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"Ow, shit!"
"I have to stop the bleeding. Be still."
The pressure on Dean's lower right abdomen rippled pain to his chest and down to his toes again. He squirmed away from Castiel, who sat in a chair beside his bed. The former angel really was the worst nurse ever. He jammed a dry hand towel into the foot-long gashes shaped like claw marks. Dean squirmed again.
"Dean, do you want to bleed to death?" Castiel stopped and eyed him threateningly.
"I'm not gonna die, damn it," he growled through gritted teeth. "Just wrap me up. Fuckin' werewolf."
Castiel shook his head, entirely absorbed in his work. "I have to disinfect the wound. Be still or I'll force you. It's for your own good, Dean. Animal attacks result in the worst kinds of bacteria to the human body and not cleaning the wounds properly could bring on a fatal infection."
"Yeah, right. Force me," laughed Dean darkly. "I'm bigger than you."
Sudden stillness fell over the former angel as he stared at the hunter with that stone-cold expression. Sometimes Dean swore that man was part cat the way he stared and sat in perfect stillness before he pounced. And in an instant, Castiel straddled Dean's lap and snatched his wrists, twisting until they nearly snapped. Blinking in shock, Dean stared up at him and squirmed but realized he couldn't move at all.
"It's true. You're bigger than me," said Castiel evenly. "But I have millennia of combat training on my side. You won't win, Dean. Now, are you going to cooperate?"
A surge of stubbornness made Dean push up against Castiel as if he could overthrow one of Heaven's former combat experts. His ego told him it would be easy to throw Castiel on the floor, but blue eyes flashed defiantly and his thighs squeezed Dean tighter around the hips. He patiently waited until the hunter quit fighting.
Dean couldn't believe how strong he was even though he'd watched Castiel kill the werewolf that attacked him that night. Human or not, he fought with the agility, strength, and self-possessed determination that went against his socially awkward nature. Seeing Castiel fight was highly interesting to him. More interesting than it should be. More like arousing. Just as quickly as the thoughts popped up, he smashed them down again, as he always did.
Dean's head rolled to the side on the pillow, unable to look at Castiel as he muttered, "Hurry up."
Castiel released his wrists but remained sitting on him. Clearly he knew better than to trust that Dean wouldn't make this difficult. He bent over the abdominal wound with the hand towel and tried to wipe away blood through the t-shirt. Frustration shadowed his face. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and a clean, sharp ripping sound filled the room, leaving Dean's torso exposed to the room.
"Really? That was a Zeppelin shirt," Dean complained.
A warning stare silenced him. Castiel's careful fingers pulled apart one of the claw marks, making Dean snarl in pain, but he examined it all so thoroughly that he could have easily passed for a doctor. The lines fanning out from his eyes seemed to smooth out in concentration.
He reached over Dean to soak the towel in a bowl of water. The sudden close proximity made him back up reflexively, except there was a memory foam mattress under him, and he had no escape. His eyes snapped shut. That backfired, though, as it made him even more aware of Castiel's body weight on top of him. Castiel shifted and Dean heard the bottle of antibacterial was snap open and shut.
Burning infiltrated his open wounds with each deliberate dab of Castiel's wet towel. Dean forced himself to remain stoic but it fucking burned like rubbing salt into the raw, bloody flesh.
"C'mon, Cas, you're killing me here," he grumbled, eyes clenched.
Silence answered him, but in a moment, something gripped his hand. He looked down at the improbable sight of Castiel holding his hand while he cleaned the wound with the other one. Instinct ordered him to pull away. It was too intimate. Yet he watched his own fingers lace around Castiel's fingers and he squeezed tightly. In response, though he gave no other indication of being aware, the former angel squeezed his hand too. It distracted him from the burning pain. It spiraled his mind into over-analyzing what it meant too, just like a dumb girl. His head fell back on the pillow, feeling conflicted and confused.
Just as Dean started feeling brave about his best friend holding his hand, Castiel let go. He looked up, almost ready to protest. He wasn't being himself but he wanted Castiel back on the bed with him, not that he wanted to admit why.
The room grew entirely too silent as Castiel rummaged in the bag dropped by the door. Dean cleared his throat. "You did great tonight, you know."
"Thank you," he said absently as he read the back of a box of large bandages. He showed Dean the back of his forearm. A long gash stretched from wrist to elbow, but had long since stopped bleeding. "First battle wound as a human. Pain is a little different in this body. It's more pronounced and localized."
"Tell me about it." Dean eyed the wound, more concerned than he wanted to show. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." Always so even and monotone.
Castiel sat on the edge of the bed and ripped open several gauze bandages on his lap. It mildly disappointed Dean that he didn't straddle him again, a thought as disturbing as it was expected. It steadily became harder and harder to deny that what he felt was anything short of romantic attachment. Too many nights witnessed him wandering around the bunker aimlessly, lost in a maze of trying to define his sexuality.
Bandages being taped to his skin pulled him from those thoughts. His eyes darted around the room as if Castiel could still see into his soul. If he thought about it reasonably, he might have admitted to himself that the former angel already knew long before he did.
"You're pale, Dean. Am I hurting you?" asked Castiel. A slight measure of emotion lifted his voice.
"N-no," Dean said.
Castiel nodded and taped the last bandage to his stomach. Fingertips smoothed out the tape, brushing his naked skin, and goosebumps formed all over his body. Shit. He couldn't hide it no matter what grotesque things he thought about to make it stop. Heat rose to the surface of his face. Shit. He felt himself blushing like a damn girl.
And then it was done.
"I have to change this every day to prevent infection," Castiel explained. "You can't ignore it if you experience more pain. I need to know."
"Yes, doctor," said Dean. He smiled weakly and sat up with considerable effort. "Okay, gimme your arm."
Castiel looked at his arm, then at Dean, and hesitated. Acknowledging that he was injured too meant acknowledging that he was quite mortal and fragile now, like every other human walking the earth. He acquiesced to Dean, though, and presented the lengthy gash. Dean grabbed another towel and began cleaning it the way he'd cleaned so many of Sam's wounds over the years. Except with Castiel, he gripped his wrist gently and took his time just to relish in the extra physical contact.
"Does it hurt?" He sounded raspy.
"Not anymore." Castiel's body shifted closer, just slightly, like a magnet feeling the pull toward iron.
Dean felt the shift but thought he imagined it. His eyes turned up to the new human's face poised rather close to his and they tensed in silent communication. One asked. The other answered. Neither knew which was which though. Maybe it was mutual and maybe it didn't matter.
"At least I can still watch over you, even like this," Castiel said quietly.
"You're still powerful as a human," Dean assured him. "I've never seen anybody fight like you. It's bad ass."
That made the formal angel smile in a bashful, endearing way. Before Dean realized what he was doing, he reached over and skimmed a hand along Castiel's jaw. The sensation of uneven stubble against his palm felt odd but he wanted to touch Castiel. His thumb caressed a smooth part of his cheek. Blue eyes softened and lifted, meeting his with a litany of questions, uncertainty, but most of all, wordless pleading for more.
"You saved me, you know." As Dean spoke, he realized he meant more than just that night. Castiel saved him in every sense of the word.
"I haven't saved you enough." Regret dripped from Castiel's lips as his hand slid over Dean's abdomen and rested over the large wound. "You could turn. I saw the werewolf going after you and I couldn't move fast enough. If I was still myself..."
Dean stopped him with a squeeze of his hand on Castiel's jaw. "You are yourself. Grace or no grace, you're still Cas. And I didn't get bitten. I won't turn. It just got a swipe at me. It takes more to get a bite of this sweet ass." He smirked, hoping to lighten the mood. "The thing would have bitten me if you didn't kill it first. I'm not keeping score anyway. You save me. I save you. It's what we do. Nobody gets left behind. You're a full-fledged member of the human race now that you took a hit. This thing's gonna scar."
The new human wrinkled his nose. "I already damaged my body."
"Nah, Cas. Scars are supposed to be sexy. They make a guy look tough." He opened a bandage and began taping a careful line along Castiel's wound.
"Hmm. Do you think they look sexy, Dean?" The question sounded so innocent coming from him.
Awkwardness made Dean tape a crooked line along a bandage. He glanced at Castiel's mouth a few times before he worked up the courage to look him in the eye. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous. If the angel had taken a female body, he would have known exactly how to flirt smoothly and close the deal in minutes. He wanted Castiel no matter what form he took, and that scared him. Was he gay? Was he bi? Was he straight with a weird quirk for angels? Now Castiel was asking this seemingly innocent question but really setting a trap.
"Uh..." Dean hesitated. He stalled. As soon as he finished the bandages, he reclined back on the bed with his hands braced on the mattress. "Y-yeah." He avoided looking at his best friend. "Yeah, Cas. On you. Yeah."
"Hmm." Castiel made that damn studious sound again.
Feeling rejected, Dean leaned up and started to stand, although his entire body ached from the fight with the werewolf. He passed Castiel but got yanked back onto the bed with a gentle tug not meant to cause him pain. A mouth pressed to his, although it took a second for his brain to catch up with the sensations. Warm lips, stubble, and an inexperienced kiss registered in his mind. Then it registered that it was Castiel. Dean's skin went hot as he wondered if he should let it happen or pull away.
His hands made the decision for him as they splayed around the back of Castiel's head, digging through his dark hair. The faint taste of coffee on his angel's tongue brushed over his lips. Teeth bumped each other as Dean calmed enough to take the lead and teach Castiel by example. He felt a hand on his naked chest and another around his waist. Dean's head tilted and he felt bold in deepening the kiss. Castiel learned quickly. He learned that pulling on Dean's lower lip made him suck in a breath of restrained pleasure. He learned that tongues felt amazing slowly sliding against one another and sucking lightly on each other's lips made them swell.
Dean had no idea how much time passed, or how Castiel ended up partially on top of him, but by the time they pulled apart, he knew there was no turning back.
"I didn't want to wait another four years," Castiel eventually teased softly.
"Hmm." Dean made that damn studious sound with a kiss. "I think--" Kiss. "--You better stay tonight.--" Kiss. "--In case I start--" Kiss. "--bleeding again."
"Yes, Dean. It's best to be safe," Castiel agreed, "but you really are the the worst patient."
He smiled against Castiel's mouth. "Then keep me busy."