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Castiel hears the trucks closing on the camp, hears the tires working through the muddy path. His legs fidget slightly in the lotus position, as he feels the want to jolt upwards and drop his meditation. The doors slam shut loudly, followed with muddled steps. He recognises Dean’s grunts, his stomps around the closing gate.
On their wooden, slightly uneven porch Castiel had spread one of his yoga rugs. He had made just a quick routine before slumping down to lotus position, because the foot he broke a while back was aching. He inhales via his left nostril, trying to balance his meditative state, which he’d already reached. Yoga was his way of relaxing, finding some sort of connection back to entity, universe and all that.
Finding sense and truth, if that was somehow possible in their situation.
Instead finding peace and quietness for a while, he finds himself listening on how cold Dean’s voice sounds when he greets the others.
That stupid, stupid fight! Why Dean had to be so stubborn?
His meditation is ruined. Castiel still keeps his eyes closed, but he gives up and listens how one of the new members of the camp approaches Dean hesitantly. The woman’s voice breaks into tears when she asks him about her children, still clinging to the last hope they might have been found. The returned troops tell her over and over again how sorry they were for not finding them. However, Castiel can hear the honest answer in Dean’s voice; the children were infected and probably road kill by now.
No matter how much Dean had stoned his heart, even he wasn’t able to tell that to the crying mother’s face. No, he couldn’t. This whole situation just eats him alive, piece by piece, and even Castiel wasn’t always allowed to see the depths of it.
That stupid, stubborn idiot.
The scene erupts, footsteps scatter around the camp. Air fills with slowly relaxing chatter and Dean’s final commands. Castiel hums, focusing his eyes back to area of his third eye and sails back to meditative state. All the thoughts and worries start to slip away, wash into to the universe, leaving him empty and in connect…
“You got a minute?”
Dean’s voice crackles, like he is too stressed to talk right now, but also determined to still go through with it. Castiel opens his eyes slowly, not sure either if he wants to do this. Eventually he sighs, stands up and stretches his arms.
“Fine. But next time you see me meditating I would appreciate it if you would allow me to do so in peace.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean mutters nonchalantly, but Castiel hears the subtle giving in, knowing next time he’ll be left alone.
They stomp inside the cabin, Dean first, stripping away his dirty clothes from the mission. He throws them angrily to a big pile, and kicks his muddy shoes away, so that he’s only left with his thorn jeans and a grey t-shirt. Castiel lets his eyes wonder over him for a sneaky second, before he turns around and heads for the small stove.
“How was the mission?”
To distract himself from Dean’s looming presence, Castiel picks up a kettle and pours water in it.
“So, you haven’t talked to me for two days, why now? Something happened?”
Dean is still standing quietly, just intensely staring at his every movement. There are distant noises outside as people in the camp go on about their days; Chuck walks past their window, talking to someone about the possibility of getting milk. Ginger and lemon in his tea smell like a calming balsam, but Castiel knows how Dean feels about it, so he takes the few coffee beans left and grinds them. Grounds turn the steaming, swirling water pitch black.
“You were the one who wanted to talk.”
Castiel sounds idle, not really minding that Dean hasn’t said a word. He is too tired to fight, and too tired to listen to things he has heard so many times. He closes the distance between them, getting so close he can smell Dean’s characteristic scent mixed with sweat. Count the freckles on the tip of his nose.
Dean’s stare shifts to the floor, as if it could open and relieve the secrets of taking down Lucifer. Castiel offers him the steaming mug of coffee, his heart slowly softening to the idiot standing there in front of him.
Dean takes the mug and chugs half of it down with one movement. Slowly their gazes meet. Dean’s hardened eyes turn into tired ones - bright green dimming down, showing how hurt he truly is.
“It was okay. We found everything needed, but the kids were far gone. Like you said.”
Castiel nods, taking a sip from his tea, savouring the lemon on the tip of his tongue.
“And I got you these.” Dean digs into his pockets, pulling out a small box of medicine.
“Not your usual, but guess it’ll do.”
Castiel knows it’s the best apology he is going to get. Dean would never actually be able to put into words how sorry he is.
Part of Castiel hates all this, hates the way Dean is emotionally so crumbled he takes it out on him, just to apologize like this.
Hates the way he reaches for the bottle and savours it, knowing he will down it at some point, when the deep scarred cuts on his back will ache again, making his head spin in pain.
Hates how they both know it’s only part of the reason he gets stoned.
Instead wording anything that goes in his head, Castiel only nods shortly, putting the bottle next to others on the table. From the pocket of his loose shirt he picks a small white tablet, offering it to Dean, who shakes his head, but takes it. His eyebrows rise a little, when he downs it with coffee.
“It’s not your fault Dean.”
“What isn’t?”
“Any of this.”
Dean shrugs, as if he doesn’t care, and chugs down the rest of his coffee. His gaze is fixed back to the floor, barefoot following the lines of shaggy rugs laying in piles on the floor. Castiel puts their mugs away, sighing deep. He steps right in front of Dean, forcing him to lift up his eyes.
“I mean it, Dean.” He reaches a hand to fondle Dean’s hair, stroking slowly his long fingers through it. Dean leans into the touch, closing his eyes.
“Sometimes it just… All this… Is too much, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
Castiel wraps both of his arms around Dean, pulling him into a tight hug. So starved after few days of non-speaking and non-touching, Dean eagerly melts into the hug, practically burrowing himself against Castiel. They stand there for a while, clinging on to each other. Castiel’s fingers stroke Dean’s back, trying to ease the tension.
Dean lifts his head, tracing small kisses along his neck, behind his ear and eventually to his lips. Excitedly Castiel dives into the kiss, tasting the lingering coffee on Dean’s lips. Soon they are panting eagerly, as their tongues wrestle, and hands start to explore the exposed skin. Dean grunts into the kiss, digging his fingers deep into Castiel’s hips, closing in until there simply is no air left between them.
Castiel stumbles back, steps to the general direction of the bed. Dean chases after him, keeping the distance between their bodies non-existent as Castiel pulls his shirt roughly, so desperate to get rid of it. Their lips part only for mere seconds they spend to gaze at each other heatedly, before they smack back together to share even more burning kisses. Dean throws them to the bed, which squeaks under their weight, and wiggles out the rest of the way of his shirt. Then he attacks Castiel’s shirt, pulling it over his head at the same time as tugging his trousers.
“Cas. Cas. Cas.”
His voice is a soft, warm whisper on Castiel’s skin, when his head falls down and lips follow every line of muscle. The small break in his voice is a soft exhale; Castiel’s breath gets caught somewhere in the back of his throat, mind lost in the softness of Dean’s lips and roughness of his fingertips that trace marks on his body. Withering under him Castiel tries to get Dean lose his jeans – ineffectively, but tries. Eventually Dean brakes away for long enough for both of them to get rid of all the rest of the clothes.
Dean’s chuckle is sudden, but for once, honest and reminds Castiel of what he used to sound.
“You’re going around commando? Seriously?”
“It feels better.”
“You’re a dork.”
“You are reckless and stubborn.”
There’s a warm gleam in Dean’s eyes as he bends down, lips searching for Castiel’s. The kisses they change are tender, small breathes of each other’s scent, relishing each other’s taste. There’s no need for words. They’ve searched each other’s bodies before, mapping every inch, finding out the sweet spots.
Just as tender as their kisses are, their hands trace the lines of their bodies. Dean’s hand raises behind Castiel’s head, fingers twirling between strands of his overgrown hair. The other hand sweeps over his chest, reaching down to his hips. Castiel’s fingers linger on Dean’s back, drawing circles and an occasional heart. Their eyes are open, Dean’s shining bright green, swelling up with emotions he usually during the day doesn’t show – sadness, vulnerability. Castiel’s deepen darker and darker pools of blue, trying to get through all the forgiveness and love his heart is bursting up with when seeing that look.
Their noses bump together and stay there for a while. Dean’s hot breathe tickles Castiel’s lips and cheek. Then he nuzzles to Dean - noses sliding against each other from side to side. Slowly their lips meet again, sweet and tender. With his nose Castiel traces Dean’s freckles, making him smile and chuckle awkwardly. He dives down to Castiel’s lips, hand in his hair gripping tighter and yanking his head up.
Their teeth clack when they clash together. Castiel’s tongue finds Dean’s, wrestling around it, then sucking it in with all of his force. Dean’s fingers dig deeper to his hip; his fingers dig between Dean’s shoulder blades, leaving read lines all across.
Suddenly Dean dips down to his throat, burning kisses tracing his nerves and boiling up his blood. Castiel’s hands dig deeper, trace the delicious line of ass cheeks and slap them gently. Dean’s hips buck to his, cocks rubbing together. He tries to gets his hands between their clasped bodies, but it’s impossible, as Dean continues rocking their hips together.
The needed break to them comes when Dean reaches for the lube on the night stand, forced to lift up a little. Castiel immediately grabs his cock, starting a steady rhythm. Dean’s eyes flutter, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing – soon the warmed up and slippery fingers are teasing him.
With ease Castiel throws his shines to Dean’s backside, smashing their bodies back together. This also gives him a change to cup their bulking erections to the same hand. The friction sends shivers down both of their spines.
Not after a long, Dean is entering him, hastily kissing his shoulders and collar bones.
They grunt in unison, Castiel’s hand digging into Dean’s hair.
Quickly they fall to the rhythm, every thrust making Dean buckle closer and Catiel’s spine arch a bit more.
They thrust and pull.
Their bodies tingle.
Their flesh burns.
Everything becomes a blur of lust, lips reaching whatever they can, fingers leaving deep marks to their skin. Limbs entwine, still trying to find a way to get closer. To cling on one another.
Castiel is becoming winded, his heart taking a new, unsteady pace. Sheer pleasure lolls his head back, actually bumping to the wall, but he doesn’t notice it.
Deans moist tongue is drawing to his neck when his thrusts get deeper, adjusting the angle just a bit.
Teeth bite down to the end of his neck.
Castiel is thrown over to the flow. For a second everything is so sharp – the last rays of light in Dean’s sweat-swamped hair, his raw musky scent mixed with gunfire, the taste of his soft skin right beneath his ear.
The look of adorement on his face, lips drawing up to a sly smile.
The way his eyes roll around when he reaches the high too. Spine arching, hands grasping tight to him.
The small breath that escapes his lips, filled with lust.
“Cas. Oh, fuck, Cas.”
They lump against each other, foreheads bumping. Castiel reaches for the last kiss; it’s slow and lingering.
Finally they break up, Dean licking his lips, carefully easing himself out of Castiel.
They both wince at the coolness of air, which becomes apparent whit the loss of touch when they separate. Dean humps down on his side of the bed, lazily tucking the blanket under him.
He grabs Castiel’s waist and pulls him closer. They cuddle as close as they get when face to face, legs entwining automatically. Castiel’s hand cups Dean’s cheek, thumb gently tracing his cheek bone. Dean sighs lightly to the touch, closing his eyes.
“You know what’s funny?”
His voice is a mumble tickling Castiel’s nose.
“Hmm?”
“You smell like forests and taste like ocean.”
Castiel’s laughter is brief and almost inaudible. His intent gaze follows the way Dean’s eyes keep closing and his breathe slowing down, until he eventually lulls to sleep. Even after that Castiel doesn’t close his eyes or drop his hand. He stays in that position as long as humanly possible, so happy to see Dean sleeping peacefully. His calm breathes warm Castiel’s cheek.
The camp around them is also quiet, there are only few steps from time to time, when the night guards walk around. Insects makes small voices, but Castiel finds them harder and harder to hear every year. The sun has fallen, leaving everything in the dark. Their kitchen still has the single lamp on, creating looming shadows of their furniture on the walls.
Castiel doesn’t want to move, in a fear to wake up Dean, but unfortunately they don’t have the luxury of keeping lights on during the night time. First of all, they want to save up the generators and secondly the Croats. They follow the lights like lost moths.
He sighs and pulls up carefully. Slowly he lets his feet drop to the wooden floor, trying to avoid any creaks. After few steps he just reaches towards the lamp, pulling its string to shut it. But he must not have been as quiet as he thought, because Dean moves around.
Castiel freezes, hoping that Dean is just changing a side, not waking up. His eyes are getting used to darkness; the lines of the bed and Dean’s body become more apparent every passing second. He takes one doubtful step. Dean’s head pops up and his sleepy voice is almost muffled by his own hand.
“Cas?”
“I just shut the lamp, go back to sleep, Dean.”
Dean murmurs something as Castiel comes to his side, kneeling down.
“Nightmares again?”
Dean only nods, sits on the edge of the bed and covers his face with his hands.
“I – I tried to talk to Sam, but he burned up in flames and I screamed for Michael, but…”
Dean’s voice cracks and fades away. He sniffles, still pushing his palms hard against his eyes. Castiel sighs, pain tightening around his heart. He puts his hand on Dean’s head, slowly running his fingers through Dean’s hair.
Dean’s hands drop down in defeat and he lets Castiel to pet him. Then he does something he has done now for a while. It started the first time Castiel admitted that it didn’t just hurt him physically to have his grace fade away – they were many things he missed about being an angel. He missed his powers, yes, but also his family. He missed the connection to thousands of others; his brothers and sister were gone to him in a way they had never before. He also missed hearing the humans, sensing the longing and the pleading. Knowing he was useful.
That was when Dean had sat down facing him, closed his eyes and started murmuring just like he did now. He prays to Castiel again.
He prays for Sam to be alright.
He prays for hope and strength to deal with Lucifer and this mess.
Foremost, he prays for Castiel to be with him, to never leave him.
“OL BERANUSAJI VORSG.”
Castiel says it as always – low and sturdy – and kisses lightly the back of Dean’s bowed head.
They stay there until Dean’s breathing settles and Castiel’s toes start to feel cold. Gently Castiel pushes Dean back into the bed, climbing to his own side right over him. Dean smiles and stabs him with his elbow, just to pull himself closer and nuzzle his nose to Castiel’s neck.
They both drowse off peacefully.
Sun beams to his eyes, someone’s yelling in a distance. Castiel opens his eyes reluctantly. He would rather just sleep beside Dean the whole day, forgetting everything that goes around them. He stretches his arms like a cat, marvelling the amazing smell and wondering where it comes from.
That is right when he realises he’s alone in the bed. A long sigh escapes his mouth – he would have wanted to see Dean’s face even once more before joining the hassle of the camp.
“Morning.”
Dean’s voice is throaty, but unlike usually, it’s not on the edge. He walks in drinking something, offering another mug idly to Castiel. His eyes seem at ease, but they’re black circles threatening to form under them. Castiel frowns at him as he takes the mug.
“How much did you sleep last night?”
“More than the past few nights.”
“Dean.”
Dean turns his face away, but not in time for his hurt expression to be covered. Castiel sighs, taking in the smell of chamomile tea.
“There was Sam again. He was only a kid, running towards me. Then suddenly, he was gone, and someone spoke behind me. I turned around and there stood Lucifer, Sam was already gone.”
His voice is barely a whisper. Castiel moves up from the bed, wrapping his free arm around the defeated body. He draws small circles to Dean’s shoulders and back, mumbling in a comforting tone. For a while Dean only listens, letting himself to be pet.
Then he straightens up, obviously trying to shake away his nightmares.
“Chuck had something he wanted to talk about, we should head to his place.” Their gazes meet and Castiel nods, placing a kiss on his lips.
“Let me just get dressed.”
“The breakfast's also ready. Pancakes.”
“Pancakes? Really?”
Castiel smiles widely, he hasn’t had pancakes in a long time. And Dean’s pancakes were the best – he didn’t know the secret, but they tasted fuller and richer.
“Oh, Cas.”
“Huh?”
“I brought some chamomile tea. The pack is now restored.”
Castiel’s lips inevitably turn up into a grin when he pulls a shirt over his head and combs his bedhead with his fingers.
“I love you too, Dean.”
Dean only snorts, downing the rest of his mug. He throws Castiel his pants, which lie at the end of the bed. Then he turns around, ready to storm out. However, he lingers for two seconds, breathing out ever so quietly.
“I love you Cas.”
The next second his clattering plates near the stove.