Archive of Our Own

Dean spends most of those last dog days of summer sleeping and healing. He takes it easy those first couple of weeks back at the bunker, although he has to fight off Sam, Cas, and Kevin’s constant nagging, listening to their heavy footfalls as they take shifts shuffling outside his door for hours. And good God, all the friggin’ questions: Are you sure you’re okay, Dean? Really sure? How are you actually doing Dean? Dean, maybe you should be taking it easy, man. Dean!

It’s not that Dean doesn’t understand their concern or appreciate it; he almost died after all. Goddamn sea nymphs. But everyone has better things to worry about than him. And Dean knows a thing or two about dealing with his own shit. Hell, at the age of eleven, he learned to cook with a broken arm and two broken ribs; at sixteen, how to nurse his father back to health while nursing his own broken leg; and every single year since, how to push down every manner of pain and hurt to make sure the world didn’t fall apart around his family’s head, as it does way too often. Dean’s a master of muddling through the pain, of getting up and going when getting up is the hardest thing he can even begin to do. 

So the point is…Dean can handle himself. Really, he can. But sometimes, if he’s honest with himself, he can admit it feels good to not have to handle everything. To just settle back in his bed and rest his head against a pillow. To spend half an hour in a bubble bath just because he can. To surround himself in a mountain of down comforters and blankets, to kick up his slippered feet, and to spend all day in his boxers and ratty Metallica t-shirt while watching Charlie’s Doctor Who DVDs (Jack Harkness is a badass, okay). And maybe, it just feels good to just have the time to heal. It’s not something he’s ever really had.

By the end of the second week of lazing around on his ass, Dean’s wounds have all closed up nicely, leaving behind tender, pink gashes across his right side. The migraines have stopped, and he’s able to move around the bunker without getting breathless or dizzy. Cas sticks close by through most of Dean’s recovery, still working the guardian angel gig even though now officially grace-less. He’s quieter than usual (which is saying a lot), but Dean catches Cas watching him from time to time, one of those stubborn, determined expressions on his face. Dean doesn’t ask him about it, although he wants to. But Dean learned years ago that Cas is harder to crack than your average hard nut, and he thinks the best approach to figuring the guy out is to let him work it out in his head first. 

For now, Dean’s settled on flirting outrageously with him every time Cas checks his temperature or gives him a cold compress. After the first week back, Cas had finally returned to their bed, and after their last heart-to-heart conversation, they’d come to some kind of hard-won peace, like the realization that they were both choosing each other, that in many ways, they were sort of it for each other, had settled something between them. There’s a part of Dean still getting used to the idea that Cas wants to stay, is willingly choosing him. It rubs raw against everything Dean’s ever known or experienced, but it feels good. 

Dean’s glad when his appetite finally returns. Kevin had taken to the kitchen during Dean’s absence, and had cooked up some of Mama Tran’s World-Famous (according to Kevin) Vietnamese pho soups and sandwiches for them. That’s why Saturday evening finds Dean working through his third bowl of pho, slurping up the spicy broth and noodles, while Kevin talks about missing his mama, maybe going back to school, and figuring his shit out, and Dean nods along, listening quietly, understanding it all. Kevin is still processing, still trying to find out who he is after losing every single thing he once had in his life. And really, all Dean can offer the kid is painkillers, a half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort, and a steak dinner once he’s all healed up. The Winchesters don’t have much to offer, but Kevin’s family now, and that means something to them. 

They spend the rest of the weekend on a Lord of the Rings marathon, Charlie, Kevin, Sam, Cas, and Dean piling into one of the extra rooms they’d turned into a home theater of sorts. Charlie brings over her extended editions, and Kevin and Sam make the popcorn. Dean sits with Cas on the couch, his head resting on Castiel’s lap, and Castiel’s fingers massaging into Dean’s hair during most of the movies. They fall asleep on the couch, tangled together, and it feels weirdly natural, like they’ve been doing this for years and not just two months, like Cas is just another part of himself Dean’s finally getting a chance to learn more about. 

Mid-September, Dean and Cas start their morning runs again, watching the world around them change colors as they jog together through the miles of wood surrounding the bunker. It’s a little too easy to fall into a rhythm here, the hot September days long and lulling. Sometimes Dean worries that they all aren’t more worried; he worries that he might have gotten too used to the peace and quiet they experienced inside the bunker this summer, that it would be hard to move on if they had to. If the world goes to shit again, if the fallen angels start making their presences known, if Cas…yeah. Dean tries not to think about Cas leaving. About Sam leaving. About Kevin leaving. About being alone again. 

Despite everything, Dean’s still a soldier, and he knows once the evil shit starts throwing hissy fits, there’s no way they will be able to ignore it. Not forever. It’ll draw them in, because that’s who they are. A fallen angel, a prophet, and two brothers descended from a long line of people who fight evil sonsofbitches. Saving lives is part of their DNA. And if their trip to Maine taught them anything, it’s that these moments of stillness are just breaths between storms.

Dean sucks in a deep lungful of air now, his hands steadying on his thighs. There’s a trail a quarter mile from the bunker that they like to follow, and Dean’s paused at the end of it, needing to take a rest and catch his breath. His stamina hasn’t returned quite yet, and he’s still only able to run about half the distance he usually can. Cas sidles up beside him, panting and sweaty, his toned, athletic build outlined in the soft sunlight, edged in the jagged lines of shadow from the trees.

"How are you feeling?" Castiel asks, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder as Dean stands up straighter. Castiel’s grip sends a little curl of heat deep inside of Dean; it makes Dean feel a little steadier, a little more pieced together. 

"I’m good, Cas," Dean says, flashing a smile, and leaning forward to pluck a stray leaf out of Castiel’s windblown hair. "But let’s head back, yeah?"

Cas nods and settles beside Dean as they make their way back down the rest of the trail to the bunker, the sound of insects and birds whispering in the woods surrounding them, a now familiar part of life on the edge of town.

They shower together when they get back, Dean’s soapy fingers gliding gently over Castiel’s wet skin, and Castiel’s hands sliding up Dean’s back, his neck, pushing into his hair, massaging the tight muscles down his spine, caressing the small of his back. Castiel’s touch sends spark after spark through Dean’s body, and Dean doesn’t really understand how they were able to spend five years together not touching like this.

Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s, the water running off of both of them, streaming down their backs and faces. “Cas,” Dean murmurs, just wanting to say his name, to fill his mouth with it. He slides his hand around Castiel’s waist, and Cas massages his fingers along Dean’s neck.

"Dean," Castiel answers, voice rolling deep and low; there’s a soft light in his eyes as he focuses his attention on Dean. 

Dean has never understood, not fully, what’s between them. He knows it’s something crazy strong, intimate, hot and fierce and pulling. He knows that when Castiel’s fingers curl around his neck, the world spins, and he feels a little breathless, like he’s been hit by another sea nymph.

Castiel’s fingers pause in their movements, and he asks. “Are you sure that you’re feeling better?”

Dean looks Cas in the eye, searches his face. “Are you feeling better?”

Cas presses their lips together, darts out his tongue to kiss him softly, distracting Dean enough that Dean doesn’t notice that he never answered.

They finish showering quickly after that, toweling off and heading back to Dean’s room. Once inside, Dean drops his towel and searches around for clean underwear. His and Castiel’s clothes are all mixed together in his drawers and closets, but he manages to find a pair of boxers, pulls them on, and settles onto the bed. He turns to see Cas wearing a pair of his flannel drawstring pajama pants and a white t-shirt, but Castiel’s eyes are trained on Dean’s chest, a deep frown creasing his face.

Dean looks down at his chest, notes the soft bruising around his ribcage. The bruising is looking a little better, the coloring fading down to yellow, although the skin is still tender and hurts to touch. Absently, Dean runs his fingers over the set of new scars crisscrossing his right side, and when he looks up at Cas again, it’s to see the other man’s mouth twisting into something sour, something broken. 

"Cas, what—" But Dean doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before Cas is turning around and leaving the room.

Dean frowns, not sure what just happened. He jumps up and follows Castiel into the hall, finds him leaning against the wall, shooting daggers at the wood floor. Dean reaches out a hand and places it on Castiel’s shoulder, but Cas just pulls away, sending Dean a fierce glare.

"What just happened?" Dean asks, throwing his hand up in confusion.

"Leave it, Dean," Castiel says, more a growl than an actual speech pattern.

"But what am I even supposed to be leaving?" Dean asks, running a hand through his still damp hair. "I don’t even know what just happened."

"I just…I need to think," Castiel says, voice low and graveled out. 

"Are you sure that’s all?" Dean asks, hesitating.

"Dean," Castiel says, voice gone even more testy. "Leave it.”

"Okay, okay," Dean says, both hands taking the air this time as if in surrender. "You need to think. I got that." He steps back, nodding. "So I guess…I’ll just hang back here while you go…think then.”

"Yes, I would prefer to think alone," Cas affirms, voice rougher than usual. Dean’s still looking at him, but Cas doesn’t look back. He just turns and continues down the hall, movements stiff as he walks away. 

Dean sighs, rubs his hand across his face. He has no idea what the hell that was about. Okay, maybe he does, he thinks, rubbing a hand over the sore bruising along his side. But he has no idea what to do about it. And not for the first time, Dean wishes he were better with words, any words but the angry ones that always get him into trouble. He wishes he knew how to say the things he felt inside. How to speak to Cas in a way they both could understand.

Dean shuffles into the kitchen the next morning, feeling tired and cranky. Cas hadn’t come to bed last night, and Dean hadn’t been able to get much sleep, worried he’d fucked this up somehow. He settles at the kitchen table with a piece of buttered-up toast and a hot cup of coffee, eyeing Sam and Kevin disbelievingly considering neither of them have yet to look up from their laptop screens. Sam’s obsession with his new laptop is kind of disconcerting to be honest, especially after Dean caught him snuggling in bed with it. How’d he end up shacking up with three geeks? It’s like something right out of The Big Bang Theory.

Dean sighs and tugs the newspaper free from underneath Sam’s laptop since he’s obviously not reading it, nearly upsetting Sam’s coffee in the process. Sam turns to him – finally glancing up from his computer screen – one bushy eyebrow arching up. “You okay there, Dean?”

Dean grumps, sipping at his coffee. “M’fine.”

Sam is quiet for a moment, eyes steadily settled on Dean’s face. Dean shrugs, feeling uncomfortable by the microscopic examination. “What is it, Sammy?” Dean asks him after another awkward beat.

"You and Cas fighting again or something?" Sam asks, folding his arms across his chest and giving Dean a look. Across the table from them, Kevin snickers, but tries to hide it under a cough. The kid shrugs with fake innocence when Dean shoots him a dirty look, and then has the nerve to go right back to snickering while clacking away at his keyboard.

Dean sighs, turns to look back at Sam. “Did uh…Cas say something to you?”

Sam smiles, crooked and slanting. “You’re both dicks, you know that right?”

"You’re a dick," Dean retorts, turning to look down at the newspaper. 

"Yeah, yeah, I’m a dick," Sam laughs. "But that doesn’t change the fact that you and Cas are two fighting dicks. Okay, that just sounded weird and wrong and I need to probably get brain bleach right about now, oh God."

Dean snorts, and drops the paper to the table. He turns to look at Sam again, scratching the back of his neck as he says, quietly, “We’re not fighting exactly. We’re just…”

"Trapped by your emotions?" Sam offers, unhelpfully. He stretches back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head as he continues with, "Buried under your combined baggage?"

"Shudup, bitch," Dean huffs, picking up the newspaper again and flapping it open to the lifestyle section, pretending to read the headline about fall weddings. 

"Look, Dean," Sam says, because when has Sam ever listened to him. Sam lets out a loud huff of breath and continues with, "You and Cas do this thing where you…it’s like watching a really bad tennis match. Cas yells at you and then runs away. You yell at Cas and then avoid talking about it. Then you both spend the next few days shooting each other sad, longing looks from across the kitchen."

Kevin, the bastard, starts sniggering again, and when the kid manages some self-control, he adds, also unhelpfully, “Sam is right. Some days I feel like I need to narrate my own National Geographic special – The Mating Habits of Dean and Castiel.”

Sam lets loose a loud laugh, and says in an awful faux-announcer voice, “Such a strange species, the Dean and Castiel. Let’s discuss the pattern of hickeys on their necks and how that signifies a particular claiming—”

"Another word and I’m kicking both your asses," Dean growls, tossing the paper to the table and standing up. He glares at them both pointedly, and then at the fancy new MacBooks Charlie had managed to score for them from one of her new jobs. "Better yet, I’ll kick your computers' asses.”

"Hey, hey, now, that’s just uncalled for," Sam says, huffing out a scandalized breath. "My Mac has been nothing but good to you. And your porn surfing."

A smile crests slowly across Dean’s face, and he nods. “Okay, you do have a good point there, little brother.”

"So, Dean," Kevin says, raising his hand to get all their attention. "How about you do us a favor: go find Cas and work out your…uh, issues. Seeing you both moping around for the last week has been seriously depressing my ability to enjoy Candy Crush."

Dean narrows his eyes at Kevin, and Kevin simply smirks up at him before Dean sighs heavily and turns away. He goes to refill his coffee, thinking maybe it is a good idea to track down Cas. He suspects Cas is in the library, or maybe clearing another of the bunker’s archive rooms out (they keep finding more and more rooms; how many rooms this place has, Dean thinks they’ll never truly know). But they’ve been more careful about going through the collection of artifacts since discovering the pearl. One summer misadventure is one too many.

"And please don’t work your issues out in places where you might leave evidence!" Sam calls out after him. "I’m still scarred from last month. There’s a list of things you should not use the library tables for, Dean!"

Dean laughs, flushing at the memory. He and Cas had been doing some research, and well, one thing had led to another. The table had been sturdy enough, anyway, so he doesn’t know why Sam’s got his panties in a twist. Dean scratches at his stubble as he heads out into the hallway, thinking about shaving, but thinking about shaving has him thinking about shaving Cas. And, fuck.

Dean sighs as he winds his way through the bunker’s dark, twisting hallways. The place still kind of blows his mind. The Men of Letters knew a thing or two about style, Dean can admit. The ornate carvings in the walls provide flash as well as protection. Dean’s favorite spot, the kitchen, has handmade floor tiles inscribed with protection spells, as well as handmade cabinetry that Dean was happy to discover didn’t need replacing. Not to mention the amazing shower heads in the shower room, and the huge wine cellar (adjacent to the cool-ass dungeon) that is fully stocked with bottles from countries Dean hasn’t even heard of. The bunker is also full of ancient weapons and gold-plated antiques and rugs and oil paintings, the kind of stuff that should probably be in some fancy-ass museum, but Dean gets to touch them all here as much as he can, despite Sam’s constant bitching to Charlie about how expensive antiquities are not meant for cosplaying. Whatever, Sammy.

Dean walks until he finds the library, with its rich mahogany wood tables and shelves lined floor-to-ceiling with books. The room smells like old paper and ink, kind of like Cas does when he comes into Dean’s bed at night. He finds this particular former angel looking sleep-tousled, eyes still pre-coffee squinty, sitting at one of the long library tables, surrounded by piles of dusty, old books and leather-bound journals.

Dean settles down at the table beside Cas and passes Cas his coffee mug. Cas looks up, and smiles like he’s grateful before taking two strong gulps from it and handing it back. Dean wonders if this means he’s forgiven, if this means they’re okay again.

"Missed you last night," Dean says, settling in closer and picking up a book, a tome with a giant ‘G’ imprinted on the cover.

"I didn’t sleep," Castiel says, and that’s when Dean notices how tired he looks, his eyes dark-rimmed and lids heavy. "I’ve been trying to go through these old records of known hunts, making corrections to the lore, and adding my own knowledge of the supernatural to what the Men of Letters spoke of in their journals," he continues. Dean notices the small Mead notebook Castiel has, filled with sharp, elegant handwriting and script; Castiel’s notes. 

"That’s cool and all, but you need to actually sleep, Cas," Dean chides, touching Castiel’s arm to get his attention. "This stuff can wait, man."

"We need to be prepared," Castiel says, sending Dean a frustrated glare. "For the next hunt."

"We will be," Dean says, shrugging. "Until then, you need to sleep."

"Why?" Castiel says, the defensive edge to his voice returning. "Because I’m now human?"

Dean pulls his hand back and meets Castiel’s glare directly and says. “Yes, Cas, because you’re  now human.”

Castiel’s glare seems to only intensify, and Jesus Christ, that look sends a hot flare of want blooming in Dean’s chest. And Dean wants to laugh because this is crazy; he’s sitting here in a stuffy room full of ancient books with Castiel looking murderously hot, their knees pressed together under the table, and a volume of demon lore staring up at them.

And Castiel’s glare is giving him a hard-on. 

"Stop being such a stubborn ass and tell me what’s up with you," Dean says after a long, heated staring contest. "Or I’m going to be forced to kiss that surly look right off your pretty face."

Castiel huffs, and it sounds like a cross between a frustrated sigh and a breathless laugh. “Dean,” he says, his voice a soft warning. 

“Cas,” Dean says, smirking, pushing. 

Castiel sighs again, but there’s a smile working it’s way onto his face now. “You’re impossible.”

"Impossibly hot, I know," Dean says, grinning wide, and with that, Dean gives in to the urge to touch Cas, to really touch him. To carefully reach up and slide his fingers over Castiel’s cheek, tracing the line of his stubbled jaw. He can feel Cas go tense beneath his hand; he can hear the catch in the other man’s breath, but Cas doesn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes flutter closed as he turns his face ever so slightly into Dean’s touch, lips skimming against Dean’s palm. 

"Gonna tell me what’s turned you into more of a grumpy sourpuss than usual?" Dean teases softly.

Castiel blinks slowly, as if he genuinely does not know what Dean’s talking about. “I’m not a grumpy sourpuss.”

Dean snorts. “Sure, you’re not. You’re just avoiding me. How come?”

Cas lowers his eyes, turns away.

"Talk to me," Dean says on a low whisper.

Castiel sighs heavily, eyes on the books littering the tables.

"C’mon, Cas," Dean says. "We don’t have to hide things from each other. Not anymore."

Castiel continues to stare at the table, and that’s when something dawns on Dean. His heart dips. “Do you…uh, want to break up with me?” he asks carefully.

Castiel jerks up, and his eyes are very bright when he finally turns them back on Dean. “Of course not.”

Dean releases a sharp breath, and runs a hand over his face. “Okay, cool. Good. I mean, yeah. Then what is it?” 

Cas sighs, sitting back in his chair. He turns to close his notebook, to push aside the tome he’d been reading. Then he turns to Dean and looks at him for a long, quiet moment. His stare is intense, searching. “You—” Cas says, then pauses, shakes his head, brow furrowing. He breaks eye contact to run a hand over his face. A very human gesture, something he likely picked up from Dean.

"So, you don’t want to break up," Dean says quietly. "But I keep fucking this up, right?"

"No," Castiel says, still frowning slightly as he turns back to Dean. "Don’t take this all on yourself. I’ve fucked up enough for the both of us.”

Dean laughs softly, loving the little bits of profanity that occasionally fall out of Castiel’s mouth maybe a little too much. “So, we’re a couple of fuck-ups then?” he asks, catching his friend’s gaze. “We make quite the pair.”

"Quite," Castiel says, his voice a warm, scratchy grumble.

"Not exactly a match made in Heaven, though," Dean jokes, shrugging his shoulders.

"More like Hell," Castiel says solemnly.

Dean snorts. “Did you have the hots for me even in Hell, Cas?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, simply links their hands together. He watches Dean for a moment, before saying, “I have been feeling…grumpy of late.”

"That’s two of us, Cas," Dean says, thinking back to his outburst in Maine. "I think…I think maybe pushing each other away is something we’ve been doing for five years, and it’s going to take some time to figure out how not to do that.”

"I think so," Castiel agrees. 

"For now, how about we just take it one day at a time?" Dean offers, hoping Cas agrees to keep at this thing they’ve got going, even if it’s really fucking confusing sometimes. 

"There’s no way to know what’s going to happen," Castiel says. "So we—"

"Will have to be ready for everything," Dean finishes, nodding.  "I know that, Cas."

"Do you really?" Cas asks, voice full of something Dean can’t quite name. Cas is quiet for a moment, and then meets Dean’s eyes and says, voice low, "Take off your shirt for me, Dean."

Dean sits up in his chair, surprised, and then waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “You know Sammy doesn’t like us to play naughty librarian in here anymore, Cas,” he says, smirking.

"Please, Dean, just take off your shirt," he says, and his tone is serious enough that Dean can’t help but comply. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the table. The chill of the library sends gooseflesh over his skin, and he shivers and runs his hands over his arms. 

Dean stops breathing when Cas pushes forward and slides his hand up along his chest, smooth palms running down Dean’s sternum, until his hand pauses at Dean’s right side. Castiel’s long fingers skim over the pink ribbons of marred flesh there. Dean stills, waiting to see what Cas has planned.

"I almost lost you in Maine," Castiel whispers, voice rough and thick. "Dean, I almost lost you.”

"But you didn’t. You kicked Little Mermaid’s ass, Sammy told me all about it," Dean says, voice low and urgent. "You saved my ass, man. Again.”  

Cas meets his eyes, long and searching as he continues to run his fingers across the healing scars. There’s so much tenderness in his touch that Dean doesn’t think he can handle it, wants to pull away, hide; Cas makes him feel way too vulnerable sometimes. Dean shivers again, clearing his throat, but stays where he is. He knows Cas won’t talk, but Dean has to try to get him to. This is something they need to deal with now or it was going to keep cropping up.

"We’re okay Cas," Dean says, and his words are much quieter than he means them to be. "Got it? You kicked the thing’s ass, and we’re both okay."

"And the next time you face something? What if I fail? I’m no good to you like this, Dean. Powerless," Castiel says, keeping his hand pressed over Dean’s side, his touch still light and soothing. "Unable to heal you."

"Cas, come on," Dean whispers, shaking his head. "You’re so freaking…man, you’re still you. Mojoless or not. I just want you here with me. Okay?" He reaches out and takes Castiel’s chin between his fingers, turns Cas to face him again. Castiel’s eyes are clenched shut, but he doesn’t pull away.

"Cas, please, just look at me for a sec, man," Dean says on a soft whisper. He leans in and rests his forehead heavily on Castiel’s temple, waits a beat, then another. Waits to see if Cas will be the one pushing him away this time.

"I saw you on the ground and I felt…I felt so damn angry. And I felt real fear,” Castiel says, voice cracking, eyes still closed, as if the memory is too vivid, too present. “I knew I could not retrieve your soul again if you died.”

"Cas," Dean whispers it, settling his hands on his friend’s shoulders this time. 

Cas finally blinks his eyes open, his lashes brushing against his cheeks. “Tell me,” Castiel says on a quiet breath. “When you look at me, what do you see?”

Dean swallows, feeling heat rush his face. “I don’t know what you mean…” he says, trailing off.

"You look at me all the time, Dean," Castiel says. "So, tell me what you see." His voice is soft, but demanding, an urgency there that Dean can’t figure out.

"I see…" Dean huffs out quietly, shaking his head, still not understanding. "I see you, Cas." He maps his eyes over Cas slowly, takes in the grey tint of his faded t-shirt, the sharp blue of his eyes, the dark, thick mop of his hair, growing longer every damn day, and the scruff that seems ever-present.

"But what am I?" Cas whispers hotly.

"You’re you," Dean says, shrugging helplessly. "You’re Cas. I look at you and I see you." He stops, swallows hard. He reaches out and finds the back of Castiel’s neck and pulls them closer. He whispers, "I see you, Cas. I know you. And I need you. Got that?"

Castiel leans forward, reaches out, and places his hands around Dean’s face; he slides his lips down along Dean’s jawline, up to the corner of his mouth. Whispers, “I see you. I know you. And I need you as well.”

Dean’s smile trembles, and he says, “You sure about that, buddy?”

Cas pulls his head back, as if to get a closer look at him. Dean can see the pain etched in the lines of his face, the shadows falling over his eyes. Cas leans in again, and his lips press against Dean’s ear as he whispers, “Dean, you are one of the only things I’ve been sure about for the last five years I’ve been stationed here on Earth,” Castiel says, and he laughs, and it sounds almost breathless, disbelieving. “I’ve had such doubts, so many of them. I’ve made many decisions because I believed them to be what I needed to do. Dean, we’ve parted as enemies, sometimes as friends. But there was always a place inside of me that held your name, that carried my faith in you. That wanted to come back to you.”

Dean sucks in a breath, arms wrapping around Cas. “You shouldn’t have that kind of faith in me,” he whispers into Castiel’s shoulder, nuzzling into his shirt.

"Then you shouldn’t have such faith in me," Castiel says on a soft growl. He pulls away until he’s staring at Dean, their gazes locking. "Not after everything."

Dean doesn’t know how much time passes, how long they look at each other, eyes wet, mouths  not saying anything. Or maybe with their silence they’re saying everything. Dean’s not sure how to measure the quiet parts of them these days.

Another five minutes pass, or maybe an hour, and Dean says, “Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way…uh…let me cook you dinner tomorrow tonight, Cas.” 

Castiel’s brow furrows, head tilting as he stares at Dean. And Dean wants to laugh because the movements are such vintage Cas, quirks of his angelhood now turned into quirks of his humanity. 

"You cook for me all the time," Castiel says after a long, considering pause, still looking confused.

"I mean," Dean shrugs, feeling a flush creep over his body. "Like…special dinner. Just me and you dinner, you know…like sometimes humans who like each other a lot…they, um, do stuff like that."

"Mating rituals," Castiel nods, and once again Dean’s fighting back a laugh because he’s thinking  about Kevin and Sam’s conversation at breakfast, and how they would both be falling on the floor right about now to film this. Those assholes. 

But Dean inhales deeply, pushing back the urge to put shaving cream in both Kevin and Sam’s boots, and says, “Yeah, sort of.” He huffs out a soft laugh, and adds, “I’ve never been the best at the whole romance thing, considering. But um, how about you and me, just hanging tomorrow night? Like a dinner date or something?”

Cas looks at Dean for a long moment, the furrows in his brow relaxing. “Okay,” he says after a beat, leaning in and pressing his lips against Dean’s, his warm breath puffing against Dean’s mouth, before he opens up his mouth, dragging their tongues together. Dean feels Cas softening in his arms, his hard body relaxing, sliding against him with no more carefully-calculated movements; just trust, just need. His mouth is hot and wet, and Dean goes for it, plunges in, takes everything Castiel is offering, and coaxes a shuddering exhale from Cas in turn.

It’s only after they’ve stopped trying to climb inside each other’s mouths, when it’s just the gentle press of lips to lips, arms cradling each other’s bodies, that Dean can breathe again. That he realizes he’s been holding his breath in one way or another since Cas showed up at the bunker’s door back in May. That he’s been waiting for the other foot to drop, waiting for Cas to realize there’s something better for him out there, a whole big world full of people who he could love and be loved by.

That Dean’s nothing compared to that. 

But maybe, Dean tries to tell himself, maybe he’s what Cas really wants, and maybe this time that will be enough to keep them together. 

Charlie is standing by the kitchen counter, looking at Dean like Dean’s grown a second head. “What?” he asks, hands spreading wide.

"That’s what you’re wearing for your hot date with Cas?" she says, pointing at him.

Dean frowns, looking down at himself. He’s in a pair of his well-worn jeans and the Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt he found at a thrift shop last week. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” He thought Charlie of all people would appreciate his awesome taste in tees.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Charlie says, taking up the knife she had put down and turning to cut up  another of those giant organic tomatoes they’d brought at that frou-frou farmer’s market Sam drags them to every week. The knife hits the cutting board with a series of soft thumps as Charlie continues talking. "This is supposed to be romantic, supposed to be this reunion slash making-up slash whisper-sweet-nothings to each other over candlelight and wine dinner, am I right?"

"Uh," Dean says, staring over at his pot of boiling noodles. "Not really?"

Charlie pauses again and Dean turns to look over at her. She arches a brow at him, and sighs heavily. “That’s how it sounded over the phone when you described it to me and asked for my help. You’re lucky I didn’t have a hot date tonight with the Hobbit girl I met at Ren Fair last week,” she says. “Fortunately, I am here to save you because hero or not, sometimes you’re in need of saving, my friend. And I’m going to tell you how to woo the pants right off of that dreamy-smitey-fallen-angel you’re head over heels for.”

Dean feels his face heating up. “Yeah, well,” he says, inarticulately.

"Where is he anyway?" Charlie asks, turning back to her cutting.

"Clothes shopping with Sam and Kevin," Dean says. "They agreed to get him out of the house while I prepped dinner." 

Speaking of dinner. Dean turns to survey the rest of the kitchen, his domain. This, he knows how to do. He takes out the French bread he had Charlie bring over from the bakery on her way into town, and the bowl full of the special homemade creamy-garlic mix he’d whipped up to lather it in. 

Dean turns back to Charlie and smirks. “You know, actually you’re the one who invited yourself over after I called you this morning,” he points out. Charlie has been doing a number of IT consultant gigs across the country all summer, and she’s currently doing a job in Kansas City, which is just a few hours away from Lebanon. As a result, Charlie has been over quite a bit since their return from Maine. She even made the drive today in just three hours.

"Do you blame me? This is all very cute," Charlie says, starting work on cutting up the onions. "You having your first official date with Cas and all."

"It’s not, I mean," Dean says, huffing out a breath. "We’ve dated…I think." He frowns, trying to think if their past hanging-out-together-and-making-out sessions counted as dates. "Everything we’ve done has been sort of…mixed up? Backwards? I don’t know."

"It’s been five years of intense intensity, I know," Charlie says, laughing. "I read the books remember, and I listen to your rambling text messages cataloguing all of Castiel’s day-to-day oddities. I get that there’s nothing normal about you two, not even your relationship. You guys have been ‘through much together’, have been through Hell, Heaven, Earth, and Purgatory together. Yeah, yeah, there’s some epic shit between you. All Aragon and Arwen level of epic. But that doesn’t mean you know the first thing about dating."

"Humph," Dean says and picks up his wooden spoon to stir the sauce on the stove." It smells amazing, garlicky and rich. "I’ve dated plenty."

Charlie snorts. “Oh, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes, turns to her and says, “Oh, Charlie.”

"Smartass," Charlie says, choosing to continue with, "Anyway, I’ve picked out some tunes for you to dance to tonight."

"Oh hell no," Dean says, wrinkling his nose. 

"I know you’re a dinosaur," Charlie says, unperturbed, "And that Cas is like ninety million years old. But that’s no reason you can’t have songs from this decade on your iTunes mix for the night."

"I don’t even know what an iTunes is," Dean huffs, and turns to look at her.

"That’s why you’re borrowing mine," Charlie says, shooting a big smile his way. "I made you an OTP playlist just for tonight."

Dean has absolutely no idea what that means, but nevertheless, he groans and shuffles across the kitchen, back to the stove. He lifts the lid on a large pot where he’s boiling the spaghetti noodles, checks on them. “I really don’t think I can bring myself to listen to that,” he mutters. 

"Oh, you will," Charlie says, voice sing-song. 

Dean grunts, turns to Charlie and quotes from one of their favorite movies, “Look, your worshipfulness, let’s get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me.”

Charlie smirks and says, right on cue, “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

They both laugh for a long while at that, because let’s be real, they’re hilarious. But eventually, Dean  does have to turn back to his work. The counter in front of him is a spread of ingredients: mushrooms, black olives, tomato, basil, garlic. He decides to add thyme and oregano to the bubbling tomato sauce. 

"Alright," he huffs after a long moment, because on the real, he can’t say no to Charlie. "You can leave your iTunes thingy here. But it better not have anything that sucks."

"Don’t worry, it’ll put you in the mood for some loving," Charlie says. "Hot, sweet, loving."

Dean sighs and says, “This is really not selling me on this mix of yours.”

Charlie laughs. “It’s not like you and Cas aren’t going at it like bunnies already, so it’s nothing to worry about. It’ll just put you in the mood.”

Dean clears his throat, uncomfortable. “It’s um…not quite like that. We’re trying to take it slow. I think.”

Charlie snorts. “You’ve been together for what? Three months? Come on, Dean. Stop yanking my chain.”

"It’s not about the sex," Dean says, frowning, trying to articulate that strange feeling that’s rolling  around in his chest. "I mean, the sex we’ve had is good. Cas is…he’s amazing. And what we’ve done has been freaking amazing. But, it’s…I don’t know how to explain. We’ve had a lot of shit to work through, and I didn’t want to rush him, and part of me is happy we didn’t jump each other’s bones right away. Although, hell, we probably wanted to. And I’ve not been with many guys, and Cas hasn’t either, and…Idontwannascrewthisup."

"Dean Winchester," Charlie says, waving the knife at him like it’s Hermione’s wand. "You’re pretty amazing, has anyone told you that?"

"Come off it, Charlie," Dean grunts, trying to hide his smile.

Charlie just keeps right on looking at him, like he’s some kind of special. After a time, she says, “I get that you and Cas are like…soul-bonded or something crazy like that. And I know what you have isn’t only about sex, that you and Cas mean something really special to each other beyond the physical. Like metaphysical, you know?”

"Yeah, what you said," Dean says, trying to tamp down on any sort of blushing. Dean Winchester does not blush. And he hates talking about this shit, but somehow, with Charlie, he feels comfortable to open up and be real. They talk about the craziest stuff sometimes. Dean releases a breath and turns to her and says, "The stuff we’ve gone through. He’s seen me, Charlie. Fucked up, crazy, out of my head. The broken up parts of me. He’s seen it. Like how am I supposed to care what I wear tonight, when the guy pulled me from Hell, rebuilt me."

"When you’ve been more naked with each other than anyone else," Charlie finishes, smiling softly. "Dang, Dean, I’m gonna cry now and it’s not from these onions I’m cutting."

Dean sighs. “Yeah, well don’t get too excited. I’m good at screwing this kind of thing up. Failing people.”

"Can it, Winchester," Charlie says, putting her hands on her hips and sending him a stern glare. "The next person who trash-talks you, including you, has to deal with my awe-inspiring Moondoorian wrath."

Dean quirks a look at Charlie, and then walks over to meet her. He bumps his shoulder with hers and settles beside her against the counter. He smiles down at her and says, “Yes, my queen.”

"Good," Charlie says, chuckling softly. "Look, Dean, I want you to just stop punishing yourself. You think you don’t deserve good things, so you keep denying yourself the things you want. That ain’t the way to live, bucko."

Dean lowers his head, biting his lip, trying to think of a response, but failing. He rubs a hand behind his neck and finally says, “You might have a point.”

Charlie looks up at him, her sharp green eyes meeting his own. There’s only understanding on her face; no harsh judgement. “We all deserve a happy ending,” she continues, and her voice turns wistful as she adds, “To find our fairy, or angel as your case may be, and ride off into the sunset on our beautiful steeds.” 

"You’re such a sap," Dean teases softly. 

"Learned it from you," she retorts, then moves forward swiftly and wraps her arms around him in a hug. 

Dean sighs, pulls her closer, and pats her back. “Sappiest sap,” he muffles into her hair.

Charlie squeezes him tighter and says, “You’re going to do okay. You’re not gonna fuck this up, Winchester,” she tells him. 

Dean closes his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers. 

"In the words of the love of my life," Charlie whispers against his chest, "Si boe ú-dhannathach.”

Dean smiles, recognizing the Elvish words they’d both practiced during their recent weekend marathon of Lord of the Rings. The words were said by Arwen to Aragorn before the ranger set off on his journey, and mean in English, You cannot falter now. 

So Dean whispers back, Hannon le. Thank you.

“I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her, ooooh,” Dean sings, shaking his butt as he stirs his pot of boiling tomato sauce. “I’m right over here, why can’t you see me, ooooh,” he adds, twisting his hips and swinging his left arm in the air, back and forth.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean jumps, drops the wooden spoon in the sauce, and turns around to see Cas, who is apparently back from shopping. Cas tilts his head to one side, gaze curious.

Blood rushes to Dean cheeks, and he swallows, awkwardly. “Oh, uh, hey Cas,” he mumbles. “I uh…Charlie. She, uh, made me listen to her music mixes when we were cooking earlier. Damn songs, can’t get ‘em out of my head now.”

Cas quirks his lips. “At least you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

"Nah, no, not at all," Dean says quickly, shaking his head, heat still gathering in his cheeks. He decides it’s best to change the subject. "Glad to see you’re back, man. What did you buy?"

"Several new jeans, a hooded jacket, and a shirt Kevin advised I wear tonight," Cas says, dropping his bags onto the kitchen table. His gaze runs over Dean and he adds, "You’re wearing a new shirt as well."

Dean glances down at himself, patting at his chest. He’s freshly showered and wearing a new forest green henley and a new(er) pair of jeans Charlie had dug through his dresser to find earlier. He shrugs, glances back up at Cas. “Yeah, Charlie made me do it.”

Castiel arches a brow but doesn’t comment, instead he walks over to Dean and touches a hand to the shirt. “The weave pattern shows that this shirt is well-crafted,” he murmurs.

Dean smirks, wrapping his arms around Cas and pulling him close. “Missed you today, man,” he mumbles against Castiel’s shoulder as Cas relaxes into the embrace. Cas smells like the outside, the spicy earth and the warm autumn sun, and that underlying hint of their Dollar-Store laundry detergent. Dean doesn’t let Cas go for a long minute.

"The food you’re making smells delicious," Castiel says after a time.

That’s when Dean remembers that oh, yeah, he is putting the finishing touches on dinner. He lets Cas go reluctantly, retrieves his spoon out of the pot, and holds out a spoonful of sauce to Cas. 

"Wanna try it?" Dean asks, moving the spoon back and forth in temptation.

Without hesitation, Cas leans forward and closes his mouth around the spoon. Dean’s heart skips a couple of beats, and his cock does a little leap as Cas closes his eyes and moans as he swallows.

Christ. Dean pulls the spoon out of Castiel’s mouth slowly and watches as Cas licks the red sauce from his lips and smiles up at him. 

"Is it okay?" Dean asks. He clears his throat, having to shake back the desire to kiss Cas senseless.

"Very good. An adequate amount of garlic," Castiel says, still sucking his lips into his mouth.

"When did you become Emeril Lagasse?" Dean teases, turning back to adjust the heat on his sauce.

"You do have us all watching the Food Network every evening," Castiel says, pointedly. "And you wanted me to read all your favorite cookbooks after that incident where I almost set fire to the toaster oven."

"Oh yeah," Dean says, remembering that dark day in bunker history. "You read ‘em all?"

"I read quickly. And one day I want to make you a pie," Castiel announces with a smile. "I needed to be prepared. To strategize and make plans to find the best option for the optimal pie-making experience."

"Cooking’s not like going into battle, Cas," Dean says with a soft smile.

Cas looks at Dean likes Dean’s said something ridiculous. “Of course it is. It never hurts to be prepared, to know all the rules of the game,” he says evenly. “When you know the rules, you can better work around them.”

"Mmm, you’re hot when you’re plotting rebellion," Dean says. "Even if it’s just in the kitchen." He leans forward and threads his hand through Castiel’s hair and pulls him into a deep kiss that allows him to taste the flavor of his sauce on Castiel’s lips. Yeah, it’s real good.

"Dean," Castiel murmurs against his lips. "This is distracting and you should finish cooking so I can go and wear the new clothes Sam purchased."

"But you taste so good," Dean says, pushing his fingers through Castiel’s belt loops and tugging gently to slide them closer.

"I taste like your tomato sauce," Castiel says, winding his hands under Dean’s shirt and pushing  even closer.

Dean smiles against Castiel’s lips. “I’m an awesome chef,” he says. 

Cas strokes his fingers over Dean’s hipbone and Dean shivers. “I would have to agree with your self-assessment,” he says. “Which is why I want to get ready so that we can eat.”

Dean slides away and rubs a finger over the pulse point in Castiel’s neck, tracks the steady vibrations under the skin. “I could definitely eat,” he says.

"I’m glad to hear that considering your sauce is bubbling onto the stovetop," Castiel says casually.

"Shit!" Dean yelps, turning around and flicking off the burner on the stove. "You are distracting,” Dean murmurs grumpily.

Cas doesn’t say anything, simply pushes up against Dean and places his hands around Dean’s hips, flushing his front to Dean’s back, and breathing gently against his neck as he says, “Then I’ll let you finish up in here.” He presses a kiss against Dean’s neck and pulls away.

"Come back soon," Dean says, exhaling a shaky breath as he turns to watch Cas retrieve his bags from the table and start toward the exist.

"I will," Cas says, and this time, Dean knows he means it.

Dean smiles and turns back to the stove. “I keep dancing on my own,” he sings softly, taking out the plates and utensils, and starting to set the table.

"I like this wine," Castiel says, setting down his glass and pointing to the bottle of red wine Dean retrieved from the wine cellar earlier that day.

"You would," Dean says around a mouthful of spaghetti. He slurps the noodles from his fork and continues, "You probably have some fancy ex-angelic refined palette."

"I do find myself paying attention to taste in a way I never have before," Castiel admits, a smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. "I like drink and food in ways I never anticipated. I especially like your food. You do things with spice and natural seasoning that I’ve not found in other foods I’ve tried."

Dean lowers his eyes, body tingling under Castiel’s praise. “Yeah, well, it’s just something I picked up growing up. We didn’t always have a lot of food, so we had to make do with what we had. I tried to make the canned stuff and box foods we got from the food pantries taste as good as possible, so I experimented a lot with seasoning. Sam and Dad seemed to like whatever I cooked, so that was enough for me.”

Dean takes a sip of wine, feeling it slide smooth and sweet down his throat, warming him. It is pretty damn good. “You want to know something funny?” he says after a moment.

"I don’t often get your jokes, Dean," Castiel says, lifting his glass of wine to his lips again.

"No, that’s not what I meant," Dean says, chuckling as he picks up his fork. "I didn’t mean funny haha, just like…funny weird."

"I don’t think I understand," Castiel says, frowning. "But you should tell me anyway."

"Okay, so," Dean says, pausing to suck in a breath. "I was kind of nervous about tonight."

Castiel’s frown deepens. “Why?”

"I don’t know," Dean says, shrugging. "I kind of feel like this summer’s been cool, and it’s coming to an end, and I don’t know. I just…Cas, do you know what day it is?"

Castiel blinks for a moment, and shakes his head. “I fear my handle on time has been distorted by my fall. It’s not so clear some days, what the hour is, what day it is. It’s strange not to be aware of every moment, of every second. I’m sorry.”

"Don’t be sorry," Dean says, smiling softly. "Humans forget this stuff. It’s why we have calendars we hang around our house, clocks and watches and little apps on our phones. It’s how we keep track of it all." Dean puts his fork down and picks up his napkin and rubs at his mouth. He takes in a breath and says, "So…five years ago I dug my way out of my own grave. Five years ago, you got me out of Hell, somehow, someway, til this day I don’t even know how. Five years ago, we  kind of first met." 

Dean stops, pausing to take a sip of his wine. Cas doesn’t say anything, so Dean adds, “And four months ago this week, you came back home.” He looks up at Cas, but Cas is just watching him, wide-eyed and shocked-quiet.

Okay, so part of Dean had wanted tonight to be special. There’s no candles, or any of the romantic music Charlie left behind, mostly because Dean chickened out at the last minute and thought it was all too weird to do anything like that. So tonight ended up just being him and Cas sitting across from each other at the table, smacking their lips and looking up at each other from time to time, just to make sure the other one is still there.

It ended up being Dean’s awkward admittance of being a closet romantic who remembers stuff like anniversaries, and Castiel’s bug-eyed look of perplexed confusion. 

"Uh, Cas, say something," Dean says.

Castiel finally opens his mouth and when he does, he says, “Are you…still nervous?”

Dean thinks on it a moment, and shakes his head. “Nah, man.” 

Castiel nods, settling his hand on the table as he looks at Dean. “You had no reason to be nervous, Dean. I’m glad for this. For you remembering, honoring us. I…feel venerated.”

Dean flushes, feeling uncomfortable suddenly. He picks up his fork and spins noodles around it, stuffs his mouth, and chews loudly. “M’glad,” he mumbles around the food. 

Castiel watches him for a moment before saying, “Dean.” He reaches out to brush his fingers to Dean’s mouth before bringing them back to his own mouth and sucking at the excess sauce. 

Dean swallows, hard. Cas, always with the finger licking. He smirks to himself, and watches as Cas brings a forkful of spaghetti noodles to his own mouth, sucking the long strands in a way that shouldn’t be hot at all, but Dean’s easy. Two of his favorite things are making contact right now: food and Cas. 

And well, Dean can’t help himself. He leans across the table and takes the free end of Castiel’s string of spaghetti into his own mouth and chews it until he and Cas are face to face, lips touching barely where they meet around the shared noodle. Cas blinks, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and Dean’s sort of lost in his ridiculous blue eyes for a moment before he remembers himself, presses his lips to Cas and bites off the string of noodle and pulls away. He chews the noodle as he sits back in his seat, smirking, self-satisfied, mission accomplished.

Cas swallows his own food down and looks very bewildered. “That was…unexpected.”

"That was Lady and the Tramp,” Dean says, smile widening. “You made it too easy, dude.”

"You’ll have to explain that reference later," Castiel says, and Dean nods, settling in to finish his plate and trying not to imagine sucking anything else off of Castiel. 

The rest of dinner goes well. They each eat two plates of Dean’s spaghetti and meatballs, finish off most of Dean’s loaf of garlic bread, and drink two beers and the bottle of red wine between them. It’s quiet and peaceful, and by the end of the meal they’re playing footsie under the table, Dean running his socked foot up and down Castiel’s hairy calves, while Cas tries to keep a straight face.

"How about we take this to the bedroom?" Dean says, when Cas lands his foot a little too close to Dean’s crotch, a move that’s causing his downstairs brain to perk up.

"I like that idea," Castiel says, nodding. 

They put their dirty dishes in the sink, and Dean says they can clean up in the morning. They adjourn to their bedroom, change into their pajamas, and brush their teeth because Dean knows better than to get ready for a heavy make-out session after devouring a loaf of garlic bread. 

When they’re done, Dean lies down on his bed on his back and Cas climbs onto the bed with the grace of a cat, all precise movements and tight curls of muscle. He stretches out beside Dean, smiling down at him dopily. They’re both stuffed, tipsy, and feeling very, very lazy. 

"You’re not going into a food coma on me are you?" Dean murmurs. 

"No," Cas mutters, rolling himself closer.

Dean lifts an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Cas sits up, placing one hand on Dean’s arm, his fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Cas gazes at him, mouth tipping into a soft smile. “We should continue to celebrate our anniversary.”

"Yeah," Dean whispers. An idea pops into his head and he asks, "Do you want to make out?"

Castiel blinks. “Do you want to make out?”

Dean laughs softly, propping himself up on his elbow and looking over at Cas. “Are you asking me ‘cause you want to?

"I always want to make out with you, Dean," Castiel says very seriously.

"I’m irresistible, I know," Dean says, grinning smugly at him. He lets his eyes skim over Castiel’s face: his blue eyes and black hair, pink lips and long eyelashes. He slides one hand over Castiel’s cheek, feeling the prickle of his stubble under against his skin. Cas is kind of irresistible too.

Cas leans into his touch and murmurs, “The truth is, I like kissing you.” The heat in his eyes is so fierce Dean feels an answering wave ratchet throughout his own body.

"Then do it," Dean says, and he gasps when Cas leans in and bites his way up his jaw, sucking his way into Dean’s mouth, messy and wet and hot and demanding and oh, so fucking good.

Goddamn, but Cas is a natural-born kisser. Dean kisses him back, wrapping an arm behind his hips, and then Cas pulls away, and that’s completely unacceptable. But Cas pushes Dean back when he tries to follow with his mouth. 

"What?" Dean whines. "I wanna kiss some more."

Cas slides his hand gently up Dean’s chest. “You’re still healing,” he says.

"I can take it," Dean shrugs, the pain in his side almost forgotten. Cas is a very good distraction after all.

Cas frowns. “You never let yourself heal.”

Dean closes his eyes and pushes his face against Castiel’s shoulder. “I know,” he says, quiet.

Without a word, Cas leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Dean’s neck, just under his ear. Dean’s hand comes up and grips at Castiel’s thick hair.

"You can take care of me, then," Dean whispers catching Castiel’s lips, nipping lightly at the bottom one before pulling back a little to stare up at him. 

"If you’d just let me," Cas rumbles as he takes Dean’s mouth again, shifting closer, hands gentle as they slide up Dean’s arms. 

Dean groans, the sincerity in Castiel’s tone catching him by surprise and hitting deep. Dean pulls away this time, hand coming up to palm around Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel looks at him, eyes wide and expectant. Swallowing, Dean says nothing for a long moment and then whispers, “I don’t really know what I’m doing, Cas.”

Cas looks at him for a long time too, something thoughtful in his gaze. “It’s true that there are no rules for this Dean,” he says after a time. “No prophecy written in gospels thousands of years old. No higher power giving us orders, telling us what we are supposed to do, defining our mission for us. There is just…us.”

Dean swallows again, hand coming up to run along Castiel’s arm. “The two of us making it up as we go?”

"It’s what we seem to do best," Castiel says, a quirk to his lips.

Dean laughs a little, running his hand up Castiel’s back. Cas shivers, but doesn’t look away, keeps his eyes locked on Dean as Dean pulls in a soft breath and says, “You gonna stick around this time, Cas?”

"Dean," Castiel says, and in the way he says it, the apology, the heartache, Dean knows. 

Dean closes his eyes for a moment, sucks in a deep breath. He feels Castiel’s hand on his face, thumb sliding along his cheekbone to the corner of his lips. “So yeah, don’t answer that,” Dean says, because it’s stupid to make promises neither of them can keep.

"My brothers and sisters are out there, somewhere," Castiel says quietly. "One day I will need to  go to them, help them if I can, do penance for my role in their fall."

"You can’t save everyone, Cas," Dean says, voice gone almost reedy soft. "I learned that from a friend."

"But we will always try," Castiel says quietly. "I also learned that from a friend."

Dean stares at Castiel’s shadowed face, at the soft light from the lamp sliding golden over his neck. “Just come back after, okay?”

"I always do," Castiel says softly. "Your light always guides me back to you."

"God, you’re a worse sap than Charlie," Dean groans, voice sounding raw as he huffs an unsteady laugh, and Cas leans forward in response and presses their lips together, hungry, his tongue sliding alongside Dean’s, and Dean opens to it, tips his head back with a soft moan as Castiel falls against him, holds him down, holds him close, just holds him. They kiss, wet and deep, and Dean feels Castiel’s touch like a siren calling in his bones.

"So, um…happy anniversary, Cas," Dean says, when they slide apart, and go quiet together, his arms wrapped around Castiel’s waist. 

Castiel turns to him and slides a hand over Dean’s shoulders, down his arms, resting it in the place where his handprint used to be on Dean’s upper left arm. “I led my garrison into Perdition, into darkness, toward the righteous soul whose brightness I could see through the fire,” he begins on a quiet whisper, and Dean instantly knows Cas is recollecting the story of how they first met, of everything that brought them here.

Dean closes his eyes and listens to Castiel’s low rumble, and he feels transported. The phantom press of heat licking against his skin, the searing, blistering air in his lungs. The drumbeat of wings, screams and cries following behind him, and then the silence, so complete, wrapped around him like a cocoon. He remembers the burning ache, like nothing he’d ever known, on Earth or in Hell, and he remembers the light, so bright he felt it igniting his bones, pushing deep and spreading around him. Dean thinks maybe the light was Cas; the light that led him out of the darkness.

Morning comes slow and lazy. 

It’s just past sunrise when Dean goes in search of food. He slides his hand across a sleeping Castiel’s cheek and presses soft lips against Castiel’s temple before climbing out of bed and heading to the kitchen, bare-footed and bare-assed. Dean doesn’t see or hear any movement, so he figures he’s safe from Sammy or Kevin’s judging eyes as he makes his way down the dark hallway. This early in the morning, the bunker is still and silent, immense in its emptiness.

Full from dinner, he and Cas had spent most of last night in bed, a mix of storytelling, sloppy hand jobs, and lazy make-out sessions held in the interludes between Star Trek episodes. It had been nice, kind of perfect in it’s own way, and Dean’s idea of a damn fine anniversary, even if he doesn’t really know what he’s doing when it comes to this thing between him and Cas ninety percent of the time. They’d fallen asleep probably around midnight, but it was a sugar craving that got Dean out of bed this morning, pulling him from a dream of light and warmth, the sound of beating feathers. Memories more than dreams, maybe.

Dean hums some Black Sabbath as his eyes work to pick shapes out of the bunker’s thick shadows, and his bare feet slip like whispers across the old wooden floorboards. In the kitchen, he heads for the pantry, where he knows most of his goodies are hidden. He clicks the chain hanging from the ceiling lightbulb fixture, adding cool light to the room; he smiles as he sees the stock-pile of sweets they’d gotten on their last grocery-store run. Cas and Kevin both share Dean’s love of sweet things, and they’d been able to outnumber Sam’s constant bemoaning about how, We don’t have health insurance you know! Cas, you have human teeth now!

Dean chuckles as he picks up a bag of miniature powdered donuts and stuffs one of the donuts into his mouth, the powder coating his mouth and fingers. Smacking his lips and sucking his fingers, he heads over to their fancy-ass coffee machine, and starts it up, chasing down two mugs for him and Cas. He looks around the rest of the kitchen, at the dirty saucepans and plates from last night’s dinner, at the pots drying on the dish rack. Nesting has done wonders for Dean’s sense of mind; he can admit as much. The bunker – their sort-of-kind-of home – has given them all a kind of stability they haven’t had in a while. Even during that year in Cicero, it had always felt like something was missing for Dean, with Sam gone and Cas gone, leaving a big hole in the center of himself that nothing could fill up, no matter how much he loved Lisa and Ben, and wanted things to work. 

Dean used to think he wasn’t cut out for being still; that his life would always be movement and wide skies and backroads. Ganking a piece of nasty and moving on to the next. Driving side-by-side with his little brother, one eye on the road and the other eye on Sam. He doesn’t know if he’s cut out for doing anything else, but sometimes, there are moments where he gets glimpses of something else. And he wonders if maybe…well, he tries not to think about it too much.

Dean watches the coffee fill up the mugs, and thinks about Sammy. He seems to be doing better, looking more settled in his skin, in this place, finding himself in the Men of Letters work in ways Dean’s never been able to do. For Dean, the Men of Letters means a homebase, a place to rest his head, a family connection to something bigger than himself. For Sam, it’s books and lore and interesting facts to research; it’s putting that expensive geek brain of his to good use.

Cas has been nesting too, in his own Cas-like ways. He’s taken to laundry duty like a pro (there’s something about sorting the whites from the color clothing, about measuring out the right amount of detergent, that seems to work for him; Dean suspects it’s the regulated, assured nature of it); Cas also likes doing dishes, and Dean thinks there’s also more meaning to this as well, that cleaning up messes is something Cas is trying to do in all parts of his life. 

He and Cas had gone to Target earlier this summer, and they’d brought more sheets for the beds, matching bath and hand towels for the bathroom, and packets of seeds for the small herb garden Cas had started behind the bunker. Every time they go to the store, Cas comes home with at least one more plant, which he tends to religiously, watering it and watching it thrive. Dean teases him, but Cas usually just shoots him a menacing look and tells him to fill up the water canister.

A part of Dean is always thinking that this thing he and Cas have together is wrong, dangerous. That what they’re doing is going to hurt Cas. That all of this is not meant for Dean anyway, that he doesn’t deserve to feel safe or wanted, not him. But then Cas presses close in the mornings, and he’s warm when he spoons up against Dean’s back, hands curling around Dean’s waist, and it feels so damn familiar and so damn good. Sometimes Dean wonders how long they spent together, wrapped around each other as they journeyed out of Hell (days? months? years?), and if there’s some sense memory as to why Castiel’s arms mean comfort and peace to him. 

Dean sighs, and turns to get a tray to put their coffee on; he also takes out two bowls for cereal, and sets a few other sweets and necessities on the tray, before balancing it in his hands and making his way back to his bedroom.

"Hey, you’re up," he says, smiling in surprise as he enters his room.

Cas is sitting up, his back against the headboard and a book in his hand. The sheets are twisted around his legs, and he has a soft smile on his face as he glances up to look at Dean. “I couldn’t sleep after you left.”

Dean holds up his stash and grins. “Post-anniversary, breakfast in bed. I have snickerdoodles, oatmeal pies, donuts, and Fruit Loops.”

"Dean," Castiel says, tisking knowingly. 

"And a banana," Dean adds on a huff. "I’m keeping it healthy, Cas."

Cas puts his book down and stands up, the sheets falling from his naked form. Dean smirks, letting his eyes get their fill of Castiel’s body, the lithe lines and corded muscles, the warm, tanned skin, the dark line of curls winding from below his belly to his groin. Better yet, Cas looks nicely debauched: his hair is sticking up, all sex-mussed, and there are hickeys zig-zagging across his hipbones, and Dean smiles as he remembers sucking at that dip of skin for hours last night. He spends a moment just looking at Cas, sleep-ruffled, awkward, and beautiful, looking more and more at home in his inherited body. 

Dean puts his tray down on their bed. Their bed. Dean laughs to himself; he still doesn’t know when he’d started thinking of it that way. 

"Thank you for dinner last night," Cas says, turning his gaze on Dean as he settles beside Dean on the bed. He reaches out for the bag of donuts and takes one out. The warm lamplight flickers over Castiel’s face, highlighting the smooth lines around his eyes as he watches Dean. 

"You’re welcome," Dean says, and hands him a cup of coffee, watches the line of Castiel’s throat as he swallows a gulp of the drink.

Dean sips on his own coffee, nibbles at his donut, and after a time asks, “So, what should we do today?”

Castiel’s voice is low and calm as he says, “We should remain in bed.”

"Really?" Dean says, smirking. "And do what?"

"I believe I’ve heard it called…making love," Castiel says, voice rolling warmly.

Dean chokes on his coffee, snorting as he wipes a hand across his lips and chin. There are donut crumbs on his hands as he turns to take in Castiel’s face, to take in the calmness of his gaze, the strange assurance in it. “You for real, Cas?”

"I am for real,” Castiel says drolly, but it looks like he’s honest to God blushing. “Dean, I believe we should engage in penetrative sexual intercourse. Coitus. Copulation…”

“Fucking,” Dean laughs, voice breaking around the word; he clears his throat and dabs with a napkin at the reaming drops of coffee on his chin and lips, feeling his body flush with the idea.

"Only if you want to," Castiel adds lowly, eyes meeting Dean’s. "Do you want that?"

"Fuck, of course I do," Dean says, trying to tamp down on his excitement, not wanting to seem too eager. "I mean…I want you to be ready, first. Cause, this human thing, I know it’s a lot to deal with. But I want…I want to explore everything with you, Cas. When you’re ready to do them."

"I want to experience everything with you too," Cas says, voice a rough assurance. He tilts his head and watches Dean watching him silently. After a beat, he smiles and adds, "I trust you in this, Dean."

A smile curves Dean’s lips in answer to Castiel’s own. “Yeah, I trust you too, Cas,” he says, pausing to look at Castiel’s mouth. He leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, whispers, “Give me a sec, okay?”

Cas nods, and Dean presses another kiss to his lips and then climbs out of bed. He goes to his closet and kneels down to dig through the duffle on its floor. Thing about it, he’s never been with a guy, not like this before. But Dean knows sex. He lost his virginity at fifteen and spent years after searching for something he could only find in the touch of another person. The men and women he’s known, all across the country, the touches and the kisses, they were all amazing, but never lasting. 

And this thing with Castiel…it’s different, and it’s complicated. Dean sighs as he finds a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube. He heads back over to Cas, who’s sitting on the bed, watching him closely. Dean breathes in a deep breath, deliberate and slow. Jesus, he’s feeling nervous. Hands shaking, heart pounding. It’s silly because Dean Winchester is far from a virgin, but this is Cas. And Cas is one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. 

Dean wants him so much, but he’s scared to fuck this up, to fuck Cas up in the way only humans know how to do.  And Cas is…he’s intense, he’s frustrating, he’s stubborn, he’s awkward as fuck, and moreover, he’s unpredictable. But he’s also loyal and badass and fierce and beautiful and one of the best friends Dean’s ever had. Cas is one of the only people in the world who makes Dean feel like he can let his guard down, like he’s safe enough to just…let go. So, this thing between them – it matters. And if Dean fucks this up, if he makes Cas want to leave, if Dean fails him again…

"Dean?" Castiel asks, voice breaking in through Dean’s messy thoughts. That’s when Dean realizes he’s been standing in the middle of the floor, lost in thought. 

Cas asks, “Are you alright?”

Dean nods his head and quirks his lips. “More than,” he says, dangling the condoms.

Cas leans back on the bed, comfortable in his nakedness in a way Dean’s always loved. “Did you find all that you were looking for?” Cas asks.

Dean swallows and looks at Cas, eyes raking over the smooth, unblemished skin around his collarbone and upper chest, at the tiny mole above his nipple, at the lean muscles of his legs. “Yeah,” he says, meeting Castiel’s eyes. “Yeah, I think I did.”

Dean sets the condoms on the side table by the bed, settles back on the mattress and turns to look at Cas. “So first things first,” he says holding up the bottle of Astroglide. “This is lube and it’s a fanfuckingtastic invention. I prefer water-based ones, and they’re good for helping with friction, making things smoother going in, and making things safer, cause fucking dry is never a cool thing, and doing so could lead to tearing and injury.” Dean puts the bottle down and pulls out the strip of Trojans, waving them in front of Castiel’s face. “We can’t get pregnant, true, but protection is important cause we’re both human now and you can’t just mojo-away any diseases. So we always gotta be safe, in and out of the bedroom. Wrap it up with all your partners, dude.” He places a condom in Castiel’s hand and watches as Cas examines it, brow furrowing in contemplation. 

"Are you sure this will fit?" Cas asks, looking at it skeptically.

"Stop bragging," Dean says, glancing down at Castiel’s pretty wonderfully-huge cock. "It’ll fit ya, Big Man."

Cas flashes a soft smile. “If you say so, Dean.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches but he keeps on going. “So, I’m not an expert on gay sex or anything,” he admits, belly twisting nervously. “But I’ve watched enough porn, and I figure you’ve been watching people get it on for thousands of years so…um,” he trails off, shrugging.

Cas brushes a hand over Dean’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out together,” he says. He then leans in and kisses Dean, a brush of tongue wetting Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean falls forward, letting their mouths press together. 

Cas tastes like coffee and donuts, a warm earthy sweetness. “So, how do you want to start?” Dean whispers against Castiel’s lips.

Castiel’s hands slide around to cup both of Dean’s cheeks, and he kisses Dean again, deep and exploring. He pulls away, lets his thumb rub gentle circles under Dean’s eye and says, “With you on your back perhaps,” he suggests.

Dean smiles, but complies. He lies back, puts his arms over his head and closes his eyes. He feels Cas lie down beside him, feels those amazing hands of his run down his chest, skim across his belly, and slide around his cock, pulling it into a light grip.

Dean reaches down and wraps his hand around Castiel’s hand. “You keep touching me like that and this is all gonna be over even before it even gets started,” Dean chuckles, opening his eyes and turning to look over at Cas.

Cas looks sheepish, but he tugs slow and gentle at Dean’s cock one more time before pulling his hand away. “Then tell me what I should do first,” he murmurs, right up against Dean’s lips. 

"What do you want to do first?" Dean asks, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s chin, and meeting Castiel’s curious gaze with his own.

"I want to touch you," Castiel says, letting his hand slide down between Dean’s thighs again, brushing over the soft skin. "Everywhere."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says, breathless at the idea. "The things that come out of your mouth sometimes."

"I like touching you," Cas admits out, low and throaty. "Very much, Dean."

"Please feel free to touch me anytime you want, then," Dean groans as Castiel’s lips capture his, his long tongue licking its way inside of Dean’s mouth. Dean opens wider to him, grazes his tongue against Castiel’s, kissing sloppy and heated and needy. The bed shifts as Cas climbs on top of Dean, rubbing their cocks together as he grinds down.

They make out for a long time, and Cas presses his hand down to meet their cocks, massaging their shafts and sliding his fingers down along the inside of Dean’s thighs, just behind his balls, and lower still. Dean groans, spreads his legs, pulls Cas even closer, his breath hitching. Cas kisses him deeper, slower, humming into Dean’s mouth. He inhales sharply when Dean’s hand moves higher up his side, fingertips gliding over his ribs.

"Cas," Dean says, but he keeps kissing him, which is so good it makes it kind of hard to want to stop.

"Mmmhmm?" Castiel murmurs, right into Dean’s mouth. His fingers slip against the warm skin of Dean’s inner thigh, rubbing against Dean’s sack, and Dean feels himself shaking at the touch.

"Goddammit, Cas, your hands," Dean groans.

Cas cups Dean’s balls, plays with the soft skin there, fingers wandering before wrapping around the base of Dean’s cock. Dean thrusts a little into Castiel’s fist, and Cas squeezes, runs the tips of his fingers into the wetness that wells at the head, before sliding his hand up and down Dean’s full length. 

"Cas," Dean breathes when he pulls away, his lips rasping on the rough stubble of Castiel’s s jaw.

Cas slides a hand across Dean’s right hip, gripping tight enough that Dean jerks back, a sharp reminder that he’s not quite fully healed up yet.

"Am I hurting you?" Cas says, pulling his body up over Dean, slipping his hand away, and looking down at Dean.

"Just my side," Dean breathes out. "It’s still a little sore."

Cas frowns, gaze flitting over Dean’s chest, at the still-bruised skin along his torso. “You should have reminded me,” he says.

"I was distracted," Dean huffs on a soft laugh. 

"Do you want me to stop touching you?" Cas asks, eyes on Dean’s face.

"Fuck no," Dean says, shaking his head. "You feel good, okay?"

Cas still climbs off of Dean, but he settles beside Dean’s prone body. For a long moment he just looks down at Dean, and Dean looks back up at him, taking in his soft, red mouth and his shining half-lidded eyes. Dean can feel Castiel’s stare raking all over his skin, rolling over him, taking everything in as well.

"Need you, Cas," Dean complains when it becomes apparent there’s going to be more staring then actual touching. "Come on and touch me, again. Please."

Castiel sends Dean a scolding look, but his eyes are smiling as he says, “You are so…”

"Damn irresistible, I know," Dean interrupts with a grin. "We talked about this already, remember?"

Cas shuts Dean up with a kiss, his lips warm and flushed as his mouth slides down across Dean’s chin. “You are brash, foolhardy, reckless…” he whispers the words as he presses kiss after kiss against Dean’s face.

Dean chuckles and squirms as he says, “Ah, yeah, Cas, talk dirty to me.”

Castiel pulls up and glares softly at Dean, and Dean loves the way his body responds to that look. Cas slides his index finger under Dean’s chin, tilts Dean’s head up enough so that their eyes can meet directly. “You are also beautiful,” Cas says, voice gone rough. “So beautiful, Dean.”

And yeah, that was not at all what Dean was expecting to hear right then. Dean swallows, clears his throat, body warming all over; he wants to look away, but Cas must know that because his fingers keep Dean’s chin in place, keeps their faces close. 

So Dean speaks up. “We’re gonna have to have a serious discussion about your pillow talk one day, man,” he whispers, wanting to deflect attention from the fierce blush now sliding up his face.

Castiel doesn’t respond, instead his fingers slide across Dean’s cheek as he presses closer. He tilts Dean’s head back enough to let their mouths slip-slide together, to allow Castiel’s tongue the freedom to explore Dean’s mouth like it’s some brave new world. “You are beautiful,” Castiel whispers again, his lips soft and wet and moving against Dean’s. 

Dean’s too distracted, too lost in the fuzziness created by Castiel’s words and the press of his lips, to notice when Castiel’s hands start working down his body. His fingertips travel up and down Dean’s sternum, tracing his tattoo, and then skitter over the stretch of skin on his chest and belly. 

Dean shivers, watching Castiel’s hand slide over his new scars, the tri-colored bruising along his side, and over the older pearled scars that crisscross Dean’s body like highways. Dean’s gasping in surprise when Cas follows his fingers with his lips. Dean closes his eyes again, and feels everything: the soft press of Castiel’s lips slipping over every broken piece of him, following each ridge of flesh, each knobby hill. Dean’s trying not to wriggle free, embarrassed that he’s laying himself out before Cas like some kind of an offering. 

Cas though, he takes his time; indulgent in this weird way he gets when he finds something he’s fascinated by. He skims some of Dean’s older scars, the skin torn and knitted by time, but he kisses some of the newer ones too. Cas has healed Dean’s body so many times in their five years together, and Dean’s scars have become fewer and farther between because of it. But Cas doesn’t always heal all of Dean’s body, instead concentrating on the immediate hurts, like Dean’s smashed faced after their showdown in the crypt last spring. The scars Castiel is kissing now are the ones he left behind, and Dean figures there’s some kind of deeper meaning to the slow-slide of his lips there, why he takes his time on each one.

Dean’s quiet as Castiel trails a soft wet path of kisses across his collarbone, sucking light bruises up and down along Dean’s sternum, sliding his fingers over Dean’s pecs, before finally brushing his lips against Dean’s nipple. Dean bucks up at that touch, his body shifting under Castiel. He shivers, surprised.

"Are you alright?" Castiel says, pulling back, eyes gone dark.

"Yeah," Dean exhales, wriggling a bit. "It’s just that my nipples are really fucking sensitive.”

Cas frowns, as if considering Dean’s words, but he doesn’t appear deterred. In fact Dean’s admission seems to drive him on. 

"Oh, god," Dean whimpers when Cas flicks his tongue over one of his nipples again. Dean presses his head back in his pillow, and his fingers grip at the folds of sheet already clenched up between his hands.

Cas squeezes at the nipple, tweaks it, rolling it between his index finger and thumb, and Dean almost fucking loses it. Goddamn ex-angel playing with fire again, he thinks, and Dean wants to laugh because Cas is being such a little shit right now, moving deft thumbs over both of his hardened nubs, circling and teasing as he kisses and sucks at them like he’s found heaven’s manna.

Dean’s body has always been sensitive to touch, vibrating with the slightest attention. His breathing gets ragged and damp against the pillow as he moans into it. Another sly tweak of a nipple, and Dean arches up, his feet scrambling in the sheets. “Cas!”

Cas presses a final soft kiss against the nipple he’d been working over, and then sinks lower down Dean’s chest, his teeth grazing across the soft middle of Dean’s belly. He kisses and licks along the trail of hair running below his navel, and Dean squeezes his eyes tight, not thinking about anything apart from Cas. The way his hands slide up his body, like the fallen angel can’t help himself, like he has to touch everything of Dean. 

Dean lies there and waits while Cas touches and touches, his warm hands sliding down Dean’s thighs now, smoothing over the sensitive inner skin, followed by the wetness of his tongue, licking right down into the crease between Dean’s thigh and groin.

Dean spreads his legs wider, shivers at the feel of Cas following the crease down, sucking in Dean’s balls, one at a time, his saliva dripping down Dean’s crack in a way that has Dean groaning, whimpering, body arching up. Cas nudges at Dean’s balls with his nose, and then he’s licking under them, his tongue slipping further back, and Dean’s hole tightens at the gentle touch of it.

"Jesus fuck, your mouth," Dean whimpers, his fists clenching and unclenching in the sheets again, the press of Castiel’s warm breath and the slick of cooling spit almost too much. "How’d you learn how to touch people like this?"

"I know your body," Cas says, words falling like a soft, heated whisper against Dean’s cock. "I’ve spent enough time with you to know what it likes, to understand how it works." Cas continues to mumble the words into Dean’s skin as he drags his mouth back over Dean’s thighs, moving back up Dean’s, sucking wet kisses into his skin along the way before circling his nipples with the tip of his tongue again. 

Dean’s quiet, breathy moans fill the room as he angles up into Castiel’s caress. “Cas, man,” he says, voice wrecked.

"When I touch you, I remember," Castiel breathes out brokenly. "The part of my grace that first touched your soul, every piece of you I knitted together." He slides off of Dean’s body, settling at Dean’s left side on the mattress. He runs his hand over Dean’s shoulder and traces over Dean’s upper left arm with the pad of his thumb.

Dean turns his head towards him, presses his face to Castiel’s, bumps his nose against his, kisses his stubbled jaw and licks down his neck, sucking and biting along his collarbone. Cas lets loose a breathy sigh, curves into Dean’s touch. Dean mouthes over his neck, breathing him in and tasting him. “I like when you touch me,” Dean confesses to him. 

"I’m glad," Cas murmurs, gripping at his shoulder. Dean twists to face Cas completely, pushes his head into the dip of Castiel’s neck, brushes his nose against the flushed skin there. He slides his now rigid shaft along Castiel’s thighs, seeking more. Cas shivers against him, his hips twisting forward, his own dick leaking now, fat beads of precome oozing out of the head as it slides against Dean’s belly.

"Cas, please." Dean’s voice is pitched low and quiet, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but he feels Castiel’s answering fingers press against his skin, slide down, touch and touch and touch. 

Castiel kisses Dean, slow and familiar as Dean slides over Cas, taking most of his own weight into his arms, so as to avoid his injured side. They grind together, a slow rhythm building fast and heavy between them. Dean presses a kiss along the hollow under Castiel chin, the rough stubble abrading his lips; he mouthes at Castiel’s Adams apple, sucks purple-red marks into his skin. Cas squirms as Dean bites down softly on his jaw; he rolls his hips until his cock is sliding against Dean’s.

"Cas, we have to do something, or I’m gonna lose it, man," Dean chuckles, the soft quaking of his body letting him know he’s close to the edge.

"I need," Cas breathes out, desperation clawing at his words, "I need to keep touching you."

"We can do that," Dean says, groaning out a soft noise of assent. "But tell me what else you need."

"For you to keep moving," Cas murmurs, always literal, as he pushes their lips together, the soft demand of his mouth all-consuming. 

"Yeah, I can do that too," Dean gasps against Castiel’s mouth as he shifts the angle of his body, enough to rub their cocks together at a faster pace, leaving Cas panting and stretched out underneath him. "Anything else?"

"Just…keep doing that," Cas replies, breathless and rough.

"Whatever you need," Dean breathes out, half a whine, half a moan, and already leaning in for more pressure, desperate for it. 

That’s when Cas, mouth red and wet, grunts out, “I do still need us to copulate.”

Dean huffs out a laugh and says, “Then you’re ready?” He pushes his face into Castiel’s neck to kiss and bite at the skin there so it won’t sound so obvious that he’s still laughing. 

"I’m ready," Cas says, voice a soft growl as he leans in to kiss Dean.

"So, how do you want to do it?" Dean breathes shakily into the warmth of Castiel’s mouth. He pulls back a little, leaning back on his elbows in order to capture Castiel’s gaze. 

Cas puts space between them and stares into Dean’s eyes, watching Dean for a long moment. “How do you want to do it?” he parrots back

Dean’s thought about it, of course; in the secret recesses of his mind where he allows this kind of stuff to linger; he’s wanted so much, but never figured he’d be in a position to ask.

Cas seems to understand this; he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Dean’s lips and says, “You can tell me.”

Heat spikes in his belly, and Dean whispers, “Maybe you could fuck me?” 

"Is that what you want?" Cas asks, touching his mouth to Dean’s softly, his fingers traveling across Dean’s collarbone. "Is that what you’re asking me for?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says, voice gone a little breathless. "That would be awesome. I…uh…I want to feel you, Cas," he adds, "Everywhere."

"Yes," Cas hums.

"We can try other things too," Dean says, sliding a hand into Castiel’s hair and ruffling it. "We have time, right? To try everything we want to try?"

"Are you attempting to ascertain when I’m leaving?" Castiel says on a soft rumble.

"I’m trying to plan out our very active sex life,” Dean snarks back softly. “And historically your schedule is usually unpredictable.”

"I’m fallen now Dean," Castiel says. "My mobility is limited. As are my powers."

Dean’s about to crack a joke about Castiel’s unlimited mobility and awe-inspiring powers in the bedroom, but holds back his grin and looks at Cas. “We can always get you some wheels, man.”

Cas frowns, probably trying to figure out the reference, so Dean clears it up with, “A vehicle. To get around in. We can check around.”

"I can always learn to drive your car," Castiel suggests.

"Not gonna happen, buddy," Dean says, words brooking no argument.

Castiel, the grumpy-ass that he is, retaliates by pushing his lips to Dean’s own, and capturing his mouth. They kiss, soft and slow, open-mouthed and sweet. “I’m sure I can convince you otherwise,” he whispers, slipping his lips across Dean’s own.

"Are we trading sex for car privileges now?" Dean breathes against Castiel’s mouth, pressing his hand against Castiel’s hips, drawing him closer.

Cas presses a hand against the skin of Dean’s chest, his touch slow and warming as it settles over his tattoo. “Only if you are ready,” he says, his voice gone soft and gentle, “To get started?”

"Five years past ready," Dean says, because in all honestly, he’s been dreaming about doing this with Cas since forever. "But I’m gonna need you to open me up first, Cas," he says, breath hitching a bit in anticipation. "Use you fingers, cover them in lube, and get me ready for you."

Cas pulls back, watching Dean carefully as they both sit up in bed. Dean turns to the side table and grabs the lube and hands it over to Cas. Cas looks at it, examining the bottle with a kind of professional curiosity. 

"I’ve fingered myself before," Dean admits, voice low, feeling a bit embarrassed by the admission. "The first time, I was 17 and I wanted…wanted to know what it would feel like, you know? But I was too chicken-shit to actually admit I wanted some girl or guy to do it for me. I kind of ran away from that part of myself for a long time."

Cas glances up from the bottle of lube, a frown creasing his face as he says, “You’re not chicken-shit for being nervous about that.”

Dean shrugs, not really knowing what to say to that. He takes in a breath and pokes Cas in the arm. “How come you never, you know? Went cloud seeding?”

Castiel sighs, shaking his head as he twists the bottle in his hand. He frowns and says, “Although many of my brothers and sisters sought connection through sex with each other, or with humans, it wasn’t something that I considered for myself. I often found myself concentrating on battles, on commanding my garrison, on the orders I needed to carry out.”

"Being a good solider?" Dean offers with a knowing smile.

Cas makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Yes. Or so I thought. Considering Naomi reprogrammed me an unknowable number of times, I’m starting to think I was never the soldier I was supposed to be.”

"You’re speaking to the choir here, man," Dean says, huffing out a soft breath. "I was never good enough, you know? Oh, I tried to be. I tried so hard to do my job." He pauses for a moment, hands curling in the bed-sheets before continuing with, "Maybe that why I liked sex so much? It was the one thing I could keep to myself. The minute I hit my growth spurt at fourteen, people started really looking at me, paying attention. My dad hated it, all the attention I’d get from men and women when we’d go to a bar, at truck stops. Said it was distracting. That I needed to concentrate on the case. But I loved it though. I felt…I don’t know. Wanted? So I started hooking up with people."

"You felt ignored by your family," Castiel says in his most sensible voice. "So, you sought the attention of others."

"Come off it," Dean says, shaking his head. "We’re not going there." He really doesn’t want to go there.

"Physical comfort can satisfy an emotional need," Castiel says, shrugging. "You shouldn’t feel shame in wanting to be cared for, loved."

"Okay, I’m changing the subject back to you," Dean says and shoots Cas a non-subtle look. "What about you? You’re not supposed to feel anything. Isn’t that the rule?"

"I don’t know," Castiel says. "I don’t know what’s true of Heaven’s rules. What we were meant to feel or not feel. What was corrupted by those above me."

Dean nods, recognizing the haunted shadows in the corner of Castiel’s eyes, his gaze as raw and fierce as it’s always been, but heavier now; carrying a weight that Dean’s all too familiar with. “Do you hate it?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks up. “What?”

"The uncertainty?" Dean clarifies.

There’s a long pause, Castiel shifts minutely and says, “All the time.” His admission is soft, but his words are even.

"Me too," Dean says, running a hand over his face as he sucks in a breath. "The way I came up, what I learned from Dad. Everything was either good or bad. Black or white. Human or supernatural. There were rules and order. I knew what I had to do."

"But now there’s only chaos," Castiel says quietly. "Now our world is more than obedience and deliverance. It’s chaos…and it’s in everything, every sing thing imaginable."

"It’s crazy, man," Dean says, voice soft and thick. He shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and nudges Castiel’s knee with his own. "I think we both killed our hard-ons with all this getting-to-know-each-other before sex talk," he says, smirking. "How about you and me get back to the main act?" 

"You’ll not find me protesting," Castiel says, voice warm and low, gritty.

Dean chuckles, and begins to roll sideways, having heard that it’s better to be on his hands and knees for this, but Castiel reaches out and stops him. “Face to face, so I can look into your eyes.”

"Cas, seriously, please with the sweet talking," Dean laughs, shaking his head. "But I guess, maybe, I want to be able to see you too, so that sounds good."

Dean lies on on his back, drawing his legs up, feet tangling in the sheets. Cas picks up the bottle of lube and squirts some out. He gets this ridiculous look of concentration on his face as he slicks up his fingers, and Dean can’t help but laugh watching him run the jelly slowly between his digits like he’s in awe of it. 

"It’s weird, huh?" Dean asks with a soft smile.

Cas makes a face, but nods. “Your lubricant reminds me of holy oil,” he says, setting the bottle aside.

"Which is one thing I promise you we are not sticking in my ass, just so you know," Dean says, laughing. "Rub your fingers together, it’ll warm up. Then you’re going to work me open with one  finger, then two, and more as I adjust to you."

Cas moves between Dean legs, rubbing his fingers together as he does. He looks down at Dean, and their gazes lock for a long moment. It feels like some kind of quiet understanding is passing between them: this is okay, this is what we both want.

Cas leans forward, and Dean lifts his hips, giving his permission without even having to say the word. A part of him feels too wide open, way too vulnerable with his legs spread, his ass bare. But another part of him feels safe; this is Cas. And despite everything that’s happened between them, for Dean, Cas has always meant safety, meant friend, meant one of the only people he trusts when shit hits the fan and the world’s falling down around them.

Dean breathes deeply, skin buzzing in anticipation. When Castiel reaches down to touch him, his fingers and the gel are sticky-warm, and Dean only tenses a little as Cas starts rubbing the slick down his crack, circling his entrance. His body goes taut at the unexpected feel of it, the crazy intimacy of the moment. 

Dean’s grips the bedsheets and lifts his hips more, legs spreading wider. “Okay,” he whispers, “This is good.”

"Tell me," Castiel says, using his fingertips to rub slick circles over Dean’s hole again, back and forth as Dean spreads even wider, arches up at the touch. "If there’s anything you don’t like, if you want me to stop." 

Before Dean even has a chance to exhale, Cas is breaking him open, index finger pressing in and stroking. He works with careful tenderness and a soldier’s precision. He pushes into Dean slowly, twisting, and pulling gasping curses from Dean’s mouth with each tug.

Fucking hell.

Cas takes his time, working more fingers around the edges of Dean’s hole before sliding another one in and kneading the muscle a little more. 

"Cas, your freaking fingers," Dean whimpers, arching up at each intrusion. "God, I love your ridiculous fucking fingers." 

Seemingly encouraged, Castiel speeds up, sliding the two fingers in and then out, then pressing in with a third. Dean jerks forward, rocking against the addition, the pressure of it so weird and alien at first, but getting better the longer it lasts; the force of Castiel’s touch feels amazing.

Castiel’s fingers curl and find that place inside of Dean that makes him see stars when he and pushes against it. Dean yelps, begs for more then. And Castiel answers meticulously, efficiently, his fingertips brushing Dean’s prostate just enough to make Dean groan and buck up over and over again, his cock hardening and uncurling from his belly.

"Yeah, Cas," Dean breathes out, rocking up his hips to get Cas to go faster. "Just like that, work me open for you, oh god, I want to feel you."

Cas eases out, slicks his fingers again with more lube and then goes back in, fucking into Dean with all three, pressing more firmly inside until Dean’s panting, shaking, fucking himself down on Castiel’s hand. Castiel’s free hand slides around Dean’s hip, holds him still. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Dean mutters, turning his head to press into the pillow, whimpering as he moves his hips forward against the hot slide of penetration. “Cas, please…”

“I know,” Castiel says, his three fingers pushing deep, rubbing against Dean’s prostate again until Dean’s rocking his hips up and up, begging with little whines and grunts he’s ashamed to admit are coming out of his mouth. Cas presses in determinedly, the stretch of his fingers widening Dean, before scissoring out, and then sliding in up to the knuckles. This last motion sends sparks of pleasure throughout Dean’s body, a heat that’s rolling off of him in waves. 

"Please, god, Cas, please—" Dean thinks he’s going to die if Cas doesn’t stop teasing him and get the fuck on with it. Cas keeps slipping in and out, until Dean’s trying to catch his fingers and hold them inside. He arches his back and pushes down, and Cas works him open even wider with heavy strokes that make Dean’s toes curl into the bed.

Finally, Cas leans forward and presses a kiss against Dean’s kneecap, whispering. “Are you ready?”

"So friggin’ ready," Dean says, voice hoarse and reedy. He arcs up as Cas removes his fingers, and the sudden emptiness leaves him feeling the loss, deeply. Cas slides back from between Dean’s legs, wiping his hands on the sheets (they will definitely need to do some laundry tomorrow) and grabbing the condoms off the side table. 

Cas still looks a bit perplexed by them, but Dean sits up and shakes his head. “Cas, wait,” he says. “Maybe we can skip the condom.”

Cas frowns, looks over at Dean. “But I thought you advised…”

"Yeah, I mean condoms are important," Dean says, swallowing, feeling surprisingly more nervous that awkward about what he’s about to ask. "But sometimes, like, if people are, you know, in a serious relationship…like, they may decide not to use them."

"I see," Cas says, nodding and placing the condoms back on the table. 

"So, I guess I’m kind of asking – is it just me and you for now? Like, are we a thing? Are we together?"

"Dean, we’re often together, but I don’t understand what you’re asking me," Cas says, frown hinting at his confusion. "What sort of ‘a thing’?"

"Are we like," Dean pauses, groaning because seriously. "Together together? In a relationship  together? Fuck, Cas, I don’t know what to call it, what to call this.” He motions between their naked bodies, and he wants to laugh because he feels ridiculous even trying to define it. Committed monogamous relationship? For fuck’s sake, this is too weird. Too Twilight Zone, even for Dean’s life. He’s about to do the deed with his fallen angel slash best friend, and Dean can’t even get out the words to tell him that he’s crazy about him. Dean inhales deeply and says, “Like, do you plan to date and get it on with other people while you’re with me? Cuz, man, if you want to, I get it. I really do. You’re free to be with whoever you want, and I don’t want you to give anything up for me. But I don’t…I don’t want to be with anyone else right now.”

Castiel blinks slowly. “I’m with you, Dean,” he says, looking surprised that Dean would even ask. “I don’t want to be with someone else either.”

"Oh," Dean says, swallowing. "That’s…uh, that’s awesome. Really, awesome. Like…I’d understand if you wanted to explore, you know. Other possibilities. You’re human now. You can sow your wild oats. See what’s out there. I don’t want to hold you back."

"I don’t understand why you’d want me to go into oat farming, when I’m quite fond of the garden I’ve created here. And I know you worry about my choosing you," Castiel says quietly, eyes sharp on Dean. "You worry that I’m giving up too much. But I know what I want, Dean."

Dean exhales roughly. “Maybe you do. But you’re human now, Cas. I don’t want you to feel like you need to settle for me,” he says honestly, heart stuttering at the admission.

Castiel’s eyes flick up to meet Dean’s own, hard and direct. “I’m not settling,” he says. “I’m choosing.” 

Dean turns away and nods, because yeah, that’s awesome too. “So, um. That was a long way of me trying to say that I’m clean. I make sure to get myself tested for STDs at the free clinics,” he explains. “Growing up, it was the one thing that stuck with me from health class, especially considering sex is something I really love. And I’m assuming your new body is clean too?”

"My body is disease-free," Cas nods. 

"So, if we’re together and not planning on having sex with other people while we’re together, I’m cool with us skipping the condom part. Cause, I’d kinda like to feel you," Dean says, grinning. "Really feel you, Big Man.”

"Oh," Cas says, and his face is a soft red tint, probably the matching shade to Dean’s own flushed one. 

Dean grins because this definitely ranks high in Dean and Castiel’s list of their most embarrassing conversations. Number one was explaining constipation to Cas, after Dean attempted to cook them all some of Bobby’s world famous goulash the first time. Cas cursed humanity a lot that night.

Okay, but back to the business at hand, Dean thinks. He sits up a little and grabs the lube, squirting some into his palm. “Come here, Cas,” he says. Cas settles between Dean’s spread legs again, and Dean takes Castiel’s cock in his hand. Cas grunts out, thrusting forward as Dean coats his thick girth with lube. Cas is definitely packing; his long, blood-heavy dick juts out, hard and red, his balls taut and full at the base.

"Dean, I need," Cas croaks out, hips jerking as Dean slicks him up.

"I know, buddy," Dean whispers, letting Cas go. He wipes his hands on the sheets and pushes back further onto the mattress. He presses a pillow under his head and then another under his back, spreading his legs wide and settling onto the bed on his back.

Cas crawls up Dean’s body, and Dean opens wider for him, drawing Cas closer, within the cocoon of his legs. “I’m gonna need you to go slow,” Dean says, his voice thick. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

"I pulled you out of Hell, Dean," Cas says, sliding his hands up Dean’s thighs. "I am quite capable of penetrating you."

"Such a freak," Dean says, a fond smile spreading over his face. "But you are about to commit some kind of mortal sin or something right? You okay with that?"

Castiel almost smiles a little at that, but he nods his head. “Even if I weren’t, I’ve done worse than this.”

"Worse than penetrating the Righteous Man?" Dean says, voice a soft tease.

"Dean," Castiel sighs, exasperated. "Are you ready for my penis now?"

"Jesus, Cas," Dean chuckles, pushing his hips up. "Your dirty talk is shit. Come on then and get that thing in me, Big Man."

Castiel hesitates for only a moment and says, “Remember, I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“‘Kay,” Dean nods. “And remember to just go with what your body feels. It’s natural, your body will tell you what to do, what it needs, follow your instincts.”

There’s no more hesitation then, just Castiel sliding his hands further up Dean’s hips and moving in between Dean’s legs. Dean’s expecting it, of course, but the actual feel of Castiel’s rounded cockhead pushing at his hole is friggin’ weird. Cas nudges at Dean’s entrance slowly, the tip of his length pressing in a little deeper as Dean takes in several calming breaths, holds himself still.

Fuck.

The small breach that follows is a fiery burn that sucks the air right out from Dean’s lungs. Castiel’s dick is like nothing he’s ever experienced before. Three fingers were one thing, but Cas is thick and solid, and the inch-by-inch push of his cock sends Dean’s mind spinning, his entire body clenching down hard.

"Dean!" Castiel shouts, slipping past the ring of muscles and pushing in slowly. 

"Fucking, nnngh," Dean groans, reaching up to the headboard and gripping the edge of it with one hand, while fisting the bedsheets with the other. 

Castiel’s grip around Dean’s thighs tightens, and Dean sucks in another breath as Cas begins to work his way further inside of him, sliding in steadily and holding onto Dean as he drives forward. 

The burn and the sting is completely overwhelming, and when Cas pauses, hesitates to keep going, Dean urges on a broken breath, “No, keep on, come on Cas. Please, it’s okay.”

"Am I hurting you?" Cas grunts out the question. His breathing is coming in shallow pants now, and his voice is rougher, thicker. 

"I’m good," Dean says. 

Cas shoves forward harder then, and Dean knows they’re both making helpless little noises that probably sound like animals dying or cats crying, but he doesn’t care, can’t focus on anything but the awesome pressure and burn as his body stretches to let Cas inside, opening wide to accommodate Castiel’s full length. Cas feels so damn big, so thick and heavy inside him. It hurts, but at the same time, it’s indescribably good, more fullness than anything else. There’s a soft thrumming pleasure racing through him that amplifies as Cas slides his way home, settles deep. 

"Are you okay?" Cas breathes out when he’s all the way in, his balls flush to Dean’s ass.

"I’m totally okay," Dean groans, throat scratched raw; he lifts his legs to ease some of the pressure, and to allow Cas more room to settle in. "You’re so fucking huge, dude."

"My apologies," Castiel says, and Dean wants to laugh, but Castiel’s ginormous dick is in his ass, and it’s probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Dean, bar Rhonda Hurley’s panties. 

"Do you like this?" Castiel asks quietly, curiously, rocking his hips a little as he does, as if experimenting. 

"Fuck yes," Dean says. He watches Castiel get comfortable with the angle, but he can tell Cas is holding back, and fuck that, "Don’t hold back, man, just come on and fuck me, please. You’re doing good."

It’s like the dam breaks, and Cas starts thrusting, in sharp, jerky movements at first, then letting instinct lead him into a softer rhythm. A growl slips faintly from between his clamped teeth as he moves, and his breath falling against Dean’s skin feels hot like cinders. Cas isn’t rough though, and Dean’s thankful for that, but his entire body feels like one big nerve ending, raw and overly-sensitive, his ass flexing as Cas pushes harder, further, hitting that place inside of Dean that throbs and sparks and sends his entire world spinning. 

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Stars explode behind Dean’s eyelids as Castiel’s new angle brings the head of his cock to stroke across his prostate with every thrust. Castiel’s name pours from Dean’s lips as he spreads his thighs wider, desperate for the feel of Castiel’s cock hitting him there, again and again. 

Dean grips the headboard harder, both hands coming up to hold onto it this time as Cas leans over him, fucking into Dean likes he belongs inside of him, driving himself deeper than Dean thought even physically possible.

"Dean," Cas says, moaning between thrusts. "I’ve never felt anything like this. The way you feel around me."

Dean wants to say ditto, but he’s too busy trying to memorize the feel of Cas, thick and warm, settling inside of him. Above him, Cas lets out a slow puff of breath with each shocky push, his eyes locking on Dean and fucking hell, Dean can’t look away. 

Castiel has seen things Dean can never even begin to imagine, the wonders of the world, the beginning of time, stars fucking dying and crazy shit like that. But right now Cas is looking at Dean like he’s seeing something incredible, and Dean wants to hide from him, but fuck, he’s never been good at keeping himself from Castiel. So, Dean meets his glassy stare, takes in the blown pupils, the heated gaze that won’t look away. 

Cas fucks just like he stares, deep and intense and lasting, and Dean finds himself lost in the rhythm of it, feeling the pressure build slowly inside of his own body, his hips flexing counter to the smooth rhythm Castiel is setting. 

"Yeah that it’s, Cas, c’mon," Dean goads as Cas pumps his hips faster, thrusting over and over, because the urge to come is so incredibly strong. Dean’s body is holding back though, waiting for the right moment. He’s surprised they’ve lasted this long, and he doesn’t know where Cas is leading them, but Dean trusts him to take the lead and to get them where they need to go in one piece.

Dean actually whimpers when Cas pulls out completely, his long body beautifully red and sweat-slicked, his chest heaving as he takes in giant gulps of threaded air. Cas looks at Dean with dark, fucked-out eyes as he rocks forward again, his cock pushing up against Dean’s slick, loose hole. Cas rubs the outer ring of muscle in teasing circles with his cockhead before slipping in again.

Dean nearly fucking howls when Cas guides his dick back inside, his body clenching tight as he gasps for air. Cas leans over him, stretching out fully above him as fucks into Dean in one long, glorious slide, and Jesus, Dean’s not going to be sitting on his ass at all this week. 

Cas stops, body resting lightly on top of Dean, buried balls deep. “Are you in pain?” he asks, voice all gravel and a raw, smokey heat. His breathing falls heavily into the small space between them. 

"I’m okay," Dean chokes on his own words, finally managing to regain some sense of the present moment, his chest feeling too tight with bottled up feeling begging release.

"Do you need me to move?" Castiel asks. His words are deep and soft and thick with the kind of  heady emotion that would typically send Dean reeling, running, hiding in his car. 

Cas bends closer and presses wet lips to Dean’s cheek, eyelids. His forehead grazes the bridge of Dean’s nose, lips parting against his chin. “Tell me what you need,” Cas whispers.

"Stay," Dean says, and it’s needy and desperate, and he has no freaking idea why he says it, but his mouth is running and he feels drugged out and drunk on fucking, and he just stops thinking altogether, arching back and gasping into Castiel’s mouth as their lips finally slip together. "Stay inside of me for a moment," he whispers. "I just need to feel you like this."

"You feel amazing to me," Cas says, so damn breathless. His words wash over Dean, calming him. "I don’t want to go anywhere."

They lock gazes in the quiet heat of the bedroom, the moment running long between them. Castiel’s eyes are a foggy blue in the low light, the color of the sea, and he stares at Dean relentlessly. 

"I’m right here, Dean," he says, shifting so that his cock rocks a little inside of Dean, and Dean moans out a response. Cas gathers Dean between his arms, brushing kisses on his forehead and his cheek again.

"I’m glad," Dean whispers. He wraps his arms around Castiel’s back, his hands trembling as his fingers grip into his damp flesh. He can feel Cas trembling too, the vibrations rolling against his skin, along his cock. And maybe it’s the sex that’s doing the talking. Dean’s never had someone inside of him before, and the closeness is messing with his head in ways he never expected. He can’t even think about how much of himself he’s giving away right now, all he can think about is the feel of Cas, how they’re so physically close. How he’s so full. 

"I’ve got you," Cas whispers, and Dean knows it’s true; it’s always been true.

They breathe each other’s air, pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips, and there’s a million things Dean wants to say, but for some reason the words sit on the tip of his tongue, and Dean kisses Cas so he won’t have to let them out. Just because they’re fucking doesn’t mean Cas should hear all the crazy shit in Dean’s head anyway. 

Dean can’t take his eyes off of Castiel, can’t turn away from the pure awe in the man’s face, how every new sensation pulls a different sound from his mouth, like everything that’s human in Cas is finding its way to the surface, tumbling out, unstoppable.

When Cas starts moving again, he starts murmuring things too, and Dean’s trying hard to listen, but all he can understand is oh and Dean, and words that are probably some form of Angel-speak meets Cantonese. At the moment, Dean’s too caught up in the way Castiel’s movements are sending his body to the edge of insanity and back, and all he can think about is how much he needs to come, how Cas is fucking him so slow and so deep.

In that moment, Dean is giving Cas everything his body has to give, reassuring him with touch and whispered encouragement, and Cas is gripping at Dean’s arms like it’s the only thing holding him to the Earth, his breathing run as ragged as Dean’s.

"Cas, harder," Dean grunts, and Cas thrusts into Dean so hard the momentum pushes Dean up the bed. It feels amazing, Castiel’s dick settled deep and snug, rocking into Dean in steady beats until Dean feels the fire start in his belly, heat pooling at the base of his spine.

"I need to come," Dean whimpers, fingers tightening in the wood of the headboard.

"You can let go now, Dean," Cas says hoarsely. "You don’t have to hold anything back. You can fall apart. I’ll be here."

"Jesus fuck," Dean whispers because Cas understands things Dean’s never been comfortable saying, and the way he’s holding Dean, Dean has no doubt that Cas could put him back together if he broke apart right here, right now, Castiel’s human hands as skilled as his angel ones had been.

"Dean, will you do that for me?" Cas leans in and whispers the question against Dean’s mouth, and apparently that’s all Dean needs to hear. 

Dean lets go. His body jerks forward, something wrenching free deep inside of him, the force of his orgasm moving like a ripple through the water. He comes hard, cock untouched, his slick spattering across Castiel’s chest, and his body clenching down hard around Castiel’s cock.

Things go out of focus for a little while. It’s all waves of sensation, flashes of light and sound and touch; it’s Dean feeling his own body pushed down into the mattress with the gentle force of Castiel’s weight. Dean gladly settles underneath Cas; he can’t help thinking how this is just one more thing for his mattress to hold in memory.

Skin humming, sparking with pleasure, Dean’s too dazed to say anything, but he knows Castiel is saying something, making sounds like moans, like cursing, like sobbing, or maybe Dean’s the one making the noises, he can’t tell anything anymore, can’t tell who’s doing what, they’re buried so far in each other now. 

Then Cas slides one hand up Dean’s arm and links their hands together, and Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand tight, holds on for the rest of it. Cas is still thrusting, moving frantically in him now, picking up the pace, unstrained, uninhibited as he chases his own release. And Dean’s too gone to hold his words back. “Cas, please,” he croaks. “Come for me too, man. You can let go ‘cause I’ve got you too. You remember right? Me and you, Cas. We made it home.”

Cas tenses up and thrusts hard and sharp, once, twice, three times, pushing as far inside of Dean as he can go, and then he just lets go too. Dean is watching him, both of his legs wrapped tight around Castiel’s waist as Cas breaks apart. Come fills Dean’s ass, wet and warm, and Dean’s free hand claws at Castiel’s back, his blunt nails cutting into flesh as they ride it out together. 

In the silence, Castiel moans something raw and alive, breathing the sounds into Dean’s heated skin. Dean’s insides are too full, and Castiel’s release spills sloppy and thick down his thighs as his rocking slows down. Cas presses kisses against Dean’s face, speaking nonsense or maybe it’s Enochian again, and fuck, Dean’s whole body is still trembling, the strain and emotion of the past hour flooding his veins, a roll of aftershocks coursing through him.

Dean can feel the thunder of Castiel’s heart beating heavy against his chest, matching his own racing heart. “Cas, you okay?” he breathes out because he needs to say something, even if his voice sounds harsh and choked, nothing like himself.  

Castiel’s head presses against Dean’s shoulder. He mumbles, “I am…very okay.”

That may be the case, but apparently now they’re both shaking, and Dean thinks this is kind of crazy-intense-weird in a way he doesn’t really understand, but he doesn’t question it. His mind is a fuzzy mess, and he can’t tell where he begins and where Cas ends, and he thinks maybe he spent the last few minutes falling apart in his best friend slash fallen angel slash kinda sorta boyfriend’s arms, and he should really be freaking out right about now, but he’s feeling steadier, and more whole than he has in a long damn time. And ain’t that something to write home about.

"How are you?" Cas whispers the words. His voice is heavy and fucked-out, and he breathes in wide, open-mouthed pants against Dean’s shoulderblade.

"M’fine," he says, "A little sore, but that’s to be expected."

"Should I…withdraw?" Castiel says, sounding unsure.

"Nah, man, stay put for a moment," Dean says, even if he knows he’s going to regret it tomorrow.

They’re still holding hands, but Dean slides his free hand over Castiel’s back to pull him even closer. It’s a bit uncomfortable, their bodies still joined, but Dean likes it, Castiel’s weight crushing him into the mattress, his body covering him like a blanket. Considering Castiel’s habit of stealing covers during the night, Dean think this is a good compromise.

For several minutes, Cas stays as still as he can inside of Dean while he leans in to capture Dean’s mouth, brushing his lips over Dean’s, dry and soft. They kiss again briefly before Cas finally slips out with a slow pull. Dean feels the loss of Castiel immediately, but the soreness feels good, the memory of Cas inside of him enough to keep him feeling high. Cas curls around him, leans heavily against Dean, careless of the mess smeared between them. His head nuzzles Dean’s shoulder, and he’s pushing short puffs of air against Dean’s neck. 

Dean brings their hands back together, threads his fingers through Castiel’s. They lie like that for long minutes, full of comfortable silences and soft touches. It’s good, but it’s surreal. They just fucked, and it was amazing, and Dean feels…a little undone. But Cas does this to Dean. Breaks him open and fixes him again, makes him whimper and beg and want and need, makes him feel something he’s never thought he could feel, not like this. Cas makes Dean feel a little more honest, calm, and centered. And whatever this thing is they’ve got going? They both want it, need it, and maybe there’s no shame in that. Maybe it’s okay that they’re this weird, crazy, undefinable thing. And maybe…maybe it’s okay that Dean loves Cas so goddamn much. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his fingers around Castiel’s hold.

"Dean, are you sure that you are okay?" Cas whispers, breath warm where it presses against Dean’s neck.

Dean clears his throat, opens his eyes. He places his hands across Castiel’s back, tracing the shape of the muscle with his palm. He looks at Cas and says, “I’m just a little hungry. We didn’t really eat breakfast before our workout just now.”

Cas looks down at Dean for a long moment. Eventually he whispers, “Dean.”

Dean holds his gaze and says, “Yeah, Cas?”

Cas reaches out and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean’s heart beats a little faster. He closes his eyes, tries to slow his rushing blood. Cas slides his long fingers along Dean’s eyebrow, trails them across his temple. He presses a finger along the corner of Dean’s right eye, slides it down over his cheek. Dean blinks his eyes open and looks at Cas.

"Your eyes are wet," Castiel says it quietly, a tiny furrow between his brows.

"Shut up, Cas," Dean grunts, a weird swoopy feeling in his belly.

Cas doesn’t shut up, instead he asks, “Dean, were you crying?” 

"Cas, man, I will deprive you of sex for a week if you don’t drop it right now," Dean groans, turning his head away from Cas to smoosh it into his pillow. 

"Dean," Castiel says, his voice so gentle.

Dean turns and stares at the ceiling. He tries to work his throat, but breathing and swallowing are equally hard. “What?” he sighs.

"Look at me," Cas says; his voice is low and the tone one that probably commanded thousands of angels into battle.

Dean complies, turns his head so that he can catch Castiel’s gaze. He says softly, “I’m looking atcha Cas.”

"Then you will notice that my eyes are wet too," Castiel says steadily.

"Yeah?" Dean asks, voice rough. He glances up at Castiel’s face, and the first thing he notices are his ridiculous anime eyes, which happen to be wide and wet. 

Dean exhales, presses a hand over the ache in his chest. He says, voice low and quiet, “Mention this to Sammy and I’m gonna deny it.”

Cas sighs and raises his hand to touch Dean’s forehead. Dean closes his eyes under the touch, as Castiel’s fingers run through his hair and slide down his temple. Cas leans in and presses a kiss right above Dean’s eye. “You frustrate me so much,” Cas whispers.

"You love it," Dean says, trying for cheeky, but his voice cracks too badly so he’s pretty sure he just sounds lame.

"Yes," Castiel says slowly, nodding. "But I love you.” His voice doesn’t quiver or break when he says the words; it’s solid, whole. It’s real. 

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says softly. "You…" He closes his eyes, because he needs a minute to think. Maybe a lifetime. He rubs a hand over his face and swallows so hard it hurts. Cas is quiet, like he knows maybe Dean needs to recover.

Dean thinks about driving long roads at night by himself. All those times he got lost in the dark, the moon a soft silver quarter in the sky shining down on him. He thinks about driving through hurricanes, the rain slashing across his baby’s windshield, her wheels grinding across the mud-slicked earth. Dean thinks about the road, dark lines and the grainy texture of the sky. He feels calmer already.

"Dean, you don’t have to say anything," Castiel says, his voice soft and also impossibly calm. 

Dean lets loose a shaky, wet exhale, turns to look at Cas. He reaches out and touches his hand to Castiel’s chin. Castiel just watches him, with that long, pulling look that sends heat into Dean’s belly, the look he never lost, despite falling. There’s no judgement in his gaze, nothing but the sheer patience of ages.

Dean closes his eyes. “I want you,” he admits quietly, after a time. “I have for a long time. Shit, maybe since I first saw you.” Dean opens his eyes, laughs softly, shaking his head. “And it scares me how much I want you. How much I need you.” He pauses, swallows. His voice is too rough, ruined, but he keeps going, while he can. “It scares me how much…how much I love you too, Cas.”

He has no idea why he says it, but now they’ve both admitted it; it’s out there. Dean doesn’t even know what the word really means between them. They aren’t just friends or family. That much is definitely clear. And it’s way more than just about sex when they’re together. 

They’re not what they used to be either. They’re something more. And maybe this too is a road, sometimes a little too windy, a little too unpaved, and truth is, Dean has no idea where it ends. But Dean wants to follow it, learn Castiel’s skin like he knows old maps, memorize the sharp borderlines between them, the points where they connect and disconnect. He wants to learn the distance between friendship and whatever this love thing really means.  

Cas seems to agree; he leans forward and whispers soft kisses into Dean’s neck. Their fingers intertwine again. 

Whatever happens, this is them.

It’s late afternoon when Dean wakes, to the sound of thunder dropping like bombs, bangs muffled by the thick bunker walls. He also wakes to Cas watching him.

"Dude," Dean whispers, voice sleep-rough and husky. "Boyfriend or not, it’s still creepy."

Castiel’s lips quirk, and he presses his face into Dean’s neck, and Dean feels the rush of touch like a bolt of lightning, an electric current riding the air. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. There’s a pleasant ache in every muscle of Dean’s body, and Castiel’s arm is a heavy and solid weight lying across his middle, the itch of his unshaved skin catching against Dean’s. 

They had to have slept for a few hours at least, exhausted by the last two days. The sheets are a mess, twisted around their naked bodies, and to be honest they’re both a mess too, and Dean’s really looking forward to a bubble bath. Preferably with Cas.

When Dean looks over at Cas, he smiles, taking in the sweet, fucked-out softness of his face.  “Did you sleep?” he asks.

"A little," Castiel says. "But I like watching you sleep."

Dean snorts, and rolls Cas so that the other man is under him. Cas then nestles his head between the dip of Dean’s neck and shoulder, his warm breath scorching Dean’s skin as he presses a kiss to Dean’s chin. Castiel’s lips are soft and dry, and his tongue is wet and warm as he uses it to trace the curve of Dean’s jaw.

"Ready for round two?" Dean asks, chuckling as he slides his hands down Castiel’s back, and their bodies twist together in the sheets.

"I’ve already prepared myself for penetration," Castiel whispers, and Jesus Fuck, Dean was not at all expecting to hear that.

"Shit, Cas," Dean laughs softly, pressing a soft kiss against Castiel’s ear. "Warn a dude before dropping something like that on him."

"I should warn you that I thought about you while I did it," Castiel says, tone all nonchalant.

"You’re such a little shit," Dean groans playfully, but Cas is looking at him with this mock innocent expression, and as a result Dean has to tackle him back onto the mattress, plant a hand on either side of his face and kiss him, deep and wild and playful.

Cas kisses back just as fervently, his arms wrapping tightly around Dean’s back, while rolling them into the middle of the bed, their chests and cocks and thighs locking as they grind and slide together. 

Cas is soft, sleep-warm, and his body is all strong lines and lean muscles, hard planes and sharp angles. It’s hard for Dean to let go of him, instead pressing his mouth over the rough edge of his jaw, running his hand over a nipple, tweaking it and relishing in the feel of Cas bucking wildly in his arms. Ah, sweet revenge. Cas makes these stunned, breathless little noises, and Dean wants to tell Cas how fucking gorgeous he is, how good he is, how amazing this summer has been. But the words are caught somewhere deep in his gut.

They come up for breath at the same time, the storm outside coming down in full force, the echo of thousands drops of water knocking around outside the bunker, like a waterfall in underground surround sound.

Dean nibbles at the fine line of Castiel’s neck, sucking the skin until it bruises, and then just pressing his lips there, breathing.

"Dean?" Castiel says his name quietly a few minutes later.

"Sorry," Dean whispers back. "You ready?"

Cas runs his hand across Dean’s jaw in answer, and Dean smirks down at him. He rolls over to his side of the bed and picks up the lube, and slides back down beside Cas. Cas fluffs up the sheets, spreading the think fabric over the both of them as they lie down side by side on the mattress. Dean slicks himself up quickly, his cock swelling thick and erect in his palm. 

Dean turns to Castiel, who is watching him closely. “You remember what you did for me?” he asks, voice low. “It might be uncomfortable at first, but I’ll take it slow, let you adjust to me.”

Cas slides down on the bed, his own erection bobbing, thick and flushed against his belly. He starts stroking it in time to Dean’s own strokes.

"Tell me if I’m fucking anything up," Dean says, sliding against Cas until their chests are touching, his own cock nudging between Castiel’s parted thighs.

Cas leans in to press a kiss against Dean’s shoulder. “You’ll do just fine, Dean,” he whispers. “Tales of your sexual prowess proceed you.” 

"You’re an ass," Dean chuckles. "And you need to stop reading Chuck’s books."

"Dean," Cas says, long-suffering. "I’m ready for your penis now."

"Freakiest freak," Dean mumbles, but he’s moving his body into place, laughing and shaking his head as he does so. 

He spreads Castiel’s legs apart, sliding one finger deep into him, finding him already slick and waiting like he’d promised, and Dean laughs some more because he thinks maybe sex with Cas is going to be a constant surprise. 

"You find this all amusing?" Castiel says, sounding like he’s hiding his own smile.

"Cas," Dean breathes out, a little dazed by the heat winding through his body. "We’re friggin’ hilarious. You’re a millennia-old fallen angel, and I’m a highschool-dropout monster hunter and we’ve spent the day getting jiggy in a secret Batcave that belonged to the freaking Order of the Phoenix. This shit is funny." 

Cas pulls Dean close by the neck and kisses him on his chin. Says, “Laugh later, sex now.”

"Yes, sir," Dean murmurs and then he’s sliding into place, cock lining up against Castiel’s hole. "Lift your knees up for me a little more, Cas," he says gently, waiting as Cas twists his hips and maneuvers his legs around Dean’s waist. "Yeah, that’s good."

Cas slides his arms around Dean’s back, holding on. 

"You’re gonna breathe for me," Dean whispers. "And then I’m—"

"Dean," Castiel interrupts, voice guttural and strained. "Move. Now."

And Dean obeys because Cas is a goddamn pushy little bastard. Dean lurches his hips, goes in for a slow thrust inside, and Good God Almighty, the heat and the grip of muscle is almost too much. Cas is hotter and tighter than he’d ever imagined. 

Cas is still watching him intently, and Dean doesn’t break eye contact as he pushes forward. He goes slows because he’s nervous about hurting Cas; this is Castiel’s first time with a guy too, and it’s not like he has his freaky angelic healing anymore. 

Cas shuts his eyes as Dean slides deeper, every gasp of breath sounding like one of surprise. When Dean’s completely sheathed within Cas, Cas breathes his name, quiet and reverent, and Dean lets loose the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

"Can I move?" Dean asks, suddenly desperate to, but he doesn’t want to do anything until he knows Cas is okay.

Cas nods quickly, arching his body up at an angle that pulls Dean in further until there’s no where left to go. Dean thrusts up, which drags another gasp out of the fallen angel, his hands gripping into Dean’s back. 

Dean’s head is swimming. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice thick.

Castiel’s head tips back, throat arching, and he groans out, “Dean, please, keep moving.” He rocks his hips up, body tightening around Dean’s.

Dean presses up and in, his slow thrusts gaining speed and rhythm, and for a time, Dean lets himself get swallowed up inside of Cas, the ragged rhythm of their breathing falling in tune to the rain outside.

Like earlier, Cas gets noisy, gasping for air in between every push, mumbling nonsense like he can’t hold anything in, groaning deep and desperate, and Dean feels like he’s drowning inside of Castiel’s heat, the feel of him, the taste and the sounds. They fuck for the second time that day, and just like before, it’s desperate, messy, and surprisingly human.

And just like earlier, Dean can’t keep his mouth closed. “Missed you, Cas. Wanted you so bad,” he whispers, his lips pressing against Castiel’s neck, sucking along his jaw. “Wanted you for so long, loved you so much.” 

Cas groans, turns his head and captures Dean’s mouth with his, kissing him senseless in between thrusts. Sure, Cas is only human now, but his body is still so damn hot, burning him up. Dean slides a hand in between them and wraps it around Castiel’s length, thumb slicking over the moist cockhead. Castiel grips him harder, almost to the point of pain as Dean fists his cock in time with his thrusts.

Cas leans close to Dean’s ear, kisses him soft and whispers, “I’ve loved you too, Dean. For so long.” 

Dean comes, fast and hard, stuttering and jerking as he loses his rhythm. Cas follows soon behind, burying his face in the hollow of Dean’s neck and cries out, body clenching down hard, spurting hot and thick in Dean’s fist. Dean thrusts a few more times through both of their orgasms, shoving deep inside of Cas and holding still as the pleasure runs through him. 

Dean plants tired kisses on every piece of Castiel’s skin he can get access to, sucking and nipping his way down Castiel’s jaw line, down the soft line of his neck as Cas groans and twitches in response. 

When they finally both come down, Dean pulls out and sags bonelessly against Cas, eyes closed. His breath comes in shuddery gasps, his nose fills with the scent of Cas and sweat and sex, and his hand is tacky with lube and come.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean whispers. "I didn’t break you, did I?"

Cas turns his head and regards Dean with this satisfied, and dare Dean say, smug, expression on his face. “Your reputation is well earned,” he says, and Dean rolls his eyes, because his boyfriend is an asshole, and they’ve got at least three more sexual positions to try out before dinnertime, and dammit he needs pie and maybe a Red Bull to get through the next few hours. 

"Anybody ever tell you that you’re a screamer?" Dean says, leaning in to brush his nose and lips over Castiel’s cheek, before closing his eyes and pushing his face into the curve of Castiel’s neck. "Were you even speaking English?"

"Probably not," Cas says, a breathy sound leaving his mouth. "Olani hoath ol,” he says, the warm, guttural sounds rasping across Dean’s ear.

"What’s that mean?"

"I love you," Cas says. Like it’s the easiest, simplest thing in the world. 

Dean can’t deal with the crazy way his heart races again at that, so instead he responds by tackling Cas back down into the middle of the bed and nuzzling his face against his neck. They roll, tussle, like they’re wrestling, and Dean doesn’t even care that his side is still sore and that the bed is sticky and messy, because apparently newly-human Cas is friggin’ ticklish and the dude starts giggling when Dean pokes fingers into his belly. Of course, sly tactician that Castiel is, he launches a surprise attack against Dean’s perky nipples that sends Dean howling and giggling too.

Dean thinks the giggling is probably worse than when they were both crying, and Jesus, he’s so damn whipped.

But he’s happy.

They cling together for a while after, sticky and sweaty and breathless. And still giggling from time to time. It takes Dean a long while to unwind himself from Cas, wobbling across the room (his ass is sore okay!) to retrieve a towel, which he dampens with a bottle of water, and then uses to wipe them down as best he can, before pulling their comforter up over them to cover them. They curl around each other, listening to the rain and the distant thunder, all those faraway storms that can’t reach them where they are. 

In this moment they’re safe.