Chuck’s living room is a fucking mess.
The sweet stink of meat and blood starting to go bad is so thick that even breathing through his mouth Dean can practically taste it.
The prophet seems to be in shock. There’s a spray bottle and a few filthy rags sitting in a bucket on his coffee table and some smears in the mess on the floor where he’s tried to clean then given up. Dean doesn’t blame him. No amount of bleach is gonna get the room liveable again.
Dean sighs. He’s seen more dead bodies than he can count, but he’s having trouble coming to terms with... this. He looks around the room once more. There’s nothing recognisable. Not even a finger. ‘Balloon of chunky soup’ alright. It’s like a blender exploded. A really big one. Full of Castiel.
Sam looks guilty, Chuck looks freaked out.
Dean’s not sure what he’s feeling. Cas – the angel who pulled him out of hell, who broke ranks and turned against heaven for him – has gone and done one better. Gotten himself killed for Dean. And for nothing it turns out. He was too late. Lucifer is free. Cas is soup for no goddamn reason at all. It makes Dean swallow around a lump in his throat.
Chuck pulls one of Cas’s teeth from his hair and almost throws up. Dean’s worried he might follow suit but conveniently Zachariah crashes the party and provides an irritating distraction.
Listening to him and his dick henchmen scream when he banishes them is satisfying, but he’d prefer something a little more permanent.
“This sucks ass,” Chuck says.
Dean can’t bear to be in the room a second longer.
Sam wants to talk about it.
Like there’s anything, anything Dean wants to hear about Ruby and Lilith and fucking Satan right now. Sam chose a demon over his brother and now Lucifer is free and Cas, apparently the only ‘good guy’ that was actually on their side, is dead.
Dean drinks until he passes out, knowing full well he isn’t going to get to sleep any other way.
He recognises the dream. He’s at the lake. Fishing. There’s a cooler with beer near his feet. He turns and isn’t surprised at all to see Cas standing there, out of place as always in his suit and trenchcoat.
It doesn’t feel like a dream. It feels like the last time Cas spoke to him while he was sleeping. Lucid and almost... real. Dean feels a surge of hope. He jumps to his feet, letting his fishing rod clatter against the wood and fall into the lake. “Cas! I thought you were dead man!”
The angel tilts his head, regarding Dean intently. “I am.”
Dean frowns, his hope sinking like a lead balloon. “What?”
“Dead,” Cas tells him.
“So this is an actual dream?” Dean asks. “You’re a figment of my imagination?”
“No, I am quite real,” Cas says, looking around at the lake and the forest on the shore opposite. “At least in this place, while you dream this dream,” he adds cryptically.
“If you are dreaming this dream, then I am indeed dead.” Cas sounds remarkably chill about it. “However as long as you dream it, I am, in a way, alive.”
“That’s some twisted up Spock shit right there Cas,” Dean says, but he thinks he gets it. “So my dream is the box, and you’re the cat that’s dead and alive at the same time?”
Cas gives him a little smile. “Schrödinger's paradox theory is quite apt given the situation,” he agrees then falls silent for a moment, just looking at Dean. “You are far more intelligent than my brother’s give you credit for.”
Dean clears his throat. “So this is, what? ...some celestial last will and testament?”
Castiel shrugs. “In a manner of speaking. The odds of surviving after rebelling against Heaven were very slim. It is customary to offer farewells, so I offer mine.” He straightens his shoulders. “Goodbye Dean.”
Dean’s got a hand wrapped around Cas’s arm before he even realises he’s going to move. “Wait!”
Cas looks down at Dean’s fingers where they curl around his bicep then back at Dean’s face. “Yes?”
“So... you’re dead? Once I wake up... that’s it?”
“This dream is being sustained by the last of my grace. When it has been consumed, the dream will end and I with it.”
“How can you be so... fine with that?” Dean snaps. “I mean, shit Cas, you’re dead!”
“There is nothing I can do about that now,” the angel tells him. “And this is a pleasant enough place to spend my last moments.”
“Lucifer’s free,” Dean blurts. “Lucifer’s free and you died for nothing.”
Cas frowns. “Oh.”
Dean’s vaguely aware that he’s stepped closer, that he’s still gripping Cas’s arm in a death grip. “I’m so sorry Cas. It’s my fault. I couldn’t stop Sam and now...” his voice drops. “You’re gone and I dunno what I’m gonna do. I mean, I can’t stop Lucifer. I couldn’t even stop my own brother...” He meets Cas’s eyes. “I’m sorry Cas. I fucked up. You shouldn’t have believed in me. I’m so fuckin sorry.”
Cas doesn’t seem angry though. He lifts a hand and presses it to Dean’s face. “I do not regret choosing your way over Heaven’s.”
“Even though you’re dead?” Dean whispers.
“I made my choice. I would not change it,” Cas tells him. “Humanity deserves to be saved. You must not despair.”
Dean sniffs. He’s getting embarrassingly close to crying. “Gonna go all obi-wan on me Cas? Be my ghostly cheer squad?”
“Angels cannot become ghosts,” Cas says. “We don’t have souls.”
And fuck. There it is, he’s getting teary. Dean takes a breath, tries to steady his voice. “So what, it’s just curtains for you? No angels in heaven?”
“Not in the manner you imply. When we die we simply... end.”
The full gravity of the situation suddenly slams down onto Dean. This is really it. Any moment could be the last one he ever shares with Cas. The last moment Cas even exists. It’s not fair. There’s so much he wanted to show him. All the good stuff about Earth. Cheeseburgers and cold beer, pointing the Impala down an empty highway with the stereo cranked right up, apple pie and flirty waitresses, girls. Cas is gonna fade away without even really understanding what he died for. It’s not fair.
“Cas,” he says, shoves a hand in that messed up hair like he’s wanted to forever, pulls him close and kisses him. There his brain says, now at least he’s had a goddamn kiss.
It’s not a particularly long or deep kiss, just Dean’s lips on Cas’s, but when he pulls back the angel is staring at him in wide-eyed amazement. He blinks and swallows, drawing Dean’s eyes to the bob of his Adam’s apple, and then licks his lips as if he doesn’t quite understand what just happened. Cas’s bottom lip is shiny and pink and since Dean’s dreaming and Cas is dying, he throws caution to the wind and kisses the angel again, licking along that plump curve, drawing it into his mouth.
Cas makes a pained little noise and kisses back a little, lips clinging to Dean’s for a moment before releasing. “Dean...” he says, and it’s all low and surprised and pleased and Dean really likes that so he dives straight back in and does his damndest to give Cas the best fucking kiss in the history of kisses. He plasters himself to Cas, tilts his head till he’s got the angle just right, and then licks his way into that sweet mouth of his, showing him in deep, hot slides what’s so awesome about kissing.
For a few moments Cas is still, accepting but frozen, but then a little moan bubbles out of Dean without permission, and Cas must like that because he’s suddenly kissing back, giving as good as he gets. It’s all a bit of a blur after that, Cas breathes Dean’s name back into his lungs and his hands are seemingly everywhere at once, carding through his hair, groping his ass and sliding up under his shirt to press warm against his skin.
Dean feels overwhelmed - totally in over his head - but in the best possible way, it and seems perfectly natural to start pulling at Cas’s clothes, to press him down onto the wooden decking of the pier and wedge his hips between his thighs. Beneath him Cas is wide-eyed and flushed, gasping and panting like he’s shocked at how good everything feels and like he’s definitely eager for more. “Dean!” he says. “Oh deandeandean...”
And Dean really likes the way his name sounds on the angel’s lips. Makes his dick throb tight and painful in his jeans. He grinds down on Cas, drawing an awesome breathy little groan out of him as their dicks line up in a tempting tease. Fuck. Dean wishes they were naked.
Suddenly they are.
Cas gasps in a way that tells Dean the spontaneous nudity wasn’t his doing, but then he apparently registers the way Dean feels pressed into him naked and the follow up gasp sounds pretty pleased with the unexpected turn of events. Dean for his part figures, what the hell, it is a dream and turns his attention to mapping out all the newly exposed angel flesh in front of him. Cas seems smaller without his clothes, pale and lean and with skin so soft Dean wonders idly if angels moisturize.
Cas seems overwhelmed, hands sliding over every bit of Dean he can reach – his shoulders, his back, his ass... He seems enamoured of that particular part of Dean’s anatomy and grabs a two firm handfuls, pulling him closer. Without clothes in the way the slide of their bodies together is about a million times better, but not close enough. Dean hauls one of Cas’s thighs up so he can settle flush between his legs. Cas moans Dean’s name and rolls his hips, rutting mindlessly, his wet dick smearing precome onto Dean’s stomach in a way that makes heat simmer in his bones. Dean needs more, to touch, so he reaches between them, closing a hand around both of them and pulling lazily.
Cas’s hips jerk and he throws his head back, neck arched. The long line of it calls to Dean so he puts his mouth to it, sucks and bites and draws wrecked moans from the writhing angel in his arms. Like this, laying on top of him, it’s like he’s actually fucking Cas and suddenly he has to be inside him. “Cas,” he says. “Want you.”
Cas rolls his head towards Dean, a lazy movement like he’s drunk and kisses Dean sloppily, eyes so blown they are practically black. “Yes Dean, yes...” he manages, “Any...anything.”
And now it’s Dean’s turn to groan because an angel, his angel, Cas, is telling him he can have anything and what he wants is... “You. Want you Cas.”
Cas kisses him viciously, suddenly demanding and rough where he’d been all languid and soft. He flips them easily, pinning Dean with that limitless strength of his. His legs straddle Dean’s hips and he can’t help but moan and buck, desperate for friction, heat, anything.
Cas sucks a mark into Dean’s chest, just above his tattoo, kisses him quick and dirty, then takes Dean in hand, rises up above him and before Dean can really process what’s happening, is bearing down on him, splitting himself open on Dean’s cock. Dean forgets to breathe.
It shouldn’t work, Cas shouldn’t be able to just take a dick up the ass like a... like a girl, but he does. It’s warm and tight and easy. Dean slides in like they spent hours on prep. Cas’s breath leaves him in a whoosh and he arches his back, keening as he takes those last few inches, gets Dean balls deep. Dean jerks up, manages a “Fuck!” then is silenced by the impossible fucking heat he’s surrounded by.
Dream Dean reminds himself. Magic dream sex.
Cas is tight, insanely tight, and Dean’s worried he’ll blow his load before they’ve even started and that’s before Cas shudders, rolls his hips and falls forward to kiss Dean like he’s trying to devour him. He’s mumbling in between breathes and licks, deandeandean, and his thighs are flexing, riding Dean in a slow burn that makes it impossible for Dean to think. He plants his feet, grips Cas’s hips and starts fucking up into him. Cas whines and shakes, bites at Dean neck, his shoulder, then rises up to ride him in earnest, his movements in perfect counterpoint to Dean’s hips. It’s amazing. The best thing ever, and it seems like Cas agrees judging from the noises he’s making, the way he’s arching his back and slamming himself down onto Dean’s dick.
He’s backlit by the sunlight reflecting off the water, lean and pale and so fucking beautiful Dean feels like his heart might explode. It’s here, like this, doing something about as base and low-down-dirty-human as possible, that Cas is undeniably inhuman. He’s practically glowing and everywhere he’s touching Dean is molten hot and tingles with static electricity. There’s a noise like sails snapping in the wind or something and Dean’s 99% sure that it’s Cas wings. His lips are moving, forming words that aren’t English and the sound of his voice seems to vibrate through Dean’s bones.
It’s like fucking a thunderstorm. No way Dean’s gonna last, he’s close, so close, and when Cas bites at his bottom lip and stares down at him with lidded, lust-filled eyes and starts jerking his dick, he reaches his breaking point. He chokes on Cas’s name, slams up as deep as he can go and comes harder than he ever has in his life, comes like his orgasm is being stripped out of his soul or something.
Cas’s mouth stretches wide and he locks up, head thrown back towards the sky. He lets out a noise that’s not even remotely human and for an instant Dean sees wings, like shadows arching out across the water, then Cas is coming, cock spurting thick and white, hot where it splashes across Dean’s belly, muscles flexing in a sweet agony around his still pulsing dick.
For a moment everything is silent and still. Dean’s ears ring and his eyelids are etched with the afterimage of Cas’s wings. Then Cas slumps forward all soft and boneless, curling himself over Dean and tucking his head under his chin. He’s shaking, heart racing rabbit-fast against his ribs. Dean wraps his arms around him automatically, stares up at the sky and waits for his brain to reboot.
Cas hums into his skin, a satisfied noise like a cat’s purr.
Dean tilts his head until he can meet his eyes. Cas’s hair is a mess, his lips are swollen and red, but he looks sated and sleepy. He smiles at Dean. “I am very glad to have shared this with you.”
“Me too,” Dean says.
Then reality of the situation washes over him and takes all that golden post-coital happiness with it.
They’re both silent for a few minutes, Dean trying to think of what to say, some way to fix this, and Cas in quiet contentment. He fits his hand over the print burnt into Dean’s arm and stares transfixed. “I don’t have long,” he says quietly. “Little grace remains.”
Something about the way he says it makes something click in Dean’s mind. “The handprint? That’s where your grace is?”
Cas meets his eyes solemnly and nods.
“I’ve had a bit of... you in me all this time.”
“Your soul is a remarkable one Dean,” Cas tells him, tracing a finger along the outline etched into his skin. It makes Dean shiver. “It seemed fitting to offer you a blessing when I returned you to your body. I was uncertain I would see you again.” His voice grows soft and he glances up to meet Dean’s eyes again. “You do not remember, but we went through much together, you and I, on our journey from the Pit.”
“... a blessing? It’s a blessing?”
Cas leans forward and kisses the raised pink skin of the scar. “The blessing of a seraph.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to any of that. Cas is looking at him with such a soft, loving look on his face and he has a hundred different things all tangled up inside his mouth, trying to get out, and suddenly it’s all too much. Dean’s eyes sting with tears and he pulls Cas close, pressing their foreheads together. “Cas...Thank you.” he says. “For saving me. For trusting me. For believing in me.”
Cas kisses him softly. “I still believe in you Dean. You’ll stop Lucifer.”
Dean doesn’t want to think about Lucifer and the end of the world. He wants to stay here with Cas, never wake up, but he can feel the dream dissolving, getting dim around the edges. “Don’t go.” he begs. “please.”
Cas sighs, but he still doesn’t look afraid. “Oh Dean,” he says, presses another gentle kiss to his lips. “Oh beloved.”
Something pierces Dean’s heart. He pulls Cas closer, clings to him. “You know don’t you?” he whispers against Cas’s lips. “You know I love you right?”
He feels Cas’s smile and then –
- he’s sitting up in bed, tears drying on his face and a mess in his pants. When he tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, the scar on his arm seems faded.
The moment he gets a few minutes alone after the run in with Zachariah and his goons in the storage unit, Dean prays to Cas.
He appears with his customary flutter of wings, and for a long moment Dean just stares. He stares so long that even Cas seems to realise something’s off, and he tilts his head to one side and narrows his eyes. “Dean?” he asks warily.
“After you died I got a visit from you Cas,” he says, watching the angel’s face intently. “In a dream.”
“Ah,” Cas says. “Yes I recall making such an arrangement.”
Dean licks his lips. “But you don’t remember the dream?”
“No. However I intended to say ‘goodbye’ so I imagine I did.”
For a moment Dean considers forgetting as well, or rather, pretending nothing happened, but...that seems like the weak way out. The world’s still probably gonna end and Cas is pretty much a sure thing and well, Dean’s screwed anyway, what kind of an idiot would he be if he ignored the angel that’s standing right there, his for the taking? He’s pretty sure having the person you’re kind of in love with miraculously returned from the dead is about a big a sign as you can get.
He crosses the motel room and takes Cas’s face in his hands. The angel’s eyes widen and he freezes, but he doesn’t try and shake Dean off or flap off away from him. Dean leans in close, takes note of the way Cas’s pupils dilate and his breath gets uneven. “Want me to tell you what happened Cas?” he asks. “Or maybe you want me to show you?”