Work Text:
Castiel knows the moment it happens.
Dean gasps one final, shuddering time. His hand goes limp and slips from around Castiel’s. And, even though they’re closed, Castiel can see the second Dean’s eyes go –
“Punish him,” Hannah says. “You gave us order, Castiel, and we gave you our trust,” she says. “Don't lose it over one man.” She hands Castiel his blade. “This is justice.”
Hannah’s words cut Castiel to his core. He never thought it would get this bad. He never – he underestimated the Mark. He underestimated the bloodlust of the angels. He feels lost. He can’t get the angels home without beating Metatron and he can’t beat Metatron without his army.
And the first person he would want to talk to to sort it all out is staring over at him, wide-eyed and helpless from between the grip of two of Castiel’s soldiers.
Castiel sits down. He carefully wipes his blade off and stows it back in his sleeve. Dean’s body hangs loosely in the chair. Castiel doesn’t know what to do. The room is warded, sealed. This new creature – this thing – whatever Dean’s become now – won’t be able to leave.
He will be angry, Castiel guesses. He will fight. Probably, Castiel will have to kill him. He will have to kill him, again.
He waits.
In the background Sam struggles angrily. Castiel hears him but he can only look at Dean. Where before, he had been full of anger and bravado, there is something stripped away about him now. His eyes are wide and questioning and white around the edges like Castiel holds his life in his –
Castiel does.
They stare at each other and for a moment it is almost quiet even in a room full of angry angels. Castiel feels crushed by the weight of the choice. He doesn’t know what to do.
Dean saves him.
He blinks and his eyes go from wide to resigned. He struggles a bit more against the angels holding him but instead of trying to free himself, he’s now only trying to rearrange his overshirt so it hangs more smoothly off his slackening shoulders.
Dean says, “Okay.” And nods his head, slow. And Castiel is almost angry with him for letting it be so easy.
Dean wakes like a thunder clap. His black eyes open and his posture goes tense and rigid in the chair.
Across the room, Castiel readies himself. His blade can come forth in an instant if he needs it. Angels are just on the other side of the door, should he need to call for them. He doesn’t admit to himself he would never call.
When Dean opens his mouth, Castiel half expects to hear a snarl, a howl that suits the demonic maw flickering just behind Dean’s corporeal face.
Instead, Dean says, “Hiya, Cas.” And smirks.
The angels shove Dean forward into Castiel’s office. Dean doesn’t resist them. And there’s something awful in the way he doesn’t turn to face them either. He stumbles forward from the force of the escort and catches himself on Castiel’s desk.
Castiel walks behind him into the office. Hannah nearly follows him in but he closes the door before she can step through.
Somewhere Sam is being shown, kicking and screaming most likely, out of the building.
Dean walks to the corner farthest from the door. Castiel knows it’s instinct. That even though Dean has resigned himself and accepted what Castiel must do, that part of him – probably much of him – wants to run. Wants to live.
“Dean I –” Castiel starts, knowing he has no words that could do justice to everything he’s feeling, thinking, wishing.
“Hey don’t – uh – don’t worry about it,” Dean says. He taps his fingers against the windowsill next to him. “I get it, man. You gotta do what you –” His voice is breathy. He stops speaking. He hasn’t met Castiel’s eyes yet.
He’s standing in the corner opposite and he’s fiddling with the cord for the venetian blinds over the window. Most of them are closed but the one Dean’s standing near and the ones by the door are still open.
Dean closes the blinds. Castiel twists the cords near himself and shuts out Hannah’s anxious, angry face where she still stands by the door.
The office gets just a bit darker.
Dean shoulders sag. Now that they’re alone, the swagger and bravado is entirely gone. Finally, he looks up.
Dean stretches his arms and opens and closes his fists. He rolls his neck. He doesn’t get out of the chair yet but Castiel is ready for when he does. Dean blinks and his eyes shift from green to black, black to green.
He looks at Castiel, “Did you know this would happen?” He asks.
“No,” Castiel says, truthfully.
Castiel can’t quite parse Dean’s tone. It’s not quite anger. It’s nothing Castiel can expect or anticipate. He waits.
“So, uh, how should we do this?” Dean asks, his voice is thin with faux-ease. “How do you want me?”
He is trying to be brave. Castiel can see and hear him try to swallow down the fear.
Castiel watches Dean’s fingers trace across the window sill, across the edge of his desk, the back of a chair. He’s trying to ground himself in the tiny motions even though his body is mostly frozen. Feet still planted where they were nearly from the moment he entered Castiel’s office.
“Dean –” Castiel starts again.
“Come on,” Dean says, “The god squad out there isn’t gonna wait forever. For immortals, they’re actually pretty impatient.” He sighs. He quirks his mouth up into almost a smile.
Even scared, he’s beautiful, Castiel thinks.
Dean looks away as he says, “Look I know you don’t want to do this – but –”
“No,” Cas says, “I don’t – I –”
“I know you don’t have a choice,” Dean says. And takes his first step toward Castiel. His arm is raised in a reassuring gesture.
If Castiel had less self control, the electricity would be blown out for blocks.
Dean leaps from the chair and Castiel springs into action. This, he feels prepared for.
Dean is making a break for the door. The warding will stop him. But still, Castiel doesn’t want him rattling the handle, the blinds, making a scene for the angels outside.
If he had his wings, he would be on Dean in an instant. But still, it only takes him a second to jump from his chair, cross the room, grab Dean’s arms, and hold him still.
Castiel is relieved to feel that even though Dean’s strength has increased considerably now that he’s a demon, he’s still no match for Castiel.
Dean writhes in Castiel’s arms.
Dean reaches Castiel faster than he expected. The reassuring arm grabs Castiel’s sleeve.
“I wish –” Castiel says. As though wishing or wanting had ever made a difference.
“I could make it easy for you,” Dean offers. His hand is still on Castiel’s sleeve. His thumb rubs over where Castiel’s blade will manifest. Castiel feels the pressure of it on the muscles of his forearm.
Dean says, “I could do what Tessa did. All you’d have to do is hold the blade and I can just –” Dean’s fingers pinch Castiel’s arm and pull him a fraction closer. “You wouldn’t even have to move,” Dean says, inches from Castiel’s face.
“Stop,” Castiel says. “Please.”
Dean drops his hand. He doesn’t step back.
Castiel could smite him. It would be fast. It would be easy. It would be over.
Too fast, Castiel thinks. And knows it is all selfishness. Knows that he simply wants to prolong any moment left with Dean that he has. Knows he could never burn out Dean’s green eyes.
Castiel takes out his blade.
He can’t help but remember all the ways Naomi forced him to practice killing Dean. Chasing him around corners and taking him by surprise and fighting off his flailing, helpless arms. Castiel doesn’t want anything like that now.
“Sit,” he says, softly, eyes drifting down toward the chair sitting haphazardly in front of his desk. He’s not sure why but something about it just feels right. Dean should be sitting, should be comfortable.
Dean’s eyes only track the subtle movements of Castiel’s blade. But he nods.
Castiel realizes too late what feels right to him. That this is the position April had him in, all those months ago when he was human. When she killed him.
Dean’s face doesn’t show if he’s made the connection. But Castiel guesses he has.
Dean sits.
“Stop,” Castiel orders.
“Why should I?” Dean growls. “Huh? You killed me, right. I got every reason to be pissed at you.” Castiel can see the roiling creature Dean is as he speaks but Dean does stop moving.
“So that’s it?” Castiel asks. “You’re angry with me?”
“Should be, probably,” Dean teases, “But I gotta say, I’m enjoying the perks.” And he uses Castiel’s moment of distraction to flip him against the wall.
Dean’s new strength almost takes Castiel off guard.
Castiel is pinned against the wall. Against all his maps and plans to take on Metatron. Against everything he’s worked for. Against everything he was hoping Dean would help him with.
Castiel wraps a hand firmly around Dean’s right arm and pushes back. He flips Dean over his body and down onto the floor.
Dean looks up at Castiel. Castiel isn’t sure if he’s noticed the way he’s now rubbing his right sleeve over where the Mark is burned into his skin.
Dean sighs. “I guess you were pretty mad at me, huh,” he says. “I mean when I – when I got – or, you know,” he gestures vaguely. But Castiel understands.
“Hell, you probably still are,” Dean says. “Mad, I mean.”
Yes, Castiel thinks. Yes because now you’re sitting here like this and I have to – and I have to – “No,” he says as firmly as he can. “I’m not angry with you.”
Dean’s breath hitches. Castiel doesn’t think about how many Dean has left.
Dean rolls his tongue languidly out of his mouth. He looks up at where Castiel stands above him and quirks an eyebrow.
“Always knew you had it in you,” he huffs.
“Get up,” Castiel growls.
“Or what?” Dean jeers. “You don’t give me orders like you do those saps out there you know? I can do whatever I want now? Or–” he sits up and gives Castiel a challenging stare, “You gonna make me.”
“Yes,” Castiel says. And reaches down and drags Dean to his feet. “Yes I’m going to make you and I’m going to keep you in this office until I can decide what to do with you. Until I can clean up this mess that you –”
Dean tries to rip away but Castiel uses every bit of his power to pin Dean firmly and finally against the far wall of his office.
Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s torso. He wants to make it clear, there is no fight to win here. Dean struggles futility against him.
“You –” Castiel starts. “You made me do this.” He doesn’t mean to say it but his body is pressed as close to Dean as he’s ever been – as close and yet it’s all wrong.
“I got something else you can do,” Dean says.
Dean is still fighting. He’s struggling against –
Oh . He’s grinding back against Castiel’s groin.
Castiel touches Dean’s upturned face. He’s not used to it having this much stubble. It’s evidence of the turmoil Dean is dealing with resisting the Mark.
There’s still the slight residue of duct tape on Dean’s skin. A little crust of blood under his nose from when the angels restrained him.
Castiel places his palm over Dean’s cheek. He remembers healing him like this. He remembers Dean’s fingers on his sleeve then. His pleas. The way he didn’t let go even when he thought Castiel was going to kill him.
Dean doesn’t plead now. He’s quiet. He’s waiting. “It’s okay,” he says softly. His eyes are shining.
Castiel could not have expected this. He’s caught entirely off-guard as Dean grinds back again. And, though he tries to stifle it, Castiel feels himself shudder with want.
He can see the cocky smirk spread across Dean’s face.
“So this is how you want me,” Dean teases.
Castiel wants to reject him. Wants to deny it. Wants to throw back in his face that he isn’t Dean anymore, not really, and Castiel doesn’t want anything to do with –
But his cock is filling in his pants as Dean writhes. And there is nothing he can say. There is no denying it. Dean is clearly fully aware.
Still Castiel cannot bring himself to move. He’s frozen between want and disgust and anger and sorrow.
Dean rubs himself back against Castiel’s crotch. “What?” he asks at Castiel’s lack of response. “Come on. I know you want this. I know you’ve wanted this. What you think you’re going to burn up or something?”
“No,” Castiel says. He holds very still.
“Oh so you think you shouldn’t?” Dean smirks. “Cause I don’t think your dick got the memo.” He shifts his hips slowly back and forth.
“No.”
“What is it then?” Dean says. “Cause I sure as hell want to? Can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about –”
“Shut up,” Castiel says.
“You don’t like me talking about it?” Dean teases. “Don’t like knowing how much I’ve thought about it. Don’t want to know if I’ve ever jerked off thinking about –”
“Shut up ,” Castiel says.
Dean stops moving. He waits with a sultry, half-opened mouth.
Castiel takes a deep shuddering breath. Then he pins Dean’s head against the wall with a hand on the back of his neck. With the other hand he works the belt buckle at the front of Dean’s jeans. And he pushes the weight of his erection against Dean’s ass.
“That’s it,” Dean moans, “Okay.”
Dean pants with eagerness.
Dean leans his cheek into Castiel’s palm. He closes his eyes. Even without him voicing it, Castiel can feel the aching want now. How much Dean has longed for this – even for the simplest touch.
It feels terribly cruel and unfair to know it now.
Castiel permits himself one more gentle rub of his thumb against Dean’s now damp cheek.
He lets his hand run down, two fingers brush down Dean’s chest. Castiel presses over Dean’s heart.
Then he lifts his hand away.
Dean sighs, a breathy, shaky noise.
“It’s better this way,” he says softly. “I don’t like – the Mark – I didn’t like what it was – it’s better this way.”
Castiel isn’t sure if Dean’s saying it to himself or to Castiel or both. It’s not better. Nothing is – nothing ever will be.
“And I –” Dean runs his tongue over his lip quickly. It doesn’t even make it far out of Dean’s mouth but Castiel sees it. “I would want it to be you.”
Dean is too impatient to wait for Castiel to undress him. He uses his freed hands to forcefully pull his pants and boxers down around his ass and then he reaches blindly behind him for Castiel’s crotch.
Castiel quickly unzips his own pants and lets Dean’s frantic fingers wrap awkwardly around his cock. He’s so erect and the angle is so cumbersome that Dean’s fumbling fingers almost hurt. Their touch is too light, too intermittent.
Castiel bats Dean’s hands aside and thrusts instead against his firm, freckled ass.
He nearly blacks out the lights again.
Dean moans. It’s loud and performative but Castiel can hear the genuine, uncontrolled arousal beneath the noise.
Castiel grabs Dean by the hips and rocks forward hard.
His pants are still awkwardly half pulled down. His ass shakes free of them but in front they rest half across his crotch, pressing against Dean’s own erection. And as Cas moves, Dean widens his stance so his legs are spread and open. It makes his belt cut into the skin of his hips.
“Do it,” Dean growls.
Castiel wants to kiss him. It would be wrong to do it now though, he thinks. Though he can tell Dean would not push him away. Dean’s face is downcast, eyes focused again on the blade in Castiel’s hand.
Dean’s fingers reach again for Castiel’s arm. They brush down it lightly, tentatively and then wrap firmly around the hilt of the blade in Castiel’s hand. Their fingers are almost intertwined around it.
Castiel doesn’t want him to hurt unnecessarily. Doesn’t want to miss, or fumble. He reaches back and places a hand on the back of the chair for stability.
And he places a knee down on the seat between Dean’s legs.
Dean lifts his face. His eyes meet Castiel’s and his legs part, just a fraction – then his lips.
Despite himself, despite everything he should be feeling, heat pools in Castiel’s stomach. It sinks into his crotch. He wants so badly.
“Please,” Dean says softly, “Do it.”
Castiel plunges his blade into Dean’s chest.
Castiel cleans Dean’s ass with a touch of grace. He knows he should probably do more. Use time or more grace to prepare Dean’s body for –
Dean opens his mouth like he’s about to say something or taunt Castiel or – But Castiel will not hear it. He thrusts inside.
The lights in the office blow out.
It’s magnificent. It’s warm and wet and solid and all encompassing. Castiel’s entire consciousness sinks into his cock, into the unfathomable pleasure of fucking into Dean again and again. Into the slick, rhythmic sound of it. Into Dean’s gasp when Castiel enters him. Into the way Dean presses desperately back against Castiel’s body.
It’s an awful sound. Castiel’s blade penetrates through Dean’s skin and flesh and rib bones. It’s a cracking, wet sound.
Dean gasps, almost silently, as the air is punched from his lungs.
Involuntarily his hand tightens around Castiel’s hand, around the blade.
Castiel could heal him with just a touch.
Instead, he draws his blade out. Dean’s body rises from the chair with the friction of the blade stuck inside him before it pulls free and he slumps back down.
Castiel tries to lose himself in the pleasure. He pretends. He pretends this is really Dean. He pretends the angels won’t ask him what’s taking so long. He pretends the demon in his office isn’t a new problem to solve. He fucks and shuts his eyes.
And places hand down flat on Dean’s whole, unmarred chest.
Uninvited and unwelcome, Dean’s soft, resigned eyes flash in Castiel’s mind. And he thinks, you stupid lamb, why did you have to do it?
Castiel isn’t going to pretend forever. He’s going to fix it.
He comes. Even as tight as Castiel holds him, Dean’s body still pounds frantically against the wall with the force of Castiel’s finishing thrusts.
Castiel pulls his cock free, panting and ashamed, and watches his come spill down from Dean’s ass and onto the back of his thighs.
Castiel yanks Dean’s pants down to his knees and wraps a shaky hand around Dean’s bobbing dick.
Blood bubbles out of the hole in Dean’s chest. Out of his mouth and onto his lips. Though his fingers remain wrapped around Castiel’s blade, his eyes shift back and forth like he’s trying to keep Castiel in focus above him. Castiel watches his broken chest struggle for breath. Watches his jaw open and close trying to find words.
Castiel bends down and brings his face close so Dean doesn’t have to speak too loud. Their cheeks are almost touching. Castiel is transfixed by Dean’s red lips.
The hand Dean doesn’t have wrapped around the blade is searching for something to hold. Dean pinches air for a moment until he finds the fabric of Castiel’s pants. He holds it weakly between two fingers. As light as Dean’s grip is, Castiel can still feel the way it ever so slightly tightens the fabric around his thigh.
Finally, Dean gasps, “Cas.”
Dean gasps. As Castiel works his cock, he watches the self-satisfied demeanor slide off Dean’s face. Dean’s panting gets breathy. The smug attitude loses the fight for air.
There’s a hint of a whine as he moans, “Cas.”
Dean will be dead in moments. His eyes slide closed. His hand goes slack around the blade. Castiel watches as –
Castiel can feel Dean’s thighs clench and shiver as he’s about to come. Dean’s face is still pressed against the wall. His neck is still bent and half-turned to Castiel so that Castiel can see, even in the now-darkness of his office, exactly when –
Dean’s eyes go black.