Chapter Text
The steel fence surrounding the entrance area to the three mine shafts looks undisturbed, but a hide-behind could easily slip through the gaps in it. Still, there’s no sign of habitation anywhere, and Dean fervently hopes the thing is just smart about hiding and they didn’t climb this stupid rock only to come back empty-handed.
Eileen is creeping forward carefully and places her phone behind a boulder several feet away from the fence. The barking starts a moment later, and she quickly retreats back to her hiding place.
Dean doesn’t have a problem with dogs as long as they’re friendly, but hearing the angry barking and growling while not seeing anything hits a little close to some really unpleasant memories. It’s been long enough that the reminder doesn’t evoke crippling fear, but his heart picks up speed and his grip on his knife tightens.
For a drawn-out moment, nothing happens. Dean tries to keep an eye on all three of the mine shafts and the surrounding area, and with every passing minute he grows more tense. He’s starting to think that the thing either isn’t rising to their bait or it’s not a hide-behind at all, when he becomes aware of movement in the corner of his vision. He focuses on the shaft that’s on the very left, narrowing his eyes, and a shiver races down his spine.
It’s hard to convince his brain that what he’s seeing isn’t just a trick of the retreating light. Staring at the mine entry, it’s like a part of the lengthening shadows has chosen to detach itself from the rest and is now moving out of the mine. Its blackness seems to swallow all the light that falls on it and it’s difficult to look at it directly. One moment it’s like the shadow of a snake, sliding from one stone to the next, and then it’s massive and broad like the shadow of a boulder.
It only comes out of hiding once it’s located the source of the barking; seeming to morph into existence from one moment to the next. It’s on all fours, and Dean guesses standing up it’d be about seven feet tall. But even now that it looks and behaves more like a dog, something about the way it moves is just wrong . It’s like a snake lives under its skin, and the look in its eyes is far too intelligent; black eyes narrowing in suspicion as it closes in on the boulder behind which the phone lies. Sniffing the air, it growls; deep and angry like thunder rolling in.
Cas is coming up behind it, feet silent, angel blade held high and ready to strike. Dean’s grip on his knife tightens as he gets ready to come out of hiding. They just need one opening, one moment of distraction.
The hide-behind whirls on Cas, growl turning threatening, head drawn back like a snake about to attack. Darkness seems to ripple as its fur stands on end and Dean doesn’t wait to see if Cas's blow lands. The others follow his lead and a beat later they’ve got the thing surrounded and then Dean doesn’t have time to think anymore, just to react instinctively.
The son of a bitch has risen to stand on its hind legs. Its unnaturally thin body sways back and forth like a dead tree branch, towering over them, staring them down. It oozes wrongness in a way that despite everything Dean’s faced in his life has his heart pound and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Then it lunges, and Dean shoves his fear aside and stands his ground.
The bastard is fast, and it figures out quickly that Sam and Cas are its biggest threats, as they are the ones matching it the most closely in height and strength, respectively. Too busy dodging fangs and a maw filled with needle-sharp teeth, none of them have managed to land any lethal hits by the time it goes for what it figures to be the weakest link.
It feigns an attack at Cas and then goes after the kid, who Cas had been shielding until now. With only seconds to react, Dean shoulders Jack out of the way and then the next thing he knows his back hits the ground hard. Claws dig into his chest and his right arm is trapped, so he does the next best thing and fumbles for a rock with his left that he slams against the thing’s head as hard as he can.
The noise it makes in response sounds eerily like high-pitched human laughter, echoing off of the boulders and the side of the mountain where the shadows are getting longer and deeper by the minute. And then someone—Cas?— bodily rips the thing off of Dean. Rolling onto his side, Dean starts coughing as breath rushes back into his lungs. He struggles to get his legs under him and then Sam is there, hauling him to his feet.
“You good?”
Dean just nods and waves him off.
The hide-behind has one of their knives stuck in its left leg. The injury barely seems to slow it down, but it finally is no match for Cas's fury. Angel blade buried to the hilt in its chest, it goes down in a heap and with an ugly sound like nails on cardboard, making everyone except Cas and Eileen wince and belatedly cover their ears.
Cas rips his blade free, then wipes it clean on the hide-behind’s fur. He’s breathing hard and there’s dust smudged up his pants legs, but that’s it. Everyone else looks a lot more roughened up, though nothing that requires immediate attention. Dean’s leg is bleeding sluggishly where he cut it on a rock going down, the claw marks on his chest burn and his ribs are definitely bruised, but it’s not so bad that he can’t fight, so he decides he’s good to go.
Maybe he should have factored Cas into that decision.
Straightening, Cas looks around like he’s securing a perimeter to make sure none of the things used the distraction to sneak up on them, and then, eyes narrowing, he zeros in on Dean. Feeling like his hand got caught in a cookie jar he didn’t even know existed in the first place, Dean freezes halfway on his way to the fence and the mine shafts, and Cas crosses the distance between them with determined strides.
When he reaches to touch Dean’s forehead, Dean shies away, scowling.
“S-s-save y-your m-m-moj-j-jo. ‘S j-just sc-c-crapes.”
Cas doesn’t budge.
“You’re limping and you’re having trouble breathing.”
Dean keeps glowering at him and Cas sighs.
“I know how much I can spare, Dean. Let me.”
Cas is being fucking bossy, again, but he’s also maybe sort of right, and Dean can appreciate that Cas doesn’t remind him of his promise to be careful and let Cas help.
Dean steps forward into Cas's touch and Grace tingles through him, mending the worst of the cuts and bruises. A thumb strokes Dean’s cheek and then Cas withdraws his hand. When Dean blinks open his eyes, Cas is already on his way towards the metal fence where the others seem to be debating the best way to get past the fucking thing.
While the fence is not particularly high Dean is really not looking forward to climbing it, but to his luck, it turns out there was the as of yet unknown option of Cas taking hold of two of the bars and just bending them aside until there’s room enough for them to walk through. It’s a good thing Dean’s so exhausted, or the casual display of strength would be giving him all sorts of very distracting ideas.
“There,” Cas says, “I’ll bend it back when we’re done.” He strides through the opening and Dean follows, sending the others a smug look that earns him an exasperated eye-roll from Sam.
He’s feeling less smug when they stand in front of the entry to the left mine shaft. The sun is setting, painting the boulders a deep reddish orange, making the darkness in front of them appear like a chasm.
Sam is handing out glow sticks to hang around their necks, and the mere sight of the things is enough to make Dean’s stomach churn with the memories they’re dragging to the surface. When Sam hands Dean’s glow stick to him, Dean fixes him with a stern look.
Holding up his hands, Sam has the gall to smile. “Got it”, he says, sounding entirely too unconcerned. “No dying.”
Dean scowls and makes sure to enter the mine shaft before him. Not that it did much good the last time they entered a place like this.
Cas sticks to his side like glue. Dean would rather Cas stick to Sam’s side like glue, but he knows there’s no fighting Cas on this, and Dean was the one who promised to stay close. He’s just going to have to watch Sam’s back while Cas watches his.
So far, their flashlights have hit nothing but stone and debris. It makes sense that the thing wouldn’t nest right at the entry, but the farther they need to go into the mine, the more at a disadvantage they are. Not to mention the possibility of the damn thing just crashing down around them. Dean’s anything but a fan of enclosed spaces, even with an exit nearby.
They round a corner, and the mine shaft branches off in two different directions before them. He can’t make out much of a difference with his flashlight, but there’s the faintest hint of a breeze coming from the left one. Figuring the thing would prefer fresh air, and that a breeze means there must be another exit at the end of that branch, Dean leads the others down that way.
He’s barely walked three feet when the smell hits him. It’s not the stomach turning stench of rotting remains, but still carries that certain sweetness of death. Slowing down but not stopping, he lets his flashlight wander over the walls of the mine.
Five more feet, the shaft widens slightly, and the light hits a pile of something that makes Dean stop dead in his tracks, holding up a hand to stop the others. It’s not debris, and it’s not bones either. It looks like a disgusting mix of everything the bastards couldn’t digest: clothes, hair, finger nails, a few belongings like phones and jewelry.
Beside him, Cas tenses. Dean looks to the right towards where Cas is aiming his flashlight at the opposite wall. On a nest of branches, a dark mass is wriggling, twisting, swaying. As the light hits it, it starts to make confused chirping noises. Then the mass splits into two, three, four, until finally, six pairs of eyes are staring at them. The chirping turns into threatening growls and then pure chaos breaks out as all of them attack at once like they’ve got some kind of hive mind.
They didn’t even need to have worried about the things making a run for it because despite only coming up to about Dean’s chest, they show no fear, only relentless aggressiveness. Dean can barely even see what he’s fighting, glow sticks and flashlights only able to do so much. He tries to get a grip on the thing, but its furs slips through his fingers like water. Deciding on a different attack, he lets it back him up against the wall of the mine, lets it come in close. Lets it think it’s won.
A jaw instantly goes for his throat, but he blocks it with his left, teeth ripping into his forearm with needle-sharp pain, and then he’s sinking his knife into its heart and the hide-behind crumbles at his feet.
Panting heavily and sagging against the rough stone, Dean’s heart almost sets out when, in the flickering, dim light, he sees one of the things climbing up the wall and making to attack Sam from behind while he’s locked in a fight with one of its siblings. Before he can even yell a warning, Eileen has already noticed the danger, is dragging the thing back down by its leg.
He doesn’t see if she manages to stab it. Something slams into his side, jaws snapping, forcing him to stumble back from the wall. The string that held the glow stick around his neck snaps and it falls at his feet.
Either it’s the sixth of the things or there was another one lurking nearby they didn’t notice. It keeps crowding into him, trying to separate him from the others. The further away he gets from the others, the darker it becomes, and the more advantage the thing gains. Weighing the bastard’s intelligence and speed versus its inexperience and bloodlust, Dean feigns a stumble, goes down on one knee, then rams his knife into its chest when it lunges and cuts upward until he pierces the heart.
There’s an agony-filled howl that abruptly cuts off, and warm blood flooding over Dean’s hands where both of them are holding onto the hilt of his knife. He stumbles to his feet. There’s ringing in his ears and a tightness in his chest and it’s hard to remember where he is.
Fuck, no. No —
“Dean? Dean!”
The dark haze around him suddenly gets pierced by erratically moving light that hones in on him, making him blink and turn his head away.
“Dean!”
There are hands on his shoulders, steadying him, eyes that are trying to catch his confused, wandering gaze. Another pair of hands patting him down, “—not his blood, Cas,” and the hold on his shoulders tightens.
“Dean! Can you hear me?”
Dean wants to say yes, but it’s hard to remember how to do that or even concentrate on it. His reality wavers between his bloodied hands that he’s staring at, and a vision of a strapped down and screaming creature, of a chalice with glowing liquid, of burned out eyes. He starts shaking.
“—got this, just get him out of here.”
Someone starts walking him forward, strong grip around his back catching him every time he stumbles. All sense of time is lost on him, and there’s a hitching, wheezing sound in his ears like someone having trouble breathing. Finally, the darkness around the beam of light that’s somewhere to his left transforms into something softer, more blue than charcoal black. The vision of the torturous experiments he’d witnessed faded away at some point, but he still feels outside of himself, confused and exhausted.
He’s walked a few more paces and then gently but firmly guided to sit down. There’s still rushing in his ears, and the shaking gets worse again when he realizes that whoever was with him has left. It’s all he can do to hang on until they’re back.
“I’m here, I’m here.”
Something that glows faintly is hung around his neck, bumping softly against his chest. Then someone gently takes Dean’s hands in theirs and pours water over them, starts cleaning them off with a strip of cloth. The cleaner his hands become, the calmer Dean gets. Blinking, he can see now that it’s Cas crouched before him, tending to him. It’s not as dark as he thought; he can still make out at least the shapes of their surroundings, and only a few stars are visible yet.
A dull, familiar pounding is starting in his head.
He must have made some kind of noise because Cas looks up at him. “Hey,” he says, his smile soft but his eyes worried. There’s a bruise on his temple and blood splattered over his shirt. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and, slowly, gently, presses four kisses against his mouth, not seeming to mind that Dean can barely kiss back.
“Welcome back.” The words are said with so much care, so much relief, that tears wells up in Dean’s eyes.
Cas is rummaging through what looks like Dean’s backpack, then presses a bottle into Dean’s hand. “Drink this.” It’s juice, and it’s warm , which is horrible. Dean’s certain he didn’t put any juice in his backpack, which means Cas must have smuggled that in there, like a—like a smuggler.
Dean forces some of it down, hands Cas the bottle back, and then slumps forward and rests his head on Cas's shoulder. Cas's arms come up to hold him, and Dean exhales shakily.
“Sor-r-r-ry.”
“What for?"
“Prom-m-mised.”
He can feel Cas shake his head. “It’s not your fault, Dean.”
Cas starts stroking down Dean’s back and they stay like that until the others stumble out of the mine. Sam comes over to them and Dean notices with relief that he doesn’t move like he’s injured, just tired.
“Hey, Cas,” he says, “we could use some help hiding the body of the big one.”
Cas draws back from Dean but keeps a hand on his arm. “Of course. How’s Jack?”
“Mosty fine but I think he sprained his wrist when he fell.”
“I’ll see to him.” Cas meets Dean’s eyes, checking if Dean’s good for now, then gets off the ground.
Sam crouches down next to Dean.
“How you feeling?”
Dean tries a cocky grin, though he can tell it’s pretty weak.
“P-p-peach-ch-chy.”
Huffing out a breath of laughter, Sam shakes his head.
“And here I was thinking we’d have to carry your lazy ass down this mountain after all,” he teases.
“ B-B-Baby y-you a-a-ain’t seen n-n-nothing yet ,” Dean shoots back, and Sam snorts and then grimaces.
“You know how wrong that sounds when you say that to me, right?”
Mock-offended, Dean scowls at him. “Th-that’s one of th-the o-o-only s-s-songs I c-c-can still s-s-sing a-a-at l-l-least the chorus of with-thout soundin’ st-t-tupid. L-l-let me h-have th-that.”
Sam looks dubious.
“You know he sang the song like that to make fun of his speech impaired brother, right?”
Dean shrugs. “S-so? I have a st-t-tutter and I’m rec-c-claiming th-that song to m-m-make fun of y-y-you .”
Sam snorts again but he’s smiling.
“Sounds fair.” He points a thumb behind himself. “If you’re good to wait here, I’m gonna go help the others.”
Dean waves him off. It irks him that he has to sit here while everyone else does all the work, but he’s going to need every last bit of strength to make it back to the car. It gets progressively darker while he waits, and chillier. The others have turned their flashlights on when they get back about fifteen minutes later, and Dean shakily rises to his feet.
Sam leads them back the way they came, Dean and Cas making up the rear. Cas keeps a hand on Dean’s arm, ready to catch him every time he stumbles. Everyone’s quiet, flashlights pointed at their feet, focused on every step. Dean’s knees are seriously hating climbing down the steepest parts of the trail, the pain joining the pounding in his temples. The temperature is dropping and he’s starting to shiver despite the exertion.
“Cas?”
“Hm?”
“‘M c-c-cold.”
Cas sighs like he wants to say ‘I told you so’ but Dean’s in such a pathetic state that he refrains.
“We’re almost at that viewpoint area, we can stop there.”
When they reach it, Cas puts Dean’s backpack down, and he must have smuggled even more stuff in there than Dean thought because he somehow conjures up what looks like Dean’s purple flannel. Dean puts it on and is still cold, so Cas takes off his suit jacket and trenchcoat that he’d put back on when they retrieved their stuff, and bundles Dean up in them.
“Better?”
Dean looks down at himself and at his outfit illuminated by the glow stick resting on his chest.
He frowns. “Yeah, b-but now I l-l-look st-t-tupid.”
Cas rolls his eyes.
“There’s not even anyone around to see you.”
Dean sniffs, unwilling to concede Cas's point but too tired to keep bickering. It’s kind of strange to wear Cas's coat, and also kind of nice. Like getting hugged by him, only not tightly enough.
Cas picks up the backpack again and they return to the trail.
“A-a-and you c-c-can’t w-w-watch my butt anym-m-more l-l-like this.”
“Obviously I watched your butt the entire time while we climbed up here earlier,” Cas shoots back, not even trying to sound sincere. “I think I will survive being deprived of the view for a few hours.”
Dean grumbles but has to direct too much attention on his footing again to be able to complain about Cas's lack of appreciation.
It’s night by now, but not as dark as it could be with the sky free of clouds and the moon almost full. The lack of bright light at least helps a little with Dean’s pounding head.
It’s been a long time since it was just Dean and Sam and Baby, parked at the side of the road, Dean and Sam sitting on Baby’s hood, watching the stars. Dean’s surrounded by his family now, and the sky is breaktaking, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off of the treacherous ground. It’s not until they’ve fought their way up a very steep hill and Sam calls a stop so they can all catch their breath, the kid crouching down to fix a lace that had come undone, that Dean gets a good look at the tapestry of stars spread out above them.
When the others descend the hill Dean makes to follow but notices that Cas has lingered, head tipped back, staring upwards.
“You know,” Cas says, his tone warm and intimate like they’ve been having a conversation the entire time they walked silently at each other’s side. “I started calling you Bear because of how grumbly and grumpy you are when woken or hungry. But there’s another reason.”
Cas sets Dean’s backpack down. He turns his flashlight off and then reaches over and turns Dean’s off as well, only the glow sticks around their necks remaining to illuminate the space between them. Putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, Cas steps close, and points upwards. Following the line of his finger, Dean finds one of the very few constellations he knows.
“Ursa Major—the Great Bear. Home of the what you now call the Big Dipper, though it has had many names, most of them long forgotten. Since the beginning of mankind, it has been used for navigation.”
Dean wants to ask where Cas is going with this, but something in Cas's voice arrests him, makes him keep his eyes trained on the night sky. There’s the wisdom of about 390 million years in Cas's words and tone, but also something else, something quiet and honest and fragile—something for when it’s just the two of them.
“Do you see the two stars at the outer edge of the dipper’s bowl? Connect them, then extend the line above the bowl, and you find Polaris, the North Star, at about five times the distance between the two stars. No matter where the Great Bear is in the sky, these two stars always point to Polaris, helping the lost find their home.”
Staring at them, something catches in Dean’s throat. He’s not even sure he knows what Cas is saying, but he can’t be worthy of it, instinctively shying away.
“And, um.” Suddenly it’s Cas who sounds downright shy. “If you imagine a line stretching along the handle of the dipper, it leads to the constellation of the Herdsman and a star you call Arcturus, which is Ancient Greek for ‘guardian of the bear’, as he is the Great Bear’s keeper, the one keeping watch over him.”
Cas doesn’t meet his eyes when Dean looks at him, shifting on his feet as if embarrassed, a defensive look on his face. “I realize this sounds—sappy,” he says, sounding frustrated, like he can’t find the right words. “But I—”
He turns to Dean and folds him into his arms, holding on tight, and Dean is helpless to do anything but grip him back, heart pounding, his knees weak for reasons entirely unrelated to the gruesome climb up the hill they’re standing on.
“I love you—so much. So much , Dean.”
Cas's voice is raw with emotion, and Dean fists his hands into the back of his shirt. It’s not the first time Cas has told Dean this, but it still strikes Dean to his core, leaves him light-headed and wobbly-lipped and vulnerable.
“Sa-a-am-m-me,” he gets out, shakily, knowing he’d block if he tried to say more. It feels lacking, but Cas doesn’t seem to think so. He squeezes Dean tighter for a moment and then they just hold each other, gently rocking from side to side. The stars are blurring in front of Dean’s eyes so he closes them, lets himself lean on Cas until finally, the others call for them, and they have to break apart and come back to the here and now.
Dean grabs Cas's hand on the descent, and even once the trail levels out, neither of them lets go.
>
Leaning his head on her roof, Dean sinks against Baby with a groan.
“I’m never w-w-walking ag-g-gain. Anyw-w-where. I g-g-got my b-best girl t-to g-g-get me places, right B-B-Baby?”
“When you’re done sweet-talking your car, give me the keys.”
Dean digs through his pocket without lifting his head and hands the keys over to Sam. He’s beat; he spent the last hour or so stumbling along the trail in an exhausted haze, the pounding in his temples has worsened, and he just wants to escape into sleep.
Cas sits down in the middle of the backseat, the kid to his left. Dean plasters himself to Cas's other side, resting his head on Cas's shoulder and immediately closing his eyes. The last thing he’s aware of is Cas putting his arm around him and the car rumbling to life under them, and then he’s out.
He only barely wakes when, an indefinite amount of time later, he’s lifted out of the car by Cas. Resting his head on Cas's chest, Dean lets himself be carried inside, uncaring of anything except not having to open his eyes or move an inch, floating in a state of semi-sleep. Despite the exhausting day they’ve had, Cas is carrying him like it’s no effort at all. “You’re s-so strong-g-g,” Dean sighs adoringly.
There’s a snort, and then Sam saying, “Yeah, he’s gone.” A click, Sam and Cas wishing each other goodnight, and then Dean is put down on a nice, soft surface. Cas is tugging his boots off his feet, but all Dean’s body cares about is that he’s horizontal, and he’s out again almost instantly.
The next time he comes to, he’s sitting upright in bed, his heart is racing, his face is wet. Through the rushing in his ears, he can hear his own fractured voice, endlessly repeating the same thing, and Cas trying to calm him down.
“—sor-r-ry, ‘m s-s-sor-r-ry, I’m s-so sor-r-ry .”
There’s blood on his hands, he can feel it, needs to get it off. He scratches at his skin and then hands seize his, stopping him, squeezing with enough force that it doesn’t hurt but he can’t easily get out of the grip either.
“—sor-r-ry—”
“Dean! He’s gone. Michael’s gone. You didn’t do those things, he did. Your hands are clean. You need to calm down now.”
Breath hitching, Dean manages to open his eyes. He’s greeted by the blurry sight of Cas, holding Dean’s hands and staring at him in concern.
“...C-C-Cas?”
Shoulders slumping in relief, Cas lets go off Dean’s hands and folds Dean against him. Dean tries to apologize again but Cas shakes his head, shushes him. “It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s not your fault.” Dean buries further against him and Cas holds him tighter, not seeming to care about the tears and snot Dean’s smearing into his neck.
They stay like that until Dean’s heart rate settles and he starts to shiver. Cas helps him out of his sweat-soaked tee and into a fresh one, and lets Dean fall into an exhausted slumber against him. When Dean wakes several hours later, his internal clock tells him it’s about noon, and his migraine has gotten bad enough to make him nauseous. He drifts in and out of sleep, and he tries to tell Cas that he doesn’t have to stay cooped up with Dean the entire day, but Cas isn’t having it. He fires up Dean’s laptop and cruises Netflix with Dean curled up beside him, and while he can’t do anything for Dean’s pain except knock him out when it gets too bad, it still helps Dean not to be alone while he suffers through the worst of it.
Judging by how little light is filtering through the blinds, it’s getting dark again the next time Dean wakes up for real. The pounding in his head is less but his body is aching all over and he feels totally gross, covered in dried sweat and with faint traces of blood still caked under his fingernails. He’s dazed from the pain and from two flashbacks in a row and so deeply exhausted he has no idea how he’s going to get into the shower, much less stand upright under the spray and clean himself.
Cas watches Dean struggle to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and then resolutely tells him to stay put while he draws him a bath. He helps him hobble to the bathroom, helps him out of his clothes, not that Dean’s wearing more than a tee and boxer shorts. Cas left the door open but didn’t turn on the light, so while it’s fairly dark inside the bathroom, Dean still blushes when Cas tugs his underwear down his legs. This is not how he imagined being naked in front of Cas for the first time.
“I won’t look,” Cas says, like he’s sensing Dean’s embarrassment. He keeps him steady, and then Dean’s sinking into the hot water with a groan of contentment, letting his head rest against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes. It’s not a bubble bath, but the water smells faintly and soothingly like sandalwood and something citrus-y. Cas lets him soak for a while, rummaging around in their room. When he comes back, he takes Dean’s toiletry kit off the shelf, and Dean makes grabby hands for his shampoo bottle.
Cas crouches down in front of the tub though, instructs Dean to hold still and close his eyes while he pours water over his head and then gently washes his hair. It’s like getting a head massage, and Dean moans with how good it feels. He slurs something that’s supposed to mean this is nice but comes out so jumbled it makes Cas chuckle.
“Five more minutes, and then I’ll come get you,” Cas tells Dean once he’s washed away all the suds. “Try not to fall asleep again yet.”
Dean hums an affirmative, leans his head against the edge of the tub again, and is out almost instantly.
He’s decidedly grumpy when Cas comes back and wakes him and drains the nice hot water out of the tub. Dean’s too tired to complain so he just scowls while Cas helps him douse off the soap and towel himself dry. He gets him a fresh tee and underwear—at the rate Dean’s going through tees he’s going to have to swing by a laundromat soon—and then Dean falls headfirst back into bed.
The sheets and covers smell fresh and don’t feel tacky with sweat, so Cas must have asked for new ones and then made the bed. Dean wants to thank him but he’s asleep again before he can even try to wrestle his mouth into obeying him.
The smell of something delicious rouses him again a while later, and his stomach growls audibly before he’s even fully awake. Dean has barely had anything but water over the last 24 hours, too nauseous from the pain to stomach anything more substantial than some crackers Cas had forced on him, and he’s starving . Blindly, he fumbles out a hand and tries to grab whatever is smelling so nice, and then frowns when he’s only met with empty air.
From somewhere behind him, he can hear Cas chuckle.
“I know you’re hungry, but you need to sit up a little.”
Dean doesn’t see how that’s necessary but he pushes himself up and blearily looks around for the food.
Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking all amused. There’s a steaming plate on his knees and Dean doesn’t even care what it is or where Cas got it from, all he cares about is getting it in him. He sits up against the headboard and then makes grabby hands for his food.
It’s a nice, rich stick-to-your-ribs stew with beef and vegetables, and Dean inhales it as fast as he can. It’s soothing to have that gnawing feeling of hunger melt away, but eating is also making him drowsy again a lot sooner than he’d like. Cas watches him fight against the rising tiredness, then nudges him to make room against the headboard and takes the spoon from him.
“C’mon,” he says, “I’ll do the choo choo train.”
Dean glares but then there’s a spoonful of food in front of him and he decides eating is more important than complaining about being baby-talked.
When the plate is empty, Dean leans his head on Cas's shoulder and closes his eyes. He’s getting real sick and tired of barely being able to do anything but sleep, but he’s so tuckered out he doesn’t even have the energy to mope about it.
It’s fully dark the next time he wakes, but the curtains are drawn to the side to let the moonlight in. There’s a nice cool breeze coming in through the tilted window and Dean can see a few stars. He’s lying curled up against Cas with his head on his thigh while Cas is leaning against the headboard, a hand resting on the curve of Dean’s side.
Dean blinks at the stars and then sighs and nuzzles his cheek against the fabric of Cas's slacks.
“Hey,” he mumbles, wincing when it comes out weak and raspy.
“Hello, Dean. How are you feeling?”
Taking stock for a moment, Dean concludes that his head is a lot better and while he’s still exhausted, he at least doesn’t feel like he got run over by a tank any longer.
“Bet-t-ter. Head’s not spl-l-litting open a-a-anym-m-more.” Dean rolls onto his back so he can keep his head in Cas's lap but also look at him where the moonlight is illuminating his face and half his chest. “How ab-b-bout Sam a-a-and th-the oth-thers, they ok-k-kay?” He rubs the backs of his hands over his eyes and blinks up at Cas.
“Resting. Eileen and Jack have really taken to the pool. There are giant egg- and bacon-shaped floatables.”
Dean snorts.
“Sam-m-my?”
“The last I saw him he was lounging in a pool chair, updating the archives.” Cas watches him with a soft look in his eyes. “He’s alright, Dean. He seems a look more at peace since you two spoke.”
Dean just hums at that, soothed by the knowledge that Sam’s okay.
“They’re worried about you, though.”
Dean shrugs with one shoulder, of half a mind to wave away the concern. It’s still a battle, sometimes, to let others take care of him and not give in to that part of him that screams it should only ever be the other way around.
“Don’t g-g-gotta. Yeah, ‘m b-b-banged u-up b-but I got y-y-you .”
“Dean, that’s not—”
“ Cas . I’m t-t-tryin’ t-to thank you he-here, man.” Cas has carried Dean’s chewed-on ass around, dealt with Dean’s episodes, stayed with him even while Dean was doing his best impression of a lumpy sack of potatoes. It’s been years since Cas was powerful enough that healing people didn’t drain him, but he still gave Dean what he could. Even the teeth marks on Dean’s forearm, while still visible, look weeks old and faded.
Cas softens at that.
“You never have to thank me for protecting you, Dean.”
The warmth in Cas's tone makes Dean smile.
“I d-don’t m-m-mean j-just that.” Dean puts his hand over Cas's hand where it’s resting on Dean’s hip, squeezing briefly. “Th-thanks for—y-you know, th-this.”
“Dean—”
“No, s-s-seriousl-l-ly. I know you’re not t-t-touchy f-f-feely l-l-like me, so. This m-m-means a l-l-lot.”
Cas sighs and then moves his hand to lace their fingers together.
“You’re making it sound like it’s a burden to take care of you like this. It’s not ; it never could be, and I promise you here and now that I will never deny you physical affection. I may need some guidance sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy what we’re doing.”
Dean needs a moment to let that sink in and Cas must understand because he falls silent and rubs a thumb over the back of Dean’s hand.
They share a long moment of comfortable quiet before Cas speaks up again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sh-sh-shoot.”
“You mentioned that you get why you and me—why Sam reacted the way he did and was then confused by his own reaction. And I’m not asking you to disclose private things that he’s told you, but I. I’d like to understand.”
Dean thinks for a moment, mulling over the best to explain.
“One t-t-time w-when Sam w-was l-l-like ten,” he starts. “He got inv-v-vited to this b-b-birthd-d-day p-party. W-we were a-a-al-l-lways th-the outs-s-siders in school s-so that d-d-didn’t h-h-happen a l-l-lot. Dad wasn’t th-th-there, so I brought h-him over to the h-h-house. I w-was just g-g-gonna drop him off a-a-and then c-c-come back l-l-later, b-but the parents asked if I w-w-wanted to stay t-too.” Dean pauses and rubs at his jaw in irritation.
“There w-w-were a c-couple k-k-kids my age. I coulda pl-l-layed with ‘em, b-but. I d-d-didn’t know how. Th-they w-w-were so c-c-carefree. I didn’t know h-how t-t-to beh-h-have. So I h-h-hung with the oth-ther parents b-but when they l-l-looked at m-me, they saw a k-k-kid. It w-was awkw-w-ward as fuck . So I s-s-said I had homew-w-work, a-a-and I l-l-left.”
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Dean wrangles with his mouth and with the emotions the memory is dragging to the surface.
“A-a-and I guess th-that’s k-k-kinda what I w-w-was l-l-like f-f-for S-S-Sam too. Somet-t-times I w-w-was his broth-ther. Oth-ther t-times—” Dean’s throat clicks audibly as he tries to get the words out and blocks hard.
“You were his parents?” Cas finishes for him, and Dean just nods.
“I m-m-mean it’s j-j-just w-w-weird, w-when you th-think y-your p-p-parents a-a-are a c-c-certain w-w-way a-a-and then they’re not. A-a-and it’s w-w-weird w-w-watching your m-mom m-make out with someone. ‘Cept I’m not Sam’s m-mom n-now. I just w-w-was.”
Cas takes their twined hands off Dean’s hip and rests them over Dean’s heart.
“I’m sorry.”
There’s genuine sorrow in his voice, and Dean nuzzles his cheek against Cas's belly.
“D-don’t be. You’re h-h-helping.”
He’s not looking but he knows Cas is squinting at him in confusion and disbelief.
“How?”
“Well, f-f-f-or one, I can sh-sh-share with y-you l-l-like this. You know h-how o-o-often I c-c-could t-t-talk to someone with-thout f-f-fearin’ that I’m b-b-burdening ‘em? L-l-like they a-a-ain’t l-l-listenin’? Barely e-e-ever . So feeling-g-g h-h-heard, I c-c-can’t tell you how rel-l-lieving that is.”
Cas is silent for a moment.
“You know you do the same for me, right? When things—well, when things go bad, I feel like you’re the only being in the entire universe who I have any connection to. I know I can go to you, and you will understand.”
There’s that urge, immediately, to shy away and say something self-deprecating. Dean fights it down and Cas squeezes his hand, like he’s able to sense Dean’s internal struggle, or at least how much the words are affecting him.
“Speak-k-king of f-f-feeling l-l-listened to—you t-t-talk to Molly?”
“I texted her from your phone on the way back to the motel. She was very relieved. And sad, of course, since now, we know for sure that the people who were taken will not be coming back.”
Dean grimaces. There's not even bodies left behind they could bury, helping them mourn. No one except them and Molly will ever even know what really happened to them.
“Oh, and Eileen sent you a message.”
Cas reaches over and takes Dean's phone off the nightstand, handing it to him.
Dean and Eileen can't exactly text, so Dean's a little confused until he sees she's sent him a picture. It’s from when they drove back to the motel, and, judging from the lighting, Eileen took it when they stopped for gas. The kid and Dean are both slumped against Cas, glow sticks still around their necks, fast asleep. It’s eerie to see himself bundled in Cas's suit jacket and coat, but what really gets Dean is how content Cas looks in Baby’s backseat, watching over Jack and Dean. He’s got an arm around Dean’s back and he’s looking past him at the street lights, something peaceful in his expression that just makes Dean really happy to see.
“Send it to me,” Cas says when Dean shows it to him. “I want to use it as my wallpaper.”
“W-w-what’re you using-g-g right n-n-now?”
“A picture of the sunrise Jack sent me when we were on that case in Colorado three weeks ago.”
Dean scowls. Cas looks up from where he’s fiddling with his phone and sighs.
“You’re my lockscreen,” he says, like that’s supposed to mollify Dean.
“Oh wow , y-your l-l-lockscr-r-reen, th-that’s super rom-m-mantic.”
“Stop complaining. That sunrise was very beautiful.”
Dean couldn’t care less about the stupid sun but he wants to know what picture of him Cas is using. He tries to grab Cas's phone.
“W-w-wanna see!”
Cas leans back and bats Dean’s hands away.
“No.”
Dean pouts, and, when that isn’t effective, does his best pleading expression. It takes some patience on his part, but finally, Cas sighs in defeat and hands his phone over.
Dean presses the button that makes the screen light up and is met by a picture of himself in one of the armchairs in his Cave. He thinks it’s from when he’d just gotten back and was finally steady and aware enough again to actually do stuff with his family. He’s bundled up in a hoodie and a blanket and he looks kind of gaunt under them, his cheeks pale, dark circles under his eyes. The light of the TV is falling onto him, a still mostly full popcorn bowl is balanced precariously in his lap, and he’s asleep. His Stetson is sitting atop the backrest, so it must have been cowboy night.
It’s not exactly a super flattering picture, though he guesses without the context someone might look at it and think he just looks sleepy and soft.
The screen goes dark, and Dean presses the button again. He can’t be sure, but he thinks this is from before the flashbacks started, when he couldn’t bear thinking, much less talking about what he’d been through, when he was still struggling with his shattered voice and exhausted body.
“I think I needed proof,” Cas says, startling Dean. “A reminder that you were back with us, at home and safe.” Gently taking the phone out of Dean’s hand and shutting off the screen, Cas laces their fingers together again. “Michael was still out there and I was scared for you. The thought that he could get his hands on you again, especially after seeing how much you’d suffered, how much damage he did—maybe it was foolish, but I felt if I could just capture this moment, it would mean that everything would be okay again.”
Cas is looking out the window at the stars again, and something in his expression activates Dean’s instinct to calm and soothe.
“Hey,” he says, voice soft and low. “No one’s t-t-takin’ me aw-w-way ag-g-g-ain.”
“I’d like to see them try,” Cas growls, darkly, but a beat later his shoulders slump. “No, actually I would not like to see them try. I would like to see you safe, not threatened.”
Dean huffs a breath of laughter, unable to keep from smiling.
“Sap.”
It was meant to be teasing but Cas not only rolls with it, he one-ups him.
“You’re my husband, I think I’m entitled.”
Dean’s face doesn’t have any business growing that hot in reaction, so he hides it against Cas's stomach.
Cas chuckles.
“You really like that.”
Dean tells him to shut up but with his mouth smashed against cotton it comes out completely unintelligible.
Cas strokes a soothing hand through his hair.
“There’s no need to feel ashamed, Dean. Obviously you associate marriage with love, romance, and permanence, all of which you have been deprived of and consequently long for, so it only makes sense that—”
“Ugh, st-t-top.” Dean comes out of hiding again, sputtering. “D-d-don’t d-do the sh-sh-shrink th-thing man, it’s too fucking-g-g w-w-weird.”
“Sorry,” Cas says, a smile in his voice. “I won’t.”
Mollified, Dean settles back against him and sighs contentedly when Cas resumes stroking his hair. He floats on the simple, uncomplicated pleasure of affection until something nags at his mind that he’d been meaning to check on but then wasn’t given the chance to.
“C-Cas?”
“Mm-hm?”
“W-when you c-c-called from the sh-sh-shel-l-lter, you d-didn’t s-s-sound g-g-good. Did something-g-g h-h-happen?”
Cas makes a face like he’s chagrined.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
“W-w-what? Why?”
Somehow, Cas manages to look guilty and defensive at once.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I wanted to take care of you, not the other way around.”
Dean turns his head to scowl at him.
“What th-the fuck ? D-dude, Cas, th-this is a-a-a t-t-two w-w-way str-r-reet, man.” He motions between them. “Y-you c-c-can’t j-j-just d-d-d—” His agitation makes him block, again, and he has to take a couple deep breaths to calm and center himself. Sometimes it’s downright painful when he can’t get the words out. Cas takes his hand again, squeezing it.
“Th-this h-h-has g-g-got t-to be a g-g-give a-a-and t-t-take. D-d-don’t sh-sh-shut me out. Pl-l-lease.”
Cas hesitates with his answer long enough that Dean knows they’re going to have to rehash this particular argument in the future.
“Alright. I won’t—I’ll try not do.”
It’s the best he’s going to get right now, so Dean takes it. He roots around for Cas's other hand and puts it back on his head, wriggling on the bed to get comfortable again..
“Ok-k-kay. So, what h-h-happened?”
Cas sighs and strokes his fingers through Dean’s hair as if it’s calming him too.
“Nothing happened. Everyone was exceptionally kind to us. It was just—being confronted with all that sadness? That despair? All those people in front of the shelters, desperate for safety, for answers, receiving neither. It just made me feel angry, and then helpless. They’re starving while there is enough food, and they’ve become victims of monsters they would be safe from if only given a roof over their heads and a door to close. It made me—well, it made me really really mad.”
Cas pauses to take a shuddering breath and Dean rubs his thumb over the back of his hand.
“I remember what it was like, alone on the streets, and I was a lot luckier than most of them. I just wished I could do more.”
Dean tries to hide how the reminder makes him wince, old guilt resurfacing, but Cas notices.
“Dean—”
“No, ign-n-nore me, th-this is ab-b-bout you , man.”
“I will do no such thing. The context of our situation was completely different and I will not have you tell yourself it was the same. It was my choice not to go straight to the bunker. And when you sent me away you didn’t do it out of carelessness or cruelty, you were being blackmailed . You thought Sam would die if you’d let me stay. And I was hurt at first, yes, and confused, but I forgave you the moment I learned the truth.”
Dean still can’t bring himself to meet Cas's eyes, and Cas's voice softens.
“Please let go off this guilt, Dean. There’s no need for you to keep tormenting yourself like this.”
Swallowing, Dean nods. “‘Kay.” He looks up at Cas. “You g-g-gotta t-t-take y-your own adv-v-vice, though. ‘C-c-can’t save ev-v-veryone’, right? A-a-and Cas, you k-k-killed the damn th-thing. You st-t-topped it. A-a-and for the people h-here? That d-d-does m-m-make a d-d-difference.”
Cas is silent for a while and Dean waits him out, sensing there’s still something brewing under the surface.
“I offered Molly to try and heal her of her ailments. She declined.”
Dean wants to say that after all she’s been through, she probably can’t trust someone she doesn’t even know with something that private, but Cas is already talking again.
“She said she’s made her peace with her life, and I respect that. It just reminded me… sometimes I think about living without my Grace.”
Startled, Dean looks up at him but Cas is looking outside at the stars.
“It’s a tool, a useful one, but it’s not who I am. And I miss, I miss experiencing the world like you do. I couldn’t protect people the way I can do now, if I gave it up, so that is holding me back. But…”
Cas's hand falters, the stroking through Dean’s hair slowing to a stop.
“I’m scared, Dean. If I were to die now, I’d die an angel, and that means going back to the Empty. The thought of being trapped in that place again, with nothing , and no hope of ever seeing you again—”
Dean’s heart clenches and he shifts in place, trying to catch Cas's eyes.
“Woah, C-Cas, hey. W-w-what’s all th-that t-t-talk about d-d-dyin’? Y-you th-think ab-b-bout that a l-l-lot?”
“Not a lot, just… sometimes.”
“Okay.” Dean swallows and licks his lips. “You know I’ll h-h-have y-you no matter w-w-what, r-r-right?”
That makes Cas smile a little.
“I know, Dean.”
“As f-f-for prot-t-tecting people… th-there’s someth-th-thing I b-b-been meaning-g-g t-to t-t-talk with you ab-b-bout.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I’ve b-been th-th-thinking… next t-t-time th-there’s a h-h-heavy d-d-duty c-c-case l-l-like this one, we g-g-give it t-to someone e-e-else.”
Cas goes very still.
“Dean. Are you saying—”
“I d-d-don’t mean full o-o-on ret-t-tirem-m-ment, b-but. L-l-look, I’m d-d-done su-su-sugarc-c-oatin’ th-this shit,” he gestures at himself. “I’m n-n-not a-a-at a hund-d-dred perc-c-cent anym-m-more. Like mayb-b-be not e-e-even at a sixt-t-ty. A-a-and I’m not going-g-g to b-be ag-g-gain. Ev-v-ver.” It hurts having to admit that, tears rising to his eyes and his throat threatening to close up. He has to swallow a couple times before continuing.
“I c-c-can’t handle the st-st-stress a-a-anym-m-more. I j-just c-c-can’t. I’m not s-s-sayin’ no h-h-hunting a-a-at al-l-l, b-but. N-n-nothing b-big. More d-d-downt-t-time. I m-mean we g-g-got a whole n-n-netw-w-work now. A-a-and I know S-S-Sammy is w-w-way h-h-happier handling-g-g th-that a-a-nd our arch-ch-chives than b-b-bein’ out in the f-f-field. I h-h-haven’t a-a-asked him yet, b-but I think he’d b-be good w-w-with it.”
He sniffs, his mouth trembling around the words.
“‘M tired, C-Cas. We’ve d-d-done en-n-nough.”
A tear spills over, rolling down his cheek. Dean closes his eyes and swallows hard, overcome by sadness and relief at once. A thumb rubs through the wetness under his eyes and Dean struggles to force his mouth to obey him. “B-but I g-g-get need-d-ding t-to b-be out th-there. So if y-y-you’re not ok-k-kay with—”
“I am. I won’t leave, Dean,” Cas's voice cuts through Dean’s rising fear. “I won’t leave.”
Rolling so he can hide his face against Cas's stomach, Dean loops both arms around his waist and holds on tight.
“I’ll have you, no matter what.”
Dean wants to smile and laugh, because Cas is repeating his own words back at him, and they mean so, so much. Apparently he’s not done crying about this crap though, so it comes out as a sob instead. But he’s safe here, Cas is holding him, and maybe it’s okay to be a little fucked up about all of this and need to cry it out.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, a curled-up, snotty mess, but the weight gradually eases off his chest until he feels almost light. When he can sit up, Cas hands him a tissue from the dispenser, and then Dean tucks himself close again, seeks out Cas's mouth with his.
It’s so good, warm and soft and comforting, and Dean parts his lips, presses closer—
Cas breaks the kiss with a grimace.
“I’m sorry, but your mouth tastes terrible.”
A blush rises to Dean’s cheeks and he tries to counteract it with a scowl. It’s not his fault that he hasn’t been able to brush his teeth in over a day.
“Thought y-you c-c-couldn’t t-t-taste anyth-th-thing b-but molec-c-cules.”
“Well, the molecules inside your mouth are tasting terrible.”
Dean grumbles but makes his way to the bathroom.
The light makes him blink for a moment until his eyes adjust, and then he cringes. His eyes are red from crying and despite all the sleep he got, there are dark circles under them. Very thoroughly, he brushes his teeth and washes his face. The stubble makes him look worse than he feels, so he shaves it off.
His armpits smell okay but he gives them a quick wash anyway. He’s about to put the washcloth away when he hesitates.
When he goes back, they’re going to kiss, but he wants more. After all that emotional intimacy, he’s longing for some physical closeness, for comfort and for the opportunity to make them both feel good, if Cas is up for it.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
He’s just had a bath a few hours ago, so another shower feels a bit excessive. Wetting the cloth again, he just washes his junk and ass, trying not to think about how he might be acting foolishly optimistic.
When he exits the bathroom, he’s red-faced and almost stumbles over his feet. His heart is pounding and he feels awkward and shy in a way he usually never feels about the prospect of sex.
If Cas was wondering what took him so long, he doesn’t show it. He’s got his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and is once again watching the stars. Over half their bed is bathed in moonlight, and maybe it’s how soft that’s making everything look, or maybe it’s the quiet of the night or the privacy of their room, but something makes Dean brave enough to get on the bed and climb into Cas's lap and press kisses into his mouth.
Cas's arms come up around Dean’s shoulders, holding him close, and Dean leans back to search his eyes.
“C-c-can I touch y-you? W-w-wanna,” he presses another kiss against Cas's mouth. “Wanna m-m-make you feel g-g-good.”
Cas squints up at him.
“You would like to have sex.”
That makes Dean blush , of all things, and he tries to cover it up with a snort.
“Okay, yeah. B-but only if y-you—”
“Yes.”
Cas puts a hand on the back of Dean’s neck and draws him forward into a kiss that’s a lot more passionate than their gentle making-out from before and that Dean has a hard time breaking away from.
“Woah! Slow d-d-down, c-cowboy.”
Glaring up at him, Cas looks decidedly grumpy at the interruption.
“We gotta t-t-talk about th-this f-f-first, I d-d-don’t even know if th-there’s stuff you d-d-don’t l-l-like.”
Dean half expects Cas to remind him that he’s had sex all but once and his only request is not to get stabbed after, but Cas actually pauses at that.
“I... don't know. I only know what I would like, which is to touch you, and help you climax, and watch your face when you reach your pleasure."
Cas says it so matter-of-factly, it should make Dean laugh, not have heat rise to his face and his dick twitch in his boxers. He’s already plumping up and they haven’t even really done anything yet.
“Jesus. Ok-k-kay," Dean stammers, embarrassed.
Sliding his hands down Dean’s back to settle on his hips, Cas looks up at him all smug.
“What would you like?”
Dean leans forward to press a line of kisses along Cas's jaw.
“Sl-l-low. Ge-ge-gentle. W-wanna—mm. W-w-wanna st-t-tay right he-here.”
Still perched on Cas's illegally thick thighs, Dean scoots forward to press his growing bulge against Cas's crotch, making both of them gasp.
“You know y-you c-c-could k-k-kill a man w-with th-those b-b-babies, right?” He asks, briefly clenching his legs around Cas's thighs.
Cas looks down with a confused frown.
“You find my legs… sexy.”
Dean huffs out a breath of laughter, unable to keep from smiling.
“Yeah.” He leans in for more kisses. “Mm. A-a-and your arms a-a-and y-y-your stup-p-pid big h-h-hands.”
He starts moving his hips, just small, rolling motions, and is pleased to feel Cas's dick starting to harden against him, his hold on Dean’s hips tightening.
“Dean! We didn’t—ah! We didn’t finish our conversation about this. I still don’t know what you don’t like.”
Drawing back from where he’s been leaving little nibbling kisses down the line of Cas's throat, Dean forces himself to concentrate for a moment.
“Well, I d-d-don’t l-l-like t-to b-b-be touched without perm-m-mission, b-but you h-h-have it, so.” He shrugs. Something in his tone must suggest there were times when someone did not stop when he said no, and Cas is looking at him like he wants to ask about it, but Dean shakes his head. Not now.
Picking up the movements of his hips again, Dean continues, breathing the words against Cas's mouth. “I l-l-like k-k-kissing. H-hand-h-h-holding. Just lotsa t-t-touching.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against Cas’s. “Just g-g-go with what f-f-feels good, I’mma t-t-tell you if I d-d-don’t d-d-dig it.”
“Alright.” Cas's breathing has noticeably picked up and the way his voice has gotten even rougher and deeper makes Dean shiver. Hesitantly, Cas slides his hands up Dean’s sides under his tee, “May I undress you?”
Something about the way he asks is so fucking hot it makes Dean moan. The mental image of being completely laid bare while Cas is still fully clothed has heat curl low in his belly and his dick thickens further. He has a brief moment of self-consciousness when his tee is gone, because with all the resting he’s been forced to do he’s put on weight, and his thighs have gotten meatier, his belly softer and his love handles more pronounced.
Insecure, he searches Cas's eyes, but all he finds there is want and boundless acceptance. Kissing him again, the rhythm of Dean’s hips falters at the feeling of Cas's deft hands stroking down Dean’s back and up his chest, thumbs experimentally brushing his nipples. Dean breaks away from the kiss with a moan and starts fumbling with the buttons on Cas's shirt, “C’mon, you t-t-too.”
Dean takes his time, pressing kisses into each stretch of newly revealed skin, rewarded by the way Cas's hold on him tightens every time he finds a particularly sensitive spot. He’s forced to get out of Cas's lap when the friction from the clothing between them starts to border on painful. While Cas is busy getting his pants off, Dean uses the brief pause to dig the lube he keeps in there out of his bag. He’s so worked up already he almost drops the thing twice; his knees like jelly, mouth tingling, dick bobbing between his legs with each step.
Cas doesn’t look like he’s faring much better: pupils dilated, hair a mess from Dean running his fingers through it while he kissed him. Dean leaves the condoms—he’s clean, and Cas doesn’t get STD’s—and puts a towel down on the bed so they don’t ruin the sheets. After tugging off his boxers, he climbs back into Cas's lap, who immediately draws him close, and then they both gasp into each other’s mouths when their dicks touch.
Looking down, the sight that greets him is so erotic that Dean moans helplessly, blindly grabbing for the lube he’d thrown onto the bed. Dean would be turned on no matter what because this is Cas, but man, the guy has some dick on him. Thick and long, making Dean salivate just from looking. One day, he’s going to sit on that thing and ride it until they both forget their names. Maybe while wearing his Stetson, just so he can annoy Cas by making a million cowboy jokes before, during, and after.
Cas makes an impatient noise when Dean checks in with him again before actually touching him, and then he groans in a way that goes straight to Dean’s own dick as Dean’s lube-slickened fingers close around him, giving a slow pull from base to tip. Dean leans back in Cas's lap so he’s pressed against Cas's raised knees, watching in something like rapture as Cas's dick hardens further from the agonizingly slow handjob Dean’s giving him, Cas's brow furrowed almost like in pain, chest rising and falling rapidly.
His own dick is throbbing with need, drooling precome along the crease of his thigh, but he denies himself for now, just focuses on Cas and lets the pleasure build. Cas's fingers dig into Dean’s hips every time Dean twists his wrist when he reaches the base, and he finally seems to remember that he does, in fact, have hands. Gripping Dean’s thigh with one, he fists the other into the short strands of hair at the back of Dean’s head, dragging him forward and into an open-mouthed kiss.
“Th-this g-g-good?” Dean asks once Cas lets him up for air, hand still slowly pumping Cas's dick, thumb teasing under the head.
“Yes, but you, ah , you were too far away.”
That makes Dean smile like a dope, a warmth running through him that has nothing to do with his arousal. He shifts even closer and gets his hand around both of them, echoing Cas's moan, pleasure zinging down his spine to pool between his legs. It’s good, so good, he could totally get off on this, but he kind of—he wants—
Slowing the motion of his hand down even further, Dean forces himself to take a deep breath so his stutter doesn’t ruin this for him by making him completely unintelligible.
“C-c-can I—W-w-wanna t-t-try s-s-som-m-mthing. It’s ok-k-kay if y-y-you d-d-don’t l-l-like it.”
When Cas nods, staring at Dean like he can’t believe there could be anything better than this, Dean applies more lube to Cas's dick, making him squirm, and then lifts himself out of Cas's lap enough to guide his dick between Dean’s asscheeks.
Settling back down and shifting his legs so his thighs won’t cramp, Dean rolls his hips experimentally and Cas sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, clutching at him.
“Dean—!”
“G-g-good-d?”
“ Yes .”
It is; Cas's dick is gliding over his perineum, putting pressure on his prostate from the outside, the head catching on Dean’s hole every couple of strokes. Dean’s dick is getting rubbed against Cas's stomach and Cas's hips have started making little thrusting motions, his feet braced against the mattress. It’s a little uncoordinated and sloppy but that doesn’t even matter. Dean’s warm all over and he’s wanted , Cas's hands are holding him in place, and the way he keeps saying Dean’s name makes him try and press even closer.
They’re more breathing into each other’s mouths than kissing, so Dean tucks his face into Cas's neck, focusing on his hips and ignoring the need in his own dick, determined to make Cas come first. Judging from the way Cas's breathing is hitching, he’s close, the rhythm of their gentle love-making shifting into something a little more frantic as he approaches his peak.
Cas clutches at Dean’s shoulders when he comes, groaning, and the feeling of him releasing wet and hot between Dean’s legs is almost enough to make Dean come too. He’s cresting, pleasure built up almost as high as it can go, but not quite there yet, whining and shifting restlessly while Cas shudders through the aftershocks, panting into Dean’s hair.
“Dean! Dean, let me—can I touch you?”
Unable to do anything but nod, Dean leans back to give Cas room, and then his mouth falls open when Cas's thick fingers close around his leaking dick. Dean realizes quickly that not only is Cas a fast learner, he’s fucking ruthless in applying his newfound knowledge. Cas presses kisses along his throat and then nudges Dean’s chin up and sucks at the pad of fat under it that Dean’s actually kind of embarrassed about, it’s just hard to remember about that when the attention paid to those sensitive areas is making his heart pound. Cas's thumb is sliding over his slit on every upstroke, making his toes curl and his balls draw up.
“C-C-Cas—”
“I’m here, Dean.” Cas's hand is cradling the back of his head, his mouth brushing Dean’s and Dean reaches for him blindly, holding on tight. “I’m here, you can let go.”
Another stroke, another, and then Dean’s mouth goes slack and he chokes on a moan as he comes in long, hard pulses that white the room out for a moment. He floats on the pleasure for what feels like a long time, soothed into relaxation by the strong arms holding him up, sheltering him.
When he comes to, his heart rate has slowed down and his lashes are wet from tears he wasn’t even aware of. Cas has shifted him a little in his lap, probably because his dick was getting over-sensitive, and he’s rubbing a hand slowly up and down Dean’s spine, rocking them from side to side a little. There’s no icky feeling of drying spunk, so Dean must have been out long enough for Cas to have used the tissues from the nightstand to clean them up. Dean’s shivering a little, which must be why Cas also draped the blanket over his back.
It’s all so incredibly caring, so protective that Dean’s eyes well up all over again.
“Dean?”
Dean moves his face away from where he had it tucked into Cas’s neck again and rests his head on Cas's chest.
“Hey,” he rasps. “Sor-r-ry. D-d-didn’t m-m-mean t-to pass out o-o-on you.”
Cas has stopped rocking them but he keeps up the soothing motion of his hand.
“It’s alright. I was a little concerned though. Has this happened to you before?”
Dean frowns, trying to get his brain into gear. He’s had some truly great orgasms where the aftershocks lasted a while, but being so out of it he didn’t even notice someone moving him and cleaning him up?
“D-d-don’t th-th-think so. C-c-could j-j-just b-be th-this though.” He fumbles a hand out from under the blanket and taps a finger against his temple. “St-t-tuff j-just g-g-gets too m-m-much t-to h-h-handle n-now. Kn-kn-knocks me out.” He shrugs. “Not g-g-gonna l-l-lie, it would-d-d b-be k-k-kinda sc-sc-scary if I w-w-were al-l-lone, b-but. ‘M not.”
Cas holds him tighter, and Dean listens to his heartbeat and watches the stars until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.
He’s half asleep when Cas tucks him in and actually lies down with him, letting Dean curl into his side. “I love you,” he says, and then chuckles when Dean tries to say it back and it comes out as more gibberish than actual words. “Sleep,” Dean hears him say, so he does just that.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Dean’s actually awake at a reasonable hour the next morning, and he drags his whole family into the Waffle Spot for breakfast. His body still aches with exhaustion, but the memory of last night is enough to distract him from it. He can’t stop smiling, can barely keep his hands off Cas, pressed close to his side while he munches on his blueberry and banana nut waffles.
Conversation carries on mostly without him while he stuffs his face, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice how the strain has gone out of Sam and Eileen’s interactions, their smiles genuine as they actually meet each other’s eyes again. Seeing Sammy happy makes Dean even happier, which means it’s totally an accident when he flicks a blueberry into Sam’s hair.
Dean didn’t really have a plan for today except maybe making Cas try out the hot tub with him. The others seem good with just lazing around for another day, not exactly eager to cram themselves in the car for the long ride back. Dean knows he’s going to miss his room and his home soon, but this feels like the long-earned vacation he’d never actually believed they’d get. Sure, Ocean Beach ain’t Hawaii, but they should be able to find a nice enough spot.
None of them own swim trunks, so that means shopping trip. “I w-w-want one w-with a sh-sh-shark on it,” Dean says when they’re back in their room and he’s brushed his teeth for the second time today so Cas stops complaining about the lingering walnut taste he does not care for.
Cas huffs a breath of laughter and kisses Dean’s cheek.
“Of course, Bear.” Then he frowns as he seems to remember something. “I think Jack is on to us. When it was determined that we would not be going to SeaWorld because the animals are being exploited there, he said he was really happy that he at least saw that bear on the hike. And then he winked at me.”
Dean snorts, shaking his head and chuckling at the almost scandalized expression on Cas's face. Looks like the kid ain’t as oblivious as they’d thought.
“Well, he b-b-better k-keep it to himself, or I’mma stick his h-h-head in the sand-d-d.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“Oh, y-yeah?” Dean taunts, instantly shifting into playful. “Who’s g-g-gonna st-t-top me?”
The next thing he knows, he’s on his back on the bed where he woke up with Cas beside him this morning, but before he can complain about the sudden, definitely too big distance between them, Cas is closing it, and then nothing matters except the next kiss, and the next, and the one after.
>
Dean gets his shark swim trunks while Cas chooses plain black ones, and he thinks he’s going to be completely content just lying around in the dappled shade with Cas at his side and a couple of colds ones. He’s bubbly and stupid with being in love though, so the moment they find a quiet spot and he gets a good look at the ocean, he hears himself say, “Hey, C-Cas? C-c-catch me .”
And then he’s running across the sand, almost giddy when he hears Cas's follow. Just as he’s splashing into the turf, arms come up around him, and Dean’s laughing when they crash together into the waves. He’s still smiling when he resurfaces, wiping water from his eyes. Cas is frowning at the ocean he’s in almost grumpily, like for some reason he didn’t expect to get soaking wet when he fell headfirst into it.
Dean swims over to him, crossing the distance, and Cas's expression softens.
“Got you,” he says.
And he does.