Bite Sized Bits of Fic

Highlander / Big Bang Theory, Methos & Sheldon, as long as there's beer Methos can get along with everyone. Even with Dr. Sheldon Cooper ...

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Any, Any, Wanting to be right is an illness. Always being right is a curse.

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Supernatural, any/any, they tried to break this stupid fuck-or-die curse, but still died anyway

From:

tigriswolf

Any fandom with horses, author's choice, something fluffy involving baby horses

Edited Date: 2011-12-26 10:15 pm (UTC)

From:

oteap.livejournal.com

Leverage, Parker/Eliot/Hardison, western!AU

From:

oteap.livejournal.com

Any, Any, Are you hitting on me?

From:

oteap.livejournal.com

White Collar/Leverage, Neal&Nate, Nice hat...

From:

tigriswolf

War Horse (film), Captain Nicholls, be brave

From:

tigriswolf

Glee, Kurt/Blaine, the first time they slept together overnight simply to cuddle

From:

tigriswolf

Warrior, Conlon family, aftermath

From:

tigriswolf

Warrior, Brendan&Tommy, they’ve loved each other all their lives but they’ve never been friends

From:

juliet316

BtVS, Xander, "Humor is basically the way I found to communicate"

From:

juliet316

Walking Dead, any, fresh meat

From:

juliet316

Charmed, Author's choice, house party

From:

juliet316

Torchwood, Jack Harkness, Call the shots

From:

juliet316

Torchwood, Jack/Ghost!Ianto, Reach out and touch

From:

Torchwood, Any, blood blood everywhere

From:

This is not a happy prompt, so this fill is probably...not what you want. Not in pt 2, anyway.

NB set late season 4. Eros=god of sexytiems, as is Aphrodite. Hephaestion might be more well-known to you as Vulcan - he was Aphrodite's husband but was ugly, crippled, bullied and bitter. Zeus rules Olympus along with Hera, his wife and sister.

~

"You have ten minutes in which to achieve orgasm via penetration," intones Eros.

Aphrodite mimics Dean's wince, and bends in to whisper at Eros' ear. Dean hears the words "bloody well not!" and "already assigned a time" before Eros shuffles away from her, clears his throat, and says "nine and a half minutes" like he's the speaking fucking clock.

Dean feels a slippery, cold sensation where he's never felt one before.

"Happy now?" Eros grumbles, and though he's talking to Aphrodite, who nods primly, Dean dearly wants to supply an answer. Trouble is, although these gods fell out of favor millenia ago, they are the elders in every sense of the word. They aren't your average god, constructed by the collective will of the people. These guys are old school; they've been here as long as the molten core of the earth.

They're big, they're powerful, and they don't give a fuck. What's worse, they're bored, and they've captured the new god's favorite toys.

"Well, well, well," says the other man, hobbling towards them in a way that was grotesque more because of its practiced lurch than anything else; this was obviously a man who had been given no quarter by his friends or family (in fact, even as he moved along Aphrodite snickered, ugly, into her pale hands). "The Righteous Man and the unfeeling angel. I think it's our time to prove that no one's above the sins of the flesh."

"We prove that every night," says Aphrodite, smile curving more than should be possible.

The man - who, Dean thinks, remembering that time Sam gave him Classical Lore 101, must be Hephaes-whatsit, the Vulcan dude - begins to smile and turn to her. Abruptly, Hephaestion swivels away again and scowls.

"I have a cage we can reuse," he says, and behind him Dean can see Aphrodite's face crumple. He's so busy trying to remember the whole cage deal - was Aphrodite banging another guy, and then Hephaestion caught them in the act with a descending cage? Springer eat your heart out - that he forgets what they're planning until Cas grips his upper arm tightly and whispers it into his ear.

~

The cage descends.

"Look, guys. Gods, goddesses, whatever. You obviously haven't been paying attention. I am so corrupted by the sins of the flesh it's a wonder I don't spend all my time balls-deep in women. Point proven. Your gods win. Can we go now?"

Aphrodite smirks at him, and suddenly Cas and him are both naked.

Dean should think, oh, crap. He should think of escape plans, and how in hell he could contact Sam, but the first thing in his head is not a Ken doll, then.

Dean stares at nothing in particular and hopes that at some point he will wake up. He vows that when he does wake up, he'll finally go for therapy.

"Well?" says Eros. "We're waiting."

He doesn't doubt that they'll kill him; Cas too, because they're definitely strong enough. They have hauled them out of Kentucky like they were toys in a box, and now they were being messed with.

"Eight minutes."

"Dean," says Cas, urgent, low. "We have no--"

"Shut up, Cas," says Dean.

He doesn't want to hear it. No choice, his ass. Sam will come.

Sam is out with Ruby, as always.

Sam is a total dork about this sort of thing; he will work it out. Sam will come.

Sam won't even notice they've gone until morning.

"You cannot pretend you have not thought about it," says Castiel, and the words send a block of ice thudding down Dean's vertebrae.

Aphrodite whoops with glee; Eros smiles a sour, vindictive little smile.

"Double negative."

From:

Sherlock BBC, Lestrade/Any, Bad day at work

From:

"You have thought about it," Cas corrects, but it doesn't sound any better. "You have thought about it ... often."

And so what if Dean has? So what? It wasn't like he was ever going to - it was just like all the other barmen, all the other sly-smiled men he'd ignored - it wasn't like it meant anything; it was just jerking off - hell, his dad controlling that was one step too far, even for the Winchesters.

"I never - not like this, Cas," he says, and it's the most honest he's dared himself to be, ever. "This is - hell, Cas, this is rape."

"I thought about it too," says Cas.

Dean turns, then, stops subconsciously hiding himself from him - though chances are if Cas knows what he jerks off too he knows a hell of a lot more than Dean thought he did anyway - and throws up what few barriers he has left.

"Okay," he says. "Number one, you're lying to stop us dying. Noble, and all, but still rape. Number two, if you weren't lying it would still be rape: this is something that neither of us want, being forced upon us by these dickbags."

"You do not want this?"

And Castiel actually looks fucking hurt. Oh, crap, Dean finally thinks.

"What about when I jerked off to Jennifer Aniston, huh? Or Brad, for that matter? You think I thought I had a shot at them? That they were going to turn up at the motel room and propose? That - when I - you're not - that doesn't mean jack, Cas."

Cas frowns, like he's hearing an untuned violin in an orchestra, and shakes his head. "No," he says.

"No? No what? Because if you haven't noticed--"

"Seven minutes"

"We're about to get killed in the least dignified way possible, and if you could stop hitting on me and call your angel buddies, it would be really awesome right now." Dean watches Cas doubt himself again and feels like a complete douche. But, what the hell, right? Cas is wrong. Can't help honesty. Not his fault the stupid child angel went and fell in love with Mr Righteous.

"And, while we're wishing, you could, y'know, wipe my memory," he adds. "This has been kind of traumatic."

Cas says nothing, but he smiles, and Dean is suddenly reminded that there is no 'them and us' on Olympus: the old gods surround a man and an angel of the lord. Castiel and Dean are nothing alike, and that's all the more reason for him to--

"I will do none of those things," says Castiel, and grabs him by the shoulder.

~

"I don't understand," says Hephaestion, staring at the empty space before them. "That cage is impenetrable."

"You shouldn't have brought an angel into the mix," says Zeus, voice booming from somewhere in the crags above them. "Tricky little buggers, angels. Remember when Gabriel bested Bacchus in that fake orgy? Oh, those were the days."

Zeus spoke over the last ricochets of his laugh. "You should have taken the brother. Can't go wrong with incest, that's my motto. Isn't that right, sister dear?"

From:

Castle, Castle, migraine

From:

Any, Any, I'm so fucking horny!

From:

Firefly, Any, the smell of bleach

From:

Oh God, this is awesome! *_*
I love you so much for this, thanks.

From:

ladyjane

YIKES and UGH and WTF and... Sneaky Cas is sneaky!

lol, I keep hearing Gabriel doing a voice-over at the end, "Tune in next week, when Sam proves Olympians are not immune to curses."

From:

lionessvalenti.livejournal.com

Steve doesn't date a lot.

It's a challenge when you can read every eye twitch and feel every lie no matter how smoothly delivered. He can spot every one, from the polite little fibs to the boisterous claims. After a while, it's hard to hear the words through the lies.

However, sometimes he's too nice for his own good and he's on this blind date. It's just drinks, but it's at this pretentious night club, and while they're in the upstairs bar, Steve can feel the thumping bass below on the bottom of his feet.

Then there's Frederico. He's cute, chatting wildly as between sips of his rum and Coke, and every other sentence out of his mouth is like a ping in Steve's mind.

He's a record producer. He fucked Adam Lambert at Burning Man. His stripper ex-boyfriend went to prison for murder. He has a nine inch cock.

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Oh, big time lie.

Steve wonders if these lines work on anyone. The more Frederico talks, the more outrageous the lies get. Does he think it makes him more interesting? They've been sitting at this bar for two drinks now and Steve is certain he doesn't know a single truth about Frederico except for his name.

It seems obvious that Frederico's not after anything except a solid fuck. No one lies that much if they want something real. These are just words to impress someone enough so they'll sleep with him.

"You're cute," Frederico says, and finally it's not a lie. "You want to come back to my place?"

The offer is genuine, but Steve imagines how that will go. They'll screw around with Frederico's decidedly not nine inch cock, and when they're done Frederico will tell him how good it was, but it won't be the truth. It's just something people say.

It's a blessing, it really is, to see through the bullshit and read people for who they truly are. He doesn't get screwed over very often. But it's a curse because sometimes Steve wishes he could be a regular guy who has one night stands or could go on a first date without getting a migraine.

So Steve finishes his drink and shakes his head. "I don't think so." He doesn't like to lie, but in the name of manners he adds, "It was nice meeting you."

From:

auroramama

"Tune in next week, when Sam proves Olympians are not immune to curses." Can this be 2?

From:

Ah, thank you so much!

From:

It got longer than I planned, okay? Sorry...

~

They arrive, naked, in an empty motel room. It is dark, and Sam has arranged what he thinks is a convincing huddle of pillows under his covers.

"Dude," says Dean. "Could have done that before they took my jacket, you know?"

Castiel stares at him for a second, and Dean's clothes appear on the bed. That, more than anything - more than the lingering smile, that's more hopeful than it is creepy; more than the things Cas said before he teleported them here - is a statement of intent.

Dean swallows. He realises with a twist of his gut that he is growing hard, and tries to turn away.

Cas is still holding his shoulder.

"Why do you deny it, Dean? You have never been ashamed of your appetites before now."

Dean feels kind of like Magneto. This is the reason, he thinks, why telepathy is a bad idea (though sometimes he'd give anything to know just what the hell Sam thinks he's doing). Cas has gotten cocky. Cas thinks he knows everything about Dean, but he doesn't. Cas has made a leap of judgement and a leap of faith, and he is wrong.

He is.

~

He thinks of his father - good Kansas man, best man Dean ever knew. Family man.

Dean remembers Iowa. John's tinkering with the car and asking James Benn about the victim, James' nephew. Dean is old enough to play apprentice, and is waxing the lid of the trunk.

"What do you think got him? In a room locked from the inside, you know - do you know anyone that could think of a way to do that?"

James Benn snorts. "I think the faggot had it coming," he says.

His dad laughs, and Dean's old enough to feel it like a punch driving into his gut, but he's heard too few of his father's laughs to tell if that one's a fake. They get the ghost and they avenge his death, but Dean always remembers Iowa.

Surely if anyone were to know about unnatural things, it would be his dad? Dean considers asking - considers telling - but though he can't quite discern a real laugh from an obliging one, he knows his dad's 'time for a hunt' expression all too well. He doesn't want to see his dad think he's a monster.

Now, Dean will never know.

~

Dean looks at Cas, and there's no way he can lie. "It's an appetite," he says. "That's all, and I can ignore it."

"Why do you?"

"You tell me, Professor X."

"I do not mean to intrude," says Cas. Finally - finally he lets go of Dean, padding over to the table and taking a seat. I'm going to have to get that cleaned, Dean thinks, before remembering it's a motel and resolving not to sit on it instead. "I - this is hard to explain," he says.

"Mind if I put some clothes on, while you do? It's colder than a cold thing in here."

"I see your soul, the same as in hell, Dean. I do not look at the specifics."

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes, though, your emotions are strong enough to make themselves known, no matter what I do."

Cas is still naked, and it doesn't appear to be bothering him. It's bothering Dean, though, so he nods at him and says "can you get dressed? No matter how much you might want to, I doubt we're getting freaky tonight."

But does Cas want to? If Cas has been listening in, the guy probably feels it's a necessary sacrifice to get them on side for this holy war thing. Cas doesn't want anything - Cas is someone Dean's created, Sam for when Sam isn't there (even when Sam's present, Dean gets the feeling he's not all there these days). Cas doesn't exist. Before him sits Castiel, angel of the lord, ruthless and astonishingly literal.

Dean is tugging on his boots, and when he looks up Castiel is back in trenchcoat and tie, neatly packaged but no less intense. Something about his gaze is measuring, observant.

It's always been recognition. Call it daddy issues, call it Freud, but Dean can't ignore someone who sees him for what he is: low words whispered hot and alcoholic; girls who know he's only there for a night and know what they want from him. Castiel saw him, judged him, and found him worthy of saving. That was going to mess with his head even if he didn't already have a thing for dick. Maybe.

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"It is not merely carnal, Dean," says Castiel.

"What does your dad think about this, anyway?" Dean asks. Not that god's opinion matters to him, but it seems to be hotly contested elsewhere.

"It is not only physical," says Castiel. Dean looks up from the cuffs of his jeans. It's a question.

"You've seen me torture; you've seen me like it." Dean waits as though Cas might correct him, but he doesn't, and Dean continues. He feels sick. "You already know I'm damned. I kill things, and I fuck things up. Hell, I put my elbows on the table at dinner. I want to fuck a guy just as much as I want to fuck girls, okay?"

"You want to fuck any man."

Hearing Castiel say 'fuck' is like seeing the president take part in beer pong. It doesn't feel right. Having said that, Cas doesn't look right. Cas hasn't looked right since Dean was yanked out of sleep and onto Mount Olympus. Something's off, and Dean allows himself to think that it might all be a dream.

"I want to fuck men," Dean says. "Don't tell Sam."

"Do you wish to fuck Sa--"

"Dude, what the hell? No. Sam'll--" Sam'd be cool with it, in a painfully self-conscious way. He'd probably try and take them to a gay bar or something. Sam would be cool with it, but Dean knows everything they ever did, past and present, would be filtered over with the knowledge. "I don't want to tell Sam."

Sam would tell him it was no big deal. But it's always felt like a big deal. It's always felt wrong.

"You are not being accurate," says Castiel. "You wish to fuck men, but you want to fuck me more."

Set aside the whole sexuality crisis thing; this is all getting a little too high school.

"I do not know what my father thinks about homosexuality. I do not know what my father thinks about anything."

Castiel looks kind of lost. "You've got the Bible, though, right?"

"Have you ever read the Bible, Dean? I could damn every man on this earth if I were to use the Bible as my gauge. If I wished, I could exculpate them the same way. Dean, I am beginning to believe that what my father might think – regardless of whether he approves or disapproves of something – is irrelevant. All I can do is live the best way I can. If something seems immoral, I will not participate.”

“Dangerous words, Cas. How d'you know Uriel isn't watching?”

As soon as he thinks he's back on level ground, Castiel goes and pulls the rug out again.

“I'm not … one of them. I am worse than Lucifer.”

“Doubt it,” says Dean. “Fallen angel, literally the devil – are we thinking of the same guy, here?”

“Lucifer took his punishment. He allowed himself to be caught and imprisoned. Tens of other angels have handed in their grace and fallen.”

“You fell?”

“No. I ran. I have inscribed on my ribs Enochian sigils that will prevent any other angel from finding me and removing my power. I am a coward, Dean.”

“You kidding? Balls of steel, Cas.” He feels like he's running on autopilot. Dimly, he feels pride. He feels hope. He feels fear: Uriel can find him and Sam, so he can find Cas. The thought strikes him that maybe Cas does want him, after all. “Clever, too,” he adds.

“When we were taken to the old gods,” says Castiel, “I thought I was being taken to die. I thought my father had had enough.”

Cas props his chin on his hand, an unaccountably human gesture.

“And instead,” he says, “we were captured by some irrelevant Olympians who wanted to prove a point about sins of the flesh.”

“What sins?” says Dean.

He's gotten some of his old cockiness back, some of the ease, and Cas recognises it, looking up from the table. He starts to smile, but Sam bursts in, hyped up on demon blood, and all hell breaks loose.

From:

you could take over the reins and do it better than me!

From:

Okay, I totally realise that 1a, 2a etc is really just a way to avoid writing 1,2,3,4,5,6 and admitting I fail at comment!fic.

~

At first Sam doesn't even notice them, barrelling towards his bed like a horse blinkered to all but the finish line. He hasn't got the long grace that he usually does; his movements are jerky, puppet-like.

“Sam! Hey, Sam! Sammy!”

Sam blinks and shakes his head like he's coming out of a daydream.

“Nice of you of drop in,” says Dean. He can feel the anger that's been coiling within him since he heard Sam click the door shut start to tighten, preparing to unspring. He glances to Cas, who has paled drastically. He looks like he's about to pass out. “Cas?”

“He is corrupted,” says Cas, and Dean knows he should be angry – hey, that's my brother you're talking about; that's Sam, innocent pure-as-snow Sam – but even Paula Abdul would be able to see that Sam was under the influence.

“Where've you been, Sammy?” asks Dean, keeping his tone dangerously light.

“Uh, hi, Dean,” says Sam, but it's too gravelly. He lingers in the vowels.

Dean wants to shake him and save him all at once. “Where did you go?”

“Out,” Sam grunts. His eyes glint with their first real emotion of the night: resentment.

Dean tamps down the response, and smiles tightly. “Ruby?”

“Hunting.”

“With Ruby.”

Sam makes for the bathroom, shuffling like a teenager with a hangover, but Dean calls him back. “You don't think we should talk about the fact you're banging a demon an drinking her blood?”

“What is there to talk about? I'm saving lives. We can trust Ruby; you know that.”

“She's a demon, Sam. Can you ever really trust her?”

“He's an angel, Dean. What's more, he's been sent to keep an eye on us. Why'd'you trust him?”

Dean slams out of there, taking Cas with him, but when he cools down he figures Sam has a point. Ruby's been all but cast out of hell for picking Team Winchester – he could give her a little credit. Dean might not be down with this demon blood thing, but he has to admit it's saving people better than they normally can.

Dean drops it for a couple of days.

~

“Are you going out tonight? With Ruby?” Sam starts, tenses. He's preparing for a fight. “Because I was going to watch the new Potter movie with Cas. You normally piss off on Thursdays for a bit of late-night vigilantism, but if you want to you could come with.”

Sam looks like all his Christmases have come at once. He takes Ruby with him, and Dean doesn't have the heart to say no. It's hardly any consolation that Ruby doesn't seem to be a fan of the series, and spends her time staring at a corner of the screen and tapping her foot.

Cas is tightly wound for the whole movie, but when Sam and Ruby disappear to go gank things he loosens up somewhat.

~

Dean might be keeping mum about the whole demon bitch thing, but he's keeping an eye on the situation. Sam's always fine come Thursday morning, but he stays awake sometimes and when Sam gets back in from exorcising he's barely himself.

Most times there's a couple of heavy footsteps before Sam crashes onto the bed and starts to snore. One horrific time, though, he brought Ruby back in with him. The memory isn't enough to make him stop waiting up every night, just to make sure he's okay.

~

At some point, Dean guesses he should really tell Sam that Cas has gone rogue. They keep saving seals because, hey, end of the world and all that, and this Lilith chick seems like a real bitch, but Cas has marked them both so they're hidden from angelic eyes.

“There's just never a moment, you know?” Dean says.

“And if you told him that, you would have to tell him why I deserted the angelic army.”

“You mean you didn't join us because we were morally superior? You defected because of my smokin' bod?”

Cas stares at him for nine full seconds, Dean's come-hither pout growing more and more pronounced, before he finally cracks and starts to laugh.

From:

ladyjane

Wheeee! Auuuugh! Wheeee! Auuuugh! Wheeee!

This is one wild rollercoaster ride!

From:

Ruby runs into Dean – literally – when he's doing a beer run for the motel.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, before she realises it's him. Dean steps back, hides the skin mags behind his back.

“You trying to get your angel drunk?” she asks, nodding at the bottle of Grey Goose and grinning wickedly. “Because let me tell you, they are a helluva lot better at mind over matter than we are.”

“I don't trust you,” Dean says.

“Feeling's mutual, dickhead,” says Ruby. She shoves at his shoulder. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” she adds. “I'll get Sam out of your hair for a couple of days, shall I? We're moving on to the big fish, now.”

Something about that sounds ominous, but for a moment Dean sees in Ruby a flash of the old Ruby, the blonde chick, and he sees a flash of something that's almost human. And Sam's always been able to see the good in people, right? Sam can take care of himself. They've saved shit tonnes of people, and he's only drinking blood once a week.

Listen to yourself. Only once a week. That shit's addictive.

But it's Sam. He knows what he's doing, doesn't he? He was fine when Dean was in hell, and he's fine now.

“Good luck,” says Dean.

He doesn't mean it, but at least he didn't exorcise her on the spot, right?

~

Dean feels like he's dying. The world is white and red, and the image of the dead girl – the dead demon - is burned on his eyelids.

Ruby was never team Winchester. She was never even team Sam.

Dean blinks the world back into focus. Ruby's lying on the ground, her vessel bleeding out. Sam still clutches the knife, and though his eyes are blank it's with shock, not demon blood.

Castiel disappears - “It's Lucifer, Dean. He's vulnerable now, but the longer he's out the stronger he'll get. I have to go.” - and Dean can't even bring himself to be angry. Cas isn't running back to his angel buddies; he's sacrificing himself to try and save the human race.

Dean can't even get mad at Sam: after all, Dean had been fooled too.

~

Castiel comes back.

If Dean told Sam, he wouldn't believe him. Dean wouldn't tell Sam; something in him broke the moment Ruby revealed her true allegiance, and he hasn't been the same since. Sam thinks they should both say yes, that they should get this war over with and take the fight down below. There's this demon – another one – called Crowley, and he has the Colt (though that was a no-go) and a way for them to open the cage to shove Lucifer back in.

Trouble is, Lucifer and Michael both need vessels who are going to be able to march them into the cell, and seems like Sam and Dean are destined to do it.

It's the night after this revelation that Castiel appears. One moment he's torturing your average and faceless damned soul, and the next thing he knows he turns back to the rack and Cas is tied up before him.

He knows instantly it's not his imagination (something about the eyes; he can never get the eyes right) so Dean grabs Cas' shoulder and they get the hell out of Dodge.

“You don't have to say yes,” says Cas from underneath him.

They're in the motel room, the first one. Dean keeps his hand on Cas' shoulder and slams him against the wall, grabs his tie in a fist and, for some reason, whispers.

“Cas, are you alive?” This feels real, but Dean knows enough to know that means nothing. “Are you in heaven?”

Dean pays attention to Cas' neck - he likes that, they discovered (“tell me. Tell me what you like. What Jimmy likes.” “Jimmy's gone.”) - but if he'd been paying attention to his face he'd have seen the wince.

Cas pushes him away and onto the bed. Dean remembers that they fucked on Sam's bed before, as well, but like last time he can't bring himself to care. Cas braces his hands on the bed as Dean fumbles with the tie. Everything is hot, too-vivid.

“Fuck it,” says Dean. “This is a dream, right? I can do what I want.”

Friction is replaced by a dragging, warm contact that's possibly the best thing Dean has ever felt. Cas is heavy and hard against him; he whines and presses down. Dean remembers that whine: it's an urgent sort of noise, and something about it smacks of disbelief, of an abandoned hope suddenly realised.

Cas' eyes are closed, and though he hasn't answered Dean's question he thinks he knows the answer.

From:

Dean pulls him down and kisses him. Cas' lips are dry on his, and Dean nips at them hard enough to bruise. He hears himself moan as Castiel deepens the kiss; in response, Cas hefts himself up, shifts a knee between Dean's legs, and nudges them apart.

“Cas,” he says, pulling back a fraction so he's gasping into his mouth. “Hey, Cas.”

“Mmm?”

“This feels like a curtain call, dude. You did what you could, and bought us time,” he says. Cas stills. “Let's face it; I'm already fucked. This one's for you.”

Cas doesn't move – he's plainly not convinced – so Dean pulls him down on one side, flips him over so it's Dean that's lying on him. Dean works his way down Cas' chest, and though Cas hasn't spoken he's not exactly complaining.

Dean doesn't know if he's any good at this. Cas hasn't expressed disapproval, not even close, but then again Cas doesn't have anything to compare it to either. Dean trails his fingers down Cas' chest, lingers at the intersect between intercostals and ribs, strokes. Cas sucks in a breath, a hiss through his teeth, and again, it's a familiar noise, one that Dean doesn't think he'll ever get tired of.

Dean won't be able to tire of it.

Dean slides further down, fingers feather-light. He runs his thumbs over the ridges of his hips; he kisses Castiel's stomach and feels it tremble. Cas' head is thrown back, neck exposed and paler than Dean remembers, vulnerable.

Dean drags himself down farther. Cas' cock presses against his neck. He feels the dampness of precum at the tip touching his adam's apple. When freed, Cas' cock springs up and hits Dean's nose. It must look fucking ridiculous, but neither of them care.

Dean splays his fingers out on Cas' inner thighs, and settles in. He is going to make Cas beg.

~

Dreams are fucking awesome. Dreams mean soft mattresses and silk sheets, and super-quick recovery time. Dreams mean he can see Cas again.

“You're dead, right? You're in heaven? Or, like, angel heaven?”

Cas' feet are kind of cold. Dean pushes the covers down over them; when Cas lies his hand on Dean's neck and strokes the hollow behind his ear it's a too-intimate, too-sad gesture. Dean has to remind himself to breathe.

“I do not think the angels can find me. Either that, or they are not accepting me. I do not mind,” says Cas. “I am … present. I watch you, Dean.”

“That's kind of creepy. So, guardian angel?”

“Without any power.”

“You're here, aren't you?” Dean asks.

“And losing substance by the second,” says Cas. “Listen, Dean: this is important. You do not have to say yes. I could not succeed, but I have faith that you can. I have faith that, although you may lose some battles, you will win the war.”

“I might lose some battles? How many people will die in those battles that could be saved if Sam and I said yes?”

Cas stares at him, and Dean's fairly sure he's gotten his message across.

“I cannot pluck you back out this time,” Cas says.

“I'm not asking you to,” says Dean.

~

“So, pestilence is hitting Nevada,” says Sam. “Jo and Ellen called me – they think they can take him, but it doesn't look good, Dean. Ellen's sick and pretending she's fine, and Jo's terrified and pretending she's not.” Sam gets out the map and points at the 'X' he sharpied on. “I know you don't trust me, not since Ruby, not since the blood, and you're right not to, but I swear I can do this, Dean. If you let me say yes, I could walk him back into his cell.”

“I'm saying yes,” says Dean.

Sam doesn't ask what changed his mind.

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