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“Incoming,” Sam says, nodding towards the door.
Dean picks up his drink before casually turning. “Damn it,” he mutters, tossing it back. The whiskey burns its way down his throat as he slams the glass down on the bar and motions to the bartender for another.
“How do they keep finding us?” Sam’s voice is one part incredulous to three parts amused and Dean can’t help but scowl at him. “What?” Sam asks, his eyebrows flying up and the most innocent look in the world coming over his face. “It’s not my fault that Cas’s minions keep cropping up like a bad case of herpes.“
“Oh, Jesus. Thanks for that, Sammy,” Dean makes a face and runs a hand through his hair. “Any luck he hasn’t seen us?”
Sam glances to the door and huffs out a laugh. “Judging by the gobstruck look on his face, I’m guessing that’s a no.”
Dean lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “Great. Just what I needed.” He slouches down on the stool, hunching over the bar.
“Oh, because it’s so freaking terrible being you, Dean Winchester, Righteous Man Whom God Has Anointed with Rainbows and Love or whatever it is they’re calling you these days.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Meanwhile I’m Samageddon, Demon Blood Junkie Who Sleeps with Whores and Destroys All Happiness and Joy.”
“Samagedon,” Dean says with a laugh. “Good one.”
“Ha ha.” Sam makes a face and downs the last of his beer. He nods at the barkeep and then lets out a long suffering sigh. “Do they have to be so obvious about it?” he asks as the minion makes his way across room. “I mean, really? Look at what he’s wearing. He might as well have a ‘Hi, I’m A Minion in the Church of Cas’ nametag on.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Not everyone who wears leather jackets and jeans belongs to the Church of Cas, Sam.”
“No,” Sam agrees, “but everyone who wears leather jackets and jeans and carries a bible with a handprint burned on the cover does.”
“Yeah,” Dean draws the word out until it has about ten extra syllables. “The handprint thing is creepy.”
“Everything about it is creepy. Because it’s a religion based on Cas,” Sam points out.
Dean nods his head and would have said something in agreement, but he is prevented from it by the arrival of one earnest looking convert to the Church of Cas.
“You are Dean Winchester,” the man breathes, his face as reverent as a nun’s, “whose soul was rescued from the fiery pits of hell and who is beloved in the eyes of God.”
Dean sighs again. “Yup, that’s me,” he says while throwing back another drink. He lifts a finger at the bartender and does his best to ignore the ridiculously intense look that Cas’s minion is giving him.
Beside him, Sam clears his throat. “Beloved in the eyes of God?” he asks, laughter edges his words. Dean flips him off and then sucks greedily at the new drink that has appeared in front of him.
“And you are Sam Winchester,” the man says, turning his attention to Sam, “the boy with the demon blood, who broke the final seal and started the Apocalypse.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Never going to live that down, am I?” he mutters into his beer.
“Starting the Apocalypse is a pretty big deal,” Dean says a smirk.
The man nods like an eager puppy. “But never forget that Sam Winchester also ended the Apocalypse by nobly sacrificing himself when all seemed lost.”
Sam starts at that and nearly drops his drink. “What?” he blinks at the man in front of them. “Where did that bit come from?”
“It’s all recorded in The Winchester Gospels,” the man says, his voice taking on a fervent tone. He opens his mouth to no doubt babble on about things that Dean and Sam have already lived through, thank you very much, but Dean stops him with a wave of a hand.
“Enough with the history lesson,” he says turning back towards the bar. He downs the last of his drink then slams the empty glass down on the bar. “What do you want?”
There is a slight intake of breath from the man and then he is on his knees with his hands held up in supplication.
“Dean Winchester, Righteous Man Whom God the Father Has Blessed above All Others, I have come to humbly beseech you in the name of Godstiel to accept His love.”
“Holy shit,” Dean says, because really, what else is there to say?
“Godstiel?” Sam looks like he’s about to pass a kidney stone.
The minion nods. “Godstiel. The name serves as a reminder that even the right hand of God the Father was once nothing more than Castiel, humble Angel of the Lord.”
“Humble my ass,” Dean snorts and the look Cas’s minion gives him ought to be enough to sear him on the spot.
“Come to think of it,” Sam says, “Godstiel is just about pretentious enough to fit our little angel-who-could.”
The man in front of them recoils in horror. “Have some respect,” he snaps, “you are referring to the Lord Most High.”
“Yeah, and His Most Highness drunk dialed me last week and ranted for a solid hour about my brother.” Sam makes a face. “I couldn’t hang up. Believe me, I tried. So excuse me for not being all woe-is-me about him.”
“He drunk dialed you?” Dean asks.
Sam shrugs. “I can’t swear to the drunk, but I do know that he dialed. And ranted. For an hour.”
“About me?”
“Of course about you.” Sam makes a disgusted noise. “The dude’s got such a hard on for you, Dean. I mean, seriously, did you hear what the minion said?”
Dean gives him stink-eye, but the minion seems to be all on board, nodding his head and going as far as saying “Amen.” Which, really? Amen?
“Amen?” Dean shakes his head. “You’ve got issues.”
The man frowns up at him. “Dean Winchester, why will you not accept Godstiel’s love?”
“Serious issues.” Dean say with another shake of the head. “And, for your information, Cas,” the man winces at the name and Dean rolls his eyes, “fine, Godstiel does not love me. Never has, never will.”
A hand claps down on Dean’s shoulder, radiating more heat than it should. “Dean,” that familiar deep rasp of a voice says, “you have never been more wrong.”
Dean shrugs free of the hand. “Cas,” he says, turning his head to just enough to see the not-angel out of the corner of his eye.
“Dean,” Cas says in that overly earnest way of his. “I have been wanting to talk to you.”
“I know.”
“We all know,” Sam puts in, amusement clear in his tone.
Cas just sort of blinks at that and then shakes his head. “Hello Sam,” he says with sigh. “I see you chose not to pass along my message to Dean.”
“Oh, but I did. I totally did.” Sam gives him a big smile. “But, hey, don’t take my word for it. Ask your minion.” He shakes the shoulder of the man kneeing beside them. “Hey, minion, did I or did I not tell my brother about the massive stiffy Cas here has for him?”
“Do not harass my apostle, Sam,” Cas says, bitch face firmly in place, while the poor minion’s eyes go big.
“Your apostle,” the newly appointed apostle murmurs, hands clasped in front of him.
Cas smiles at him. “Yes, Seth Fergus Templeton. I know you.”
The man pretty much faceplants at that and Dean can’t help but roll his eyes because, really. “This is just ridiculous,” he mutters.
“Yes,” Cas agrees, “it is.” And then two fingers are pressing firmly against Dean’s forehead and the world sort of disappears.
*
“Damn it, Cas,” Dean snaps as soon as he can breathe again, “what have I told you about the Angel Express?”
“I am no longer an angel,” Cas says, his brow furrowed.
Dean makes an exasperated noise, “Well, fuck, that just makes it all better.” He shakes his head and glances at the surroundings. He does a double take. “Uh, Cas?” He spins in a circle.
“Yes, Dean?”
Dean laughs nervously. “Um, where are we?”
“Somewhere we can discuss our,” Cas pauses, like he’s hunting for the right word.
“Relationship?” Dean guesses.
Cas smiles -- wait, no, scratch that -- Cas beams. “Exactly.”
“Right.” Dean rubs his hands together. “Goodie.”
The slightly demented look on Cas’s face is replaced with a frown. “You’re being sarcastic.”
Dean gives him his best hello- there-Captain-Obvious look. “Someone’s been brushing up on his people skills.”
The not-angel lets out a sigh. “Dean, please attempt to be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” Dean snaps. “Serious as the grave. Or, better yet, serious as a man trapped in a room against his will by a deity of some kind or another. A room, by the way, that has no windows and no doors. I repeat: no windows and no doors.”
“Dean,” Cas starts, but Dean rolls right over him.
“But guess what there is in this wonderfully escape-proof room,” he says, his voice taking on that angry edge he normally saves for when Sam’s gone and done something particularly stupid. “That’s right, folks. There’s a bed. A bed the freaking size of freaking Texas. Wonder what that’s for.”
“For fornication, of course,” Cas replies, clearly not getting that it was a rhetorical question.
“For fornication,” Dean repeats, shaking his head incredulously. “And what makes you think that’s going to happen?”
Cas shifts a fraction closer to Dean, his face going all earnest and sincere. “Dean,” he says, his voice low and rough, “would you do me the great honor of becoming my consort?”
“What! Why? What!”
Cas licks his lips and takes a hesitant step closer. “Would you,” he says slowly, “consent to be my helpmate in this world and the next?”
“Yeah,” Dean shakes his head, “I got that part of it the first time. What’s got me giving your squint eyes is why you would want that.”
Cas frowns. “Why wouldn’t I want that?” he asks.
“Um.” Dean sort of lifts his shoulders. “Because you’re God or something now? And can have your pick of all the, um, look. I’m not that big of a catch, okay? I’ve got issues. Lots of them. I’ve got so many issues that my issues have issues. And I think I saw a grey hair yesterday. And, also, don’t you have a swarm of mini-mes running around? Because, last time I checked, there were about fifteen million men auditioning for the role of Dean Winchester, Righteous Man. Why not pick one of them to be your consort?”
“Because they are not you,” Cas says with a shrug, “no matter how much they might wish to be.”
Dean blinks. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again. “Damn right they’re not me,” he finally manages to say, his voice a little too soft for his liking.
Cas gives him a tentative smile and moves close enough to rest his hand awkwardly on Dean’s shoulder. “I very much prefer you to any of my followers, if that is what is concerning you,” he offers.
“That’s real sweet of you,” Dean says, shrugging off Cas’s hand, “but it’s not going to get you your happy ending, if you know what I mean.”
“Why not?”
Dean lifts his hands. “Not into you like that, buddy.”
Cas snorts, which, really, isn’t very becoming of a godlike being. But then, neither is the roll of the eyes that accompanies it. “Are you really trying to lie to me?”
Dean makes a face. “Who says I’m lying?”
“I do,” Cas answers. “And I’m right about it.”
“Dude, just because you got promoted up the food chain a tiny bit,” Dean starts but Cas cuts him off with another of those totally un-godlike snorts. Dean gives him an aggrieved look and then crosses his arms over his chest. “Reading minds is really not cool,” he says snidely.
Cas’s expression is somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Why are you resisting this?” he asks, that same baffled look that he used to wear back when he was an angel firmly in place. “You have no problem with your sexuality where others are concerned.”
“Well others aren’t you, now are they Cas?” And they aren’t. No one else gives Dean that weird mix of skin-tingly excitement and abject terror. No one else matters.
Cas does that whole brb-looking-into-your-soul thing for a minute and then sighs and shakes his head. “Is it really that simple?”
“Is what that simple?” Dean asks.
Cas runs a hand through his hair and lets out another sigh. “I think I understand,” he says, which isn’t an answer at all, damn it.
Dean frowns at him. “Understand what?”
“I,” Cas’s shoulders slump. “It appears to me that I have allowed my own desires to color my interpretation of your actions.” He makes his way over to the bed and then sits down on it heavily, looking for all the world like the dictionary definition of miserable and that’s just downright wrong.
“The hell with this.” Dean crosses the space between them stopping when he is directly in front of Cas. “Hey.” He reaches out and cups Cas’s head, tilting the not-angel’s face up until they are looking in each others eyes. That feeling of wrongness intensifies, forming a hard knot in Dean’s chest. “Hey,” he says again, his voice softer. “Don’t look at me like that, Cas.”
“How should I look at you?”
Dean lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Just,” he shrugs, “not like that, okay? You’re on par with a God now. Millions of people adore the shit outta you. What’s the opinion of one high school dropout compared to that?”
Cas closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. Then his hand closes around Dean’s wrist and removes Dean’s hand from his face. “This was a mistake,” he says, pushing up off the bed. “I’ll take you back to Sam.”
“Wait a damn second.” Dean’s hands go up in protest because, yeah, he wasn’t really on board at the start of this, but now he sort of thinks that maybe it might be a good idea after all. He opens his mouth to say just that, but what comes out is, “Don’t punk out on me like that.”
“I’m not ‘punking out,’ Dean” Cas says with another of those world weary sighs. “I’m acknowledging that what I want and what you want are intrinsically opposed.”
Dean frowns at him. “Say that again in English, would you.”
Cas takes a breath and sort of shrugs. “You don’t want me,” he says, sounding completely defeated. “I am sorry to have wasted your time.” He pushes up from the bed and moves towards Dean, two fingers extended.
Dean slaps his hand away, dodging around the far side of the bed. “Oh no you don’t!”
“Dean.” Cas’s voice has a hint of anger in it.
“No,” Dean says in full panic mode. “Not gonna happen. We aren’t done talking yet.”
“Yes, Dean, we are.”
Dean shakes his head like a sullen two-year-old. “Nuh uh.”
Cas gives him a fairly decent bitch face then vanishes and reappears beside him.
“Fuck,” he shouts, back-peddling away from Cas and those damn fingers of doom.
Cas looks at him like he thinks Dean’s gone and lost his mind. “What purpose does this serve?” he asks, anger creeping into his tone.
“It’s clearing the air,” Dean says in his best Sam-voice.
“There is nothing to clear.” Cas moves towards Dean, who scrambles onto the bed to get away from him. “Dean,” he grits out. “Stop.”
Dean’s whole body freezes, knee deep in oversized pillow. “Not cool,” he says as he tries to force his body to move.
“Dean.” Cas’s voice is deep and low and does things to Dean’s insides that Dean really doesn’t want to think about. “Why not?” Cas snaps. “Why not think about them? Does your attraction to me bother you that much?” he makes a frustrated sound. “You wanted to know why this was a mistake? I’ll tell you why. Because of this.”
And suddenly he is on the bed next to Dean, fingers twisting in Dean’s hair as his mouth moves across Dean’s. Dean moans, he can’t help it. Not when Cas’s teeth are nipping at his bottom lip and his hands are tugging at his hair. Yes he thinks just like that. But then Cas is pulling away, his face contorted into one of those what-does-it-all-mean expressions of his.
“My point exactly,” he says like all that kissing proved something.
Which... it did. It really did. Because the balance of power has shifted from half skin-tingly half terror to full on skin-tingly, all systems go, full steam ahead with the happy times. Unfortunately, Cas is still staring at him with that sad, sad look on his face, like somehow kissing Dean proved how not into Cas he is when the opposite is true. Which just makes Dean want to be defrosted already so he can make Cas see how totally and completely wrong his conclusion is.
Cas lets out a sigh. “This is beyond foolish,” he says and Dean sort of topples over which is awesome because that means he can move again. And moving is good. Real good. The sort of good that ends up with one hot-ass former angel pressed up against him, moaning in a way that sets Dean’s skin on fire.
Dean pushes and pulls at Cas’s never ending supply of clothing, knocking aside the trench coat, popping the buttons on his shirt, and tugging greedily at the hem of the undershirt until the pale skin of Cas’s stomach is exposed.
“Cas,” he says almost reverently as his hand finally, finally, hits bare skin. The not-angel makes an absolutely filthy sound in response. “That’s right,” Dean croons because he’s at that point where words just sort of come out without any thought going into them at all. “Gonna make you mine. Gonna pin your feathery ass to the fucking mattress and make you mine.”
Then he’s kissing his way down Cas’s neck, nipping at his collar bone. His hands push that plain white tee even higher up, exposing more of him to Dean and Dean can’t help the groan that comes out of him at the sight. Then Dean’s tongue is flicking out to touch Cas’s left nipple and the sound Cas’s makes has Dean squirming in his jeans. He wants to hear it again, so he sucks hard and Cas, well, Cas bucks up against him, rubbing hard dick against hard dick and wow.
“Holy fuck,” he hisses, pulling Cas’s hips until they align perfectly with his.
“Dean,” Cas pants, “I,” his body shudders.
“It’s alright,” Dean soothes, but Cas tosses his head, his eyes wide and panicky.
“I want more than this,” he says, his hand turning to bars of steel on Dean’s arms, pinning Dean in place above him. “I want you as my consort. Nothing else will suffice.”
Dean rolls his hips against Cas’s, drawing a whimper out of him. “I promise to still respect you in the morning,” he says coyly, but Cas doesn’t soften.
“I want more,” he demands and Dean can’t help but grin.
“Fine,” he says with a smirk. “You can have more. You can have all of me.”
Cas’s eyes go flinty. “Dean,” he bites out but Dean cuts him off with a shake of a head.
“I’m seriously, Cas,” he says, his voice sort of soft and unsure. “You can have all of me. Every part. For keeps.”
Cas doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face is enough to make Dean want to howl with joy. He rolls his hips again and feels Cas arch up against him. “You like that, don’t you? You like the feel of my dick pressed up against yours. Bet you want it in you. Bet you want it so bad you can taste it.”
“Please,” Cas begs, his voice breaking on the word.
Dean nods. “Soon,” he promises as he tries to tug Cas’s button down shirt out of his pants without stopping grinding. “Damn it, Cas,” he growls when his efforts prove unsuccessful. “Why do you wear so many layers?”
Cas lets out a huff of laughter and all those pesky layers just disappear.
“That is one hell of a party trick,” Dean says, running his hands down Cas’s sides. “Wanna do mine next?”
Cas doesn’t so much as blink, but Dean’s naked as the day he was born and it’s enough to make him want to say an amen of his own.
“You are an extremely sacrilegious man,” Cas says as he does something with his hips that makes Dean’s vision go white along the edges.
“And you love it.” Dean’s hand slides down and wraps around their dicks. “Don’t you?” Cas arches up into the touch, eyes wide and breath coming out in shallow gasps. “Don’t you?” Dean asks again, tightening his grip a fraction more.
“Yes,” Cas pants, “yes, I do.”
“That’s right, you do.” Dean says as he speeds up his hand. Cas lets out a whine that makes Dean’s ball’s ache. “Holy fuck, I love you too, baby. Want in you. God, want to feel you squeezing tight around my dick. Want to make you come from it.”
Cas nods. “Yes. That. Now.”
Dean moans and works his hand a little faster. “Next time,” he promises. “Next time I’ll give it to you just like that. Hard and fast and fuck. You’ll scream yourself raw from it.”
“Next time,” Cas agrees, his hips starting to jerk out of rhythm. “Next time you’ll make me yours. You’ll,” he lets out a moan, “pin me to the mattress, won’t you Dean?”
“Oh fuck yeah I will.”
He closes his eyes and pictures it. Cas with his legs wrapped around Dean’s hips, his back arching off the bed as he comes. Cas face down with a pillow under his hips, moaning as Dean slams into him. Cas, head tossed back, hands wrapped in Dean’s hair as Dean swallows him down.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he grits out, feeling his ball tighten.
“I,” Cas stutters, his hands coming up to clutch at Dean’s shoulders.
Dean’s eyes snap open and he brings a hand up to cup Cas’s cheek. “Shhh, I’ve got you,” he croons. “Look at me, Cas. I’ve got you.” Cas’s eyes lock with his and Dean smiles. “Come on, Cas. Come for me. Let me see you fall apart.” Cas nods and then shudders, his whole body tightening as he comes. “That’s right,” Dean praises, “that’s exactly right. God, look at you. You’re beautiful.”
“No,” Cas says with a shake of the head. “You’re the beautiful one. So bright and perfect and,” he trails off, his hand coming down to wrap around Dean’s dick, hesitant and unsure and hot as fucking hell.
He gives a tentative squeeze, then rubs his thumb across the head and Dean sees stars. “Holy hell, Cas,” he hisses as Cas’s come slick fingers start working him. “You’re a god damn natural.”
It doesn’t take long for him to finish. Not with Cas laying beneath him looking debauched as shit and staring at him with those eyes while his fingers do downright sinful things to Dean’s dick. “Cas,” he groans as he comes, eyes shut as he slumps down against Cas and not caring a bit about the sticking mess coating his stomach.
“Blessed art thou, Dean Winchester, consort of Godstiel,” Cas says an eternity, or five minutes, later.
Dean chuckles and presses a kiss into the nape of Cas’s neck. “We’ve really got to work on your pillow talk,” he mumbles around yawns. Cas shifts like he wants to say something, but Dean quiets him with a slow, tender kiss. “Later,” he promises, his eyes drifting shut.
*
“Dean.”
Dean opens his eyes to find himself back in the bar, fully clothed. From the looks of things, no time seems to have passed at all. He gives Cas a confused look and the not-angel just shrugs as if to say “it’s easier this way.”
“Dean?” Sam asks, his eyes darting between him and Cas.
Dean lifts a shoulder. “Um,” is all he gets out. Because, really, how do you say “my not-angel and I just had the most mind-blowing sex in the history of the world and maybe my insides are still sort of gooey with happiness” to your brother? You don’t.
Thankfully, the not-angel in question is not in happy-gooey-insides land and, as such, is perfectly capable of making a response.
“We are to be congratulated,” he proclaims, his face taking on that vaguely creepy glow. He turns to his apostle, a demented smile on his face. “You, Seth Fergus Templeton, are to be honored above all others, for you are the first of my apostles to hear the great and glorious news that Dean Winchester, Righteous Man Whom God the Father Did Himself Bless, has consented to be my consort in this world and the next. Go forth, my child, and spread the word.”
The man springs to his feet, shouting praises in a way that, frankly, is downright disturbing.
“For the love of--” Dean shakes free from Cas’s grip. “Did you have to do that?”
Cas gives him a blank look. “Why would I not wish to share my happiness with the creations my Father has put in my care?”
Sam snorts and Dean glares at him. “What’s so funny, Samageddon?”
“Really?” Sam asks, his eyes practically dancing with glee. “You vanish into Casland and then reappear smelling like sex with a massive lovebite on your neck and Cas, Cas goes and tells everyone with ears in a fifty mile radius that you’ve pledged your love to each other and you have to ask what’s funny? Really?”
“I hate you,” Dean says, but Cas is looking at him with that soft, half-amazed look of his and who can feel anything but awesome when being on the receiving end of that?