look in the rearview mirror, but understands as soon as he scoots to the middle. His wings were far too big for even the back seat; folding over themselves like origami birds. It was uncomfortable and likely an obstruction of view from the back windshield, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. He settles as much as he can and Dean speeds off, away from the dirt and blood of the barn and towards the dingy motel.
The drive is longer than Castiel remembers it to be, but maybe that was because of his current predicament. By the time they roll up to the mostly deserted parking lot, night has fallen and the concrete is lit only by the meager light of old streetlights, burned away from white light to orange. Castiel is thankful for the cover of darkness as they leave the vehicle and slip back into their shared room. Dean switches on the light as he walks in and Castiel closes the door firmly behind them. It latches with a quiet click .
Silence fills the air, heavy. Dean clears his throat. “Is there, um, anything I can do to help?” he asks, looking up through his lashes at Castiel from across the room, motioning to the disparaged wings at his back. They would heal on their own, faster if he tucked them back out of this plane, but something kept them here. It was like Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of them and he had this urge to keep them around.
“They are healing.” he says, omitting his other thoughts. He could feel Dean’s desire to touch them again and the last thing he wanted to do was tuck them away. Every second that passed, the bloodied divots smoothed over just a little more. They are only marginally better than when they left the barn, mending ever so slowly.
“Yeah, but,” Dean starts, rubbing at the back of his neck with the hand that had just been twisted in his shirt. Castiel wants his hands on him again; he wants to feel Dean, to touch his skin and press kisses into the stars on Dean’s cheeks. Then, “I did that. If there’s anything- I just want to help. I could clean them up? Is that a thing? Grooming? I could do that.” Dean brings his eyes back to Castiel’s and the last bit of strength he was holding onto crumbles.
“You… Dean, I do not think you understand the implications of this. Grooming is… it’s very intimate.” Castiel turns out of his view, he doesn't wish to see Dean’s reaction. He hears it though, in a soft exhale of breath.
“Thought we covered that base already, Cas.” he laughs.
“Are you- Dean, are you sure? If you want to take it back, I’ll never mention it again, but so help me if you don’t say you don’t want this-”
“Take it back? You’re kidding, right? I’ve been in love with you for years, I don’t think-” Dean cuts himself off this time, features painting themselves a deep red. Castiel stops-the world stops. There is no forward motion through time, no slight changes in the seasons; there’s only Dean, beautiful and effervescent, standing in front of him with love on his lips.
“Cas, I-”
“Do you?”
Dean stops, breathes. There’s far too much between them, both history and space, and Castiel wants to close all those distances to reach Dean.
“Yeah, Cas, I do. But, you’re an Angel and you can’t-”
Castiel does exactly what he’s been longing to for years. He crosses the stained motel carpet in a few quick bounds, wraps his borrowed fingers into the collar of Dean’s jacket and yanks him back to his mouth. He kisses him, needy and fervent and hot, tasting him with every shred of desire he has bottled up in his chest. It’s heady, intoxicating; all too much and nowhere near enough.
Castiel pulls away, panting. “You’re an idiot.” he breathes, not caring that Dean is standing there, stunned and lost for words. “I have loved you from the moment I laid my hands on you, Dean Winchester, and I’ll love you far after this world is gone.”
The dam breaks. Dean is against him, pushing as much of his body against Castiel’s as he can manage. Their mouths slot together again, hard presses of tender lips aching for more. He swipes his tongue along the seam of Dean’s mouth, reveling in the way he opens up for him. A needy sound comes from Dean’s throat and Castiel is undone.
“Dean.” he practically growls. One hand had snaked its way onto Dean’s waist while the other was fisted in his hair. He tightens his grip on Dean’s hip and tugs at his hair; Dean whimpers. “Bed.”
Dean nods, unable to form words as he scrambles his way to one of the mattresses. As soon as his ass is on the bed, Castiel takes a single, deliberate step forward. Dean watches him closely, green eyes blown with interest. Castiel undoes his tie, a slow process he takes his time on. Dean is practically squirming on the bed; Castiel smirks, a single brow raised.
“What do you want, Dean?” he asks as the tie finally falls from his fingertips to the floor. Dean’s eyes watch it land before snapping back up to meet his own. His lips are parted beautifully, shallow breaths escaping in short bursts.
“You. Everything, I- I don’t know, Cas, please- ”
Castiel takes another step forward, wings raising behind him as he walks. He stretches them out, feeling the pull of tender healing wounds. They fill the room behind him, darkening the room despite the feeble attempts put forth by the dingy motel light. Castiel slips his hands in his pockets and when he comes up just in front of Dean’s trembling figure, he bends, lips so close to the shell of his ear.
“Everything?” he asks, a low whisper. Dean shivers and nods; Castiel grins. “Good boy.”
Dean full on whines at that and something stirs low in Castiel’s gut.
“Cas, please.” his voice sounds so deliciously broken.
He wants to snap their clothes off, to touch Dean right this instant, but he also wants to savor this, to draw it out and watch Dean squirm and beg. Castiel straightens back up and first discards his trench coat. Dean swallows hard as the suit jacket follows into the growing pile on the floor.
“Dean,” he says, “would you care to help?” He’s never seen Dean sit up so fast in his life. Eager fingers fumble over the buttons of his shirt and his mouth hangs open when his hands finally touch his ribs. He runs them over Castiel’s tattoo, lingering over the inked Enochian letters that peppered his flank. He lets Dean continue as he shucks the shirt from his shoulders. Dean looks up at him through his lashes and Castiel tilts his head down to gesture towards his pants. He watches Dean lick his lips as he unhooks the button and slides the zipper down. Slacks are dropped to the floor like everything else and he watches Dean’s wide eyes take in his almost naked form.
Dean reaches forward again but Castiel catches his wrist. “Your turn.” he says simply. Dean glances up quickly but just nods once more, settling back into the bed. Castiel kneels down before him, an altar of his own, takes his time undressing the finest thing in all creation. He is less careful with Dean, tugging at his clothes until he is rid of them and down to his boxers. He maneuvers them onto the bed, Dean pliant under his hands.
Castiel never thought he would get to see Dean this way. He had proved time and time again that he was something out of the reach of even Heaven’s most holy. But here he was, naked and wanting, silent pleas coming from the look in his eyes. He was beautiful. Dean Winchester was holy in ways God couldn’t compare. He was filthy and raw and battered, but he was stunning; freckled, sun-kissed skin that begged to be ravished.
Cas… his name, a prayer, not actually spoken from his lips but pleaded through the press of hands on his hips. Castiel tilts his head down and connects their lips once more. Dean deepens the kiss immediately, desperate for as much as Castiel would give him. He presses his hips against Dean’s, ripping a groan from him. Castiel smiles in satisfaction against Dean’s mouth as he repeats the motion.
“Fuck, Cas…” He says it out loud this time, needy words falling on Castiel’s ears. He wants to give Dean whatever he wants; he would destroy Heaven and Hell just to hear Dean say his name like that over and over again. He grinds down on him and feels Dean buck his hips up to meet his. Just then, Dean’s fingers find their way back into the down at his back and Castiel arches into the touch. A low groan rumbles from his chest and Dean’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation.
Dean runs fingers through his wings until Castiel is practically purring. They’re both straining against the fabric of their boxers and Castiel hastily removes both pairs. Fully unclothed, Castiel presses his length on Dean’s, forcing a heady groan from him. Castiel swallows that sound, lips moving on Dean’s.
“Fuck, Cas, I want-” Dean stops himself and screws his eyes shut.
“What do you want, Dean?” It comes out low and demanding. He wants to give Dean everything.
“Need you, Cas.”
“You’re going to have to be specific, Dean. If you can’t ask for it, you can’t have it.” Dean shudders under the weight of those words as Castiel slots their erections together and grinds down.
“I- fuck, I want you to fuck me. Please, Cas- Oh, my God.”
Without another word, Castiel slides down Dean’s body, leaving kisses in wet trails down his torso. He flicks his tongue over a nipple, sucking on the skin there lightly before dragging his teeth over them. Dean hisses and Castiel does the same on the other side. Dean Winchester, the Righteous man, begs for more and Castiel is helpless to deny him.
He kisses down his soft stomach, avoiding Dean’s cock as he continues on down his thighs. Dean breathes heavily at each kiss and Castiel can feel the burn of Dean’s longing under his tongue.
He kisses Dean’s inner thigh once. “Beautiful.” Twice. “Gorgeous.” Once more, on the other side, just barely higher up. “Good.” The next kiss is placed at the base of Dean’s cock and he smiles against it as Dean writhes beneath him. Castiel lays his hands on Dean’s hips and stills him.
He wastes no more time on kisses, instead dragging his tongue from that spot to the head of Dean’s cock. He swipes his tongue over the slit and grins at the way Dean’s exhales are littered with whispered curses.
“Please .” he begs. Castiel obliges. He takes Dean in his mouth, pushing his head to the back of his throat. “Fuck!” Dean fully seated in his mouth, his hands fly up to tangle in Castiel’s hair. It’s almost as good of a sensation as him being in his wings.
Castiel works him like that, until he’s begging and whining and crying for more, to please, let me come, oh God, Cas, oh fuck- and then Castiel stops. He pulls away, lapping up what had gathered at the tip and watching with interest as Dean throws his head back against the pillow.
“You’re a cruel bastard, you know that?”
“You asked me to fuck you, did you not? Do you still want me to fuck you, Dean?”
Dean stills, throat working overtime to come up with a response. Castiel just gets up from the bed, leaving him to fumble over his words as he searches for lube. He knows Dean keeps some in his bag, there were a few times he had snooped through their belongings out of curiosity and he was all the more thankful now, prize in hand, that he had been so nosey all those years ago. He crawls back up onto the bed, settling between Dean’s parted legs.
Castiel dips down again, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s cock and making him shiver. He was going to savour this. He uncaps the purple bottle and squeezes the lube out onto his hand. It only takes a moment to slick up his fingers. Lips still placing small kisses, Castiel lets his slicked fingers brush against Dean’s hole.
Dean takes in a sharp breath and Castiel can feel how tight he is with the pads of his fingers.
“Shh, shh, Dean, I’ve got you.” he comforts. Much to his surprise, Dean relaxes. He even pushes against Castiel’s fingers so Castiel returns the pressure. He circles his wet fingers there, pushing and pressing lightly until Dean is back to begging.
“Cas, just do it already, fuck, just-”
There’s something sinfully sweet about the way Dean can’t finish that sentence as he pushes a finger past his rim.
“What was that?” he asks, starting to move. He curls his finger, practically pulling those sweet noises out of him as he beckons them forth. He works him open to that chorus of moans; adding a second finger and soon a third. Castiel stretches him with his fingers as a small pool of precome gathers on Dean’s stomach. Pulling out of him, Castiel leans up and cleans up the mess with his tongue. Dean struggles to raise his head to watch and he groans again. Castiel would never get enough of that sound.
Taking the bottling in his hand, he squirts out more, plastering it over his cock. He hadn’t been touched yet, but he didn’t care. Touching Dean was far more pleasurable than touching himself. The bottle was tossed away and Castiel gave himself a few strong pumps before lining himself up. He presses the tip against Dean’s ass and nearly laughs at the way he desperately pushes back on him. Castiel wants to hear him beg.
“C’mon Cas, don’t hold out on me now.” Dean laughs. It’s a sweet laugh; cute, but not what Castiel wants to hear, so he waits. He keeps the pressure at his rim, pumping himself slowly while he watches Dean’s wide eyes.
“Cas?”
Castiel waits.
“Cas, c’mon.”
He grins.
“Cas, please for the love of God, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m-”
There it is. Castiel pushes into him, slowly sliding in until he bottoms out. Dean is a mess beneath him. His voice broke off, shattered gasps wracking through his system as he grasps at the sheets. Castiel waits for only a moment, right until he thinks Dean is about to start begging again, and then he moves. He pounds into him, desperate and starving for it.
Dean writhes beneath him, curses flying from his lips at almost every thrust. Castiel had imagined this, had pictured what it could be like to be with Dean this way, but nothing could ever compare to this. Dean was as bright as he was when Castiel found him in Hell. He was shivering and begging and crying for more; pleading in silent prayers for just a bit more, please, oh God . The Angel of Thursday was always a silly title; Castiel was the Angel of Dean Winchester, once a vital instrument of Heaven defiled into the bed of a hunter. It was better to be Cas of Dean than to be Castiel of God; he didn’t need God anyway. Spread beneath him, putty in his palms, Dean was more than divinity; he was pure light.
Castiel longs to feel his soul in his hands. He places his hand against Dean’s chest and Dean is breathing out “yes”es before he even starts. Grace extends past his fingers and reaches for the gold of Dean’s soul as his cock hits just the right spot in Dean.
“Fuck, Cas, oh God, I’m gonna- fuck- I’m gonna come, Cas, please , oh, may I?” Even as he asks, Dean’s soul grabs onto Castiel’s grace in hot desire. His fingers reach up and tangle in forgotten feathers and Castiel can see universes being born under his hands. Dean tugs at the down, pulling and stroking wherever he can reach as he tumbles closer and closer to the edge. He needs to be closer , he needs every inch of Dean, and when grace cinches down around wisps of golden light, Castiel is unmade.
“Fuck, you’ve been such a good boy, Dean. Come for me. Come for me, Dean.”
Permission granted, Dean comes entirely undone. Enraptured, he screams, he yells Castiel’s name to the torn wallpapered walls and to the Heavens above. He spills over himself, leaving sticky white trails up his stomach. That is enough for Castiel and he follows Dean through ecstasy. His hips stutter as he comes and Dean continues to cry out, destroyed voice reduced to broken whimpers. It takes time to come down, to untangle himself from Dean.
Despite Dean’s protests, Castiel gets up to grab a warm washcloth, favoring clean up the old fashioned way. Cleaned but not yet dressed, Castiel crawls back into the bed beside Dean and pulls the man close. Dean nuzzles into his chest and Castiel can feel the way his heart is still hammering away. While he was up, Castiel had tucked his wings back out of Dean’s view, sighing at the sudden relief of stronger healing. Back in bed, he feels the familiar sensation of them phasing through the mattress, but for once, he doesn’t care.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is hoarse, Castiel tries not to smirk in pride; he thinks lust and greed are enough sins for today.
“Yes, Dean?” He rubs circles into the small of Dean’s back and presses kisses into Dean’s hair.
“Did you mean it?” Dean’s hands are doing their own ministrations over Castiel’s chest and Castiel places his hand over Dean’s to still the motions. Once he is calm, he moves his hand up to cup Dean’s chin and lifts his eyes to his own.
“Dean Winchester, I learned to love because of you. Before you, I was like every other Angel, unfeeling and doubtless; but you, just being near you gave me the freedom to love. I would have never known what love could feel like if it wasn’t for you. So yes, Dean, I love you. I love you more than the fall of Autumn leaves, and if you asked me to, I would leave everything behind to stay by your side. You are love, Dean, and I am love because of it.”
There’s a wetness against his chest, but Castiel doesn’t say anything. Dean shakes against him and Castiel just holds him tighter.
“Cas?” It’s more choppy than before, wavered by unmentioned tears.
“Yes, Dean?”
“Stay.”
“Of course.”
Kisses pepper over freckles and tears; steady arms wrap around Dean and hold him there.
Castiel has seen the world; he has seen the first sunrise, the first dusk; he has seen countless eclipses and endless full moons. He has watched as man sinned and turned from Heaven and he has seen repentance tenfold. Castiel has watched the seasons change; he has seen crystals of snow he designed fall to the ground to be stepped on and melted away by the sun. He was there for every new leaf that sprouted from bare trees and he was there to watch each one of them turn red and fall again.
And still, despite everything he has seen, Castiel would never see anything more beautiful than Dean. Because Dean was love personified, and after all, there was nothing more beautiful than love.