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The bunker was a veritable land mine of dangerous artifacts, that much was clear from the beginning of their stay.
Both Sam and Dean honestly should have known better by now, having been subject to curse after curse over the past few months, mostly to amusing ends- Dean’s favorite is the one where he got night vision; he really was Batman for about a week- but sometimes disastrous consequences.
Like the time Sam grew horns and a tail. Or the instance when Dean couldn’t stop throwing up fully-intact eggs (that was bizarre, and they couldn’t for the life of them figure out what kind of creature they were from). Or when Sam’s hair caught on fire and he had to chop off the burgeoning man bun (Dean was practically giddy about that one). It was like the world’s stupidest prank war except they weren’t intentionally cursing each other. Amazingly, they’d managed to keep Castiel and Eileen out of it, although not for sheer lack of trying.
So as they’re painstakingly archiving the artifacts and pages upon pages of information that have been stuffed into the closets and corners of the bunker like a hoarder’s wet dream, Dean ought to have been a little more careful.
But that was never really his style, and caution was not his middle name.
“Order up,” he barked, dropping the crate of haphazardly piled items onto the war table. Sam grimaced, having just set down the last stack of freshly organized files in the crates behind him.
“Is this at least the last from that storage closet?” He groaned, and Dean shook his head grimly. Taking a swig of whiskey from the glass at his seat, he looked over the mess.
“We need a damn case. I’ve had a headache for three straight days, Sam.”
“Try drinking some water then,” his brother groused, eyeing his liquor with his usual judgement.
Dean rubbed at his temples, irritable. “And where’s the damn angel? I thought he was helping us out with this crap.” His irritation only grew as he realized he had been glancing at the doorway for Castiel since breakfast, waiting for him to return from the outing he had gone on with Eileen.
Sam ignored him, which was the better option he knew to choose rather than poke the bear, and with a muttered curse Dean sat down again as well. There was a tense silence for all of about five minutes before Dean jumped back up to his feet, restless.
He started rifling through the new crate, creating a messy pile of papers and plopping items down with unnecessary force onto the table surface. Out of the corner of his vision he could see Sam’s eye twitching.
As some of the mess spilled over into his workspace, he finally spoke up. “Could you stop that?”
“No,” Dean replied without missing a beat. “I’m pretty sure one of the first items I dropped in here was a Norse blade.”
“Dean,” Sam stood up as some of the items started to clink and roll, table space becoming limited. A metal contraption dropped to the floor. “DEAN.” Sam reached over to snatch the crate out of his hands at the same time Dean was about to set down a corked bottle Their hands clacked together and in surprise Dean released his hold on the crate, causing Sam to stumble back off balance.
The corked bottle hit the table surface hard, cracking, a plume of silvery purple rising.
Dean was faster this time, jumping back and away from the particles but Sam caught the full brunt directly. He reared back, giving an aggrieved shout, covering his face with his hands.
Dean rushed over. The cloud of color had dissipated, and he put a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder, looking him over for any visible signs of injury but the majority of his face was obscured. “Sam! Are you okay? Dude, don’t rub your eyes!”
Sam was now sneezing and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Thankfully Dean could see his skin now and didn’t note any burns or bleeding, but Chuck only knew what was in that powder.
As he was contemplating if there was a magical version of a mulligan he could do for Sam, Dean heard commotion from the doorway. He turned to see Castiel appear, his worried focus sharpening onto Sam’s huddled over form.
“I heard shouting. What happened?” His gruff voice echoed, stepping closer.
Just as Dean was about to explain the bizarre series of events, Sam opened his red-rimmed eyes and looked over at the doorway.
And stared. For a weirdly long time. Right at Cas’s direction.
“Uh, dude?” Dean tried to wave a hand in front of his face. “You okay?” Silence. “Sammy you gotta say something.”
Sam finally blinked. “Castiel,” He said, drawing the name out on a sigh, a dopey smile crossing his face.
“Uh,” Dean managed, brows drawing together. He looked from Sam to Castiel, who stood perfectly still under the uncomfortably long assessment. In true Cas fashion his head tilted to the side in confusion.
“Sam?” Castiel prompted. Behind him Eileen arrived, taking the scene in and also locking onto Sam in concern. “Are you alright?”
“No, I wasn’t alright,” Sam replied. “But I am now, because you’re here.”
As Dean tried to analyze just how weird Sam was being right now, his brother had already wrestled out of his grip and with a few long strides was standing in front of Castiel, who was regarding him with no small amount of apprehension.
“Castiel,” he repeated, and without any further explanation he wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you. We should never be apart again.”
Okay, Dean decided. This had gone straight into wacko territory. “Sam,” he warned, moving forward quickly to help release poor Castiel, who by Dean’s estimation appeared utterly baffled and uncomfortable with the current situation. He was standing rigid in Sam’s arms, and not so subtly pushing at his shoulder to get him to step back. An ugly feeling bubbled to the surface of Dean’s mind at Sam so close to Cas. “Let the guy breathe.”
“NO,” Sam shouted as Dean yanked on his shoulder, and he released him in shock. “You can’t make me leave him.”
“Why not?” Castiel asked at the same time Eileen coaxed, “Sam, it’s okay. Let go of him.” She moved closer to the hugging duo, glancing over at Dean with a not so subtle what now?
Dean had had enough, that’s what. “Sammy, you are letting him go, now.” He slid an arm around Sam’s torso to haul him off but unfortunately was just given a front row seat to what happened next.
Panicked, Sam grabbed hold of Castiel’s face with both hands, turning his attention directly to him and in shock Castiel froze his efforts to disengage. “They can never take me away from you,” he proclaimed, impassioned. “I love you, Castiel.”
Then he planted a kiss straight onto the angel’s lips.
Dean didn’t think his vision had ever gone white from both outrage and sheer horror but it wasn’t soon enough to prevent the image of his brother kissing Cas from searing into his brain. He may have had a stroke, he wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he couldn’t move a muscle.
Castiel apparently could, because in the next second Sam had been pinned facefirst into the war table, arm twisted behind his back, a very angry and slightly flushed Castiel subduing him with ease. “What. Was. That.” He asked, looking back to Dean and Eileen given Sam had clearly lost his wits.
Eileen was stunned silent, gaping. Dean had an inkling, though, if he could think past the surprise anger pounding into his temples at what just happened. He’d have to unpack that reaction, like, never.
“Sam got exposed to some… magical powder right before you came in.” Dean strode over to the broken bottle still at the corner of the table.
Eileen groaned, throwing her hands up. “Another one, guys??”
Dean had the grace to look a little sheepish at that, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at the remnants of the amorphous substance that remained in the glass that was swirling a silvery lilac.
“Could one of you restrain him while I take a look?” Castiel requested calmly as Sam reared up continuously underneath him. He seemed to be chanting some type of fervent repetition of his earlier proclamation, which they were all ignoring as best as they could.
“It’s clearly some type of love potion,” Eileen ventured, nudging a shard on the ground with her boot.
Dean hurried over to the adjacent library and grabbed the spare pair of handcuffs he had hidden behind the shelf labelled ‘criminal justice’. He returned and slapped them onto Sam, keeping him subdued while Castiel crouched next to the vial. He peered at it and muttered some things.
“Which room did you find it in?” Cas asked, rising to his feet. “Maybe there is additional labeling.”
“I’ll watch loverboy,” Eileen offered, digging an elbow between Sam’s shoulder blades as Dean winced in sympathy. He had to hand it to the female hunter, she knew how to throw her weight around if needed. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t too happy about that kiss either, considering Sam was her boyfriend of sorts.
Dean jerked his head and they made their way to the back storerooms. The whole walk there Sam’s love confession and subsequent kiss with Cas played on loop in his head like the universe’s most unpleasant merry-go-round. So when they entered the room and Castiel started to rummage through stacks, he decided to blurt out, “You okay?”
Cas barely slowed, giving him a cursory side-eye. “I believe Sam is the one who is not okay,” he replied dryly.
“Well yeah, big obvious there.” Dean crossed his arms, leaning against a metal shelf. “But you’re the one who got macked on so I’m asking you too.”
There was a brief head tilt as Cas seemed to contemplate the ‘macked on’ phrase with his typical lack of knowledge on slang. “You’re referring to the kiss?” He caught on, piercing blue gaze catching onto Dean’s.
Dean nodded curtly, too angry to speak.
His expression showed a lack of understanding. “He didn’t hurt me physically,” Castiel answered slowly, frowning, and without permission Dean’s eyes dropped to his lips. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how full they were, despite being slightly chapped. He’d shamefully wondered for years if they would be soft to press against, and now his damn brother knew.
Dean averted his gaze back to a safe point on the shelf, thumbing through some of the papers. “I figured that; kissing doesn’t usually hurt. But, uh, did he freak you out?”
Cas was already back at his task. “I’m certainly very concerned about why Sam is acting this way.” A little more quietly, he added. “And I don’t want that experience repeated.”
Relief flooded through Dean, and then he cursed the stupid relief. He shouldn’t give a rat’s ass about whoever kissed Castiel, it was none of his damn business. “Right,” he cleared his throat.
Something seemed to catch Cas’ attention because he brought a paper forward from the shelf, reading it intently. “This matches the description.”
“What does it say?” Waiting was never his strong suit, and dread crept up into Dean at what possible fate could befall Sam.
“Well, Eileen wasn’t far off. It is a love concoction, of sorts.” Castiel looked up. “A philtron, to be precise.”
They took their findings back to the war room where Eileen had brilliantly roped Sam’s handcuffs with wire to a nearby chair and he was sitting in what seemed like mild distress, leg jittering impatiently. Until he spied Castiel, then he almost toppled the chair trying to stand.
“You’re back,” he cried out, a desperate tinge to his words. “I have died a thousand deaths without you. The sun has risen and set over lifetimes since you’ve been away. There’s-,”
Sam continued on but everyone migrated to a little circle several feet away from him, an unspoken agreement to ignore him setting in place.
“Can we tie a scarf around his mouth or something?” Dean asked with disgust. “This is going to get old, fast.”
Eileen sent an apologetic look Dean’s way. “At least I don’t have to hear it.” Her attention landed on the paper in Castiel’s grasp. “What did you find?”
“It’s a philtron,” Castiel signed the unfamiliar term. “A Greek-origin elixir used for inducing romantic love on its target. These were thought to originate as a gift from Eros to humanity.”
“It seems extremely potent for a little aphrodisiac,” Eileen commented.
Castiel exhaled deeply. “That would be because it’s not just some herbal concoction. This was crafted by someone who knew how to amplify magic. It has henbane and mandragora at its base, but what really lends it power is the fraction of cherubim grace they instilled into it.”
“Oh no,” Dean titled his head back on a groan. “Liquid Cupid.”
They let that information sink in, Sam’s stream of emotional consciousness droning on in the background.
“So…,” Dean raised an eyebrow. “What’s the fix?”
“With the addition of the grace it might not be simple,” Castiel was deep in thought now, brows pinched.
Damn, this was usually the point in a case where Sam would throw himself headfirst into the research. Given all the times Sam had spent countless hours poring over books and obscure websites, it was now on Dean to return the favor. He did owe it to his little brother, given he was partly responsible for his current affliction. “Dammit. I guess we have to start looking.”
“I’ll get started searching through the Wicca section,” Eileen set off to the shelves.
Between him and Cas, Dean knew he would be the better one to conduct the online searching. “I’ll man the computer,” he sighed, dropping to a seat in front of Sam’s laptop.
He got a nod in return. “I’ll be in the store rooms, seeing if there was any reversal made or suggested.” His trenchcoated form disappeared around the doorway and Sam emitted a low, pained wail.
“We’ll get you sorted out, Sam,” Dean promised loudly to his brother who wasn’t paying him a speck of attention, still staring forlornly at the spot Castiel vacated.
And damn, if Dean didn’t uncomfortably recognize that action.
They soon discovered that Sam would do nothing but pine after Castiel. No food, no water, nothing.
After offering him a bottle of water for the thousandth time and getting no response, Dean sighed. “We may have a shorter deadline to fix this than we thought,” he turned so Eileen could read his lips from her perch a few feet away. He was still an amateur on the basics of sign language, and Sam had been shouldering a lot of the translation.
She shook her head worriedly. “If push comes to shove we could always set up an IV, but this is not looking promising.” Closing the weathered book in front of her with a little more force than needed, Eileen reached for the next one.
Castiel entered the library and walked to where their center of operations was spread and Sam immediately perked up from his vantage point in the chair. He set a mug of coffee down in front of Dean who gave him probably the same heart eyes he was currently receiving from Sam.
“So in theory, it just needs a reversal? Some sort of antidote?” Dean took a gulp of the coffee, black and just like he liked it. Cas had picked up the art of brewing quickly after moving in semi-permanantly into the bunker, much to Dean’s approval.
“The typical ingredients wouldn’t be hard to extrapolate for a reversal. And a cord-cutting ritual would be the most expedient.” He braced his hands on the war table, tracing over the laid out notes, and Dean tried not to notice how large those hands were.
“But the cheribum…” Eileen ventured, and got a nod in response.
“It would need an exact reversal or it wouldn’t succeed.”
There was a lull in conversation as they all racked their brains for ideas. In the quiet though, Sam’s voice carried over.
“Love shook my soul as winds on forests below,
This lawless heart that dared exhaust delight
Unsated strove and maddened through the night.”
Dean shut his mouth closed, realizing it had fallen open. From his chair Sam was beaming, whole face lit up with the type of joy Dean had never seen organically on his brother, all aimed at one person. It was disconcerting. When he turned to gauge Castiel’s reaction the angel carried a small smile on his face.
“And now we’ve moved to Greek poems,” he commented.
Eileen looked fairly impressed for a woman whose boyfriend was reciting love poetry to someone else. “Wow. Who was that?”
“Sapphos,” Castiel turned over one of the pages, still hovering over the table and reviewing their work. “Well known for her poetry and theorized romantic inclinations towards both sexes.” Dean almost choked on the coffee he was drinking. “She lived on the island of Lesbos.”
“Hold up,” Dean held up a hand, lots of different thoughts flying through his head at this turn in conversation, but the one that flew out of his mouth first was- “there was a lesbian island?”
Eileen snorted with amusement as Castiel visibly refrained from rolling his eyes. “Dean, it wasn’t some ancient commune of homosexual women. The term lesbian was actually derived from Sapphos’ work and residence.”
“Nope,” he shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “I like my idea about the lesbian island better.” Dean paused a second, picturing it, then smiled. “Nice.”
From behind where Dean was sitting, Sam apparently wasn’t done.
“Odi te amo
Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.”
“Stultus,” Castiel called over, but that subtle lift to his mouth was back, and he was looking at Sam with fond exasperation. Dean’s eye twitched.
“You know,” Eileen remarked, gaze shifting slyly between Sam and Cas. “This may be a love curse but you guys actually are really cute together.” She grinned as Castiel glanced over at her questioningly. “Look, all I’m saying is who are the two nerdiest of our group? Who always has the answers on obscure things? Even when we cure Sam I may have to keep an eye on the competition.”
She was smiling, totally amused, but Dean was anything but. For some reason he was seething, teeth grinding shut as he tried not to furiously reply. What absolute bullshit. Sam and Cas? They were-
They were-
Actually pretty damn similar if Dean was really thinking about it. Scarily intelligent with a seemingly endless supply of knowledge. Badasses and could fight their way out when push came to shove. Kind and thoughtful and loyal towards other people.
Dean didn’t realize he had slammed his mug down on the table until hot coffee splashed onto his hand and he hissed, cursing more strongly than was necessary. He waved his hand dismissively when the others looked over at his outburst.
Much to Dean’s suffering, Castiel decided to continue with the conversation. “I agree Sam and I have a kinship on many things, and I love him like a brother.” He inclined his head towards where Sam was sitting. “This, however, is not Sam. And frankly it is a little overbearing.”
As if in answer Sam shouted out “I love you!”
They all sighed deeply.
“Well that’s good news,” Eileen flipped a page over in the book in front of her. “Guess I have nothing to worry about. You’re immune to the Winchester charm.”
This for some reason caused Castiel to blush violently, which Eileen missed completely due to already being engrossed in her reading. Dean caught it though, staring oddly at the rare sight. Castiel cleared his throat, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and sat down to open a book of his own.
The day was just getting weirder and weirder.
They decided to switch things up. Castiel and Eileen sticking around in the library to scour the reading material and Dean going to the back rooms to search. Honestly, he needed the break, wanting to get his mind right about how much this situation was pissing him off.
Unfortunately as Dean passed by Sam he happened to catch something out of the corner of his eye. He skidded to a halt, looking down at his brother’s lap, growling, “You’re kidding me.”
Apparently Sam was so enamored with Castiel he was foregoing all basic human functions, including relieving himself. After swearing and griping for a few solid minutes Dean had hauled his brother up and out of the chair and led him to the bathroom himself. When all Sam did was stand there and lament about not being next to Castiel as Dean told him to get cleaned up in a progressively louder voice, he sighed and had to count backwards from ten to calm down.
Cleaned up with a clipped order to never speak of this again, Dean walked Sam back in handcuffs to the library and sat his ass back down on the chair. “Okay, we gotta get a new plan.”
After a few minutes of ideas being thrown around, none of which seemed promising, Castiel stood. “This should work.” He approached Sam, who brightened as if the one shining light in the world had been turned onto him.
“Sam,” he dropped a hand onto Sam’s shoulder tentatively, but withdrew it when Sam nuzzled his face into it. “We’re going to release you. It would make me very happy if you do exactly as I say.”
Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, but he rose to his feet as Castiel undid the handcuffs. Immediately he stepped directly into Cas’ space but got rebuffed back. “Exactly as I say,” Castiel reminded him. “No hugging.” When Sam’s head dipped down he quickly added, “or kissing. I won’t be happy if you don’t do as I say.”
He looked crestfallen, absorbing the directive, and Dean held his breath to see if this would work. Surprisingly, it did. “Okay,” Sam agreed, and when Castiel walked back to the table he dutifully followed. When Cas sat down he also sat, scooting his chair centimeters away from him, as close as possible as he could get without touching and all but breathing down Castiel’s neck.
Castiel lifted beleaguered eyes to the two other occupants. Eileen hid a laugh behind a cough.
“Sam, drink,” Cas set the water bottle in front of him and he chugged it one go.
“Aw, man, he’s gonna have another accident at this rate,” Dean griped, but internally he was relieved his brother wasn’t on the brink of dehydration. All requests seemingly had to go through Castiel, though.
Sam was like a damn puppy throughout the afternoon, needing to be walked out of the library periodically to do his business, all but glued to Castiel’s side as they researched.
Well past midnight, Dean blinked as the words on the pages began to blur together in the low warm light of the lamps. He needed a couple of hours of sleep otherwise he’d be useless. Eileen had dipped out an hour before, promising to wake up bright and early and continue where she left off.
“M’gonna crash for a few.” Castiel flicked his eyes to Dean’s at the announcement, lowering the book he’d been studying. Next to him Sam was fully turned towards the angel, chin resting on his hand which was propped up by the table, devoted gaze on Cas. His other hand was stroking through Castiel’s hair lovingly, and Dean felt the sudden, violent urge to slap his touch away.
“You okay to handle this?” Dean asked tersely.
Castiel nodded at him. “Go, get your four hours. I can handle Sam.” On cue, Sam hummed longingly at his own name being spoken by Cas.
Dean was one thousand percent ready to throw this whole day in the garbage. He trodded off, boot steps heavier and more forceful than normal, until he reached his room. Stripping down he sank into the bedsheets, not even bothering to pull the blanket over himself.
Finally alone, he let the pure hot jealousy that had been gnawing at his insides all day run rampant until exhaustion finally pulled him under.
When he woke up and followed the sounds of activity to the kitchen, he found Sam cooking breakfast with Castiel sitting at the table, sipping a mug of coffee. It was normal enough for him to do a double take, raising an eyebrow at Cas questioningly. “Did it wear off?”
“No, I asked him to make breakfast,” Castiel clarified, and when Sam turned to the sound of his voice the lovestruck expression from yesterday was still on his face.
“Qualsiasi cosa per te, amore mio.”
Greeeaat.
“I didn’t even know he knew Italian,” Dean mumbled, foul mood returning with a vengeance. He poured a cup of coffee from the brewed pot.
“And Latin, and Greek, and some French,” Cas responded tiredly, regarding Sam’s back. “He spent a large part of the night exhausting his poetry knowledge.” Dean took the seat opposite the angel, who seemed slightly more rumpled than usual.
Abruptly, Dean felt a pang of sympathy. “We’ll fix it. We always do. You won’t be Sam’s inamorato forever.”
Perceptive blue eyes locked onto his curiously, and Dean shrugged, willing the tips of his ears to not turn red. “What? I can whip out a little Italian too sometimes.” He could feel that stare linger on him so he drank his coffee with his full attention.
The moment was interrupted by several plates being set down at once in front of Castiel, who looked over the eggs, pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit, and oatmeal spread out for him. “Thank you Sam,” he said earnestly, sliding it over subtly. “Now eat some of it, please.”
Sam tried to sit on Castiel’s lap but with a few raised voices and firm steering he was directed to the seat next to him. Cas let out a breath, clearly having had to divert this several times already. He gestured to Dean and the plates. “Help yourself.”
There was still plenty leftover when Eileen wandered over to the kitchen.
They set out a gameplan after clearing the dishes. Having only found a few hints as to what to use from their research yesterday, Castiel reluctantly suggested reaching out to Rowena for guidance. With Sam in tow they went back to the war room and Dean pickpocketed his brother’s jeans for his phone, searching his contacts and finding the good witch.
“Sam! This is an unexpected surprise,” Rowena’s Scottish burr filled the room.
“Actually, it’s Dean. Sam’s had a little magic accident,” he explained, and he heard the cluck of disapproval on the other side.
“Serves you right, not giving all those powerful items their proper respect,” she scolded. “I’m assuming this is another mishap of yer own doing?”
Dean gave a guilty look over at Eileen and Castiel, the angel signing the conversation to the huntress who was standing with her arms crossed and very lightly shaking her head at mention of their prior antics. So Sam had filled Rowena in about all their fun over the past few months while cataloging the bunker.
“...It could’ve been our fault. Jury’s still out. Anyway-,” he steamrolled over Rowena’s follow-up argument, “Point being Sam got sprinkled with a love potion and now he’s lost his damn mind.”
“Show me,” Rowena replied haughtily.
With a little bit of work Dean was able to set up a video call on Sam’s laptop and in the next moment Rowena’s glamorous visage appeared. Castiel walked into view with Sam attached at the hip, and the witch’s eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Hm, yes. Dilated pupils, flushed skin. Breathing fast. The work of an effective philtron.” She let out a light giggle, leaning back comfortably into her seat. “And focused on our dear handsome angel, Castiel. Oh my.”
Dean gritted his teeth. “Do you actually see anything useful?”
Rowena smiled wide. “Not really, dearie, I just wanted to witness the spectacle for myself. This is highly amusing, although I doubt you’d see it that way.” Her dark eyes shot Dean an uncomfortable, knowing look.
“The philtron used a portion of a cherubim’s grace,” Castiel spoke up, redirecting their focus.
“Ah, quite clever.” Precisely manicured fingertips tapped her pale cheek, considering. “But not impossible to reverse. I’ll help, if only for poor Sam’s fate. We wouldn’t want both Winchester brothers fawning over our angel, now would we?”
And this was why Sam was the one who contacted Rowena, Dean thought murderously as the witch tactfully moved off screen to sort through her personal notes. Less than two minutes with Rowena and he was ready to strangle her.
Castiel’s premonition was correct, the grace adding that extra layer of difficulty in reversing the charm. But with Rowena’s wealth of experience and a little educated guessing they were able to approximate a reversal. It wasn’t all items they could dredge up from the Men of Letter’s reserves, however, so within the hour Dean had set off with Cas to find the most obscure ingredient they needed.
“So are we sure there’s gonna be a Cupid there?” Dean asked roughly after going over their plan in detail. He was hauling ass towards Nashville, the supposed last sighting of a cherubim as per their resident angel.
“That’s the last place Yael was seen, and the closest to us. I can make out the barest presence of him now, but I believe that is still where he resides.”
Dean grumbled heartily. It was a 10 hour drive to Nashville and the clock was ticking on Sam. They had forced him to eat and drink before leaving given Castiel would be gone for the next day, and dammit, Dean was worried. Even if he was irritable at Sam unintentionally targeting Castiel for his weirdo obsession curse.
“He’ll be alright,” Cas correctly surmised at least part of the source of Dean’s bad temper, “Sam’s been through worse and he takes good care of his physical health otherwise.”
Wrinkling his nose as he pictured Sam’s morning kale smoothies, Dean grunted his agreement. It was true at least.
It was easy company on the drive, Dean well accustomed to Cas joining him on these long trips and, he had to admit to himself, damn pleasant. They talked when a topic came up and shut up with comfortable silence when words weren't needed. The breaks in conversation were usually filled with musical interludes courtesy of Dean’s curated collection and he even sometimes caught Castiel tapping a hand along to the beat on the passenger door or, even more rarely, singing along to a lyric or two. Dean would never admit even under penalty of death how much the sound of that low baritone could send heat shooting through his gut like a gunshot.
They reached the outskirts of Nashville by nightfall and Castiel was able to track the source of angelic grace to the popular bar district.
“Of course this is where the two bit hack would be,” Dean huffed after circling the block several times to find a spot big enough to parallel park Baby.
“It’s certainly the place where people go to get some type of connection,” Castiel commented, taking note of an inebriated couple dry humping outside of a bar. He looked extremely out of place in his trenchcoat and tie for a night out clubbing, and Dean intervened.
“Leave the tax accountant digs in the car,” he insisted. Castiel looked vaguely irritated as he always did when someone suggested changing up his attire but without argument he slid out of his trenchcoat and suit jacket. Dean tried not to let the laughably mundane sight cause him to have a not so amusing tightening in his jeans. “The tie too,” he added and with deft hands Castiel undid the tie as well as the top button of his white dress shirt.
They walked up to a bar entrance and Dean caught the neon sign hanging over the otherwise discrete entrance- Dirty Little Secret. He already dreaded going inside.
The interior was a dark riot of strobe lights and low, vibrantly colorful lighting with a packed dance floor and the bar shining like a beacon across the space. It was hotter than hell, and he knew a bit about that, and impossible to hear anything over the heavy thump of bass.
Communicating solely by look alone Dean followed Castiel’s lead as he headed in a direction off to the side. He was the one with the angel radar after all.
The volume of the music thankfully eased up as they turned the corner towards a cozier space lined with tables and booths. A peek into one or two showed some fairly obscene things happening in the darker corners so Dean kept his line of sight on the broad silhouette of Castiel ahead of him. Without the layers he could easily make out the heft to his shoulders and back which were stretching the thin white fabric in an all too distracting way, and when did he get so goddamn built?
Dean decided it was the atmosphere of the club fucking with his head.
Castiel sat down at a booth and a man with a shock of ginger hair looked up, startled. His eyes were an almost glowing green, set on a young, unlined face.
“This is unexpected. Castiel, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Dean remained standing at the edge of Castiel’s side of the booth, guard up and surveying his surroundings. As usual, he left the angel politics up to Cas. Off to the side a few yards away but in direct view of the ginger man was an attractive pair, cozied up and talking in low tones, all smiles. Dean was willing to bet they were the cherubim’s target tonight.
“Yael,” Castiel greeted. “I was unsure if you were still in this area but I am glad to see you well.”
“I could say the same,” Yael flashed a smile. “Despite your reputation these past few years you’ve helped me when I’ve needed it.” He shifted his stance on his seat, attention sharpening. “I sense you are not here for a social visit but in need as well, so I will bypass our customary greeting.”
That green gaze flashed humorously over to Dean who recalled the first Cupid he met, and the unpleasant naked hug he received. “That’s appreciated,” he said pointedly. “Name’s Dean.”
Yael nodded but said nothing further, waiting.
As usual Castiel got straight to the point. “I am looking to reverse a philtron that was made with a cherubim’s grace.”
Yael seemed surprised, red eyebrows raising. “That’s powerful magic. Must have been rare to find.” A speculative assessment passed over his features as he looked between both of them. “Your connection is not tainted by the glamor of a spell, however.”
Dean choked on air as he saw Castiel go rigid in his seat. “Not us,” he hissed to Yael, who still wore a surprised expression. “My brother. He’s acting like a looney, can’t do anything not Castiel related.”
Yael paused for a few long seconds as he stared at them. Dean’s heartbeat went into triple overtime, refusing to look down at Castiel beside him. “My mistake,” he finally replied. “So what do you need from me?”
Castiel’s tone was rougher than usual. “Graveyard soil from a cherubim’s love match,” he answered stonily. “Any names you can give us?”
After writing down a few names on a napkin Yael slid it across the table, Dean folding it up and tucking it into his pocket. He looked to the side and the attractive couple was gone, and the cherubim sighed deeply.
“Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you two tonight?” He pushed, still giving both of them far too perceptive of a look than Dean could stomach. “You have a most unique bond-.”
“We really gotta go,” Dean interrupted, taking a few steps back so Castiel could exit the booth. “Gotta dig up a grave and have a long drive back.”
Yael gave a small, sad smile. “Best of luck to your brother,” his eyes lingered on Castiel meaningfully for a moment so brief Dean was sure he imagined it but then he was back to scanning the crowd.
Dean avoided Castiel’s eye as he led their way out of the bar, sure he would be able to see right through him. He texted Eileen the names to distract himself and by the time they reached where Baby was parked she had texted back the closest gravesite to their location.
He accidentally caught Castiel’s expression as he looked over his shoulder to reverse, and his saddened features weighed in his chest like a stone.
By the time they had found the graveyard and dug up the soil Dean was dead on his feet. He tried not to sway as he placed the jar in the trunk, and a steady hand on his shoulder jerked him to attention.
“I will drive and you get some rest,” Castiel’s tone brokered no refusal and with only a minor requisite protest Dean handed the keys over.
He was able to squeeze in a few hours of shut eye on and off as Cas drove and eventually they stopped to gas up and Dean bought a hot cup of gas station coffee to combat the massive headache forming. It was as corrosive as battery acid and tasted like motor oil but Dean held onto it like a life raft as Castiel drove on in the weak morning light filtering through the cabin.
Dean should have known it had been too quiet, their normally peaceful silence fraught with new tension after their interaction with the cherubim. He had hoped he could ride it out indefinitely, or at least until they got to the bunker, but his luck ran out with about two hours to go to Lebanon.
“What do you suppose Yael meant?” Castiel’s abrupt question shattered the fragile peace treaty. Dean’s pulse jacked up alarmingly causing his headache to amplify in a truly angry way.
“No offense, but ya’ll are a cryptic bunch of bastards,” he grumbled. “Maybe he didn’t mean anything at all.” He hoped Castiel would accept the bluff and let it go.
Not a chance. Castiel’s side eye at his attempt at blowing him off was a truly legendary amount of bitchy, Dean had to admit.
“No, he was fully earnest,” Castiel asserted. “Why did he assume we were talking about us? He mentioned our connection.”
This was dangerous territory they were entering, Dean could feel the defensiveness rising like thick bile, ugly words surfacing. Although everyone in both heaven and hell had made snide remarks about the nature of their relationship over the years, this felt different. This was different. This wasn’t a barb shot out in the middle of a fight to undermine their group, this was a being who specialized in love matches making an observation about a connection Dean knew to be there, knew it down to his marrow. Added on top of the jealousy Dean had been fighting with since Sam had started love bombing Castiel and it made him volatile.
“I dunno,” Dean bit out, “‘maybe he misread our profound bond. I sure as hell don’t remember falling in love with you.”
There was a deafening quiet that met his words, and Dean actually heard the leather of Baby’s wheel creak ominously. He noticed their driving speed slow until they pulled off to the side of the empty highway at a crawl and came to a stop.
Sweat beaded at the back of Dean’s neck.
“Excuse me,” Castiel said stiffly, the coldest Dean had ever heard him, as he exited the driver’s seat and stalked off into the nearby tree line.
Dean was left alone, fucking sick to his stomach and regret flooding his thoughts.
After a few minutes- Dean was sure that Castiel was not going to return but sat there paralyzed and praying that he would- he saw the trenchcoat re-emerge from the trees. Dean slid over to the driver’s side automatically and the angel entered Baby without a single word.
They drove the rest of the way back to the bunker in torturous, oppressive silence.
Sam was disgustingly, deliriously overjoyed upon Castiel’s return to the bunker. Somehow his proclamations were even more superfluous and flowery than ever before and Dean was about ready to drill an angel blade into his own forehead after about three minutes of being back. It didn’t help that he was furious at everything at the moment- at himself for his words this morning, at that idiotic Cupid for even alluding to him and Cas, at breaking the goddamn glass on the love potion in the first place-
Okay, most of these were at himself. And with no one but himself to shoulder the blame it made his fuming even worse.
Eileen seemed extremely relieved for them to have returned which said a lot about what Sam was up to over the past day.
“He barricaded himself for a few hours in your room before I could stop him,” she sent Castiel a rueful glance, “I haven’t looked but I feel I should probably apologize in advance.”
Castiel barely grimaced, but then again his face had been a stoic mask all morning, anger fairly radiating off of him. “We should have everything we need,” he brusquely set the jar of dirt down on the table next to the other items Eileen had rounded up.
It was all business from there. They drew a casting circle in the dungeon and placed black candles in a counterclockwise fashion on the perimeter. In the center they tied Sam to a chair after a brief struggle, and Eileen took the mixture of black salt with the obtained soil and sprinkled it within the circle. She stood in front of Sam with a handful of the mixture and muttered a quick “I’m so sorry Sam” before prying his jaw open hard and placing the dirt in, keeping his mouth clamped shut and holding his nose until he swallowed it, coughing.
Through the coughing fit Sam began to understand their intent. “No! Castiel please!! We can be together!”
Castiel tied the end of a long piece of twine around Sam’s arm before stepping out of the circle and remaining at the very edge, tying a loose knot around his own wrist so they were connected. With a deep intonation he began to recite.
“Funis scissus et, vinculum solvendum, integer sum, incantatio torsa est.”
His voice grew louder, heard over Sam’s desperate pleas as he was rocking the chair with all his might and for a split second Dean thought it might tip over. “I love you! I love you, I love you, I lo-,”
The flames of the candles flickered and there was a sensation of the air sucking out of the room as Castiel boomed out the last syllable. On cue Eileen cut the twine connecting them with a pair of scissors, the frayed ends falling to the ground.
“-ove you-,” Sam’s mouth snapped shut, and his eyebrows creased together in thought. A bewildered expression came to his face, head cocked and dumbfounded. It was a downright hilarious sight if Dean wasn’t holding his breath to see if the reversal had worked.
“Cas,” Sam said slowly, carefully. “Was I just telling you that I love you?”
Castiel chuckled soundlessly, posture relaxing. “Yes, Sam. For days on end now.”
Sam made a truly horrified face at that revelation and Dean couldn’t help himself, he laughed deep and loud. He strode forward and wrapped Sam in a one armed hug. “It’s good to have you back from the land of crazy, Sam. I’m sure Eileen can’t wait to tell you all the promises you made to Cas.” He decidedly kept his gaze away from the angel in question.
He freed Sam from his restraints and Eileen wrapped his moose of a brother in a tight hug. After a moment she pulled away and signed something to him rapidly. Dean caught a few words from the mix- embarrassing, love, awkward, and his own name thrown in there. He frowned, reminding himself he really needed to ramp up his sign language studying.
Sam stretched, joints and bones popping. “Why am I so sore? And so hungry?”
Dean rolled his eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder and steering him out of the dungeon. “C’mon Romeo, let’s get you some grub and we’ll fill you in.”
A few grilled cheese sandwiches later and they were sitting around the kitchen table. Sam had scarfed down three sandwiches, a microwaved burrito, and a whole glass of milk which showed just how hungry he had truly been.
“So I was cursed with a love potion. And you guys enlisted Rowena’s help and found a cherubim to put together the reversal?” Sam summarized after their story, slightly impressed. “You guys will be witches in no time.”
“Not a chance in hell, Sam,” Dean disagreed on principle. His hatred of witches ran deep.
“Castiel helped a lot,” Eileen amended. “I told him you guys actually would make a good couple.” She grinned and took a swig of her beer.
Sam looked to Dean nervously. “You did huh?”
Dean glared at his brother from across the table, not liking the guilt he saw there directed at him. “Don’t look at me, it’s Cas you should be apologizing to,” he snapped.
Castiel gave a glare of his own when Dean made the mistake of looking over, blue gaze flashing. “An apology would be the decent thing to do,” he said, not addressing or acknowledging Sam in the slightest.
There was a weighty pause and Sam cleared his throat unnecessarily, the scrape of his chair as he stood echoing overly loud.
“Y’know, I’m beat. I think I’m gonna go to bed. Do you-?” Eileen nodded her head at his incomplete question, sharing his uncomfortable look and they both hurried out of the room like the place was on fucking fire.
Which, Dean supposed as he sat there under the full intense disapproval of Castiel, it certainly felt like the flames of hell.
If the hole festering in his gut was any indication an apology definitely was in order. And although Dean was a stubborn bastard in all other ways, the hurt he had glimpsed under Castiel’s righteous fury was enough to drive him uncharacteristically to honesty. He owed that to Cas.
“Look,” he flexed his hands rhythmically in his lap, a nervous tell, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I-,”
Didn’t mean it? So he would be saying he was in love with Cas. Was an asshole? That was self-evident. Actually do love you and I’m shit at showing it? He sat there like a useless lump, unable to either tell the truth or lie directly to Castiel’s face as the silence stretched on.
The angel’s expression abruptly collapsed, a striking amount of pain and sadness emerging and Castiel stood up and retreated out of the kitchen.
Dean leapt to his feet, knowing he had to follow. He had no idea what to say, he just knew he couldn’t let Cas leave like that- in pain on his account.
“Cas, c‘mon- wait,” he jogged, reaching for the trenchcoat sleeve and skidding to a halt when Castiel rounded on him.
“Wait for what, Dean? For you to tell me I mean nothing to you again?” That pain was back in his voice and crushing in its force.
With a start he realized they were standing right outside of his bedroom and he opened the door, offering an avenue out of the hallway. Castiel stood like a statue, clearly weighing his options and reluctant to enter.
“That’s not what I was gonna say at all. Give me a chance to say my piece.” Please went unsaid.
Castiel’s frown remained etched deeply in place but he stepped inside Dean’s bedroom.
Closing the door, Dean chewed on what he wanted to say before he blurted out- “I hate Cupids, I really do.”
He received a blank stare from Castiel at that.
Dean ran an aggravated hand through his hair, pacing in place now. “They mess with people’s emotions, and fate, and I hate that. But carrot-top Cupid was right yesterday. We have a connection. Or at least, I feel it.” He lifted a shoulder in an attempt at a shrug, eyes glued to the wall in avoidance.
Was it hot in here? It felt stifling for sure.
Dean continued in a rush, half-panicked but needing to be honest this one time for Castiel’s sake. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, Sam hasn’t been the only one crazy about you but I can’t even blame a damn potion.” He laughed, the sound reedy and thin. “Have been for a long time actually.”
He chanced a look over at Castiel, and if possible the angel was even more of a frozen statue than before, albeit wide-eyed and apparently speechless.
“C’mon, man, say something or I’m gonna drive off a cliff in embarrassment,” Dean joked, desperation coloring his words.
Castiel smiled then, wider and happier than Dean could ever remember seeing on the angel’s face. It was like a goddamn sunrise, monumental in its beauty. “The connection goes both ways, Dean,” he answered in a slightly unsteady voice.
His joy suddenly dimmed a few notches. “So why did you say what you did this morning?”
Dean stepped closer, needing him to understand. “I lied man. I got angry and I said the exact opposite of what I meant.”
“That makes no sense.” An adorable furrow appeared in between Castiel’s eyebrows.
“I know.” Dean looked at him pointedly. “Remember, humans lie when we want something really, really bad?”
The puzzled expression remained in place but a small lift to the corners of the angel’s mouth returned. “It doesn’t make any more sense now than it did the first time you told me.”
“Just trust me on this,” they were close, really close now, so near that Dean could see the dip of Castiel’s eyelashes as his focus dropped to his lips. There was a growing pleasant haze to Dean’s thoughts that lowered his defenses and made him reckless. “I want this- you- really, really bad.”
That gaze lifted and caught him in a sea of blue and Dean was lost to the pull of the riptide. He leaned forward and met Castiel in the barest of kisses, just a brush of contact against warm lips. A beat, uncertainty rushing in, and then Cas responded by sealing his mouth onto Dean’s and kissing him fully. The heat in his belly erupted into sparks, warming him from within.
Castiel held his face between his hands and poured everything into the kiss, and Dean gave back all that he couldn’t say in words. He shifted closer, seeking more, and the sudden shock of Cas’ body against his sent bright pleasure tumbling down his spine. The layers of Castiel’s clothing were a nuisance, the shift of muscles and skin underneath an intriguing tease.
He reluctantly pulled away, feeling the situation starting to get out of hand. Considering how many years of pent up frustrations he had he wanted to respect Cas and their friendship and not barrel too quickly over boundaries. Besides, there was something to be said about savoring, right?
This was evidently not what Castiel had in mind.
The angel crowded him forward and his back hit the door and Dean got a flash of determined, smitey Castiel before his mouth descended again, kissing him with a single-minded focus that had his head swimming. When he let him up for air at last he didn’t ease up in the slightest, finding a very distracting point on the underside of Dean’s jaw.
“Uh Cas? Buddy?” Maybe not the right term to use for someone who was sucking bruises into his neck at that very moment. Dean stifled a groan. “Digging the enthusiasm but there’s no rush.”
In response the hem of his shirt was rucked up and Dean arched into the wandering hands that followed over the bare skin there. The back of his head hit the door with a solid thump as Castiel’s lips traced over the sensitive dip behind his ear. Strong, sure fingers dropped to his jeans button and Dean’s eyes flew open from being squeezed shut.
With one last ditch attempt to be the voice of reason (he was practically a saint for this) he gritted out, “You sure? You know I ain’t going anywhere right?”
“Dean,” Castiel lifted his head from his neck, mouth kiss-swollen, blue fire burning like grace in those irises as he locked eyes with him. “Stop talking.”
Dean threw restraint to the wind and crushed Castiel back into him, tongue eagerly sliding and probing into his mouth. His hands were entrenched in all that glorious, mussed hair, softer than it had any right to be and the perfect length to hold fast to. In the next blink Cas had his jeans unzipped and was palming him through the fabric of his boxers. Dean hissed at the incendiary contact, dragging his teeth along Castiel’s full lower lip.
When had his angel learned to do this?
Castiel released him from his boxers and ran a testing pump over him from base to tip that had Dean choking out his name. Fuck, but his touch felt too damn good.
As Cas built up a quick rhythm, Dean panted out- “this-,” he adjusted his angle, “from the-,” his hand squeezed lightly at the head, “pizza man?”
“There is other porn,” Castiel replied utterly deadpan, a paradox to the rapt attention he was flickering over Dean’s features as he gave him the most memorable handjob he had ever received.
Dean huffed out a disbelieving laugh, ending it on a sloppy kiss to that smart-ass mouth he knew and loved. He was losing the plot fast, leaning heavily onto the door to keep his legs from giving out, a coil tightening rapidly in his belly. “Cas-,” he moaned against Castiel’s lips, sharing the same desperate air as his breathing became irregular, vision blurring, hands fisting into the lapels of his coat, “I’m-.”
His orgasm hit him with the force of a sledgehammer and he released into Castiel’s hand, shaking and gasping through it. Castiel missed nothing, the intensity of his stare burning over Dean like a second brand, and he sank wearily against the angel in the aftermath.
Dean breathed deeply into Castiel’s shoulder, taking in the subtle scent unique to the angel and letting it relax him fully. He felt like his strings had been cut, the post-coital bliss potent.
“Was that… satisfactory?” Cas’ voice vibrated into his cheek, and a snort escaped.
“Dude.” Dean pulled back to be able to look Castiel in the face, something in his chest loosening considerably at the affection he found shining through there. “Your porn research paid off. Feel free to test it out on me anytime.”
“You mean that?” He couldn’t fault the wobble in Castiel’s question, the hint of doubt that warred with the daring hope. Dean didn’t exactly have a great track record with letting regrets and self-doubt lead his decisions.
“With everything I got, Cas,” he answered as honestly as he could, then kissed Castiel for the simple reason that he was allowed and he was right there. It was soft and indulgent, and Dean felt a fundamental shift in their connection like a compass that had been veering a few degrees off and had finally been corrected to true north.
“Just promise me one thing,” Dean added on a sigh, and received a questioning hum as he traced idle fingertips down the curve of Castiel’s cheek. “Never kiss my brother again.”
Goddamn it all, he was never gonna be able to unsee Sam trying to stick his tongue down into Castiel’s tonsils.