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Castiel first noticed the difference during a werewolf hunt gone wrong.
The pack had consisted of more members than they were originally led to believe. One of them had gotten the jump on Sam and knocked him unconscious before Castiel could smite it, then another lunged at him just as he was turning to eliminate one sneaking up on Dean’s back. Castiel shouted a warning as he buried his angel blade into the wolf and shoved its corpse away, but he was too late, Castiel watching in horror as the she-wolf buried her claws into Dean’s back before he could turn to stop her.
Castiel was there in an instant, his palm glaring star-bright as his grace turned the she-wolf into a smoldering ember, but the damage was done as Dean turned and staggered toward him. Castiel rushed to catch him, his hands first coming to rest on the tattered remains of Dean’s jacket and the two layers of shirts underneath, sticky and warm with blood — but then Dean’s momentum carried him fully against Castiel’s chest, his face brushing Castiel’s cheek…
And then something miraculous happened.
Usually under these circumstances, Castiel would lay two fingers against Dean’s forehead and push his grace through them and into Dean’s body — the only contact Dean would allow (much to Castiel’s puzzlement — and if he’s being honest, regret). The grace would pass from his body to Dean’s and his injuries would heal, and Castiel would be diminished for a time.
But this time, with multiple parts of his form in contact with Dean, he felt his grace flare through the contact of their pressed cheeks, the flash bright enough to light the entire clearing as it rushed through Dean’s body. And then, it flowed back into him through his hands pressed against Dean’s shredded back. Where healing an injury such as this would take minutes and much effort on Castiel’s part using the two-finger method, this time Dean was healed in seconds; and with the return of his grace, Castiel felt almost stronger than he had previously been, even before the battle with the werewolves.
The effect had apparently not been lost on Dean, either, his hands rising to rest on Castiel’s chest and push slightly, just enough to break the contact of their cheeks. His green eyes were wide with shock, with a fleetingly flash of blue as the last of Castiel’s grace left Dean’s body and flowed back into Castiel’s hands.
For a breathtaking minute, they stared at each other from bare inches away, breath coming in gasps as they breathed each other’s air.
Castiel braced for the inevitable shove away, the stammering “Personal space, Cas!” — but it didn’t come. This time, Dean gradually leaned away, Castiel letting his hands fall back to his sides as Dean regained his footing and looking none the worse for wear; the only evidence of his previous injuries being the ragged tatters of material falling away from the now-unblemished skin of his back.
“Cas,” Dean breathed into the night air as he surveyed himself, hands slapping at his back and coming back only minimally tacky with drying blood, “Cas, what just happened? How did you do that so fast?”
“I… I honestly don’t know,” Castiel said; then regaining his situational awareness, rushes to the still-unconscious Sam’s side. As he was about to lay two fingers against Sam’s forehead, he paused, then carefully lifted Sam into his arms, pressing his cheek against Sam’s and his hands over Sam’s back, and wills his grace to flow.
But all Castiel felt was the usual surge of grace leaving him, seemingly dissipating as Sam blinked back into awareness. When Castiel pulled back, it was surprised hazel eyes that met his; no flash of grace in them, just Sam’s puzzled frown and his own weariness.
“Uh… hey, Cas,” Sam said slowly as Castiel released him, “is, uh, everything okay?” he asked, running a giant hand through his hair, pulling it back clean. “Thanks, by the way.”
“It is of no import,” Castiel heard himself say as he pondered recent events. Standing, he reached a hand down to help Sam up, Dean on the other side grabbing Sam’s arm to verify for himself that his brother was alright. As they make their way back to the Impala, Sam noticed the shreds of material fluttering at Dean’s back. “Oh my God, Dean… are you alright?”
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m good. She-bitch got the jump on me but Cas fixed me right up.” Dean turned to look at Castiel then, his eyes contemplative, and Castiel could almost hear his thoughts shooting across his synapses. Castiel swallowed and braced himself for what was assuredly going to be an uncomfortable conversation (re: interrogation) later.
But the interrogation never came. When they returned to the bunker, Dean simply clapped a hand on his shoulder and thanked him before heading to his room.
His hand even seemed to linger for longer than usual; but in retrospect, Castiel was sure it was just his imagination.
That was three weeks ago. And in those three weeks, things had decidedly changed.
Dean has become reckless, daring; his injuries more and more severe, with subsequently increased methods of contact required to heal him.
And while Castiel is greatly concerned with his behavior — he also has to admit to himself that this change in attitude has finally brought him the closeness he’s long desired with Dean.
But at the rate he’s escalating, Castiel also worries that Dean will end up killing himself.
At first, Dean had approached it like a science project — starting with holding hands, which they discovered was effective and the grace was returned as before, just not as fast or dramatically as full-body contact. On the next hunt, Dean had been stabbed, and Castiel pressed their bodies together and was about to lay his cheek against Dean’s to push his grace through the contact, Dean had abruptly turned his head, his lips grazing the corner of Castiel’s mouth — and the subsequent flash of grace had not only healed Dean in record time, but left them both reeling afterward.
The next time Dean was injured, he made no pretense, grabbing Castiel’s face and pressing their lips together. Castiel had just learned how to control the flashes of grace but the shock (and the exhilarating, shocking pleasure) of the contact caused his control to falter, the force of his grace flaring white-hot through them both and leaving them both gasping.
When Sam approaches him after Dean has retired, Castiel is relieved to discover he isn’t the only one worried about Dean’s recklessness — Sam had taken notice as well. But the nature of his concern catches Castiel quite off-guard.
“Cas…” Sam begins, then pauses, sighing. “Cas, I think Dean's recent reckless disregard for his own safety… well, I think it has to do with you.”
“With me? I don’t understand,” Castiel says, but even as the words leave his mouth, he’s suddenly struck by revelation. “He’s… he’s seeking physical contact… with me.”
Sam nods vigorously. “Yes, exactly! You know how he is.” And yes, Castiel is painfully aware of how Dean is — a paragon of self-denial and self-sacrifice, seemingly unable to partake in any real, enduring pleasure outside the act of filling his stomach with meat or alcohol. Still trapped in his performative need to be a good son to a long-absent father, one who taught him that duty comes not only before, but at the exclusion of love or happiness.
“Sam… what do we do? He’s going to kill himself if he continues in this fashion.”
Sam sighs again and lays an engulfing hand on his shoulder, stooping down to catch his gaze. “First things first.” The warm hazel eyes search his face. “You’re enjoying the contact as much as he does, am I right?” When Castiel finds himself beginning to evade by rote, Sam gives him a shake. “C’mon, Cas, be honest. You’ve used the full-body-press method on me before and there’s no real difference. But with Dean? There’s an undeniable connection there.”
Castiel cannot fault his logic, and with a sigh that is more like benediction than dismay, nods in agreement.
“Then talk to him. Tell him he doesn’t have to kill himself to earn your affection.” Sam leans back, releasing him as he chuckles. “Hell, shove him up against the nearest wall and prove it to him, if you have to.”
The discussion with Sam leaves Castiel shaken. Could it be true? Could all this be Dean’s way of allowing himself to be close to him? To, in some bizarre fashion, earn his affection?
The more he ponders this, the more his heart flutters in his chest, both hope and fear at war within.
But over the next several days, the fear continues to win. Sam’s pointed glances are not lost on him, but the fear of rejection is great within him. What if Dean just desires to be healed as quickly as possible? What if Castiel is just a tool, a means to an end as he always has been? What if… what if.
And then, quite suddenly, the decision to act is taken from him.
“CAS!” Sam’s voice is shrill in his desperation, the prayer piercing through his form. “Cas, please, we… Dean needs you. He’s… the idiot ditched me and took on a vamp nest by himself.” Sam’s voice chokes. “Cas, come quick. Dean’s dying.”
The last words are still ringing within him as Castiel reaches out his senses, tugging on the ephemeral bond that binds him and Dean, and uses it to propel himself forward in space, appearing an instant later inside a deserted, dusty barn; and his heart stutters in alarm at the sight that greets him.
Sam, kneeling beside a too-still form on the hay-strewn floor, choking back sobs as he pleads for Dean to hold on, just hold on.
And Dean, face pale and eyes dull, the barest flicker of light still within him; his soul, tugging at the thin thread binding it to his body.
In an instant, Castiel is by his side, his hands on either side of Dean’s face, willing his grace into Dean’s body, urging his soul back into his body. But his grace falters, fights against the resistance pushing against it.
“Sam,” he gasps, “what happened here?”
Sam is slumped against a wooden post, his voice muffled and thin, as from a child curled in a corner, knees pulled to his chest in fear and anguish. “Vamps… rushed him. Got most of ‘em. One of ‘em got to him, shoved him into a piece of rebar. Right into his spine.” He motions weakly above his head, at the red-tinged hook of twisted metal jutting from the wooden beam. Then he gasps a wet sob. “And then the bitch bled into his mouth.”
Vampire blood plus a severed spine. Castiel’s hands are not going to be enough. He throws himself upon Dean’s still form, presses his cheek desperately against Dean’s, one hand against his opposite cheek and the other against the back of his neck. No flash of light this time, barely even a tingle; but he is rewarded by Dean’s soul slowly folding back into his body, by a thin gasp pushing Dean’s chest weakly against his own.
But it’s still not enough. It’s all he can do to hold Dean’s soul in place.
He needs MORE.
Still keeping the hand against Dean’s cheek, Cas rises and uses his free hand to rip Dean’s shirt open, then his own. He pulls Dean up, presses his bare chest against his own. Closes his eyes and pushes his grace into Dean; begging, pleading with any and all incarnations of divinity to aid him.
“C-ca-cas.” Barely audible, Dean gasps into Castiel’s ear
“I’m here, Dean. I’m here.” Castiel turns his head, a shock of hope shooting through him as the long lashes brushing Dean’s cheek flutter, his hand fluttering as he attempts to raise it.
But with long, gasping sigh, Dean slumps again, the hand falling back onto the dirty wooden floor.
With a bolt of awareness, Castiel knows what he has to do.
“Sam… Sam, please.” He glances at Sam, crumpled against the beam stained with Dean’s blood. The hazel eyes, bright with the tears streaking his dust-stained cheeks, meet his. “I need you to leave.” He takes a shuddering breath. “You don’t need to witness what I have to do now. I need… we need privacy.”
Sam’s eyes widen and he nods, staggering to his feet. “Right. I… I’ll go see if I can get a signal, call an ambulance,” he says, scurrying from the room.
Castiel returns his attention to Dean, lying him back down onto the floor — then quickly begins to undress him.
“Dean… Dean, I hope you can hear me. I… I need as much contact with you as I can manage. This requires both of us to be nude.” Castiel hesitates when he reaches Dean’s belt buckle. It feels wrong to do this without Dean’s consent.
Quickly, he again lies down next to Dean, pressing their bare chests together, his hands on either side of Dean’s face, foreheads touching, lips brushing. He closes his eyes, pushing his rapidly diminishing grace into him.
“Dean. Dean, please. I need you to wake up, just for a little while.”
He chokes down a sob of relief when the green eyes flutter open. “C-cas,” Dean murmurs.
“Yes, Dean, yes! Stay with me, beloved.” He doesn’t even stop to ponder or lament the endearment that slips from his tongue, as it seems to have the desired effect; the dull green of his eyes brightening, pupils widening. “Dean, I need to… to be with you. All of you. Do you understand?”
Dean’s eyes widen further but threaten to flutter shut again; Castiel wills more of his faltering grace into him and the green eyes pop back open. “Dean, please… do you consent?”
“Y-yes,” Dean breathes, and it’s not perfect but — desperate times call for desperate measures. Castiel wastes no more time, moves for Dean’s belt, and quickly strips him down until he’s laid bare before him on the dusty ground.
He just as quickly disrobes, tossing his garments onto the pile of Dean’s, and shoving all fear and hesitation aside, lies down and pulls Dean’s naked body against his own.
The effect is instantaneous — warmth and light radiate from his skin into Dean’s cold, clammy body, suffusing him in a blue-white glow. Castiel rolls from his side to his back, pulling Dean with him; his hand roves Dean’s back until he finds the puncture in his spine and lays his palm against it — and the world dissolves into sound and light as his grace surges from and through him, passing into Dean in a torrent.
And as his grace is bolstered and renewed by his contact to Dean, he begins to notice other parts of his vessel react to the growing warmth of Dean’s naked form — and to Dean’s own body reacting in kind.
“Oh, Cas… Cas,” Dean gasps into Castiel’s neck, his lips brushing a sensitive spot below Castiel’s ear sends a shudder through his body; Dean’s tumescence growing next to Castiel’s own. The blue-white light of his grace grows and engulfs their bodies, the hole in Dean’s spine sealing underneath his hand as Dean’s lips find his.
With a groan, Castiel opens for him and when Dean’s tongue touches his, the world once again shatters into light and sound; his hips thrust upward of their own volition and Dean matches the movement, Castiel’s swirling grace easing the way.
‘Cas… oh, Cas… yes, god, yes…” Dean whispers against Castiel’s lips, forehead pressed to his as they move together, the motion becoming erratic as they near completion, and then Dean is gasping into Castiel’s mouth as the space between their bodies becomes wet and warm with Dean’s spend. The sensation is overwhelming, nothing like Castiel expected and everything he hoped it would be; and he gasps into Dean’s neck as his spend joins Dean’s.
The injury fully healed and vampire blood scorched from his system, chest heaving from his exertions, Dean props himself on an elbow, green eyes bright and warm as they caress Castiel’s face. His perfect, lush lips twitch up into a sly grin.
“Now that’s what I call ‘sexual healing’.”
Castiel looks up into the face of the man he’s fallen for in every conceivable way, and squints.
“I don’t understand that reference.”
The still air of the barn is broken by Dean’s unbridaled laughter and it’s the most beautiful sound Castiel has ever heard.
“It’s Marvin Gaye, Cas. I’ll have to play it for you some time.” With a happy, exhausted sigh, Dean rolls onto his back, gasps as chill air hits the dampness on his skin. “Ugh. That was awesome, but this part is not.”
Castiel blinks, and the mess (and, added in afterthought, all the dust and dirt on their bodies and the floor around them) disappears with a thought.
Dean is suddenly quiet, and Castiel can all but see the walls begin to rise behind his eyes. In a blink, Castiel is straddling him, pinning Dean’s hands above his head.
“What the hell, Cas?” Dean squawks, eyes flying open in surprise.
Castiel scowls down at him and believes his expression must be formidable, Dean swallowing harshly as his pupils flare.
“You are the most incomprehensible, insufferable, obstinate,” Castiel begins, then stops and takes a deep breath before continuing, softly, “wondrous, extraordinary man.” Dean’s expression is one of surprise rapidly turning to confusion. “S-so,” he stammers, “what are you sayin’ here? I’m kinda getting mixed signals…”
With an exasperated groan, Castiel rises and blinks again; and the clothes piled on the floor next to them appear back on their bodies (with the added benefit of being cleaned of dust and dirt, and in Dean’s case, the bloody hole in the back of his shirt). “Apparently, we need to have this conversation fully clothed so that you will pay attention.”
“Cas, what… I don’t get it…”
Castiel lowers back down and sits crosslegged in front of Dean, then pulls him into a sitting position. “Sam and I have a theory.” Dean groans and looks away. Castiel reaches up to cup Dean’s cheek, gently pulling his gaze back, smiling at the little huffed gasp Dean gives before leaning into the touch. “Ever since I held you after that werewolf hunt,” he begins again, gently, “you’ve been — some might say, recklessly — putting yourself in danger in order to experience it again.” Dean tries to look away again but Castiel’s hand gently tightens, holding his gaze. “You felt like you had to earn that touch.”
When Dean says nothing, Castiel continues, his hands moving to grasp Dean’s. “Dean, you deserve this,” he says, squeezing his hands for emphasis; then, no longer able to meet those green eyes staring at him so intently, he glances away and quietly adds “that is, if you want it.”
Dean heaves a heavy sigh and Castiel’s stomach lurches briefly before Dean says, softly, “Of course I want this, Cas. I’ve wanted it for… well, a really long time.” Castiel’s eyes snap back up to Dean’s, not quite believing what he’s hearing. “But you know how I am… I didn’t know how to ask for it.” He shrugs. “So I did stupid stuff to make it necessary.” It’s Dean’s turn to break the gaze now, eyes dropping to their joined hands.
“I’m sorry, Cas.”
The pressure in Castiel’s chest is enormous, and he briefly wonders if it’s possible for an envesseled angel to have a heart attack — when he realizes that the feeling he’s having is pure, unadulterated joy.
Slowly, he slides forward; removing his hand from Dean’s grip, he places it under Dean’s chin to raise his head. When he has Dean’s eyes again, he smiles shyly and leans forward to press a soft kiss against his lips. Dean smiles into the kiss and then clasps a hand behind Castiel’s neck, drawing him in; and at Dean’s prompting, opens for him.
The kiss is not long but it is full of promise; when Dean finally backs away, he goes no further than is necessary to gaze into Castiel’s eyes.
Castiel had once been told that when he’d laid a hand on Dean in Hell, he was lost.
And while that may have been true — right now, in the reflection of Dean’s eyes, he’s found again.