Chapter Text
Taking a moment to survey the carnage and reach out with his grace to see if there might be an additional wave of demons headed this way, Castiel doesn’t mean to ignore Dean, repeatedly calling his name, he just needs to insure they are well and truly safe before he tells the hunter what is going on. When his gaze comes to rest on the human opposite him, the sight of his bare skin, tan and covered in earth and blood, knife still clenched in one hand, muscles ticking off in chorus prepared for another attack, it arrests him enough that he does not immediately respond. And this is a blessing.
Cas…Cas…Cas…
The name, panted out on each exhale, was not coming from his lips, which are closed in a firm, tight line. He is praying them, or rather speaking it out loud in his head. And the sound of that rasping timbre pulsing in through Castiel’s consciousness thrusts down through his spine, doing strange things to his vessel’s stomach. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, he thinks in frustration. Just the thought of the angel’s name is enough to port him into the man’s head, he cannot stop this action, it is totally involuntary. To know an angel’s name is to hold the power to create a link at will, without the creature’s consent. He knows the human does not understand. Stay the hell outta my head Cas, a man’s gotta have a little privacy. And for a time that had been fine, he did not intrude or riffle as his brothers did so casually, even as the pull of their bond, forged when he pulled that soul from Hell, teased at him constantly to do so.
Castiel recalls it now, it had been the only intimacy ever allowed between the two, the careful, sacred work of Castiel’s grace and hands stitching the ragged film of the righteous man’s soul back together. Even then, torn and dimming as it was, it had still been brighter than most other souls were in one piece. It had been captivating, and Castiel never revealed to anyone how he had taken his time, run his grace over the body and soul perhaps more than was needed. This beautiful thing in his hands had known so little care, had suffered unimaginable torment , this one time Castiel could make sure he knew a measure of tenderness. Dean wouldn’t remember, but maybe some echo of that kindness could remain, even after Castiel must return back to the detachment his role required of him. That would be the end, and he truly believed his fascination would dissolve after that day, it was in his nature after all. But the bond was formed, and strengthened with each casual touch, each friendly exchange, each time Dean responded to a threat as if it was the human’s duty to protect the angel and not the other way around. Castiel took steps to make sure their relationship was only ever affably professional, though that line was sometime hard to distinguish with humans.
But now, Dean’s almost willful ignorance of celestial communication had presented a real problem. Up until recently, Dean had only ever spoken to Castiel out loud, as if the angel needed to use his ears to receive a prayer. With that and the human’s firm demands to keep out of his “melon”, it had been easy to let the hunter believe his privacy was safe. But something had changed.
Not long ago there had been a call, and then another a short space behind that. This happened twice, an echo, before Castiel had realized what was happening. Then it had moved on, a sentence, a phrase, curling little fingers of the hunter’s voice worming into his head at all hours. It took effort now not to just pop in at the first sound of his human’s call, he had to pause, to evaluate the quality of the prayer so as to only appear when he was sure the request had been spoken. Dean might not understand, he might be having a bit of fun now, but what would happen when that had passed? What if he believed the angel had been lying all this time, that his thoughts had not been private, that Castiel had been prying into his mind without his consent? It would be a terrible affront, he felt sure Dean would see it that way eventually, might despise him for it, for this thing he was totally without power to control. And so he let the human believe, ignoring as best he could that voice that held so much draw.
But that night.
He had been thinking of Dean, how the lull in monster activities had meant there was little reason for the man to need his help. He thought of the brothers, getting a much deserved rest, maybe happy for a minute in a joke between them, and he missed Dean terribly.
Castiel was in a chamber of Heaven that had been closed off almost since its creation, Michael’s quarters. His garrison the one charged with cataloging the belongings, for though they all thought Michael would return someday, somehow, his rather significant post needed to be filled. And the things he had collected, the relics, the weapons, the knowledge, must be categorized and prepared for whoever was to be the replacement. At least that’s what they had been told.
The moment he laid eyes on the tome, his thoughts snapped to the hunters. Nothing like this existed on earth, he was sure of it. With a few cursory glances, he could see the details, the notes and passages that told of spells lost to time, of portals on earth not even the angels knew of, lineages of monsters with the names of their Alphas. Prophecies that hadn’t even been spoken of yet. Everything else they’d been sorting through were all trinkets, ageless, priceless, useless stuff, but this?
This was going to be taken, locked away where…..
Dear Castiel, I have a pizza and some beer and a marathon of Vincent Price movies that aren’t going to watch themselves. Tell your brothers to sit on it for a minute and come on down here.
He physically started at the voice, clear as if the man was standing at his side. But it was a test, he knew this, and the wonder he should be feeling at seeing this previously unknown corner of Heaven, at holding treasures he might never touch again, could not compete with the overwhelming desire to go to his human’s side, to leave the glory around him and do something so simple as sit on an old couch and watch a film with Dean.
It was very good his brothers were not looking this way, for the smile as he looked down at the volume in his hands would have caused them much concern.
Something like this really should be shared with the hunters…..right now, in fact.
*
Digging graves on an empty stomach was never typically an option, but just now it was the single most important task at hand. Dean needed to drag, push, shovel earth over the burned bodies of the demon vessels, fill his nose with the smell of the backhoe’s fuel instead of the ozone and rain that came from Castiel as he stood too close. He needed to stop the itch in his muscles with the task of heavy labor to distract them, and other parts, from the mutiny they were about to invoke.
It was humiliating, standing practically naked and so visibly aroused in front of Cas. The adrenaline and desire and satisfaction he got from a good fight were roiling over each other, feeding back and building to an unbearable pitch as the small shard of his rational thought was battered and whipped on the tide as he tried to deny, deny, deny. He did not want Cas. That wasn’t an option. This was the high of combat, they had fought together in such a terrifying union, that must be what was exciting him.
You want to take him, said the tide. You want to tear that coat from his shoulders and mark that clean white shirt with the dirt and the blood on your hands, to pull him down with you and make him filthy with a map of your touch. You want to hear that voice cry out your name in a new way.
Dean kicked one of the bodies into the ditch, appreciating the sound of something crunching under his heel. He hadn’t meant to be so short with Cas when told him to take care of his brother’s body and round up the boys while he got rid of the rest. He just needed to break that goddamned spell, get some space between them so he could think again.
Jesus, what the fuck Dean?!
Ok, so he had felt himself getting closer and closer to the angel, he knew that. With everything he’d done for them throughout their battle with Lucifer, it had just felt like bringing someone else into the family fold. A friend, someone who trusted them and had their trust, who was trying his best to do what was right and protect life, same as the brothers, in this swamp of bullshit pulling them all down.
Seems to be getting a little X rated for just a friend…
It wasn’t, it couldn’t. There shouldn’t even be a doubt about this. It wasn’t only that he never thought of himself as gay, the surety of his previous desires hadn’t ever allowed such a consideration a moment’s purchase. He truly liked women, they were such a refreshing change after a job, the ones he pursued the right kind of trouble. He didn’t have time for a chase.
But he’d had a perfectly good reason for never picking someone and trying to settle down. The hunt was his mate, and as much as the tug of a family came to him in quiet moments, he had come to recognize that it wasn’t really something he should have. He was a better man when he had someone to fight for, but could he really fight for Lisa or Ben sitting in one place, ticking by time until some evil twisted thing from his past took them apart before his eyes for vengeance?
His brother was a skilled hunter, born into the life, yet each time he was in danger or suffering, Dean understood painfully why most hunters worked alone. Besides, Sammy was going to leave him one day. The softness in him, the need for an open emotional bond that Dean just could not fulfill, would drive him into the arms of some pretty blonde thing. So he would be alone eventually, living the hard freedom that had become such a drug. And it would be good, alone kept everyone safe.
And if that thought and a drink weren’t enough, he would find a woman with a pretty face and a warm body that made him feel charming and strong, let him pretend for a night that this soft thing beside him was his to protect and he was able to do it.
Then, fuck it all, along comes Cas. A warrior of God that could break his fragile human body without effort, and when he was with him, Dean had never felt stronger. The fight this morning had only accentuated that fact. Cas lived in his world, could keep up, made Dean keep up with him. It was that otherworldly strength coupled with the angel’s innocence that drew him, picked at him slowly until he found their friendship wasn’t enough. He wanted more, but there was an end state, so impossibly far it could not even give itself a name.
Dean yanked the gears of the backhoe mercilessly as the scoopfuls of black earth fell in soft whomps. Goddamnit he needed a drink.
*
“Are you tellin’ me Heaven’s got a hit out on us?” Sam and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, Castiel at the window, searching the perimeter with more than just his eyes.
“No, that is unlikely. Should Heaven itself command your deaths, this place would be obliterated. They are very thorough.” Castiel could hear the machine Dean was using to bury the bodies clunk to a halt. He pondered a moment if he should wait to continue. “I believe there is something unseemly going on among some of the ranks in Heaven. There are conflicting orders, there are secrets. I should have been more attentive to why, after so long, it became an imperative to open Michael’s chambers.”
At that moment Dean returned. He scowled at each of them in turn before ripping open the fridge and grabbing a beer. The cap skittered across the counter, accentuating a thick silence that spoke to how he must look. He was still in his boxers, though a gapping tear in one side exposed his whole right hip. From the waistband there he had tucked in Ruby’s knife. Blood streaked the fronts of both shins where it had run from the abrasions on his knees. Every last inch of him was covered in dirt and sweat and he wanted nothing more than a shower right now, but he had successfully curdled his desire into anger and he knew at least he could get some satisfaction out of that.
“Talk.” Cas wasn’t looking at him, was pointedly staring at the center of the table. Good.
“As I was telling them, something has happened. We were ordered very suddenly to open Michael’s chambers under the directive that his effects might be required by the angel chosen to replace him. This is odd, there are enough Archangels in the firmament to handle matters for a few thousand years at least. But we went in, and I found that book, and when I returned from showing it to you, I placed it somewhere it might be discovered. A newer recruit to our garrison, Hecatea, I watched as she uncovered it and took it to the brother in charge. I got the very distinct impression that it held significance for them. Shortly thereafter we were ordered to leave, that the job was finished though it very clearly was not.” Castiel risked a glance at the group, “Then they began to question us, about our human charges, about our interactions. They made it all sound like a general inquisition for the whole of Heaven, but I know for a fact they only questioned those with human charges that had been in that room.” The boys exchanged looks, Sam the first to speak.
“So they know someone saw something, but they don’t know who?” Castiel shook his head.
“I can’t be sure of that. They could suspect a human had handled an artifact, or they could just be tying up probable loose ends. Then a human charge died, in a demon attack. I returned to Michael’s chambers in secret. It has been destroyed along with everything in it.” Castiel moved to the window again, as if a fresh threat was pulling his focus. “I felt dread. I watched you from Heaven, and this morning I saw Benedict flying towards you with intention. I stopped him.” Castiel turned to Dean now, “And then the demons came.” Dean downed the last of his beer, glanced at the fridge and decided against another. He pointed a finger at Cas, the empty bottle still in his hand.
“And you’re sure this is over that book?” Castiel glanced toward the library, as if the text in question was watching them.
“Not entirely, but sure enough. There was nothing else that might cause this sort of reaction. Things of great value, yes, priceless, but nothing that warrants a partnership with those abominations.”
“So you think if someone wanted to keep its contents a secret,” Sam pondered, “Even from the company of Heaven, they might look to…outside help?”
“Alright, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dean stood up and set the bottle down with a little too much force. “Bobby, you’re going to go in that room and read every friggin’ page of that thing front to back till we find a reason why they want to roast our marshmallows. Sam, you’re going to get us food, real food, cause we ain’t leaving till Bobby’s got this figured out. I’m going to get a shower.”
“How do you need me?” The blue eyes almost pleading. Goddamnit Cas, phrasing.
“You help Bobby, you’re not going anywhere till we got this figured out.” At that he stomped upstairs.
Closing the bathroom door, Dean leaned heavily against the sink, propped on his hands and glowering at himself in the mirror. He’d barely made it. The anger had begun to dissipate the moment he realized that Cas had saved them, yet again, from his own asshole family. And without that anger as a rooting distraction, Dean had begun to feel just how unclothed he was and that began to feed a fresh arousal. He’d remembered the dream that had wracked his unconscious, how the feeling never fully faded even as he ran outside into what he thought might be his own fiery death. He remembered how the sight of Cas in trouble bled everything but purpose from his mind. How they had fought together so perfectly, the way the angel looked when he strode across the field and what that sight did to him. He had been sitting there pissed off at the difficulty he was having piecing together these new emotions when Castiel’s eyes had raked over Dean’s body in that clinic way of his and, knowing how much of himself the angel could see under such insubstantial fabric, had activated his instinct to flee.
Dammit Cas. He groaned. This was a terrible idea.
What the hell are you doing? You’re making him stay?!
Cas is a friggin’ angel, he can leave whenever he wants. This is just a job.
Bullshit, he’ll do whatever you ask and you know it. He could be doing a hundred other things upstairs to help, he doesn’t need to be under the same roof. Tell him to leave.
I want him here.
Listen you, I’m the brains of this operation. You just get me into trouble.
Dean, get in the shower. It’s not like he’s going to know what we’re doing…
No! No. Stop that. We are NOT—ok listen, stop………ONE TIME. Do you hear me? We do this one time and then that’s it. Get it out of your system brother cause it’s not going to happen again.
Yeah, I got it! One time…
*
Castiel sat on the couch in the library utterly confused.
There was an argument going on upstairs, which he was trying not to listen to, focusing instead on what Bobby was saying about dividing up the work. For a moment he’d thought the brothers were in an altercation about his presence here, which made him sad, but then Sam had bounded out the front door and the voices hadn’t stopped. How was that-? He now realized, they both sounded like Dean. Castiel attempted to go back over the bits of conversation he’d half heard, trying to piece it together when a wave of images crashed over his back with the sound of his name and soaked him with liquid fire. It was so sudden and needful and unexpected that he hadn’t realized his whole body tensed under the assault.
“You ok boy? You look like somebody’s tossed a badger in yer lap.” Castiel looked up, willing his limbs to relax, but the images were coming too fast. Of lips and teeth, of the buttons of his shirt being ripped from their moorings by strong, greedy hands.
“You better be careful with that, we only got the one.” Bobby was eyeballing the copied page in his hands, strained and threatening to split under the insentient force of Castiel’s fingers. He took a breath and focused on composing himself, how was he to explain to Bobby that he was having a hard time concentrating when Dean was upstairs pleasuring himself to Cas’ image, sending him the thoughts and lighting every inch of his skin on fire?
Castiel eased his grip on the paper, picked up two more. The lie of reviewing them hiding the fact that he was fully tuned into what was happening just above him.
The onslaught of images came in a random jumble, as if Dean had been flicking through channels on the television. It was almost too fast to comprehend, and in a moment they ebbed, and Castiel thought it might be over, his heartbeat beginning to slow. Then his head lit up with the picture of Dean standing in the garage next to his baby, leaning against the hood and dragging his eyes slowly up to the ceiling.
“Cas I need you.” Castiel sucks in a real breath at the low register of the hunter’s voice. In his head, he sees himself appear and a small tremor breaks out in his hands with anticipation.
“Hello Dean.” The world seems to pause, and in that space another wave of desire knocks into him brutally. Curious, that the greeting he uses each time he meets Dean should have this kind of effect in the dream. But he does not have time to consider this further as the fantasy continues with Dean making predatory steps toward Castiel, stopping a good distance before fishing something from his pocket. It flashes as he flicks his wrist, but it takes a familiar click for Castiel to recognize it. Dean’s lighter. The flame flickers an eternity as it falls to the dirt, and then his double looks on in shock as the ring of holy fire ignites and he is firmly trapped.
Castiel’s heart begins to pound so hard Bobby must hear it. Holy fire was something angels feared, an inescapable prison from which only luck or mercy may free them. The thought that Dean might want to trap him for another purpose entirely is thrilling. He watches the two of them, staring at each other over a border of flame, neither moving, neither looking away. The tension strings out and Castiel can feel it physically piercing into his chest. He has stopped breathing altogether.
The fantasy Dean finally moves, stalking the perimeter of the circle, eyeing his prey.
“Take off your coat.” The Castiel in his mind freezes, eyes wide.
Dean makes it halfway around, stopping when he sees Castiel has not complied with his demand.
“I can wait forever Cas.” The angel follows the hunter’s gaze, eyes locked. The moment stretches to breaking before the angel carefully removes his trench coat, extending an arm to let it drop in a soft pile. Dean resumes his pacing, raising a hand to gesture at the jacket, shirt and tie. The angel swallows hard and Castiel feels his real vessel do the same. Long fingers unknot the fabric at his throat, pulling it undone and letting it snake to the ground. Next each button is slowly addressed with shaking fingers, the shirttails tugged from the waistband of his trousers. When it is done, he shrugs out of the garments and stands, breathing hard, as Dean comes to a halt in front of him. The hunter appraises the firm planes of pale skin glowing with the surrounding blaze. Dean crosses his arms in front of his torso, easily lifting his own shirt above his head to reveal the smooth expanse of hard muscle, shadows dancing in the terrain of his curves.
Sitting ridged on the couch, Castiel feels his arousal becoming unmanageable, the waves of desire so unrelenting it is all he can do to keep himself still and silent as Bobby reads not ten feet away. He wants to run upstairs and beg Dean to stop, to make this torture end but then he thinks on what might happen at this moment if he were to be confronted by a very real, very nude Dean Winchester fisting his own cock under the hot spray of water, suddenly made aware he was broadcasting these thoughts to the person in the starring role. It would not end well.
“The rest.” Dean in the fantasy watches, shadows and light darting across his features. The angel doesn’t hesitate this time, discarding the rest of his clothes until he is fully naked and standing helpless as the flames surrounding him and the flames within compete to burn him to ash.
“Dean please…” But the hunter only glares as he continues to undress himself. “Why are you doing this?”
And his own voice sounds so desperate and raw; Castiel knows that if he were to speak at just this moment his vessel’s voice would sound the same.
The human’s body is beautiful, poised and taut with purpose and he can see every stark line of muscle and how it ripples beneath the skin. The hunter advances over the wall of fire untouched.
“Because Cas, you’re gonna stay. I will keep you in this spot until I’ve found every way there is to make you come apart and beg.”
“Excuse me please - - I need a…m-moment.” Castiel stumbled out of the library, unable to stand it any longer. Bobby gave him a quizzical look but said nothing. Managing not to tear the door from its hinges and run at full speed, Castiel walks stiffly down the drive, looking left and right for somewhere, anywhere he can hide from the onslaught in his head. It doesn’t stop.
Dean threads his left hand in the angel’s hair and pulls back hard, baring lips and throat to the hunter’s whims. The other hand slides down the angle of his side to reach around, gripping the curve of Castiel’s ass and pulling their hips together in an exquisite pressure. Castiel clutches at Dean’s chest.
“How long do you think it will take me, hmm?” The hunter lowers his mouth one agonizing inch but does not make contact. Castiel bucks in protest but his head is held firm by Dean’s hand. “To rip every filthy sound out of that pretty mouth of yours?” Dean rolls his hips hard and the coarse staccato moan that flies out of the angel is shockingly obscene, but it is nothing compared his next cry.
“Deeeannn….”
His vision goes white at the edges as Castiel careens to the side, the rusted skeleton of an old car the only thing breaking his fall.
“Unhh…Caaassss!!”
His own name is screamed through his head. Then it stops.