blurhawaii (blurhawaii) wrote,

A Quarter To Sunrise - Part 5

Dean could feel the demon shaking under his hands; girlish giggles trying to escape through her sealed lips, but he was too busy gaping at Sam to care.

“Fucking demons,” he complained, straying dangerously close to a whine.

The child-like petulance was too much for the demon, apparently, because shrill laughter burst out of her mouth. Unfortunately for her, it also reminded Dean of their positions.

Her joyful smile was wide with her head tipped back as far as it could go on the wooden floor; it was the perfect set-up for Dean to turn over the flask and pour the water down her throat. She was genuinely surprised at first, choking and coughing it back up into Dean’s face, but it soon became too much and too painful for her to do anything but babble and writhe about.

The flask quickly emptied and Dean tossed it to the side, ignoring its stark clatter to clamp his hands over her mouth. She bucked and twisted frantically, albeit weakly, trying to dislodge him but Dean held tight. It wasn’t until red tinted water, human blood, started to leak between his fingers that he violently pulled back and stared at his hands in horror. The reddish water dripped down his wrist and stained his already threadbare shirt.

A wracking, bubbling cough exploded from the woman and a mixture of stringy blood and thick water gurgled out of her throat. Cringing in disgust, Dean swiped his hands up and down his shirt front.

It was then that the demon bucked once more, putting in all her remaining strength, and finally shifting Dean off her torso. A violent swing of her arm into the side of his face sent him rolling to the side.

Dean’s head was spinning, both from the blow and from thoughts of Castiel now being a meat-suit. Guilt flooded his body and he almost couldn’t bring himself to climb to his feet. Vaguely, he recognised Sam suddenly at his side, strong arms lifting him up

The demon was also unsteadily climbing up to its feet on the other side of the room. Her eyes were pitched completely black and a snarl twisted her otherwise normal face into something ugly. She repeatedly turned her head to spit out a mouthful of watery blood but she kept her glare aimed at the brothers.

“When…when I told him…about your preacher friend,” she spluttered, voice utterly destroyed. “He had a conniption.” She laughed brokenly. “Never…never seen him so pleased.”

“What do you want with him?” Sam demanded, still by Dean’s side.

“Revenge,” she coughed.

Dean felt as though he had been punched in the stomach as dread filled him entirely. They wanted revenge against Castiel and right now they had him at their mercy. What the hell could Castiel have done to make even the yellow eyed demon want him dead? He and Sam were basically only victims of circumstance, maybe it was the same with Castiel. He had to take a few deep breaths to stomp down the urge to vomit.

“What, can’t yellow eyes handle one insignificant human?” Dean asked, fishing for answers but trying to hide his intense apprehension.
“Insignificant human?” she laughed derisively, mouth slowly changing into a sly smirk, made even eerier by the highlight of blood on her teeth. “Just what exactly has he been telling you?”

The tense silence that followed was all she needed and then she started shaking again, shoulders jerking up and down happily. Dean had never wanted to punch something more in his life.

“Darlings,” she drawled, lips painted red with blood, “he’s the furthest thing from human you’ll ever find.”

After she’d dropped her bombshell, she tipped her head back and waited to stream out into the night sky. But nothing happened. Only more blood left her mouth.

“What the hell?” she snarled and Dean was shocked into dull laughter at her confusion.

“Demon powers on the fritz?” he asked with a smile he didn’t really feel.

She glared and then, despite her injuries and the fact that she much have coughed up at least one of her lungs in the form of watery chunks, she stalked forward so fast that Dean barely saw her move. The next thing he was aware of was a hand crushing painfully against his windpipe.

Dean didn’t know how many times he could get pinned by a woman today before he developed some sort of complex but he was pretty sure he was quickly reaching his limit. She was holding him against the wall with only a hand at his throat and her other arm was stretched out to the side, invisibly holding a struggling Sam against the other wall.

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you, Dean,” she near enough hissed. “This is it.”

To the side, Sam let out a bark of pain. Dean couldn’t turn his head but he could hear thread ripping.

“There’s only so much entertainment you can provide for him, guys, and he’s had enough. With you grouped together so easily, he’s finally finished.”

She squeezed Dean’s throat threateningly, her long nails cutting in a small fraction and Sam groaned again as she did something else to him.

“Why don’t you ask your friend what he really remembers?”

A loud slam echoed throughout the room and even the wall shook a little from the force. If they weren’t careful, Dean thought, this house was going to cave in on them all. He forgot about the ramshackle of a house, though, when the demon’s face scrunched up, so close to his own, and then snapped back. Black smoke streamed from her mouth like an angry black cloud. It stayed motionless in the air for a second and then as if an unseen force had tugged it, it flew out the window and disappeared.

The now demon free woman dropped to the ground with a thud and lay motionless. With nothing now holding him up, Dean slumped and gasped in mouthfuls of much needed oxygen. Sam was doing the same at his side.

“You okay, Sam?”

“I think so,” Sam swallowed audibly. “Just a few shallow cuts.”

Dean sighed in relief.

“Dean?” asked a quiet but deep voice that Dean instantly recognised.

His head shot up and, standing in the front doorway, looking as though he was ready to collapse, was Castiel. One of his hands was cradled against his chest while the other was clinging to the door frame in an attempt to keep himself on his feet. His face was flushed but his eyes focused on Dean in a way that proved he was lucid.

He took an unsteady step forward but his legs were shaking too much and he sank back against the door frame again. Dean climbed to his feet and approached Castiel cautiously.

“Cas? It is you, right?”

Dean looked closer. It still looked like Castiel; the same furrowed brow, the same blue eyes. There was blood on his hands and dirt on his knees but it looked like the same Castiel. Dean knew that awkward stance anywhere, even on a limping man. He’d be suitably impressed if a demon managed to mimic that without practise.

“I believe so, yes,” he replied in his usual stilted way.

A wave of water hit Castiel in the face and he barely flinched. Dean, on the other hand, jumped and spluttered until he saw Sam, second flask in hand, shrugging in apology.

“Sorry, Cas. Had to make sure,” he said and Castiel nodded, wet hair now clinging to his forehead.

“Understandable. If anything, it was rather pleasant.”

“Where were you?” Sam asked while he wiped at the blood on his own sleeve.

“I heard the demon and I slipped out of the window. I thought -” Castiel paused when Dean reached forward and pawed at his injured hand but then continued as though Dean wasn’t even there. “I thought an element of surprise would be helpful. I guess I was right.”

Castiel looked down at the hand Dean was inspecting. “It’s fine now, Dean, the bleeding has already stopped.” He wiggled his fingers in order to prove that his sliced open hand was still fully operational and Dean scoffed in disbelief.

“What the hell were you doing? The cut’s full of dirt,” he reprimanded, leaving the hand to move onto Castiel’s head to check his temperature.

“I found an unlocked cellar that led to a basement. Evidently, no one had been there in a while because the place was very dirty,” he gestured down at himself. “I remembered the devil’s trap from your father’s journal and I copied it onto the ceiling under the demon.” Castiel’s face grew grave. “But I must have drawn it too big though because it still managed to reach you, so I apologize for that.”
Sam nodded in understanding. Dean just shook his head.

“That’s why she couldn’t, you know.” Sam then made an inarticulate gesture that someone might use to describe throwing up and it was Castiel’s turn to nod.

“Yes. And then, when I saw it going for you both, I started the exorcism,” Castiel explained while Dean dithered around him. “Dean, I think I’ve changed my mind about that anti-possession ward.”

Dean laughed and finally stepped back. “No shit.”

The three men stood wordlessly. Each injured in their own way.

“I think I’d like to sit down,” Castiel finally said, somewhat unsteadily.

“Oh, right, of course,” muttered Dean as both he and Sam took one of Castiel’s arms and guided him across the room.

As they passed the body of the woman, Castiel made them stop. A small, dark puddle of blood had formed around her mouth and her sightless eyes were stuck open. Slipping free of his helping hands, Castiel crouched down and placed his cleaner hand on her head and whispered quiet words of thanks and forgiveness. Dean could only watch Castiel’s moving lips for a second before he had to look away.

“We’ll have to bury her. She deserved better.”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and pulled him back up and towards the bedroom. “Later. You need to rest.”

They hobbled to the bedroom and Dean helped Castiel lie down again. In an eerily similar fashion to earlier on, Sam hovered by the door.
“I’ll go and start digging. We can bury her in the morning when you’re better and then we should probably move on,” he said and grimaced in the direction of the other room.

Castiel nodded lazily, already drifting off, and Dean just waved him off with a quick ‘be careful’.

Like déjà vu, Dean found himself perched on the edge of the bed while Castiel lay with his eyes closed. He reached for the wet fold of cloth that was resting near the foot of the bed and placed it back onto Castiel’s overheating skin.

Now that they’d been allowed a moment of peace, the demon’s words flooded his head. Furthest thing from human…what the hell was he supposed to make of that?

With gentle hands, Dean slid Castiel’s injured hand over to rest in his lap. The cut wasn’t very deep and had already crusted over with blood but it was smeared with dried dirt that wouldn’t do them any favours. On a whim, he held his hand palm open over Castiel’s; Castiel’s fingers were slighter longer and thinner than Dean’s. He curled a few of the fingers and then turned the hands over to sweep over the back. It seemed like a normal hand, a bleeding human hand, Dean decided.


He flinched and then cursed himself, hoping that Castiel didn’t feel his grip tighten over his. He’d thought Castiel had fallen asleep the moment he’d closed his eyes but he’d been wrong.

“You should be sleeping, Cas,” Dean reminded as he used another relatively clean cloth to wipe away the dirt and grit from Castiel’s hand.

“I heard everything the demon said,” he admitted. His eyes were still closed but his expression was too pinched to feign sleeping anymore.

“You did, huh? So you heard how screwed we are?” Dean tried to sound light and airy but it was harder than he thought. All he wanted to do was blurt out ‘What are you?’ and that probably wasn’t the most tactful move.

“If I remembered anything, I would tell you.”

“I know you would, Cas.”

“But you’re still not sure.”

Dean sighed and leaned down to the foot of the bed again, this time to tear a strip off the dry and decaying sheets. He began to wrap Castiel’s hand and once he was done he stood up and somewhat awkwardly hid his hands in his pockets.

“Just get some rest, Cas, we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Castiel immediately shot up when Dean turned to walk away; snagging the edge of Dean’s jacket with his just wrapped hand.

“But you’ll have decided by then,” Castiel said, sounding more miserable than Dean had ever heard from the man.

“Decided what?”

“If you trust me or not,” he replied, while ducking his head and letting his hand drop from Dean’s jacket.

This was it, Dean thought, he had to make a decision. What was Castiel? How did he fit in with him and Sam? What if the demon was telling the truth? He mulled it over for a second but he already knew his answer, he just wasn’t sure how to word it to Castiel in a way that didn’t stunt his manliness.

“Look, Cas,” Dean started as he turned around to face the bed and Castiel’s silently worrying face. “I’m only going to say this once, so try to remember it.” Dean took a breath. “You’re practically family now, Cas, and I don’t abandon family. So we still don’t know why the demons are after you, it doesn’t really matter, they’re still the enemy. So you’re not human. Who cares; you eat, you sleep, you bleed, you complain. If that’s not human, I don’t know what is. And about your past, it’s irrelevant until you remember. I’m not going to let some low-ranked demon tell me how to treat you. Okay?”

When Dean looked up from the patch of floor he’d been staring at to make his speech, he was genuinely surprised to see Castiel beaming. It was a full on grin, made slightly manic looking by the red flush on Castiel’s face. It was an amazing sight to Dean, who, at most, had only seen Castiel smile and occasionally chuckle dryly. This was Castiel happy and Dean wanted to see it more often.
Dean has always been a live in the moment kind of guy. As he’d explained to Castiel, the past was important, of course it was, his life revolved around what had happened in the past but that was true about most people. Past was important because it led to the present. The future was simply something not worth thinking about, to Dean. In their line of work, the future was something that might exist, it might not; it all depended on the present.

Being a spur of the moment kind of guy meant that motive was often something best debated over later. So when Dean couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across his face at Castiel’s manic grin he didn’t really take the time to think about what he did next.

Dean was still standing close to the bed as Castiel’s grasping hands hadn’t allowed him to get very far and Castiel was grinning up at him with his head tilted back, looking as though he was completely content now that he knew Dean didn’t hate him.

It was a perfectly naturally motion, one that he had done many times in the past, except usually there was a different gender on the receiving end. Dean leant down and sandwiched Castiel’s face between his hands. Apparently, Castiel thought nothing of the non-sequitur gesture because he just continued to stare up at Dean with his too blue eyes. Even when Dean ducked closer and pressed their lips together, Castiel didn’t move.

It wasn’t a lingering kiss, but it lasted long enough for both men to know it wasn’t a mistake.

Dean pulled away, hands still holding Castiel’s face. “You just saved mine and Sam’s lives. We trust you,” he said as sincerely as he could.

Dean stood straight and tried to school his features into a more natural expression and Castiel allowed himself to slump back down on the bed, fatigue finally taking over.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Castiel quietly.

Retreating out of the room, Dean made sure to leave the door open and returned to the main room. It was a mess with broken glass littering the floor, chairs tipped over and a dead body lying motionless in the centre. He sidestepped the body, being extra careful not to look at the puddle around her mouth and left through the front door.

Maybe some mindless digging would give him some time to think about what the hell he had just done.
You’re back at the house again, sitting peacefully, surrounded by a landscape of light browns and greens. It’s starting to become so familiar to you even throughout all the states you’ve seen it in over the years. Fresh and new, worn and used even burnt and destroyed, you know it from every angle.

From above, you see everything.

You can clearly see the stocky man approaching long before he would be visible to anyone in the house. You watch him walk tall and proud, unflinching, towards the house. You can’t help but find this strange because any normal man would have been cowering under the darkness that surrounded him. Like a bad stench, darkness streamed off him in all directions, painting the ground he had already covered an ominous shade. The skyline behind him was black and indistinguishable from the horizon but completely pure in the direction he was heading.

He stops a fair distance from the house, a literal black cloud circling him, and waits. Recognition claws at your heart. Something tells you you’ve seen this before. The only thing that’s missing is the opposition.

She appears almost as soon as you place the feeling. Compared to the swirling black, she’s as pure white as a summer cloud. Her hair is long and blonde; a white nightdress swirls loosely over her figure. She moves across the ground with the same single-mindedness as had the stocky man, but she seems to glide whereas the man roughly cuts his path out of the landscape as he moves.

She stops and they appear to reach an impasse.

Another man bursts out of the house and hangs his torso over the porch. He must be shouting but you hear nothing.

Suddenly, you’re down there, with them, in the fray. Facing the stocky man head on is vastly different to viewing him from way up above. From here, you can see his eyes. Like a spreading disease, the sick yellow from his eyes casually bleeds into the black, looking like a drop of ink submerged in water.

Evil resonates off him like an unheard chime and you instantly know what he is.

Down by your side, a heap of white lays still. The otherwise pure sight is broken by patches of red and the fact that she is dead.
The jaundiced eyes crinkle in delight.

Images begin to flicker in and out of your mind.

Your hand around a neck; black seeping under your fingernails.

Fire quickly consumes the side of a house.

You stand straight backed over a distorted outline of a man with what could only be blood trickling out of its throat.

The man with the yellow eyes snarls at you and bares his teeth.

Then the flashing images pause and hold. At first glance, you can already tell that the darkness has disappeared but, in its wake, death and loss remain. The heap of white is being cradled by the man who had been leaning on the porch. Just like before, his lips are moving, more rapidly than earlier, but you still cannot make out the words.

You reach out for the man, intending to offer some comfort and soothing words, but when your hand comes in contact with the man’s head, he flinches back, hugging the woman close to himself. He gapes up at you in a strange mixture of fear and wonderment, while he half-heartedly tries to shield his face from a blinding light.

A knife finds its way into your hands, except it looks less like a knife and more like a large bladed spike with a handle, which your fingers curl delicately around. The man is clearly spooked by the weapon even though he refuses to turn away; he watches the blade in front of him with suspicion.

You’re not the enemy. You know that. You’re just not sure the man knows this.

You crouch until you’re both level. The man can’t seem to look you in the eye as his gaze flits all over. He never once could be said to be staring. That is until you let the blade twirl around in your hands so that the handle is now beckoning towards the man instead.

Grief is something you can’t say you’ve ever experienced before but, watching the man, you think you understand. He doesn’t take the knife; he just glares at you and pulls the woman’s head into the hollow of his neck. You place the blade down carefully beside him and return to your feet.

Whispering words echo invisibly around you…protect you…all and everything…keep them safe. Thinking it over, the words appear to be coming from you.

Once you’re back to the more familiar sight of looking down at the man, you want to reach out again, so you do. This time, he seems to reluctantly let you stroke his hair for a brief second before he tears his head away.

It doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve any gratitude anyway. You failed.

An unpleasant tugging sensation fills your entire expanse and you realise your time is up. You’re about to let yourself go when you spot him.

Dean, on the porch, looking remarkably younger, but still recognisably Dean. The expression on his face physically hurts you. You didn’t know that could happen, that it was even possible, until you had felt it and now want to curl into a miserable ball.

Dean doesn’t seem to see you, which you are thankful for. His eyes focus solely on the couple as you slink away, drifting into the blinding white and returning home for what you realise is the last time.
Dean ached all over from his early morning digging workout and felt even more fatigued from his three hours of sleep than he would have if he’d just stayed awake. Even asleep his mind had raced, sometimes repeating the demon’s words again and again, other times simply replaying the moment he’d thrown all caution to the wind and kissed Castiel. He couldn’t decide which one was distracting him the most.
Sam had already lowered the woman’s body into the grave they had dug, but not without complaint, and all they needed now was for Castiel to do his thing so that they could be on their way. For some unknown reason, Dean had volunteered to go wake him up.

Even though the kiss had seemed like the logical thing to do at that moment in time, and admittedly he didn’t exactly regret it now, Dean still wasn’t sure where things stood, with himself, let alone Castiel. As he approached the bedroom door in the morning he was understandably nervous.

Castiel was in the middle of attempting to stand when the door swung open fully and Dean walked in, unable to stop the delight spreading across his features at seeing Castiel up and about. Maybe he wouldn’t remember, Dean tried to convince himself; the fever had been pretty severe.

“Hey, you’re feeling better. That’s great because we really should get a move on. I don’t want to be here any longer than we need to be.” Dean held up a small, thin leather square and wiggled it in the air. “But before we do anything, we need to get you warded up,” he explained.

“Of course,” Castiel accepted neutrally, giving no insight into the inner workings of his mind.

Dean flicked open the leather square like it was a book and inside rested a pot of ink, a couple of pens, a few pencils and a very thin paintbrush. He pulled out a number of utensils and held them in his teeth while he removed the pot of ink. He tossed the square uselessly onto the bed and looked at Castiel as he tried to figure out how he was going to do this.

“Just sit on the bed,” he eventually decided, dropping to his knees when Castiel settled nervously on the edge.

With the pot unscrewed and his tools ready, Dean shuffled forward on his knees until he was within reach of Castiel.

“Okay, try not to move,” he instructed as he peeled Castiel’s shirt away from one of his shoulders. “Sam and I have gotten pretty good at doing it ourselves but I’ll do it for you this one time, just to show you how, alright?”

Castiel nodded minutely and stared at a point over Dean’s shoulder. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he just started on the symbol.

For a long time, Dean worked in silence, trying to keep his breathing slow and regular, knowing that Castiel could probably feel it on his chest, but unusually Castiel broke the silence with his heavily sombre voice.

“I remember, Dean.”

The three words were enough to make Dean’s heart trip over a beat. He’s not usually one to talk so bluntly about these kinds of things. As he’d proved earlier, he was better with actions than he was with words but if Castiel was going to bring it up then they might as well try and get things straightened out in both of their heads.

Dean took a breath; sucking in all the warm air around Castiel’s shoulder and making him shiver ever so slightly. He pulled back until he could see Castiel’s face and started in with his second from-the-heart speech in as many days.

“Good,” Dean said, resolute and nodding. “I’m glad.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed a fraction and he opened his mouth, ready to talk, but Dean swiftly interrupted. “Actually, you know what, it’s fucking great.” He pushed back onto his feet and began pacing. “I can’t tell you why I kissed you, Cas, but I do know that I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’ve never really had anyone that I could call a friend, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t how it goes for most people, but our lives are pretty fucking far from normal, so I don’t think sustaining a normal relationship with someone is possible for us.”

“Dean -” Castiel tried but was cut off again.

“I still stand by everything I said last night, Cas. You’re family now and you can’t abandon family. We’re going to get that son of a bitch before he can hurt anyone else and I want you to stay with me, with Sam, all of us together,” he finished and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

This time, Castiel wasn’t grinning and Dean immediately wanted to cram the words back into his mouth and swallow them down forever. But, once Castiel realised he was allowed to talk, he surprised Dean.

“Thank you, Dean. I’m glad you told me. I feel the same way. I don’t want to leave you or Sam.” He took a moment to tilt his head at Dean in pity. “But that wasn’t what I meant by ‘I remember’.”

Dean cringed and fought back the urge to bury his face in his hands. “It wasn’t?”

“No,” he repeated and moved away from the bed. “What I meant was I remember everything. Who I am, what I did, how we’re linked, everything.”

“Well shit, that’s a good thing, right?” Dean managed to say over his own shock.

“In a way,” agreed Castiel.

Shaking his head, Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and gently guided him backwards until he was back to sitting on the edge of the bed. He quickly dropped down next to him and waited expectantly.

“So what is it?” Dean prompted after Castiel had had long enough to organise his thoughts.

Castiel looked Dean directly in the eye and said, without a hint of doubt, “I was an angel of the Lord.”

It was so quiet in the room that Dean thought he could hear Sam tending to the horses through the broken window. Castiel was staring at him, waiting for a reaction and Dean didn’t think he had one to give him.

He settled for a shaky, “What?” in between trickles of nervous laughter but Castiel’s expression didn’t crack.

“This may be hard for you to hear, Dean, but I want you to listen to it all regardless.” Dean’s expression was dubious but he kept his mouth shut for a change and gestured for Castiel to continue with wide eyes.

“I was an angel of the Lord but I fell. It was voluntary but once I became human I couldn’t retain my memories of being an angel and since I never really existed before four years ago my human memories were also lacking.”

Dean couldn’t think sitting down so he left the bed and faced Castiel on his feet. He wasn’t retreating or creating a distance, he just needed to think.

“Why would an angel of the Lord want to become human? Surely that’s a bit of a backwards deal,” he argued.

Castiel quickly ducked his head, although Dean managed to catch a glimpse of shame and grief before he hid his face.

“I wasn’t fit to be an angel any longer.”

Dean allowed anger to cloud his confusion and reluctance to believe what he was hearing. “And what, being human is your punishment? Is that what you think of us? Of me?”

Like a shot, Castiel’s head was up, angelic wrath darkening his features.

“It may have started out like that but now I can’t help but feel that this life is some kind of reward I am unworthy of having. Angels are meant to be sources of faith and hope, Dean, but I failed and I fell.” There was a clear trace of human self-loathing in Castiel’s voice that must be new for him but he took to it like all humans do, like a pro.

“What could you have possibly done that would make an angel think, fuck this? Because it seems like it would have to be a pretty big something, Cas.”

Beads rattled as Castiel began to fiddle with the looping bracelet around his wrist. Dean couldn’t help but think it looked silly now he’d heard Castiel’s claims but it didn’t stop the angel from running his fingers over it in times of stress.

“Time flows differently up there than it does down here. And when I found myself with a lull I started to watch people, whole families or towns grow and disappear,” recalled Castiel with a slight smile. “There was one house that I would watch all the while; a husband and wife on a deserted edge of a town. She used to glow every time I saw her and the husband was fiercely loyal and protective. I began to feel genuine fondness for them as I watched them live out their lives.”

Dean tightened his fists. His hands were shaking and he couldn’t seem to stop them. Castiel’s story wasn’t sitting right with him and he was pretty sure he could guess where it was heading. The knowledge that Castiel was larger than he ever could have imagined was beginning to make him feel very small.

“They eventually had children, two boys, and I watched them grow as well.” Castiel’s smile grew soppy for a second and then his whole face darkened as he continued. “But I soon realised I wasn’t the only one captivated by them. They had drawn the attention of a powerful demon, the woman especially, and I began to fear for their safety. The thing about angels, Dean, is that they’re not meant to interfere. I was supposed to be a watcher of heaven not of earth.”

The shaking had spread to Dean’s legs and was getting so bad that he was afraid they’d give out soon. He clumsily dropped onto the bed, being careful to leave a space between himself and the supposed ex-angel.

“It wasn’t right for me to interfere but I couldn’t just let the demon destroy everything they had built.” The very human sin of pride filled Castiel’s voice here. “It took more strength and precision than I thought would be necessary but I eventually appeared in front of the family. I wanted so much to be able to help them but, as it turned out, I was too late. The demon had killed the mother and in turn had ultimately ripped the family apart. To top it all off, the demon had also gotten away and I had failed.”

Castiel’s fingers were twisting the small cross on his wrist in every direction. His nails were white due to his overly tight grip. Dean felt like he should reach out to still them but that would involve unclenching his hands and he wasn’t entirely sure he could manage that.

“I tried to help the husband with what energy I had left behind but evidently it wasn’t enough to save him and his children suffered for it. Once I returned to Heaven, I didn’t know what to do. Before, faith had always guided me but after that I felt lost. I eventually came to the conclusion that I was no longer an angel. I had lost the right to call myself that when I let the mother die, so I fell.”

“Cas…” Dean tried to comfort him awkwardly, ignoring the lump in his throat that appeared thanks to the nickname.

“It was both the best and worst decision I could have made. I felt, and still do feel, that this gift of a life is too good for me. I didn’t and don’t deserve it and then, against all possible chance, you found me, Dean. I failed your family but to you I was a stranger and you were so kind to me. I realise now that it’s finally my chance to help you.”

Castiel abruptly finished his story and looked towards Dean. There was fear and hope in his eyes and Dean wondered what emotion, of many he was feeling, was showing on his face, because there were simply too many in his head to know which one was winning out. He wasn’t sure whether to strike out or pull closer and Castiel looked seconds away from bolting.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot to take in but I really do want to help you,” implored Castiel as he placed an uncertain hand on top of the sheets close to Dean’s thigh. “I understand if you –”

“Shut up, Cas. Just…shut up,” Dean interrupted without malice as his body seemed to come to an agreement with his head and he dove forward to catch Castiel’s lips with his own. Thoughts spanning from ‘You’re crazy, he just told you he was an angel’ and ‘Wow, his lips are chapped’ screamed through Dean’s head at the contact but none of them seemed important enough to get him to pull back.

Being mid-sentence, Castiel’s mouth was already open and Dean wasted no time in pulling him closer. Castiel tasted like sweat and damp due to the fever and it was so human that Dean forgot about angels and demons, heaven and hell, and all that followed.

Gripping tightly to Castiel’s shoulder, Dean pushed him down and settled on top, lining their bodies up from chest to calf. Castiel moaned in appreciation as his bare chest rubbed against Dean’s worn shirt, currently experiencing another human sin, lust. Again, he caught on like a duck to water, kissing back hungrily.

When Dean finally pulled back in order to draw in a decent breath, he took the time to really appreciate Castiel’s hooded eyed look. At some point, Castiel’s hands had found their way into Dean’s hair and went to tug him down again but Dean held himself back on his elbows.

He wasn’t usually one to over-think things, if anything it was more likely that he would be accused of the opposite, but looking down at Castiel, self-proclaimed angel of the Lord, Dean couldn’t help but let his mind wonder.

“Should I feel guilty about this?”

Castiel shrugged as well as he could in his position and turned his head to the side, rubbing his stubble covered cheek across the pillow. “I am no longer an angel and never will be again. Make of that what you will.”

Dean nodded, making a face that hopefully conveyed deep though, then felt no guilt about dipping his head to brush his lips against Castiel’s throat. “Whatever you say, Father,” he murmured into Castiel’s skin while hiding a teasing smile.

As if he was in the middle of a very satisfying stretch, Castiel arched his back off the bed when Dean stopped to suck on a patch of his neck. He made a noise that was decidedly not angelic and yanked on Dean’s hair to bring his mouth back to his own. The assault of sensations, the slick slide of chapped lips, the rough fist in his hair and the push of hips, left Dean begging for more.

They continued to kiss lazily and without purpose until they heard heavy stomping footsteps enter the house. With an audible smack, Dean jerked away from Castiel and held himself at arm’s length, his chest heaving from the short burst of panic as they simply stared at each other.

“Guys, we should probably leave soon if we don’t want to be stuck here for another night,” Sam shouted from the vicinity of the front door, completely unaware of what he would have been witness to had he moved further into the house.

Dean watched as Castiel’s face dropped into a look of abject disappointment and couldn’t stop the wheezy laugh that escaped his mouth. It’s not like he could fault Castiel because he too was already thrumming with need and close to twitching with an overwhelming desire to ignore Sam and his tendency to interrupt.

As though he could read Dean’s mind and could see where his brain was heading, Castiel slowly but blatantly brought his knee up and slipped it between Dean’s legs, all the while keeping his expression blank and innocent. The feeling of pins and needles across Dean’s skin doubled to an uncomfortable level and he scowled down at the guileless, unassuming face beneath him.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice cut in again, reminding Dean that if they didn’t stop now they probably never would.

Reluctantly, Dean pried himself away from Castiel’s grasping hands. He was still straddling Castiel’s straying legs when he called back to his brother.

“Yeah, all right, we’re coming.” He kept his words short and clipped in an attempt to hide his lust roughened tone. Close to giving in, he dropped a few more kisses onto Castiel’s face, who gratefully accepted them, and began to climb up and off before he could become too distracted again.

“I know where we need to go,” Castiel near enough slurred, stretched out alone across the bed, looking more like a cat drinking in the sun than any kind of devoutly religious man, let alone an angel.

“Oh, yeah? You suddenly got angelic tracking powers now, or something?” Dean joked while he straightened his clothes and reordered his hair.

Castiel gently rocked his head side to side, eyes lightly closed as he thought.

“We need to go back home,” he supplied after a yawn. Dean didn’t bother drawing attention to the fact that Castiel had simply referred to it as home, not your home. Unless they were going to take a trip upstairs, he found it rather endearing.

“Okay, let’s go. Preferably before Sam has a bitch-fit.”

He held his hand out to Castiel and helped pull him to his feet. The fever had passed but Castiel still appeared lethargic and unsure on his feet. Together, they headed for the door.

Tags: dean/cas big bang, supernatural
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