Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I couldn't just let you die!" Cas kneels on the cold floor of the bunker, crushed to pieces. He hasn't said it, he won't say it, but Dean knows it.

"Twenty-five children are dead and you could have saved them, I told you, ordered you to save them." Ordered you to save them. That still feels weird coming out of Dean's mouth. He's spent a fuck load of time convincing the angel that he's his own person, that Dean doesn't own him, that he's not required to kneel at Dean's feet. Dean's spent that same length of time (the fuck load) convincing himself and Sam that Cas isn't a mindless robot sent to be his slave (least not now). Contriving all kinds of ways to test the varying theories he and Sam have come up with regarding Cas and thinking they have all the answers, only to arrive here yet again, this place of uncertainty.

"I disobeyed you, but you'll punish me, right Dean? Please. It will all be better then," Cas begs.

Of some things, Dean is certain: The angel needs structure (rules) and consequences (punishment); that he learned early on, but so many other things are less certain.

"That's not how it works, Cas. I can't just…" Dean trails off because it probably does work like that for the angel and if you asked Dean, especially right now, a lot of things are fucked up in angel land. He'd like to climb the fucking bean stalk to Heaven and let them know just how fucked up he thinks they run things, least when it comes to their angels.

"W-why, Dean? Why?" The angel's practically shaking and because Dean is the 'lucky' recipient of one pet angel he can feel, his body empathizes with the angel, also feeling the terror the angel is experiencing, through their 'profound' bond. Of course Dean doesn't think of the angel as his pet, those are just the sarcastic thoughts running through his head, because he's fucking pissed right now. He thinks further terrible thoughts, like maybe if Cas were a 'pet,' he would have fucking listened like the mindless robot Sam suspected he was when Cas first came home with him and twenty-five kids wouldn't be dead right now. Sure, Dean would be dead, but better him than kids. Least Dean thinks so.

But Cas isn't a mindless robot and because he's always looking, Dean sees this as further proof of that. Dean's come to learn that sometimes it's hard to reconcile human morals and ethics with angel ones—it took Dean and even brainiac Sam, a long time to learn what they know now, which is only a scrap of what they could know.

"I will be punishing you Cas, but I'm too angry right now. You can fucking wait." The angel trembles before Dean like Dean's god himself, which Dean supposes, he might be to Cas. Cas with his twisted, devout sense of faith in Dean, his eternal worship for Dean of which, Dean didn't have to do a thing to earn. Even with all the times he's fucked up with Cas, none of that worship has ever diminished—though it well should have. What the fuck kinda juice do they jack their feathered slaves up with anyway? Heaven. Dean bets Walter White is up there right now in his crystal baking motor home handing out fresh 'treats' to fucking kittens and puppies.

No. Here with Dean is better than Heaven, and Dean's a fucking liar if he claims that's the only reason he 'keeps' Cas. Maybe in the beginning he would have been able to live without Cas, but now his soul is tied to Cas; Dean won't let Cas go for anything.

"You're my fucking savior, Cas. I don't own you," Dean's said before, in the days where Dean stupidly tried to flat out tell Cas that he doesn't belong to Dean. Shit like that sent the angel into a frenzy at the time, and still does, one near impossible to bring him down from; Dean's learned to avoid it by telling Cas he's Dean's, often as he can find applicable. Cas wants to be Dean's, fights for it and damn you if you tell Cas otherwise. Cas is proud to 'serve' Dean.

"C'mon. Off your knees. Just, go to our room Cas. I'll deal with you later and I'd better not find you on the floor."

"Y-yes, Dean." It's weird to watch an angel shake in terror and shuffle away cloaked in shame, from a mere human's words. Sure that human is built like steel. He's cut the heads off over a thousand vampires armed with nothing more than a machete and a bit of dead man's blood. He sleeps with fear (one eye open), lives with fear, but won't let it over come him—he dances on fear's grave. Yeah, sure. All of that's true, Dean'll admit that, but it still doesn't seem right to have an angel of the lord (one that could blast him to smithereens) run from him like that, but no matter how he phrases it to Cas, or as long as Dean lives, Dean doesn't think he'll ever be able to erase that from Cas. Cas fears Dean whether Dean likes is or not. Not nearly as much as he did before, but just enough that in situations like this, he's gonna act like a 'bad dog.' Fuck. Fuck Dean's life up the ass.

Dean knows overall, that punishing Cas is the right thing to do, and he'll do it, but he'll never stop weighing the whys and the why nots against each other before each possible instance. Sure, sometimes it's cut and dry, but often it's complicated scenarios like this one—it's not always easy. There is a strange sort of ownership he's come to realize he has over the angel, whether he wants it or not. One he's still never been able to explain that one to Sam completely, but Sam has come to reason out why even if he doesn't exactly get it and Dean can't blame Sam for that.

Hell. There are still moments Dean questions his own ability to reason out certain things about Cas. This is when he thinks Sam could've been right on particular counts, all along. Sam's not convinced that the angel could possibly understand love, not like a human does anyway. He doesn't think Cas is programmed to give and receive love, just to worship who they're told to worship. Furthermore, angels are on a mission for Heaven and no matter how devoted an angel might seem to a human, that angel is devoted to Heaven first, his human second. Everyone after that is collateral damage.

Dean's never blamed Sam for thinking that and he might agree with him, if he were looking from the outside too, but that's impossible now. When Cas first talked of the 'profound bond' they share, Dean figured that was hoo-doo, angel, bullshit talk.

But too much has happened now for him to live in the bliss of that particular ignorance.

The tattoos on his skin crackle, sending an eerie jolt of pain through him, but it's not physical pain exactly. It's gut-wrenching sadness. It's self-pity so deep, it tugs at your insides making them want to collapse inward and suck into some unseen black hole in that pit where your despair lives. And the shame. The shame is the worst part, a dragging down sort of feeling making every thought and every movement heavy, which sprouts into a stabbing, paralyzing guilt. He knows what this is; he's felt this before, too many times.

Cas is crying.

Every instinct in him, both his own and the ones he inherited when he 'inherited' Cas, tell him to go to the angel, practically fucking scream at him to just get him there with Cas. Cas needs him, but Dean refuses. If he goes to Cas now, he'll just end up sticking his cock so far up him, claiming the angel again and again…he loses perspective when he stares at Cas for too long. No. Nu-uh. He can't go to Cas now.

Good perspective is exactly what he needs right now and he knows just where he's going to get it.

Sam.

Cas sits there, doing what he always does: Staring up at Dean adoringly like Dean invented fucking fire and the universe and like, fucking Nutella too. "Stop it, Cas. That's annoying."

Cas flinches and looks at the floor. "Sorry, Dean."

"No, argh, Cas, I…fuck." It's always a fucking disaster. It's just the way Dean talks, the way he's always talked, but Cas takes it like he's displeased his 'master.' Dean's already figured this out by now, but sometimes it's frustrating; suffocating. "You didn't do anything wrong Cas."

"My actions angered you. I don't, I don't mean to stare, but you fascinate me."

"I fascinate you? Cas stop staring at the ground and look at me."

"I, I, if I do, I don't know that I can help being…well I'm mesmerized by you Dean. It's probably better I look at the floor."

That makes Dean turn a couple different shades of red and he has a decision to make: Have Cas stare at the floor like he's a fucking slave whenever he's present, or have him stare at Dean like a doe-eyed teen. God dammit. "Cas, I'd rather you look at me than the floor, so, could you just try to keep the worship to a minimum?"

"I'll try," he says looking up, but already the blue eyes are beaming at Dean, his sun, moon and stars. "Would you still like me to tell you why you fascinate me?"

Dean is Cas's favorite topic. Just like Dean could talk about various rock bands 'till he's blue in the face, Cas could talk about nothing, but Dean until the end of eternity and he does. The only upside to it, is how much it annoys Sam; Dean likes when he gets to watch that…and sometimes eggs the angel on to amuse himself.

"Go nuts, darlin'," Dean says running a hand through Cas's hair, which sends shockwaves of contentment and pleasure through Cas that make Cas purr.

"I usually start with your eyes. I like to figure out, which wavelength of green they are each day and count every line in them just to make sure I didn't make a mistake yesterday. What I can never puzzle out, is how they've managed to get that shade of green. I've compared them to every other green on Earth, the world over and nothing matches them, nothing pales them, they are the most unique set of eyes on the planet and starting there, already I'm proud to serve you, proud the holy Father would pick you for me. Just staring at your eyes makes me feel unbelievably lucky and that's only the start of it. There's so much more I know I've yet to get to after your eyes, but I'm scared to leave them too soon, in case I've missed something."

Dean wishes he never asked. Already he feels uncomfortable and is shifting in his seat and if that's how much Cas has to say on his eyes—the irises alone, how long are they going to be here talking about the rest of them? Dean laughs uneasily. "You count my eyelashes too?" he jokes in attempt to shed some of the suffocating confinement he feels, in moments like these when 'owning' an angel is too much.

"I do," Cas nods, and Dean can tell he's giddy as fuck, hopeful he's done something right for his human. "At the moment you have one hundred and fifty-three on the right and one hundred and forty-seven on the left."

"At the moment?"

"You had one hundred and fifty-four on the right this morning, but one fell out. Sometimes it's hard to keep track of those, I was able to save that one, but hair is worse, do you want to know how many strands of hair you have?"

Really, really, not. "Uh, not right now. Cas, what did you mean by 'save that one?' Do you save my fucking eyelashes?" There's no anger in Dean's voice, but by the way Cas winces slightly, he knows Cas is second guessing the release of that information.

"I, I, I keep them," he swallows. "Do, do you…was I not supposed to?" For having spent his angel life in some fucked up kind of 'human learning school' up in heaven, Cas knows surprisingly little about human behaviors.

"Naw, it's okay, Cas. They're yours." Great, my own creepy ass angel stalker. It's not the first time Dean's thought this, it won't be the last.

Cas's body relaxes. "Thank you Dean. When I first began collecting them, I had intended to try sticking them back on you, but then I came to the conclusion that humans are supposed to lose them to make room for new ones. Since you didn't need them and didn't seem to miss them, I kept them, but I probably should have asked." He looks at the floor again; the submissive gesture pisses Dean off.

"Eyes to me, Cas. Don't make me tell you again," Dean says, feeling bad about giving an order, but it's the only way Cas fucking listens. That's the weird dichotomy of his angel. He won't disobey Dean's order, unless it's something he thinks could endanger his human (though he wouldn't even do that in the very beginning), but he doesn't necessarily wait for Dean to tell him to do things either. Like with this whole fucked up version of a stamp collection he's got going. He didn't think to ask permission to do it, didn't think anything was wrong with it, until now (got to count for something right?) but Dean will be damned if he'll let Cas cow to him like that, even if he has to make it a rule, so the angel will do it, even if it's without the understanding.

"Yes, Dean. Sorry."

He also wishes Cas wouldn't apologize, so goddamn much, but he'll save that one for another day. "I don't care about the eyelashes, Cas. It's freaking weird, but it's harmless."

"Thank you, Dean. They are precious to me. Every part of you is. Can I tell you about your lips?"

Dean closes his eyes then opens them again. He wants to tell him no, because he really doesn't want to fucking hear Cas talk about his lips. He'll have to stop Cas at some point anyway because there's no way Dean is going to sit here and hear about the bits of fluff between his toes, or how many flakes of skin he loses hourly, or whatever other weird crap Cas is fascinated by about him, but he can listen, at least until he's finished this cup of coffee, about his lips.

He can do this, because Cas isn't the only one fascinated, Dean is too, by Cas. It's just…it takes a different form than Cas's fascination with him. Dean gets excited about the way his heartbeats whenever Cas is near, or whenever he thinks about him for too long. He wants to allow himself to feel that special pounding of his heart freely, as he gazes at all the wonder and beauty that is Cas. He might not count the flecks in Cas's eyes (he still knows how blue they are) and he might not, oh god, save his freaking eyelashes, but he senses the radiance of Cas's grace like it's part of him. Sure the vessel Cas is in is attractive, with its rugged brown hair and toned physique, but Dean knows that it's not really Cas. Cas, real Cas, is somehow able to shine through this vessel and improve it, making it the most sublime thing Dean's ever seen and when he stares at it for too long, Dean's skin tingles and he forgets about the whole world. He has to look away and focus on something else, anything else, just to function. Is this something like what Cas means with his insane version of fascination?

He has to pretend that his cock doesn't harden, filling so full he's afraid it will break the skin when he's near Cas. Every part of him wants to be in Cas, be connected with him skin to skin. When he stares at Cas, he feels free to imagine all the things he'd do if he were allowed to really make Cas his. He could spend hours, envisioning how Cas would moan beneath him; how he would move; what he would look like when he came. These thoughts are so wrong, he usually looks away too, like Cas does, but never at the floor, so he doesn't want Cas looking at the fucking floor either.

When he watches Cas speak, like now, Dean doesn't have to look away and he feels like he has permission to think about all the things he'd like to do to Cas and feel all the ways his insides twist and turn with a longing for Cas that he can never quench.

So while it's a different form of fascination, it's fascination all the same, only Cas's kind, makes him feel guilty about his kind and makes him wish Cas would stop being fascinated with him all together.

Cas is nothing but a slave who pathetically worships his owner and Dean will be dammed if he takes advantage him.

Cas comes into the room and looks for Dean like an excited puppy, just like every morning. It's like Dean never gets old, he's always the angel's shiny new penny and Dean (right or wrong) loves it. Loves it not, so secretly these days. He doesn't openly admit it, but it's pretty freaking clear to anyone who's got eyes.

Dean pats the bench seat beside him and can't help straddling the bench, sideways, manhandling Cas to do the same, so he can wrap his arms around him and pulls Cas's back to press against Dean's chest and the beating heart inside him that beats for Cas.

It's the only way Cas feels comfortable enough to sit with Dean anyway. He feels it more appropriate to sit at the floor by Dean's feet as he's explained to Dean time and time again (something he was taught his human would like), but Dean forbids it.

Dean can now sense how wrong sitting by Dean feels to Cas, something that started happening a little while ago—Dean being able to sense what Cas feels, almost like he's feeling it himself. Just another fucking eerie thing that came with the Cas package, but Dean's already learned to accept it.

He's learned to accept a lot of things about Cas. How much Cas worships him unconditionally just being the tip of that iceberg, along with all of Cas's eccentricities. The way Cas acts like a slave, but Dean knows that's not true, not anymore. Not since the shift in their bond took place—where Dean began to feel what Cas was feeling.

Sam can't accept Cas's behaviors. Not from lack of trying and still trying. Sam and Dean talk about Cas often, but Sam lacks the intrinsic senses Dean's been gifted, the ones that came with the angel. Dean's not mad that Sam can't understand, frustrated, hell yeah, but not angry…okay, well sometimes things get heated, but not on the whole. If anything, it's Dean that feels deficient, that he's the one doing a piss poor job of explaining it to Sam in a way he can understand.

Sam's concern buds from caring about both Dean and Cas, so it's easy not to get too angry over the whole ordeal, but it is hard, discarding the possibility that maybe Sam's right. Sam has always been the smarter one of the two in Dean's opinion, maybe Sam sees things clearer than Dean is able to, especially being so closely connected to Cas, which worries Dean. Cas and Dean, have come to this comfortable place of touching, which Dean knows they both like, but the fear that he could be taking advantage of the angel, still occupies a corner of his mind.

More prominently, Dean believes he's just as much Heaven's slave as Cas is; that they're in this (whatever it is) together (that's soothing on one count). He thinks it's possible that he's somehow been just, as tangled into the web Cas can't seem to escape and that he may not know anymore what his real feelings are. Maybe he's the one being pimped out to an angel and not the other way around?

Whatever the case, Sam doesn't think it's right that Dean touches Cas like he does. Sam doesn't believe Cas is capable of true consent to intimate sorts of touches, because Cas is brainwashed to believe he's Dean's slave and nothing more, that he should do whatever pleases Dean. While it might appear as if Cas is thinking for himself sometimes (Dean shamefully admitted to Sam that Cas collects his eyelashes like pogs) each thought is derived from what would best make Dean happy. Touching him is like touching a child, Sam says. Cas has no more capacity to understand intimate touching than would Dean's ex, Lisa's son, Ben. He might appear to be consenting, but it's not the same as him or Dean consenting.

When the alternative is Cas kneeling at his feet (because, Dean's learned, Cas is only comfortable beside Dean when Dean's touching him) Dean is able to convince himself that the table nestling and light petting (he likes to run fingers through Cas's hair absently while he eats breakfast) is better than that. It's got to be, right? It's not sexual (no matter how hard his cock is he's not using it) and everyone deserves a little kindness, even 'brainwashed' angels. Better to have him sit against Dean and feel the lazy, satisfied happiness pouring off him than the nervous, trembles Dean feels when Cas is kneeling on the floor ('cause he still trembles there even if he claims it's more comfortable. Dean thinks he's full of shit), or even in the seat beside him. Dean's touch calms the angel.

"Do you want more coffee, Dean?" Cas croons, enjoying Dean surrounding him.

"You're not my slave Cas, I can get my own refill."

"I know, Dean. You always say that. Can't I do something nice for you?" The angel seems almost, irritated. Dean's just happy to finally be able to have these conversations with the angel and have the angel understand that, or at least pretend to, though Dean's ninety percent sure it's the former. Sam thinks that when Cas says he knows he's not a slave, it's because Cas knows that's what Dean wants him to believe; it's still Cas pleasing Dean.

"Of course you can, darlin'. I just want to make sure you know." Dean even has to give him this, allow him to serve him hand over foot (yet another thing Sam doesn't get) lest it dim Cas's luminous grace a fraction, because that's what happens every time Dean says no to something Cas wants to do for him.

No matter how many times Dean gets scolded by Sam for calling Cas 'darlin',' Dean does it anyway. It brightens Cas's whole vessel and eases his ever-present batch of knotted nerves. Cas is still nervous around Dean, far less than in the beginning, but still far more than Dean would like. He tries to ease the angel as much as he can; he hopes one day the angel won't fear him quite so much.

Dean watches as Cas gets up to retrieve the pot then pours him the coffee, bringing with him another donut that Dean didn't ask for, but Cas seems to know he wanted. After he returns the pot to its place in the coffee maker, he stands before Dean like he doesn't want to assume he just 'gets' to return to Dean's literal lap of luxury, Dean catches his eyes flicker to the floor and sees his knees about to give way. Before he can make his decent, Dean snatches his wrist, yanking him down to him, just as before, with Cas in front and Dean behind; he doesn't intend to let out the near growl, but that's what he does. "You belong up here, with me Cas. Not on the floor. Never on the floor."

Sam warned him about this and Dean promised it would never happen, that he'd never do anything other than the touching (which he has good reason for) but it's happening. Somehow, light petting turned to medium petting and medium petting (absent hair carding, became absent toying of Cas's nipples) led to this: Kissing.

Dean's sure it's not entirely his fault, he's only willing to take half of the blame if this goes to trial with Judge Sam presiding. It began as a normal non-hunting day, with Dean playing his and Sam's own version of Risk, using a Costco sized bag of Skittles, with Cas, and the map table. Dean always cheats ('cause Cas lets him) stealing some of Cas's Skittles from Cas's countries, while Cas is distracted staring at him; eats them, then pretends he doesn't know what Cas is talking about when Cas asks about them.

Cas claims that when Dean laughs, it's like a million bubbles popping along his insides, which reminds him of the feeling it is to float on the clouds in Heaven. It makes him want to float with Dean. The first time Cas said it, he wondered if that was the angel equivalent of asking him to be his prom date, the fifth time he said it, he knows it's true because now the angel's tongue is down his throat.

Dean laughed a lot previous to Cas playing tonsil hockey with him, knowing what it does to him. Not that the laughs weren't real, they were all real, but sometimes Dean's held back laughs, concerned he would lead the angel on, due to his hunch (why oh why do his hunches always have to be right?) but today he played with Cas, knowing what it does to him, wanting him to feel the bubbles, because he was feeling them too. Dean doesn't know what floating on a cloud feels like, but if it feels anything like it does when he's with Cas then he wants to live on a fucking cloud. With Cas.

"I didn't fucking eating nothing, Cas. You sure your angel mojo's working right?" all of this said whilst chewing on at least four of Cas's green Skittles (Dean's eyes) he stole off of Russia and three of Cas's pink Skittles (Dean's lips) he stole off of Brazil and followed by Dean's husky, whiskey Jack laugh—the one that he knows would make Cas bubbly.

That's the last thing Dean remembers and now it's this: Cas trying to climb down his throat, tongue first, Dean responding by letting him, opening his mouth just the right amount, parting his teeth and using his tongue to pull Cas's in further, instead of shoving it into Cas's mouth.

He's wanted to do this forever. He wants to do this forever.

Ignoring the erection he gets at the breakfast table, with Cas's ass pressing into it has become near impossible. Every shift and every breath Cas takes spikes Dean's arousal. Sam catches him staring at Cas's lips, longing for a taste and has to clear his throat, so Dean'll break from his desire, long enough to eat. But while he can distance himself from his desire for Cas in fits and starts, it's never going away and has only grown.

Now that this moment has finally come, just as Sam knew it would and likely Dean too despite all of his adamant denial, it's a bomb going off. It's fourth of July fireworks—now that Dean's been ignited, all that's left is the beautiful explosion of colors and Dean wants to enjoy the beauty of it before the guilt sinks in. He pushed it today, okay, so it's actually a lot his fault. He drove Cas over the edge, all Cas did was hang onto Dean's lapels and pull Dean with him.

They're interrupted by a loud, angry throat clear. Dean yanks himself off of Cas, while Cas flounders for a moment, wondering why his tongue is hooking nothing but air, until he realizes Dean's stopped them. "Didn't you like it Dean? I wanted you to like it. I wanted you to float on the clouds with me." He's oblivious to Sam, or more likely, he knows Sam's there, but is more concerned with Dean.

"You see Dean? He's just trying to please you," Sam points out.

"I am. Sam's right, I'm trying to please you," Cas readily agrees.

It's all so confusing for Dean. They're both saying the exact same thing, but the way each says it feels different. It's obvious Sam still feels it's taking advantage, by the tone in his voice. With Cas, Dean knows he means that sentence literally, because he does revel in pleasing Dean. Cas in turn, thinks Sam was speaking just as literally. He knows how much Dean loves and respects Sam, Cas is meticulous about finding ways to agree with Sam to make Dean proud. All of that is wrapped up in Cas's response…but Dean doesn't feel like Cas means it how Sam thinks he means it.

While he's got nothing to prove otherwise (especially since Cas has just agreed) Dean can't reconcile the 'just,' that Cas was just pleasing him. It's this shadow of doubt, this lack of justification that makes Dean feel he needs to rely on Sam to be his moral compass on this one. He wants to do right by Cas.

Even if Sam is right, Dean knows in his bones Cas would never understand the difference, what being taken advantage of means, to a human anyway. Dean could do whatever he wanted to Cas, Cas's mind wouldn't see it as wrong. Just the opposite. Dean knows nothing would make the angel happier.

Except Dean would know.

And when you can't stand your own reflection in the mirror anymore, what then?

Dean doesn't have enough information to know whether Sam's wrong or right. Just one of his famous almost never wrong hunches and that's not good enough for his Cas, so he pulls further away from Cas. Satisfied, Sam walks out of the room.

Cas starts shaking, fighting back racking sobs that are pounding in Dean's skull. "Cas," Dean warns as he grabs his own hair in his hands, but Cas doesn't stop. "Cas," he tries again, as the pounding gets worse, his skull threatening to explode.

"I, I'm sorry De-ean. I did some-something wrong. I d-d-didn't do it right. Our f-first time was supposed to be special," he wails. "I wanted it to be special for you. Please you, like Sam said."

Incongruent. Dean weighs each word against the next making sense of them individually, but the whole is incongruent in this head. It sounds like Cas has been planning this, thinking about this. If someone has the ability to premeditate such acts, isn't that more than consent?

No matter how much he wants it to be a firm yes, the best he can come up with is that it depends on the circumstances and it's Cas's last words about pleasing him that still make Dean doubt Cas's ability to consent to sex stuffs.

Dean takes his frustration out on the Skittles, scattering them everywhere, throwing them at the walls and even at Cas who's freaking the fuck out now, curling himself into a little ball crouched on the floor and still crying the sobs Dean can feel in his head. Why does today have to be the day he feels Cas inside him this intensely? It's like their kiss has taken Dean deeper into Cas; he can feel more because of that kiss.

When Dean's done, he rushes to Cas, crouches down and pulls Cas to him, yanking them both to the floor. Cas lets him, though Dean knows Cas has the strength of eighteen Supermans and could easily refuse and latches onto Dean still crying. Dean didn't know angels cried until he met Cas. He didn't know much about angels at all really, but even in the early days of Cas, when he learned that Cas pulled him out of Hell, he never imagined an angel could cry until he saw and even now, as he witnesses it, he has a hard time believing it's really happening.

An angel crying is the most horrible thing imaginable. It feels like the whole world is dying. Like all the happiness and goodness there ever was has been stuffed into a dark, ugly box that will never have the sunshine on it again. You'd trade your shattered bones, for it to stop.

Dean knows how much Cas likes to be held. He knows it, so he fucking does it and damn the world, damn himself if this is a bad thing. "Shh darlin'. It was perfect, our first kiss was more perfect than I imagined it," Dean says quietly.

"Y-you imagined it too?" he sniffles. Sniffling Dean can handle.

"For so long," Dean finally admits out loud and wipes at Cas's tears while he watches Cas beam through watery eyes. Admitting his desire for Cas is so easy when it's just him and Cas. He knows it's something only the two of them can understand, because they're the only ones who feel it, they're the only ones who feel each other.

"I was so sure Dean, I felt it through our bond at least I thought I did. For a moment, when you pulled away, I thought I'd got it wrong and…and…"

"And what Cas?"

"I thought I had been put me with the wrong human, it happens sometimes, not often, but it's possible within family members because the bloodlines are so close. I thought maybe I was really meant for your father, or even your child. The pair will know upon the first kiss if it's wrong."

"That doesn't sound like something that could be your fault, you said you thought you got it wrong?"

"The angel still has to get the timing right. You can have the ri-ight pair," he stutters having trouble speaking, Dean holds him tighter. "Kiss at the wrong time and the bond won't take to the next level."

The next level? Wait. There are levels? The pounding in his head, feeling Cas deep within his guts: That must be the bond gripping its way, hooking into Dean. Dean should feel violated, but all he can feel is relief. This is it, this is his proof for Sam. Hell. If anyone's floundering in the dark, it's Dean. He's the one who was given an angel to without the freaking instruction manual and now the 'profound bond' that has been growing between them since Cas gripped him tight and pulled him from perdition has just spread. Dean has no way of knowing if it's a blooming garden, or a virus.

"I want to be yours Dean. I want so bad to be yours, I ache. It hurts Dean."

"Hush, Cas. No more aching, okay? You are mine. You're in here now," Dean says giving in; hoping Cas will know what he means.

"It worked?"

"Pretty sure."

Cas puts his hand over Dean's chest and closes his eyes. Dean knows when Cas reaches out with his grace because he can feel. It's warm and it's surreal and if it is a virus, fuck it. Dean gives it full permission to infect him, so long as he can always feel Cas like this. "I am. I'm in there Dean." His whole body sags like a huge weight has been lifted off him, he snuggles closer to Dean and Dean wonders who owns whom. They lay like that a long time, not speaking.

"I did eat them. I ate your Skittles Cas," Dean admits. He's not sure what else to say. Nothing else seems right.

"I know you did Dean."

"Have you been reading my mind?"

"No. I'd never do that without your permission, unless you were hurt, knocked out and couldn’t tell me what was wrong."

"Then how could you know?"

"For a hunter, you're not very stealth when you play Risk."

A little stung, Dean is silent for a while longer, Cas is content to lay there with him as they are for all time, he's sure. "Dean?"

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

Oh, now he asks. "Not today," is the most Dean can promise.

"Oh but, we will kiss again?"

Dean looks into those blue, blue eyes, staring up at him hopeful, terrified of rejection. Fuck morals when they have the capacity to cut someone's limbs off and let them bleed out. "We'll kiss again."

Cas nods.

"But c'mon," he says helping Cas up, Cas letting him even though Cas doesn't need help to do anything, well, except get dressed (for some reason clothes bewilder the angel. Does that mean it's all naked angels up in Heaven?). "You haven't showed me your eyelash collection in a while, I'm starting to worry you quit collecting."

Excitement beams out of Cas. "Oh no. Never. I've re-doubled my efforts, so I don't lose a single one. You really want to see?" He's practically jumping, raising up on his tip toes then slamming down to his heels.

"Nothing would please me more," Dean says. Thank God, sarcasm is beyond Cas.