Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All three of them should have known better, really. Dean’s almost angry at himself for not taking precautions with this kind of thing. Actually, scratch that, there’s no almost about it, he is angry with himself. If Kevin were with them at the time, he would have had the common sense, the logic and clear-headedness to tell them to stop, to think about it, to be more careful before they started rummaging through the long-abandoned Men of Letters storeroom.

The trouble is, the excitement of the batcave, with all its twisting corridors, basements and balconies, hidden passageways and secret dungeons, it sometimes gets the better of them. The Winchesters should really be calmer about it all, except they’ve never really had a home before, Bobby’s house being the closest thing, and that certainly hadn’t been anywhere near this fascinating.

The mere size of it, hidden parts included, has Dean itching to make geeky Doctor Who ‘TARDIS’ references left right and centre, but he restrains himself after Sam starts giving him pitying looks. Cas seems just as intrigued with the place, a little smile on his face as he wanders around aimlessly, trying to distract himself from the plight of his newly-human self.

Dean helps him with these distractions by encouraging explorations of their new digs, and Sam tags along, the three of them discovering a new room every day, and searching the contents until their curiosity is satisfied. This is how they find themselves in the storeroom, miserable and a little afraid, a wooden box smashed to splinters at their feet.

One hour earlier:

“Hey Sam, come see this, there’s gotta be around forty shelves of different animal resins over here.”

“Ew, I’m sure it’s great.” Sam replies, wrinkling his nose. “I’m good over here.”

Sam turns back to the cupboard he’s knelt before, continuing his search through it as he gingerly picks up each object and brings it close to his face for inspection. The cupboard seems to be filled mostly with jars, containing a wide assortment of strange objects, from (according to the label) the soil of a saint’s grave, to what looks and smells like a decaying dragon claw.

Dean makes a hmmph sound, folding his arms and pouting when Sam refuses to come and see what he’s found. Animal resins are interesting damn it – they’re always required in the summoning spells they cook up now and again.

“Whatever,” Dean says, rolling his eyes at Sam’s concentration, visible even through his turned back, “Cas appreciates my findings, right?”

Cas looks over at Dean from the other side of the moderately large room at the sound of his name, a wooden box clutched in his hands. “Your animal resins are an extremely useful find Dean, well done.”

It would make Dean happier hearing those words if Cas hadn’t been smirking when he said it. Oh sure, Dean thinks, patronise the high school dropout. “Fine!” Dean cries, sending his arms up into the air, and making his way over to Cas. “What’ve you found then?”

Cas eyes him a little nervously as he gets closer, a look in his eyes that Dean steadfastly tries to ignore. It’s been happening a little too often recently, the loaded stares, the feeling of something choking him whenever they get too close. Dean mostly pushes it aside with all his might, but it doesn’t mean he can stop himself from blushing right now under Castiel’s gaze. Luckily it’s quite dark in the storeroom.

“Dean, I-I- have a strange feeling about these boxes.” Castiel admits reluctantly, his eyes tearing themselves away from Dean long enough to sweep a glance over the several shelves of wooden boxes - similar to the one he's holding - covering the wall on this side of the room.

Dean raises his eyebrow at Cas. A strange feeling? These boxes look a bit old and dusty sure, and there are some sigils scratched into them, but Dean suspects they shouldn’t worry. One thing he’s learnt about The Men of Letters after living here a while is that they were a bit overly cautious.

“Nah, I’m sure it’s fine.” Dean replies, taking the box Cas is holding out of his hands to inspect it, and flinching a little when their hands touch. It’s an unconscious reaction of course. “Just a pretty box for the Men of Letters to keep their nic-nacs in.”

Sam turns his head to look at them upon hearing the word ‘box’ for the hundredth time. Dean lifts the box he’s holding up high for Sam to see, wiggling it around with pride. “Better than animal resins, Sammy?”

Sam sends him a bitchface and glances at Cas, who is still staring at Dean and the box worriedly. “Dean, I urge you to be careful, we don’t know-”

“Well then let’s find out!” Dean interrupts, grinning at Cas and turning his attention to the hinge holding the lid of the wooden box shut. The box itself is about the size of his forearm, and perfectly square; very intriguing. It should open pretty easily from what he can see, and he gets a twinge of excitement at the anticipation. “Heh,” Dean puffs, grinning at Cas again, “I feel like Pandora.”

Cas just tilts his head in response, and Dean kicks himself mentally for wasting the joke on someone who is unfamiliar with Greek mythology. Wait, hold up, didn't he live through that time? Never mind.

“Sam, get over here. We’re about to discover great untold treasures.”

Sam sighs, but complies, rising from the floor with considerable effort and making his way over towards them, needing to side-step several boxes and ornaments covering the floor on his way.

Once all three of them are gathered around the thing, Dean is satisfied, and he lifts the lid. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed by what lay inside. There, in the centre of the box, cushioned by deep purple satin, lay a greetings card. One of those crummy 99 cent Hallmark cards, with a stupid message and too much glitter.

The card has two silver hearts on it, intertwined with each other like a chain link, an inescapable bond, and for some reason it makes Dean shudder. Though that might just be all the glitter and the words ‘Be My Valentine?’ scrawled in the best calligraphy Hallmark could scrounge up with minimal cost.

“Well that was anti-climactic.” Sam says dryly, a small smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at the card. Dean glares at him, opening his mouth, ready to retort, but he is stopped by a hand clamping down on his arm, making the box wobble in his hands.

It’s Cas of course, and Dean squeaks a little at the unexpected skin-on-skin contact. His friend suddenly looks extremely afraid. “Dean… I highly suggest we put the box down.”

Dean frowns at him. “What? Why?”

“I- I don’t know… something’s wrong… I can feel it…”

Dean scoffs, turning to a concerned looking Sam and rolling his eyes. “Dude, you’re probably just hyper-sensitive to this room with all the crazy magic stuff in it... it’ll just be your angel mojo giving a final surge.”

A flash of hurt passes across Cas’s face at that, and he stares into Dean’s eyes for a second before turning his attention back to the box. Dean feels a little mean; he shouldn’t have said that. Cas doesn’t need reminding of the fact his grace is leaving him for good.

“Look,” Dean says, attempting to divert the conversation from its path, “it’s just a stupid greetings card for a dumb holiday. And a cheap one too, I’ll show you.”

Dean pulls free of Cas’s grip and reaches into the box, fingers brushing against the stiff card just as Cas sucks in a breath of fear. “Dean! Don’t-”

But it’s too late, Dean is already in full contact, and the moment the card is solid under his fingertips, a jolt of something powerful and sharp stabs through him, coursing through his hand, up his arm and spreading through his body. Dean jumps backwards, his entire body tingling wildly, the box slipping free of his fingers and falling to the floor. It smashes immediately, shards of split wood ricocheting out in every direction, tapping against their shoes.

Moments before Dean stumbles backwards, thrown off balance by the force of whatever just shocked him, he hears Sam sucking in a startled breath. Arms grip his waist, steadying him, and he knows instantly that it’s Cas, even though his eyes are squeezed shut against the sudden pounding in his skull.

A few seconds pass and the thrumming beneath Dean’s skin starts to ebb gently away, leaving him panting heavily and still in Cas’s arms. He peels open his eyelids, finding Sam and Cas peering at him worriedly.

“What the hell just happened?” Dean asks weakly, staring at Sam because turning to look at Cas right now would be way too intimate.

Sam’s lips press together in a tight line, and he stares down at the splinters of wood at his feet, the pristine Valentine’s Card in the centre, unblemished and utterly menacing.

“What happened is you touched the card despite my warnings, and now you’re probably cursed, judging by the spell that just hit you.” Castiel surmises, sounding irritated but also concerned. Panic rises in Dean’s chest, making his heart thrum.

He stands properly, pulling free of Cas’s hold. “What?! Cursed! Are you kidding me? How can you even tell?!”

Cas opens his mouth to respond but Sam gets there first, crouching down to get a closer look at the card itself, and picking up one of the wooden splinters between his thumb and forefinger. “Actually yeah, that’s probably a good theory. Cursed objects are often kept in boxes just like this, with the sigils carved into them, see-”

“Fantastic!” Dean yelps, throwing his hands in the air and glaring at his little brother. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I opened the damn box?!”

“Cas tried to tell you, you just didn’t listen-”

“Sam, this is not the time to blame people, just tell me what the damn curse involves. Am I gonna die?!”

Cas looks up at him then, his gaze strong and heavy. “No. You will not die, there are always ways to get out of these things. I’ll look around, try and find out what the greetings card was cursed with, you go and... sit still somewhere.”

Dean tries not to grumble, or have a panic attack, and goes to sit against one of the wall shelves, nearby to Sam and Cas, who start rummaging anxiously.

Half an hour later, Dean feels no different thankfully, though he has all but lost hope of finding out anything about how this curse may take form. Sam and Cas are being diligent, gingerly taking hold of box after box to examine the runes and sigils covering it, and then Sam uses his massively nerdy iPad to figure out what they mean.

“Ohmygod,” Sam suddenly says, utterly horrified, a few minutes later, just as Dean is retying his shoelace for the fifth time – purely out of boredom. Dean looks up just in time for his stomach to plummet as Sam drops the box he’s holding, and Cas lunges for it, catching it moments before it crashes to the floor because he’s awesome like that. Well, he’s just got awesome reflexes, that’s what Dean means to say.

“What is it, Sam?” Castiel is asking, not even mentioning the near-catastrophe that just occurred. Sam shoots him a look of gratitude even so, and Cas places the box on the shelf again as Sam turns his tablet to show Cas what he’s discovered. Cas’s wide-eyed expression as he reads does nothing for Dean’s nerves.

“Oh dear.” Cas says, a look of anxiety on his face.

“What?!” Dean cries, jumping to his feet. “What’s it say?! Am I gonna die?!”

“We need to get out of here. Right now.” Castiel says to Sam, solemn and deadly serious.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Sam agrees, grabbing his phone off one of the shelves and preparing to leave the stockroom.

“Huh?! Guys you can’t just leave me in here! I don’t know what’s-”

"Dean." An urgent voice interrupts Dean's inner panic, a familiar hand clamping down on his wrist again, tugging sharply, an indication he should follow. "You too.”

“Oh,” Dean says stupidly, immediately feeling embarrassed that he thought his brother and Cas would leave him to the mercy of a curse he knew nothing about.

They exit the stockroom swiftly, and Dean means to round on the both of them as soon as they’re out, he really does, but something is distracting him, a hot, burning, but not entirely unpleasant sensation, radiating at the spot where his wrist meets Castiel’s firm grip. He stares down at where their skin meets in wonder, expecting to see a glow surrounding heir joined body parts, but there is nothing unusual. Cas looks entirely unaffected.

Dean gulps, guessing this must be the beginnings of the curse, and wonders what the hell is in store, but before he can summon up the appropriate amount of dread, Cas releases him, and the sensation is gone almost as soon as it arrived. Dean lifts his wrist to his face, perplexed a he stares at the unmarred skin.

“Dean? Dean!”

Sam’s shrill cries bring him back to reality, and he looks up into his little brother’s fearful expression, back in the room, ready to help figure out what’s going on.

“Sorry, what’d you find?”

Sam sighs, thrusting the iPad towards Dean, and tells Cas he’s going to make some coffee for this, as they’ll likely be up all night trying to work this out. Dean walks over to the table in the centre of the room they've imaginatively desgnated the 'communal area', and sits down to read.

The article has several images of different runes and sigils, many of them matching the ones carved into the sides of the box. Dean can’t help but scoff a little at Sam’s amazing nerdtastic abilities.

Sigils such as these are amongst the most powerful known to man. Usually these types of carvings or drawings are used as protection, as they are able to ward off extremely strong spells. As these runes are so effective however, they will oftentimes not be used unless the spell in question is of serious danger, as widespread discovery of the sigils could lead to demonic forces using them for good instead of bad.

It is likely therefore, that if you find a sigil such as the one shown above, it is warding something of extreme power, possibly an object radiating such a strong curse that it is not even necessary to touch it in order to feel its effects, though of course touching it would be more detrimental to an unfortunate person’s health.

Dean puts the tablet down, groaning loudly. He notices for the first time that Cas has come to sit beside him, looking serious again.

“So, let me get this straight – you don’t have to touch the card to be affected, but if you do, it’s a hell of a lot worse?”

“That seems to be what the article suggests, yes.”

“So you guys are both cursed too, but not as strong?”

“It would appear.”

“And cause we broke the box with the protective sigils on it, that card is in the storeroom right now, leaking all its gooey cursey spell-stuff into the air as we speak?”

It’s clear as soon as Dean says the words that this thought had not occurred to either Cas or Sam before this moment. Sam chooses that second to re-enter the room, a tray in his hands holding a pot of coffee and three cups. Cas meets Sam’s wide eyes, and together they look back towards the stock room, as if they might be able to see tendrils of the curse snaking out from under the door.

“Shit.” Sam says tiredly, placing the tray on the table and running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, dudes, don’t worry.” Dean says, trying hard to sound like the voice of reassurance. “I’ve already touched the card once, right? Sam, if you draw some of those sigils on… err…” Dean looks around wildly, noting Cas’s apprehensive face and finding it only spurs him on further; he needs that angel to feel safe right now. The guy’s been through enough. His gaze rests at last on the box of chocolates Sam thoughtfully put on the tray as well, the same box Charlie brought with her on her last visit to the batcave, 'as a housewarming gift or something', as she’d put it. Dean grabs the box, grinning, and tears it open, emptying the chocolates onto the table, several of them landing in Cas’s lap. “Carve the sigils into this!”

“Dean… what are you getting at?” Sam asks incredulously, his eyes flicking to Cas as he picks up each chocolate that fell on him like it’s filled with poison, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger and depositing it back on the table.

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes like he’s talking to a five year old. “Look, we make a new protective box out of this, I go get the card, seeing as it can’t affect me further anyway, and we keep it in here,” Dean waves the empty box around again, “to stop it infecting more unsuspecting folk until we figure out how to cure ourselves.” Sam just stares, his brow furrowed, mouth slightly agape. “Capiche?”

“It’s… not a bad plan.” Cas says at length, still inspecting his thighs for any more stray chocolates. Dean licks his lips absent-mindedly. “On a temporary basis of course.”

“Alright.” Sam agrees reluctantly, digging his penknife out of his back pocket and reaching for the chocolates box. “Hurry up then, Kevin’s gonna be getting hungry soon. We want that thing out of the way by the time he graces us with his presence.”

“Nothing. There is nothing remotely reliable online in the way of information about cursed valentine’s cards. It’s all a bunch of whiny teenage girls telling the world that it must be the card they sent their boyfriend that’s cursed, cause there’s no way he’d cheat on them normally.” Sam sounds on the verge of tears. Another hour has passed since the fatal incident, and although the card now rests safely in a homemade protective box, surrounded by coffee granules and some fairly disgusting chocolates, they are no closer to finding out what the curse is or how to break it.

Sam has spent most of the time looking online for any clues, whilst Cas has been studiously going through any and all records in the storeroom, hoping for some detailed list of the cursed objects in those boxes, and any information that might come along with them.

Dean had initially tried to help him, but Cas had immediately ordered him to sit quietly and not exert himself in any way, as it could speed up the process of the spell working its way through his system. Dean had wanted to argue, but he’s never quite noticed how masterful Cas’s voice is before. Cas had fixed him with a glare to hammer the point home, and now Dean thinks he may never move again.

Of course, being unoccupied gives Dean nothing to focus on except the issue at hand, so by the time fifteen minutes have passed, he's a trembling wreck of frayed nerves. Who knows what this curse is doing to him? He tries to think of other things, of Sam’s childhood laugh, of hunting trips with Bobby, of an apple pie's flaky crust, of Cas’s sweet, rare smile…

He shakes himself free of that last thought, ignoring the bloom of some warm, happy feeling in his stomach. He half wishes Cas hadn’t chosen the seat next to his for this little study session. He’s sitting very close, their knees brushing against each other whenever each of them shift, and every time it sends a spark of electricity shuddering through Dean’s entire being.

Dean doesn’t want to alert the others, but he’s pretty sure it’s the curse working its magic, making him hypersensitive to every touch anyone gives him, and the fact that it’s Cas only worsens the situation, what with all the tension growing between them lately. He should move, Dean thinks, yeah, he should definitely move.

He glances over at Cas, finding the angel still bent over a file open on the table before him, his blue eyes raking over it with precision. He looks good in Dean’s old green t-shirt, despite it being a little too big. It hangs off his angular joints, the material skimming over his shoulder blades and splaying out like a waterfall over his back. They should get him some new clothes really, but Dean thinks he could stand to put that inevitability off a little while longer.

“Hey Cas, you ever notice how your shoulder blades kinda look like wings in that t-shirt?”

Dean is horrified with himself almost as soon as the words escape his mouth, and as Cas turns to look at him, slow and incredulous, he kind of wants to die. Not only has this angel only just lost his wings, making it very insensitive of Dean to mention them – but what the hell was that?! Why did he even say that out loud? It had been a passing thought across his mind, a mild observation, appreciating the shapely bone structure of Cas’s back and shoulders in his t-shirt, but it had never been his intention to let Cas know.

Cas just stares wordlessly, utterly bemused, and Dean fidgets under the intensity for a while until Sam splutters, clearly amused by Dean’s stupidity, and Dean leaps out of his chair. He walks towards Sam, blushing furiously, his cheeks blazing red, and slumps in the chair next to his brother, smacking the back of his head to quiet him. “Shut up, Sam.”

Cas’s eyes stay fixed on Dean for some time, but Dean ignores him, occupying his time instead by arranging the chocolates on the table into a little heart. Eventually, Castiel looks away.

Cas’s eyes are inhumanly blue. Dean’s been staring for around ten minutes now, and aside from the slightly confused, wondering glances Cas throws towards him every now and again, the ex-angel doesn’t appear to mind. But seriously, nobody’s eyes are that colour, it’s physically impossible; they’re like endless oceans tunnelling into Cas’s brain, swirling cerulean rock pools, and Dean just has to tell him.

“Hey Cas-”

“Oh, hey guys.” Kevin says from behind them, interrupting Dean before he can get the words out, making him scowl. Cas glances at Dean even so, swallowing quietly.

“Hey Kev,” Sam says wearily, turning to flash him a smile, “you hungry?”

Kevin chuckles, stretching his arms out behind him as he walks over to the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something. Ooh, chocolates.” He plucks one off the table and pops it into his mouth, sighing happily. “What’re you guys up to? Nice heart, Dean.”

Dean scowls again, swiping a hand through the heart-shape he’d created out of the many chocolates littering the table and pouting as Kevin chuckles at him.

“We should probably tell Kevin what’s happening, just in case he’s… already affected.” Castiel says, his eyes trained on Dean, gathering his reaction. Dean gives him a soft, barely-there smile.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Sam agrees, standing up and looking down at Kevin worriedly.

“Wait, what? Affected? Affected how?!” Kevin asks suddenly, alarm rising in his voice.

“Calm, you’re probably fine. C’mon, let’s find you some grub and I’ll fill you in.” Sam says, turning towards the kitchen, one hand on Kevin’s back. He pauses suddenly, stopping in his tracks, and jogs back to the table to grab his phone.

As soon as they’re gone, Dean tries hard not to focus on the fact he and Cas are now alone. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. It just seems like, for some reason, everything bad and embarrassing in his life right now seems to happen around Castiel.

“I liked your heart.”

Dean starts as soon as he hears Cas’s words, turning to stare at him, wondering if he misheard. He opens and closes his mouth for several moments, grappling for some kind of response to the concept that Castiel, the former angel, liked the stupid heart he made out of candy. Cas doesn’t even look up from his research. “Oh. Thanks.”

“It was very creative.”

Dean nods, blood rushing to fill his cheeks, and he desperately thinks of a way to get the conversation off its current track.

“Why have you moved away?” Cas asks, looking up at Dean at last, his head tilted slightly in that way of his. Dean is confused by what he means for a moment.

“Huh? You mean why did I move here? To sit next to Sam?”

Castiel nods, pressing his lips together once. “You were beside me, and then you moved. Why?”

Dean shakes his head incredulously, utterly unable to process a question about something so meaningless. He’d moved because… because he made an idiot of himself and Cas was clearly the cause. “I-I don’t know! I just needed to! We were- our legs kept- when I’m around you I just- p-personal space, Cas!” He finishes, hating himself because that’s not what he meant, not at all.

Cas purses his lips, but nods. “I see.”

Dean’s getting annoyed now, and his fluctuating emotions aren’t helped by the spell currently coursing through his veins. What right does Cas have to question him about moving away? It’s so ironic Dean could scream. Dean throws a chocolate across the table, hurling it far across the room in anger. “Why didn’t you answer my prayers?”

Castiel looks shocked by the sudden change in conversation, but to Dean, it’s all along the same lines. If Castiel wants to get pissed at him for moving seats around a table without reason, he’s sure as hell allowed to bring up all the times Cas fucked off recently without a viable excuse, not to mention a confirmation of his safety or return.

“Dean, perhaps this is not the time-”

“Not once, Cas! Not one time did you answer me, not when I was screaming into the sky, begging you to help Sam, to just come home so that I’d know you’re okay, so that I’d have you there to help get through all the shit. All that time, you could have come back to me Cas, you could’ve-”

Sam and Kevin burst back into the room, talking animatedly, Kevin stuffing a sandwich into his mouth. It’s just as well, because Dean didn’t want to say any of that stuff, it’d just poured itself out, raining down on Cas like an unstoppable tsunami wave. The former angel couldn’t look more surprised, Dean thinks, but he drags his gaze away, back towards his brother and their renegade prophet.

“So… have you guys thought about maybe… reading the card?” Kevin asks, and all of them resist slapping themselves in the face for being so stupid. Barely.

Dearest Lyle,

I still recall when you were mine,

Last year you were my valentine,

But you ran off with that floozie,

Don’t fret love, I’ll dispose of Suzie,

Though we’ve suffered stormy weather,

Now you will be mine. Forever.

Here’s to our eternity,

Your Arabella x

“Creepy.” Dean declares, holding the card up for everyone else to peer at.

“Arabella…” Castiel murmurs quietly, his brow wrinkling. He turns back to his files, shuffling through them fervently as Dean places the card carefully back in the box. “Ah, yes. I thought I recognised the name.”

“What’s that? You find something?!” Sam asks, practically shaking with excitement. Kevin sits back in his chair, fingers drumming nervously on the table.

“Yes, I think so.” Castiel replies, his eyes scanning the document in front of him before nodding once in conclusion. Dean’s heart soars; Castiel is so clever, even in his human form he can outsmart Sam, and that’s saying something. Dean glows a little with pride, though he can’t fathom any kind of sense around that. Cas is just his friend after all.

“Arabella LaTeche. She was a witch, alive in the early 1900’s, and she was quite brutal from the looks of her record.” Castiel’s eyebrows raise as he reads. “She was captured by the Men of Letters in 1912 after she sent her ex-lover Lyle Montague a cursed object. It says here that Lyle had run off with Arabella’s friend Suzanne, and the object in question made anyone in its vicinity become hopelessly attracted to the person they are in love with, or failing that, the person they had last been in love with.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise sky-high, his heart hammering. “And let me guess, it gets worse the longer the curse goes on?”

Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean’s for a moment. “Yes. According to the story, Arabella murdered Suzanne, expecting Lyle to immediately return to her after he received the card, but instead Lyle only became more and more helpless to his desire for his deceased partner, and driven mad by obsession, killed himself to be with Suzanne forever.”

"Great, so we're gonna get more and more chick-flicky until we drink a nice bleach cocktail?" Dean asks, rolling his eyes. 

“Woah, so it doesn’t matter if the last person you loved is dead?!” Sam asks worriedly – not without good reason, Dean thinks wryly.

“What if you’ve never been in love?” Dean asks, still in the same position, slumped in his chair. Everyone looks at him wordlessly, a hint of sadness in their eyes. “What!”

“Um, it doesn’t say.” Castiel replies, not looking at Dean.

“So how do we break the curse?!” Kevin asks, sounding panicky again, as usual.

Castiel shuffles through the papers in the file, frowning. “Hmm, it says that if the object in question in touched or released into the air, everyone affected should drink this concoction to stop the effects.”

Castiel hands the slip of paper to Sam so he can look through the list of ingredients. Sam doesn’t notice he’s being handed anything until Dean nudges him; he’s too busy staring at his phone.

He jerks back into reality after a few prolonged moments, placing the phone on the table, and he takes the document from Cas. “Hmm, faeirie wings, ground catseye shell… we should have all this stuff, but hold up- it says it takes 10-24 hours?!”

Dean’s head jerks up at that.

“How long did it take for that Lyle dude to wanna dive six feet under?” Sam asks, directing his question at Castiel.

“Approximately one day. But he had no idea he was cursed, and he doesn’t have Dean’s restraint I’m sure.” Cas looks a little surprised at himself there, as if he hadn’t quite intended for those words to come out. Dean winks at him, grinning, before he can stop himself. “Dean, are you even feeling any effects?”

“Aside from acting like an idiot, no.” Dean replies, chuckling, and then wondering why nobody else is joining him. “What? Oh, come on, you must notice it! Every time anyone touches me I practically jump outta my skin.” Dean looks at Sam, expecting him to agree, but is met with a blank stare. “Look, Sam, touch my arm.”

Sam looks vaguely uncomfortable, and Dean notices Cas shifting in his seat, but at length, Sam’s fingers are resting atop his forearm. Nothing happens. Not a damn thing. No tingling sensations, no electric shockwaves, no inappropriate thoughts (thank god). It feels perfectly normal, just like Sam is touching him, the same way he’s done thousands of times.

Dean tries not to let the disbelief show on his face. “Uh, yeah, see? All tingly and weird. Get off me, man.” Dean pushes Sam’s hand away, chuckling in mild hysteria and steadfastly not allowing himself to dwell on the idea that Cas’s touch, solely, is making him go all loopy but nobody else’s is during this stupid curse.

Sam seems satisfied with this obviously fake reaction however, and he beckons Cas, saying something about rounding up the ingredients from the stockroom and telling Dean to make more coffee or it’ll taste foul.

Dean sighs, shaking himself down and rising from his chair to gather up the cups on the table.

“Hey…Dean?” Kevin asks, staring at his fingers, looking a little glum. “Do we have a shovel?”

“Uh, yeah course. How do you think we dig up graves, idiot?”

“Oh. W-where?”

Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously, the tray resting between his hand and his hip. “Why?”

“No reason, I just… I-I thought I should know for… future reference.”

Dean ponders this stammered reply for a moment, sensing all kinds of bullshit, but he’s got way too much on his mind to work out what Kevin’s up to. How bad could it be? The kid was in Advanced Placement for crying out loud.

“In the trunk.” Dean says, turning towards the kitchen, and as a final thought, tosses over his shoulder: “Don’t mess up my weapons index if you go rootin’ around in my baby though.”

The concoction tastes absolutely hideous, but that’s hardly a surprise, and they wash it down with coffee so it’s not a long-lasting horror. Sam excuses himself as soon as he’s finished his, leaving his iPad on the table much to Dean’s surprise, but taking his phone nonetheless.

If Dean weren’t so distracted by Cas, who he can feel staring at him every time he turns his head, he might be a bit more worried about Kevin, who looks as if he’s slowly sinking into depression. Literally in fact, slumping down in his seat till his head is cushioned on his arms on the table.

A few moments pass, and they start hearing soft snores emanating from his slumped over frame.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel says, looking earnest - looking desperate if Dean’s honest. It takes Dean a moment to realise Cas is continuing their conversation from earlier. He's apologising for not answering Dean's prayers. “I suppose I thought in many ways you’d be better off without me there. I didn’t realise my absence affected you to this extent.”

Normally, an un-cursed Dean would argue at this point, bat Castiel’s accusation out of the air, tell him that he’d coped just fine without Cas around, but now, here, with just the two of them, when the tension between them is so taut it’s practically tangible, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

“You should just…” Dean bites his lip, looking down at Castiel’s pink mouth and then glancing away. How does he phrase this? How can he put into words the feeling that Cas rips out of him every time he flaps his (now non-existent) wings and disappears into the night? “Just stay, man.”

Castiel’s lips quirk in something resembling a smile, and Dean’s heart feels like it’s become warm, sticky syrup. He decides he needs to get out of this room quickly, before he does something he regrets.

“I’m gonna go have a shower.” Dean says quickly, standing up so fast he knocks his chair backwards a little way.

Chapter Text

A shower, Dean finds, does not help the current situation whatsoever. Obviously this curse must have other effects aside from making the person obsessed with whoever they are or had been in love with, because Dean is acting strangely and he’s not in love with anyone. He’s not entirely sure he’s ever been in love with anyone.

Of course, there was Lisa, beautiful, perfect Lisa, so inviting, so tempting with her open arms, welcoming him into her apple pie life with far more tolerance than most. And yes, Dean loved her, loved Ben, would have died to protect them… but was he in love with her? He’s not entirely sure. He would have died for her, yes, but he wouldn’t have died to keep their relationship alive. He’s not dying without her.

And then there’d been Cassie, Dean thinks as the hot jets of the shower drum against his naked skin, making him wince because they’re a little too hot, though he doesn’t turn it down. Cassie had been what he’d thought at the time was his first love. She was smart and cool and sexy, she took none of his shit and loved him unconditionally. And though, long after their relationship ended, when he went back to her with Sam in tow, he found those same feelings re-emerging – after that he never missed her. Perhaps what he’d really needed that time, was a reassurance that his hunting lifestyle didn’t drive people away for good. After all, Cassie had broken up with him because of the hunting, and he could see when he found her again that their relationship had hope.

He never saw her again, and he couldn’t find it within himself to feel bad. So if he didn’t love either of those wonderful women, then presumably he’s never been in love, right? Therefore, Dean has come to the inescapable conclusion that this curse is doing things to him that have never before been recorded, as it’s never been tried on someone who hasn’t been in love.

That’s the only explanation for all the weird thoughts he’s having right now, in the shower, mainly about the shape of Cas’s hands. They’re delicate yet sure, Dean had been watching them in the other room. They are undoubtedly a man’s hands, what with the sparse hairs splayed across them, but they’re soft and smooth, unroughened by hunting as of yet, though that will surely change.

Jimmy must have taken good care of them; Dean wouldn’t be surprised if the Novak’s were moisturiser-in-the-bathroom kind of people.

Dean imagines those hands against his, remembers what they felt like gripping his wrist earlier on today. He runs his own hands over his chest, dragging his fingers through the rivulets of water and gasping a little when he brushes over a nipple. Cas’s hands would be much gentler, much more firm in their motions, Dean thinks, attempting to mimic those same movements. His hands glide over the planes of his stomach, sinking lower, tangling through the coarse hairs between his legs, and he bites his lip as he thinks of Cas, here, with him under the spray, head tilted as he continues his caresses, blue eyes wide in wonder as he elicits sparks of emotion from Dean’s face.

He should stop here, Dean thinks vaguely, this is not normal, this is the curse, it has to be, and he refuses to dwell on the fact that it’s Cas clouding his mind right now. He curses when he feels how hard he is just from the thought, and closes his eyes as his hands continue to roam of their own accord, grasping his erection and smoothing across the length; he swears he feels Cas’s breath ghosting across his collarbone.

“Dean?”

Shit. Dean’s eyes fly open, and he bites back a moan that was about to escape. That’s Cas’s voice, it’s unmistakeable, and he’s not imagining it this time. “Cas? What’re you doing! Get out, dude!”

The shower panel separates them, it’s opaque glass shielding Cas from his view. “I-I’m sorry, I just… never mind, I’ll talk to you when you come out.”

Dean groans internally, hearing the click of the door as it closes behind him. What the hell just happened? Did he say Cas’s name aloud at any point as he was imagining him? What if Cas heard?

Dean wills himself to calm down, having to pinch his hipbone hard to stop himself shouting for Cas to come back in here and hop into the shower, so his daydreams can come to life. His erection is still going strong, made worse by the actual appearance of Cas so close to him - damn that shower panel - but he ignores it. If he gives in to this, whatever it is, jerks off to thoughts of Cas touching him, then what will his life have become?

He switches off the shower and grabs a towel, willing his hard-on away, and deciding he needs to spend some time with Sam. That’ll surely keep his libido in check. Where did he disappear off to anyway?

“Sammy, I need you to lock me in-”

Sam is sitting cross legged on his bed, his phone grasped in his hands, a manic look on his face. As soon as Dean bursts in, clad only in a towel, he shoves the phone underneath him so he’s sitting on it, his face red as if he’s been caught out.

The brothers stare at each other for several long, drawn-out seconds.

“Christ, I don’t wanna know, Sam.” Dean says, and exits the room.

Securely in his own room, Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He leans against the door, trying hard to come to terms with the happenings both inside of him and around him. It’s about three seconds in that he realises he is not alone.

The sight of Cas leant against the desk to his left should alarm him, and it does a little, taking him by surprise so that he jumps, but then all he feels is an overwhelming urge to be closer to him. Which would be very inappropriate, under the (wet, naked) circumstances.

“Hello, Dean…” Cas says weakly, and he looks like he’s straining to keep something bottled up, his hands gripping the wood of the desk behind him, like he’d spring forwards otherwise. “How was your shower?”

Dean is quiet for a few moments, trying very hard not to think about the fact he’s alone with the man he was imagining naked in the shower not five minutes ago, both of them behind a closed door. “What’re you doin’ in here, Cas?”

Cas’s eyes seem unable to stay in one place, flicking from Dean’s face to his bared chest, then at the walls, the bed, the photos beside him… Dean’s tongue darts out nervously, terrified of what he might do right now, as he’s not exactly as in control of himself as he’d like.

“I… just needed… I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Dean replies, and he thinks he should really get dressed right about now. But he doesn’t. “Bout what?”

“About anything.”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut as soon as he says it, obviously cursing himself internally for letting that answer escape. Dean winces in sympathy; obviously the curse has gotten to him too. Angels don’t fall in love, right? It’s probably affecting Cas the same way it’s affecting Dean.

“Hey, uh, don’t worry.” Dean says, trying to soothe Cas out of his self-deprecation. He takes a tentative step towards his friend, very aware of his movements clad in only a white towel. Cas’s eyes grow wide as he gets closer, and the room seems to rise in temperature, though that might be due to their increased, laboured breaths. Dean, staying at arm’s length, places a marginally damp hand down on Cas’s shoulder. “I get it. It’s just the spell, right?”

Cas stares fearfully into Dean’s eyes, and it seems absurd, but Dean can hear his heart beating, wild and out of control. This was a mistake, getting this close, Dean can sense it, and he feels himself moving closer even so. Cas’s hand relinquishes its grip on the desk behind him, palm flat, ready to push Dean, to halt him from leaning further in, but he freezes before coming in contact with Dean’s chest, swallowing thickly.

“I’m not entirely sure…” He replies, and Dean barely hears him. Cas’s hand presses itself against Dean’s bare skin, and it’s every bit as soft and sure as he’d imagined. His eyes flutter closed as he gasps quietly at the contact, and when he opens them, Cas is trained on his mouth, their faces inches apart. Every inch of Dean yearns to grab Castiel and close the distance between them, to feel paper-soft lips pressing against his own, but something, somewhere, in the back of his mind is telling him this isn’t real. So he tries to resist – he tries damn hard.

Cas’s thumb strokes back and forth against his pectoral muscle, dragging skin against skin, and it sends ripples of something otherworldly undulating through them, making it near impossible to resist getting even closer. “Cas…” Dean breathes, closing his eyes against the sensations thrumming through him, and then, all at once, Cas stops.

He draws his hand away like it’s been burned, and wriggles out from where Dean has him trapped against the desk. Before Dean can even protest, Cas has bolted from the room, slamming the door closed behind him, and oh fuck does Dean feel like an idiot the moment he’s gone.

“Hello, Kermit, Texas? Yes, can I have the Richardson household please?”

“Certainly sir, one moment please.”

“…”

“We have several households by that name, do you have a street name or house number, sir?”

“Err, yeah, 430 Heather Crescent. Thanks.”

“Thank you sir, please hold.”

One ear presses to Sam’s door, Dean wonders if he should interrupt, ask Sam what the hell he’s doing, but he opts to keep listening for a minute instead. Sam has obviously got whoever he’s calling on speaker phone, and Dean can’t fathom why, though he’s grateful. It might give him an insight as to who the hell he’s calling right now, and from information too.

“Hello?”

Sam doesn’t answer. From the sounds of things he hung up the phone immediately. It was a woman’s voice that answered, sounding a little pissed off actually, as if this isn’t the first time she’s gotten a mysterious anonymous caller.

Dean hopes to God that this antidote works its magic soon.

When Dean rounds the corner into the communal area, the last thing he expects to find is Cas securing a manic looking Kevin to a chair using several lengths of rope. Dean stands, rooted to the spot as he tries to figure out what his reaction should be.

“Uh…”

“Dean! You gotta help me! Cas has gone crazy, he’s tying me up-”

Cas calmly places a hand over Kevin’s mouth, silencing him as he struggles. Dean continues to stare, wide-eyed. “I found Kevin in the front seat of the Impala, attempting to search for the spare car keys. Presumably so he could steal it.”

Dean’s face turns to one of fury and he glares at Kevin, feeling merciless. “You tried to steal my baby?! You don’t even have a licence!”

Kevin attempts to protest his innocence, but Cas’s hand stays firmly in place over his mouth. “I then searched his person and found details of where his former girlfriend Channing Ngo is buried, over in Michigan. I believe he was going to… find her.”

“You mean the chick that Crowley killed a while back?” Dean asks, a hint of disgust on his face at the idea that Kevin was going back to… “Hold up, is that why you wanted a shovel you gross son of a bitch?”

Kevin lets his head hang in defeat and shame, Cas’s hand slipping free of his mouth. “She died because of me. We were supposed to be together. We planned our lives together.”

“Alright man, but she’s dead. Diggin’ up her corpse is not gonna help anything.”

Kevin’s head jerks up, his eyes venomous as he glares at Dean, his entire body angled towards him, trying to break free of his bonds. “How do you know?! You said it yourself, you’ve never been in love! We can be together again! Let me go, I need to bring her back, there are ways, goddamit, there are WAYS!”

Dean shoots a look at Cas, taking a moment to appreciate the sturdiness of his friend’s knots, as Kevin definitely cannot break free. Even so…

“Hey, c’mere Cas, help me tie some more. We can’t risk him escaping, I don’t fancy a zombie genius chick runnin’ about the place.”

The two of them grab another length of rope, securing Kevin further to the chair as he struggles and screams, threatening them with all kinds of horrific tortures that Dean pretends not to hear. As Dean ties the final knot, his fingers brush Cas’s and he tries not to whimper.

“Is it true?” Cas asks him, both of them still crouched behind Kevin’s chair. The kid’s angry screaming is loud enough that only Dean can hear Cas’s words.

“Is what true?” Dean asks, wondering how he let himself get this close yet again, because he can see every colour in Cas’s eyes right now, every crease in his dusty pink lips.

“Have you never been in love?”

Dean regards him curiously, and wonders what to say. He doesn’t want to think about the answer, because he thinks he might know now. What does being in love even mean? Nobody has ever defined it for Dean, but Sam always says you just know when you feel it. Sam is the authority on these matters, he’s loved girls all his life: Jess, Madison, possibly Ruby (though Dean deliberately doesn’t think about that one), and he's sure there's been more.

Dean, from what he’s seen of it, reckons being in love is something that just happens to you, coming out of the blue and changing your life, even if you didn’t want it to.

He suspects that in his case, specifically, in order to fall in love, he’d need to find someone who took everything he hated about himself and found the beauty within it, loved him anyway, in spite of everything he’s done, to the point where they’d die for him. He’d need someone to save him, instead of wanting to be saved, like Cassie and Lisa.

He’s been staring at Cas for about a minute now. He tries very hard not to think about the fact it very much seems like he’s already found that person.

“I don’t know.” Dean says eventually, and when he stands up, his eyes are pricking with stupid, stupid emotion.

Seven hours have passed when Dean finds himself sitting at the table with Cas and Sam, all of them bursting out of their skin with separate overwhelming desires that they don’t understand. Witches are so friggin’ awful, Dean thinks, shuddering, and hopes the Men of Letters had enough sense to burn Arabella whatsherface at the stake.

Every five minutes, a fresh wave of crippling urges overcomes him, begging him to leap across the table and into Cas’s lap. It’s embarrassing as hell, but at least he’s relatively sure the same thing is happening to Cas. It’s undeniable now – for whatever reason, the curse has manifested itself in Dean and Castiel by making them drawn to each other.

They are both pretending not to notice each other’s strange behaviour of course, out of courtesy, but it’s damned difficult. In some ways, it might be easier if Cas wasn’t as affected as Dean is, Dean thinks, because then it’d be simpler to convince himself that Cas was getting freaked out by the unwanted attention. But he isn’t, Dean knows, he gets as worked up as Dean does whenever they stand too close, or look at each other too long.

Maybe Dean has it a little worse, seeing as he touched the card and everything whereas Cas only stood near it, and that’s why he’s put on his loosest jeans, so that his semi-boner - that seems to be here to stay - is relatively covered up.

Kevin is still yelling from somewhere behind them, and Dean is seriously considering gagging him. The only mercy that comes from this godawful situation is that Sam seems to preoccupied with his own dilemma (whatever that might be) to figure out that Dean is apparently lusting after their ex-angel friend.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” Sam cries out of nowhere, his shrill voice cutting through the deafening silence. Dean watches his little brother jump out of his seat and practically sprint towards the out of the room, sympathy in his eyes.

“Dean.”

A shudder runs through Dean at the sound of his name forming in that crushed velvet voice, and he turns to look at Cas slowly, biting his lip in case he propositions the fallen angel right here and now.

Cas is looking as strained as Dean feels, his fingers laced together on the table before him, probably stopping himself from reaching out.

“What?” Dean grits out, his eyes like bullets boring into Cas’s skull.

“Sam left his phone.”

Dean whips his head round to the empty place beside him where Sam had been not moments before. He focuses on Kevin’s shouts from the other end of the room in a vain attempt to block out the feel of Cas’s warmth, so nearby, so palpable.

There, next to him, is Sam’s phone – the very thing his younger brother hasn’t let out of his sight for a minute since the curse began. It’s lifeless now, just a dark screen, an inanimate object, but in Sam’s hands it could be a deadly weapon; who knows who he’s attempting to reach with that thing? Maybe, like Kevin, Sam’s last love interest is now a bit on the dead side? Surely it’s in everyone’s best interests if Dean just has a look.

He doesn’t hesitate – under the heavy weight of Cas’s hungry gaze he snatches up the phone, scrolling through Sam’s recent activity to see what he’s been up to.

38 calls to Kermit, Texas: Information Call Centre

Well, he knew that much already. “Sam’s been calling someone in Texas.” Dean tells Cas quietly, earning himself a nod from his friend, who has definitely moved closer while he wasn’t watching.

The last text he sent out was to Dean, yesterday, telling him to get out of bed. That’s hardly criminal activity.

“Hmm. No texts.” Dean says aloud, for his own benefit as much as Cas’s.  “But Sammy’s smart, if he was calling information to get a number in Texas, that means he wouldn’t want whoever it was to know it was him calling. So he wouldn’t just send a text… hold on.”

Dean scrolls through Sam’s phone, cursing because Sam will return soon and he needs to find this out quickly; it’d be much harder to tie Sam to a chair after all. Cas, to Dean’s dismay, scoots his chair closer, coming to lean over Dean’s shoulder, peering at the phone as well. It does nothing for Dean’s erection every time Cas breathes against the exposed skin of his neck.

“Here!” Dean squeaks, clicking a button on the phone at last. “Drafts. 22 drafted text messages, all addressed but not sent to…” Dean scrolls down for a moment, brow furrowed. Cas turns infinitesimally towards Dean’s face. “Amelia Richardson.”

“Who?” Cas asks, and Dean wants to chuckle at his ignorance. He turns to Cas, about to explain about Sammy’s little picket-fence vacation while they were in Purgatory, but he freezes, dumbstruck, when he sees how close Cas’s face is.

“Cas…” Dean warns, eyes poring over every grain of stubble clinging to that firm, angular jaw. Cas makes a small sound, one of defeat, or so it seems. “Move away, man.” Dean pleads, desperate and barely a murmur, because he can feel himself breaking, Cas is too close, he can smell the earthy, pine scent that radiates off him in waves, even now, after he’s fallen; it’s intoxicating.

Cas doesn’t move, it seems as though he barely registers Dean’s protest. His blue eyes fall helplessly to Dean’s lips, and Dean whimpers.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind them, and Dean, out of some hidden, otherworldly reserve of strength inside of him, pulls backwards, thinking of Kevin, of his reaction. Cas actually groans in protest when Dean moves, falling forwards slightly, as though Dean were his connecting magnet, pulling him with the force of their bond.

Instead of Kevin, who has noticed nothing in his attempts to get free, it is Sam, behind them, his hazel eyes fixed on the phone in Dean’s hand.

“Sam, wait!” Dean cries, but it’s too late, Sam knows they’ve seen what the curse has done, and he sprints to the exit of the bunker at full speed, grabbing Dean’s jacket from where it’s slung over a chair on his way. The jacket that holds the car keys, of course.

“Don’t try and stop me, Dean! You already broke us up once before!” Sam yells, hurling the door of the bunker open and flying through. By the time Dean gets up the steps and after him, Sam is driving away.

“SHIT.” Dean yells to the dusty air, wishing he could punch something. Punch Arabella, punch Sam for Christ’s sake. When will this damn ‘concoction’ actually make any kind of difference?!

“If we go after him now, we will be too late. We just have to hope the antidote kicks in before he finds her.” Cas says in a very reassuring tone, and it would probably soothe Dean if everything Cas did wasn’t making him want to rip his clothes off.

“This damn curse is killing me.” Dean moans, the other side of the room to Cas, pressed up against the wall. They’re in the stockroom again, mainly to get a break from Kevin, who has now resorted to bargaining his freedom with both of them, telling them he’ll bring anyone they want back to life as well as Channing if they let him go, a package deal. Cas looks at Dean sympathetically.

“I wonder… what it’s trying to tell us.” Cas muses, and Dean shoots him a fiery look.

“It clearly didn’t know what to do when it found two people who hadn’t been in love before, so it latched us onto each other.” Dean cries, too loudly for this dark, cluttered room. He blushes as soon as the words are out, realising too late that this is the first time either of them have admitted what’s happening to them out loud.

“How does one know if they've been in love, Dean?” Cas asks after a moment of contemplation, Dean’s words still hanging in the air around them. Dean’s heart picks up its pace.

“Well… well, I wouldn’t know, would I?” Dean replies, and he begins to realise that he hasn’t got long until he breaks. Every muscle in his body is aching to cross the room to Cas right now, to wrap the confused, fallen angel up in his arms. He blinks away tears, hating himself for being so pathetic. “I-I’m sorry I said that stuff, Cas.”

His feet move towards the former angel of their own accord and he grabs hold of a nearby shelf to try and stop himself.

“Stuff?”

Cas’s hands reach for him, and Dean turns away, knowing it's involuntary, that Cas isn’t meaning to do this. The curse seizes him, mind and soul, spinning him around and shoving him forwards, until he's pinning Cas to the wall. Cas sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. “Yeah,” Dean says, broken and apologetic as he lets his chest press against Cas’s, the fabric of their shirts seeming a cruel, unnecessary barrier, “about my prayers. And you.”

Dean’s hands are flat against the wall, either side of Cas’s head, and he starts when he feels those fingers, the ones he’s dreamed about, ghosting up his sides, tangling in his shirt, holding him in place. “So you forgive me? For not answering them?”

Dean dips his head to Cas’s throat, inhaling deeply as Cas arches his head to the side, letting his nose skim up the smooth, slightly stubbled skin of his neck. His lips brush Cas’s pulse and his angel moans. “You did answer them, Cas.”

Castiel lets out  a broken sort of sob, his hands running up Dean’s back, resting on his shoulder blades and making Dean squirm. Dean can't stop, he presses himself closer, pushes his hips forwards, grinding into Cas's, spasms of intense, surging pleasure sparking through him, making him gasp and whisper Cas's name. He can feel now, in this surreal, incredible moment, that his former angel of the lord is just as worked up as he is. He can feel Cas's own hardness against his, barred from him through the sweatpants he wore himself at seventeen years old. His hand, the one not curled in thick, dark hair, glides down Cas's waist, squeezing the skin, making Cas writhe, cry out, clutch him. Cas's hands brush the nape of his neck and Dean grinds forwards again, both of them moaning at the friction, no longer caring why this is occuring, or how - just that it is.

It’s going to happen now, Dean thinks, everything’s about to change. He brings his face level with Cas slowly, wondering how he could be stupid enough to convince himself that he’s never been in love, when this blinding, brilliant angel saved him, died for him, resurrected him, loved him back, all this time. He leans in, his right hand finding Cas’s hair, their hips sliding together, breathing each other’s oxygen.

And it all melts away.

As quickly and heartbreakingly as a child's ice cream on an extremely hot day, they feel the intensity flooding out of them, pouring out of their veins, releasing them from its bonds. In the communal area, Kevin Tran looks down at the ropes binding him to a chair and groans in embarrassment at his actions over the past few hours. He also sheds a few tears, apologising to Channing, wherever she might be, promising he would never do that to her, not in his right mind.

Sam Winchester pulls off the highway, onto a dirt road, and finally into a layby, one so dusty that Dean will be angry with him later, because the Impala is surely muddy by now. Somehow, Sam thinks that Dean will be far angrier about some other things he's done over the past day. He sends a silent apology to Amelia, safe in the knowledge that she has enough spunk to not be phased by a few prank calls.

Castiel and Dean Winchester are left in the stockroom where it all began, their lips millimetres apart, the broken cries of their names on each other’s lips forever burned into their minds. Dean doesn’t remove his hand from Castiel’s soft black curls for some time, and Castiel chooses not to release Dean from his hold until he’s recovered a little.

They are perhaps the worst off in this scenario, as they are left looking into each other’s eyes, both of them with a deep, certain knowledge that they are unquestionably in love with the other, but with no clue how to deal with it.

“That was… fucking horrible.” Sam says in summary, leaning back in his chair at the table, running a hand through his sopping wet shaggy locks. He smells like dirt, sweat and window cleaner.

“Oh quit your bitching, I have to wash baby all the time!” Dean replies, throwing a leftover chocolate at his brother, one he found under his seat. “Besides, you got her all dusty.”

“Ha ha, no actually, I was referring to the curse we were all put under yesterday? Remember that?!”

“Meh. Vaguely.”

“I remember.” Kevin pipes up from the other side of the table, a look of horror on his face. He’s got what looks like every file the Men of Letters ever wrote up laid out before him, and he and Cas are currently going over the contents of each one meticulously, reading about any other possible curses they could stumble across. “You don’t exactly forget having a desperate desire to dig up your dead girlfriend. Much as I’d like to.”

Cas grimaces at him sympathetically before turning back to the page he’s reading. Dean studies him attentively, watching for any signs of permanent Arabella-esque damage.

“It’s no surprise you don't have any PTSD from it Dean,” Sam says out of nowhere, propping his feet up on the table to join Dean’s, “you said it yourself, the curse barely even affected you cause you’ve never been in love. Lucky son of a bitch.”

“Ha, yeah.” Dean agrees half-heartedly, giving a fake chuckle. He doesn’t mean to, but Cas catches his eye, a thousand silent messages conveyed in that azure gaze. What’s going to happen now that they both know? This thing between them, it’s never been given a name before now. Love – that’s so enormous, so scary, there are implications that Dean would rather knock himself out than think about. He supposes he’s stupid not to have realised it sooner, because of course he’s in love with Cas, it’s practically unthinkable that he ever believed he wasn't. And Cas’s love is so obvious it should be blinding. But to have it addressed in that way yesterday, it’s terrifying, and what happens now? “I’m real lucky.”

Cas smiles very softly, his eyes losing their hard stare, and Dean’s heart does a little flip.

What do they do now?, Dean thinks again, that's easy. They keep going.