Archive of Our Own

Snow crunches beneath Dean's worn boots as he makes his rounds through Camp Chitaqua. These are a new pair, damn it. Well, new to him, but they're nicer than the last pair he'd snatched off the body of a dead Crote. Hopefully they'll last through the winter but the icy slush that sticks to them makes him nervous.

The warding he and Cas set up at strategic points around camp (when the world ended) are strong and secure, as they always are. It isn't going to stop him from doing daily maintenance checks on them, freshening the paint or deepening the carved grooves. It only takes one day of skipping checks. One little chink in the armor for everything to go to hell in a hand-basket. As Dean is all too aware.

A brisk winter wind bites at his cheeks. Something to eat sounds good right about now. He got up too early for breakfast to be ready this morning, and he knows the last supply run brought back a few expired bags of coffee grounds — the coffee's roasted and sealed up tight so it should be fine. Besides, the thought of a hot beverage loaded with caffeine puts a bit more of a pep in his step, expired or not, as he makes his way over to the cabin they set up as a mess hall for the camp.

Fresh toast and scrambled eggs sit in their containers, along with a pan full of greasy bacon. But the smell of a hot breakfast is nothing compared to the rich black coffee in his favorite chipped motel mug. "Thank you, Goldie." He says with a sigh. Holding the hot cup so the steam tickles his chin.

"Don't thank me, sweet cheeks, it was that special convoy of yours that found them beans." She says, plopping an extra piece of bacon on his tray. He knows better than to protest the extra ration at this point. Of course, he doesn't deserve it, but Goldie always gives him the excuse that their 'fearless leader' needs all the extra calories he can get. Brain food, she calls it. Sometimes he eats it himself, when he's feeling selfish, and sometimes he sneaks it onto someone else's tray when they aren't looking.

The coffee swirls with a little bit of sugar from an old paper packet someone had picked up along the way. He lets the steam counteract the bite of late winter air. Rubbery eggs are shoveled into his face, making him long for those little diners he, unbelievably, took for granted. What could they have possibly done differently to eggs to make them taste… edible? These are just a means to an end, just filling the tank. He swipes his slice of toast through the mysterious eggy water on the tray, making damn sure nothing goes to waste.

Best for last, he thinks as he picks up a glistening, greasy slice of bacon and brings it to his waiting mouth.

Chuck slams a heavy rucksack onto his table just as the bacon passes his lips, his precious coffee topples over, spilling between the slats in the old picnic table and over his lap.

"Whoops! Sorry, boss." Chuck squeaks.

Don't kill people. Don't kill people. There aren't enough people left for you to strangle Chuck right here with his own boot-straps.

With a heavy sigh, he rubs his palms (still warm from his mug) over his face before addressing chuck, "What do you need, Chuck?" He doesn't have the energy to make it sound pleasant.

"Um, well. The guys got back just now and wanted me to pass on some news."

"What news is that?" His bacon is in pieces on the muddy, icy floor; mingling with the remains of his coffee. It's fine. He honestly doesn't deserve these little pleasures anyway. This is all his fault, after all.

"The werewolf pack you asked them to keep an eye on, there's been some updates. A few Crotes tried to infiltrate their territory, but Rick said it seemed like something was keeping them out. Said it looked an awful lot like the warding we use and the affects it has when Crotes get too close."

"So the wolves have some warding magic?" Dean asks, sitting up a little straighter. The wards they used around here came from a combination of Angel and Demon magic. Things Dean had picked up from Sam via Ruby, and things Cas knew himself.

"Exactly, which could mean…"

"They've got a demon in their pocket." Gotcha.

"Right." Dean shuffles himself out of the picnic bench and wipes himself down the best he can, mourning each little splatter of coffee that tumbles to the floor.

"Should I have the Grunts get themselves ready?" Chuck asks.

"No, no. There's, what? Four wolves total? Me and Cas can take them out no problem."

"I though there were five, but, hey," Chuck pulls back his sleeve to check his watch, "Are you sure Cas'll be, um… up to it?"

"He better be." Dean grumbles as he heads out to find the man himself.

Dean certainly isn't taking any Chitaquans with him this time, just Cas. Should be a milk run with all they've been through. Besides, he doesn't want to be their 'Fearless Leader' right now. He just wants to be Dean. It doesn't matter if its breakfast, a walk through the camp, or even an ill-advised fuck in the supply cabin, there's only one person that Dean can ever just feel like Dean around. And just like the bacon, just like the coffee, he fucking hates himself for wanting it. For wanting anything at all in a cold, desolate world of his own making.

To top it all off, it's fucking freezing out here. So, Dean wouldn't have expected to find Cas outdoors of all places. Ever since he lost his mojo, the angel hates the cold. Actively curses his father for creating it and the human body's reaction to it. Prefers to stay inside, and a couple of warm bodies pressed against him from all sides never hurt either.

And, yet, as Dean turns an unsuspecting corner, he hears the unmistakable sounds of something he definitely doesn't want to hear. Or see. Especially at, what? Nine fifteen a.m? Jesus.

The sound of Cas' deep moans spread warmth all through Dean's shivering frame. But he doesn't want to see that, right? So god only knows why he keeps walking.

Mayra and Camille have Cas pressed against the frosty wood planks of his cabin. Mayra with her tongue down Cas' throat while Camille sucks deep rosy marks into it. Cas moans again, muffled by Mayra's mouth. Camille, who had been blocking most of Dean's view (not that it would be a view but… shut up), moves and Dean realizes just exactly why Cas was moaning like a goddamn wounded animal. The fly of his cargo pants is undone and Mayra's hand is plunged beneath his tight black boxers, stroking him sweet and slow.

Some other kind of heat boils in Dean's blood now. He's gotta cut this crap out, immediately.

Sure, the wolf nest will still be there if Dean does an about-face and circles back to find Cas later. That would make the most logical sense. But Dean's never been all that good at logic. That was Sam's thing.

"Alright, ladies. Party's over." Mayra and Camille jump at his voice, quickly taking a step back and fixing their clothes where Cas' roaming hands had ruffled them up.

"Dean," Cas complains, rolling his eyes and adjusting himself back into his pants.

"Wolf hunt, pal. Let's go."

Cas' face scrunches, "Wolves?"

"I'll tell you on the way." He's already headed in the direction of his jeep, expecting Cas to follow behind.

Dean frowns at his feet as he hears Cas give one last — unnecessarily lingering — kiss to each lady behind him, "I'm not done with you, yet." he tells them, a grin in his voice. Dean could vomit.

"Promise?" Camille asks while Mayra tells Cas to be careful and come back soon.

Dean rolls his eyes and whistles, not unlike one would to get their dog's attention. "Chop chop, Casanova." That earns him the scowl of all scowls. Good.

"Tell me why — again — this couldn't wait until later?" Cas shifts in his seat as they pull out of camp, Dean glancing in the rear-views to make sure the gate is secured before taking off. Soon enough the Jeep is moseying on down the overgrown, icy road. The late morning sun splashing their faces through the branches of naked trees.

Dean gives his same excuse again, "All the wolves are together at their hide-out. When'll we get that chance again?" It's a bullshit excuse and they both know it.

"Almost any time." Cas grumbles in return, pulling a joint and lighter from his jacket pocket. "It isn't like this pack is known for venturing out."

"Whoa, hey. Nuh uh." Dean reaches over and swipes the lighter from his hand.

Cas is affronted, not for the first time this morning, "What?"

"We're about to go up against four werewolves. I need you sharp. And feet off the dash."

"And I need something to… calm me down a bit." Cas gripes, giving Dean a pointed look.

Dean's knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The wheel that, still, after a couple of years, feels completely foreign in his hands. "Well, that's what you get for whoring yourself out to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who catches your eye." He mumbles. But, of course, Cas hears.

"There's no one at camp named 'Tom,' or 'Harry.' And there's only one dick I have any interest in." Dean assumes he means his own, since there's no one named 'Dick' at camp either. Part of Dean — a part he won't admit to — wonders if Cas would go for… that… if any of the guys at camp were into it… Not that it matters. It doesn't. "Besides," Cas continues, pulling Dean from that particular train of thought, " you aren't one to judge. It's not like you don't get around."

"Yeah, I get around. Not all at once." Why this bothers him so bad, Dean couldn't say. It just does. The guy was an angel and look at him now. At what Dean did to him, what being around Dean does to people.

"Ah, I see," Cas shoots him a sardonic smile, "You're jealous."

Dean splutters, searching for a comeback, an excuse, anything. No he's not… jealous. Form the words, mouth, just say it: 'I'm not jealous.' Four teeny syllables. But no, he keeps on doing his best impression of a fish out of water.

"That's it, isn't it? You wish it were you all the ladies want to dote on all at one time, right?"

"No." It sounds like a lie when he says it. And it is, sorta. No, it isn't the ladies he wants. But Dean Winchester isn't allowed to want. Certainly not this. He's only seen Cas with women anyway, so it's pointless from all directions.

"You know Dean, nothing says you can't give in to the lifestyle. Bang a few gongs, my friend."

"No. Thanks." He keeps his eyes resolutely forward. Navigating around debris and bodies.

Cas pulls in a deep breath, when he speaks again it's in a taunting, sing-songy voice,"Invitation still stands."

Right. He forgot about that. And isn't that just what Dean needs? To indulge in all those desires he keeps locked deep down in the pit of his stomach where they'll never reach the light of day. To give himself permission to see it. What Cas does with all those women, all at once. The way they might touch him, the sounds he might make. This morning was probably just a sneak preview, muffled and quiet in the broad daylight. Dean isn't going to let himself imagine what it would be like to— No. Nope. No.

Dean swerves around another body that he may as well have put there, denying Michael again and again. Hell, he may have actually taken that one out; after a few years of this, how could he tell?

The wolf pack had set up camp in an old barn that once housed large livestock, judging by the size of the fences. Perfect to keep Crotes out if you add a bit of warding. The demonic origins of the virus don't mix well with certain sigils. Things your average werewolf wouldn't know about.

Dean passes the binoculars to Cas, "East-side window," he says.

Cas hums, "Three by my count, one more to go."

"Yup, take a look at the hay loft." One more wolf is lounging over a pile of hay bales stacked high with blankets and furs. Like the guy is some hill-billy king wanna-be, ripping some mysterious meat off a bone with its fangs.

"Ah, got him. Four-out-of-four." Cas stuffs the binoculars back in their pouch.

"Alright, stick to the plan. I'll enter through the east, you through the west, take out the lower three and—"

"Capture their leader for interrogation."

"Exactly. Which, I'm assuming is the clown in the loft so we'll have to keep our heads up. You got the silver cuffs?"

Cas twirls the cuffs around his finger, a smirk on his face that sends little lighting bolts through Dean. What else have those cuffs been used for recently, do you think? Dean turns back to the barn and double checks his weapons, silver bullets in place.

Dean can't help the heavy, stone-sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watches Cas sneak off into the trees to reach the back of the barn. Having him out of his sight and alone makes Dean itch inside. He keeps a careful eye on his watch, knowing Cas' is ticking along with it and once they reach three minutes they'll make their move.

At the three minute mark, Dean takes a deep breath and trusts that Cas has his back. He bursts through the front as Cas splinters the door at the back. The wolves jump to their feet, scrambling and shouting. Claws and fangs bared, but it's no use. Bullets rip through bone and flesh and each one is dead before they hit the floor.

Their leader lands on the first floor with a heavy thud, growl deep in his throat, eyes taking in the carnage.

"Don't move!" Dean commands, pointing his smoking gun at the wolf's head, giving Cas a chance to ready the cuffs, "We just wanna ask you a few questions."

"A few questions?" The wolf howls, "You just killed my family!"

"Don't worry about them. Hands up!"

The wolf slowly lifts his hands, wolfish eyes staring challenging holes through Dean, whose gun is pointed and ready for the slightest shift as Castiel gets closer. In a blink, the wolf brings his fingers to his lips and a whistle rips through the still-air. Dean fires, a second too late as the wolf swings a paw across Cas' face before it charges at Dean, swatting his gun from his hands and Dean hears it clatter across the room out of his reach.

The wolf is on top of him, fangs thrashing in Dean's face as his elbows threaten to buckle under the thing's weight. Its claws dig into Dean's neck where its meaty paws cut off his air supply. The edges of his vision begin to go blurry. His arms shake, the last line of defense between Dean and those foamy, gnashing fangs.

A hot, sticky spray splatters across Dean's face and the wolf goes limp. Dean tastes blood as he shoves it off of him. Cas stands above him, smile on his face, gun smoking in his hand. Dean laughs with relief, taking in deep breaths and rubbing at his bruised neck. "Great timing, Cas."

"Hey, I got around to it eventually." He holds out a hand to Dean.

Just as Dean presses his palm into Castiel's, it is ripped from his grasp.

Cas is thrown across the room, slammed bodily into the wall behind them. His gun makes the harrowing sound of an empty chamber. Dean thinks he might have screamed but doesn't care as he springs into action searching for his own weapon that had been thrown across the room. He just has to trust that Cas can hold off just long enough to—

"Dean!" Cas pleads beneath the fifth wolf they were wholly unprepared for. Fuck. Fuck! He thinks Chuck even said there were five wolves but Dean didn't even take it into consideration. He was so sure it was four. He digs through the loose hay all over the floor to find the gun. It's the only one on him that is loaded with silver rounds.

Castiel screams as the wolf bites into his shoulder with a sickly, squelching crunch.

"NO!!" This is his worst nightmare. After everything. After all of it; losing Sam to lucifer, having to bury three rounds in Bobby after he was infected, after everything… Cas is all he had left. Beautiful, clever, strange Castiel. The only man in the entire world that could still make Dean feel normal despite all the angel's new proclivities. Dean sees their life flash before his eyes, how shitty he's been to him thinking he didn't deserve Cas' friendship in the first place. Especially since the angel fell from heaven for him. Lost his identity and purpose for him. He deserves so much more than Dean.

Fuck it Dean thinks and pulls his backup from his thigh holster. They aren't silver, but they're more than nothing. Dean empties the chamber into the wolf's neck, hoping to sever it just enough to give Cas time.

Both wolf and angel drop and the barn plunges into utter silence.

The winter wind howls and rattles the broken doors of the barn. It's fitting, Dean thinks, it all started in a barn why wouldn't it end in one? Dean shakes Cas again, calling out his name. He's breathing, but unconscious and Dean doesn't know what to do.

Cas got bit.

Dean can't focus on that right now, he checks the wound. The blood is already congealed, sticking to his shirt and jacket. It clearly didn't hit anything major, but nonetheless… He knows what this means.

"C'mon, buddy. Don't do this. Don't do this. Wake up." He repeats, holding Castiel's scruffy face in his hands and slapping at his cheeks. Eyes closed like this, he really is an angel, he looks almost peaceful. But Dean knows there's likely a war going on in his body. Wolf and angel-turned-mortal battling for supremacy. His body is already heating up unnaturally. "Fuck, Cas. I can't do this without you."

With a rasping breath, Castiel comes to life. Looking around with wild, dazed eyes before wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Dean braces himself. Is it going to be his Cas, or the wolf that takes over?

"Dean?"

"Hey!" Dean lets out a long breath, something like a laugh or like a pressure cooker releasing. "Hey buddy, how are you feeling?"

"Shitty." He grumbles, his face twisting up in pain before realization and alarm strike him. He looks at his wounded shoulder, "It bit me."

"Yeah, I see that." Dean helps him from the floor, "Are you… are you, um—"

"A werewolf?"

Dean gives him a look. Yeah, that.

Cas looks at his body as if he'd be able to see the wolf genes working inside him through all his layers of clothing. He looks at his hands and back to his shoulder, pulling the collar aside. Dean grimaces in sympathy as the congealed blood and fabric peel away from the bite.

"I'm infected." He says, poking at the bite, as if that isn't the single most terrifying sentence Dean has heard in a long time, "But I can fight it off."

"Fight it off?" Dean huffs incredulously, "What the hell does that mean, 'fight it off'?"

Cas has the audacity to roll his eyes, "I'm mortal Dean, not human. There's enough angel left in me that I don't think the wolf-gene will take. Not completely anyway."

Dean waits but Cas, as he is wont to do, doesn't elaborate. Dean waves his hands, hoping the panic on his face is enough for more explanation.

"Dean," Cas finally looks at his face, "You need to go."

Dean swears he could punch straight through a wall right now. "Go? Why? Cas. Tell me whats going on."

"I got bitten—"

"I saw that."

"I got bitten," he repeats, "and while I won't remain a wolf for long I believe there will be side effects for a time. So you need to go back to camp and I will catch up once it's safe."

"Yeah, fuck that."

"Dean—"

"No. Cas. Just no. I ain't leaving you and that's final." He says it with all the authority he can muster while he's practically shaking to his core.

When Cas speaks again, it's so small that Dean wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been looking at him, "Dean. I don't want to hurt you."

"So don't." Their gaze lingers. And lingers. There's something going unspoken but he isn't quite sure what it is. Maybe they're both memorizing one another's faces. Pleading to keep each other safe in their own way. If one thing's for sure, no one is safe out here alone. Not with monsters, demons, and Crotes out for blood. "C'mon, let's go home."

Cas scoffs incredulously, "And- what? Bring me back to a camp full of 'twitchy trauma survivors' while I fight off a Werewolf bite?"

Dean sighs, he's right. It'd wouldn't be the smartest move to take Cas back to camp right now. If he isn't able to fight this thing, he could go on a rampage. People could get hurt, killed, or worse, turned. "Alright, then, we find somewhere to camp out for the night." Cas agrees and they head out after salting the corpses and burning down the barn.

They find a decent looking house around the half-way point between the burning barn and Camp Chitaqua just as the sun begins to make its descent beneath the horizon. The world around them plunges into dusty blues and rosy pinks as the light fades against the snow. Gotta love the short winter daylight.

The treads on the Jeep need replacing, Dean thinks, distracting himself from a writhing, squirming Castiel in the passenger seat. The vehicle slips and slides and it certainly isn't Dean's anxiety and constant glances at Cas that make him miss the patches of ice on the road. Should look into getting some snow chains.

About an hour ago, Cas started whimpering. Then growling. Then trembling with the restraint it was clearly taking to stay in his seat. He pointed his body away from Dean, curling in on himself toward the window. Dean's stomach has been roiling with the thought of what he's going through.

"Alright, this place looks as good as any." He says as they pull up to a secluded two-story cabin.

"Dean—" Dean knows what's coming, they've had this conversation about ten times on the drive here.

"No. Cas."

"You should leave me."

"And I'm telling you, no dice." He tries to make the words cut through Cas' thick, stubborn head. Tries to muster up half of his usual authority that works on literally anyone else.

"Dean, there's already other monsters out here. Demons. Crotes. I wouldn't be of any use to you if—"

Dean rolls his eyes for the millionth time tonight, he's gonna get a migraine. He exits the Jeep and readies his weapons to clear the building. Cas limps around to the back. His beard is scruffier, his eyes taking on a yellowy, wolfish glint, but they're still Castiel. At least for now.

"Tough. I can take care of a few monsters. I'm an experienced hunter, you know."

Weapons ready, he shoulders past Castiel and does his sweep of the building. It's blissfully empty, not even any signs of a previous break in by raiders. They meticulously set up their go-to sigils, wards, and devil's traps before loading up on any non-perishables they can find.

"Hey-o! Olive oil, garlic powder, onion powder, and… more salt! Jackpot!" Dean calls from the kitchen. Cas makes some kind of grunt from the living room where he's set up camp in a big, plush armchair.

Castiel's eyes don't leave Dean for a moment once he gets back in with his haul. In fact, it makes Dean's hair stand on end. The look is… predatory. Tracking. He takes a look at Castiel's hands, his knuckles are brushed with dark hair, and his nails — no, claws — dig into the armchair's upholstery.

"I hate to beat around the bush, but you're sure this is temporary?" Dean asks as he stuffs his rucksack. Cas nods. "It's looking pretty… werewolf-y to me."

"Leave if you're scared." Cas trembles. Eyes never leaving Dean's.

Dean takes in the sight before him. He knows werewolves. He's met his share over the years. Not only as a hunter but as whatever he can be labeled as in this barren, monster-ridden wasteland of his own making. More than that, if there is one thing Dean knows more than anything, it's Castiel. "I'm not." He means it.

"I don't think I can control myself around you."

"You won't hurt me." Something strange passes over Castiel's scruffy face as he finally looks away that Dean can't discern. "I'm gonna get a fire started."

Thankfully, someone had chopped plenty of firewood before they locked up the cabin and never returned. Dean doesn't want to think about what might have happened to whoever lived here. Or at least owned this place. Could be a rental or hunting cabin for all he knows. Hell, maybe it's owners are still out there somewhere. Maybe they found a little refuge like Camp Chitaqua and are living their best life under the circumstances.

Dean was able to heat up a bit of the water from their canteen and found a couple clean rags in the bathroom. He scrubbed at the sticky, flaking wolf blood, getting as much off of himself as he could but he still can't wait to get back to camp and take a real bird-bath. There wasn't much else in the way of medical supplies. Just a little first-aid kit with the plastic wrapper still on, confirming in Dean's mind that this place was just a rental cabin at some point. Everything looks staged rather than lived-in.

Cas winces and growls as Dean rips his clothes over his shoulder ('just like a bandaid, you big baby') and cleans his wound with the warm, wet rag. The thing is congealed with pus and grime, the skin around it red and angry. Soon enough, it would heal itself as the moon rose to it's zenith in the sky, for now he could at least get it clean and comfortable. Cas' breath comes ragged by the time Dean spreads his palm over the adhesive bandage he stuck over the wound.

"Get some rest, pal." Dean whispers as Cas' eyes slip closed, losing the battle against the fever taking hold.

The fireplace itself is modest for a cabin this size, but deep enough to heat up some grub. An open can of noodle soup sits in the glowing ashes of the fire. It's just beginning to bubble when Dean hears the unmistakable sound of weight shifting on floorboards just behind him. He thought Cas had dozed off; but, to be fair, he probably shouldn't have turned his back on the angel in his current state.

Slowly, Dean stands from where he's been crouched in front of the fire; careful not to make any sudden moves. An entirely different heat warms him from behind. Cas' breath puffs heavy across the back of his neck, inhaling long and deep against his skin, right behind his ear. Nose drawing a path through hair that hasn't been cut in a long while. Dean tries to suppress the shiver that shoots through him, this is not the time.

"You smell…" Cas hums into his hair.

"Ain't exactly a five-star resort, pal, I'm gonna smell funky after all that." His heart races as Cas catches his hips with hairy, clawed hands. This is bad. This is really, really not good. If Cas is losing this battle — if he was wrong and overestimated his restraint or his angelic immunity to the wolf gene — would Dean be able to fight him off? Would he even want to try? The answer to that scares him.

"No," Cas growls, low in his chest. The sound is completely inhuman, "You smell good," his breath beats hot and damp over Dean's skin, "So fucking good."

Dean is afraid Castiel means 'good enough to eat' and resolves himself to the fact that the Campbell's chunky is no longer what's on the menu. He thinks of his duty: find a way to kill the Devil — and all the people he's letting down but he knows in his bones that… well, there's no way he's hurting Cas. He knows without a doubt that he's going to let Cas tear him apart, and pray that Cas understands. This is it. Dean Winchester is puppy-chow. He braces for impact.

That is, until Cas shifts his hips forward and Dean feels Cas' erection against his ass.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Dean feels dizzy. Weak in the knees. Cas' little sniffs trail along his neck until his nose brushes Dean's ear, the little puffs send goosebumps up and down his arms. It isn't until a fang grazes his earlobe, so feather-light he's sure he's imagining it, that he admits that this is doing it for him.

Heat pools low in his gut, a fire spreading across his pelvis where he's held steady by Castiel's large hands. How many times has he imagined those hands exactly where they are now? Granted— way less hairy and sharp, but those hands. Broad palms and long fingers. How many times has Dean selfishly gotten himself off to this very thought?

Now that he has it in his grasp he has no idea what to do.

"These instincts…" Cas purs, his lips and teeth teasing the exposed skin at the join of his shoulder and neck, "they are… Dean. Get the cuffs."

Dean straightens. Fuck, he hadn't even realized he's bared his neck to Cas. Fucking pathetic. Is that all it took now-a-days? "Wh- what?"

"We should have locked me up the moment we got here. Please Dean." The hands on his hips are trembling, "I told you you should have just left me." Something like fear lines the edges of Cas' usually unbothered voice. Ever since the first break-outs in major cities, Castiel has been in his element. A soldier ready for battle, enjoying the spoils of war in his free-time. The facade only cracking as he medicates himself to ease the burden of mortality.

Understanding the seriousness in Cas' tone, Dean takes a step forward, resolving to search for the silver wolf-cuffs. It's only when he finds himself slammed against the wall next to the mantle that he realizes his mistake. Retreating from a predator.

Cas' body is a furnace as he blankets his back, pushing him into the wall, the clawed hands have his wrists trapped beside his head. The wolf behind him growls long and low in warning. "Okay. Alright." He surrenders, not wanting to further provoke him.

"Just… tell me where they are…" Cas grits his teeth, uh, fangs, "Stay still, I'll get them." He's clearly doubtful. Dean wonders how much restraint he's showing already… and why.

Dean thinks. He didn't see them in his rucksack as he was pulling out the first-aid. Nor when he was rummaging for dinner (which is likely scorching in its can right about now). Which of them had them last? Oh, no.

"Fuck. The barn." The barn that is currently burning to embers a few hours drive from here.

"You should have left me." Cas growls.

"Why? You gonna eat me?"

"No… no, that's not what it needs." Cas releases one of Dean's hands to grip his hip again. Thumb trailing dizzyingly under his shirt. The claw scratching his bare skin back and forth, certainly not helping the boner situation. Dean's cock is trapped between himself and the wall. His boxers and jeans scratching painfully against the leaking head. If he could just…

He writhes against where Cas has him pinned by the hips, making a (likely very stupid) decision, "Take what you need, Cas."

Cas gasps at the permission, rolling his hips forward with a whine that makes Dean throb, pushing him into the wall, the sudden friction making him curse. Fuck, this is it. After all these years. Cas needs this. He needs to give in to the wolf just long enough to burn it out of his system and god dammit if Dean can't provide. This isn't for him it's all for Cas. He can do that, right?

One little syllable sends it all crashing down on him, though. "No."

Disappointment drops over him like a wet blanket, "What?"

"No, you don't want it. I can't do that to you, Dean. Not to you. Not like this." Cas pulls back just enough to make Dean want to cry out.

"Who says I don't?" Dean pushes back against Cas' rigid cock, drawing out more of those delicious whimpers. Is he always that big or does it have something to do with the wolf? Dean can't believe his button-fly doesn't pop off one by one.

Cas shifts again, hands pressing Dean's hips into the wall with crushing force, keeping just enough space between them to frustrate them both. God, there's gonna be bruises. The thought has him panting, the moisture of his breath slips against his cheek where he's smushed into the drywall. "You never wanted it. Wanted me. All those times I invited you…" The next words are spoken so quietly he knows Cas didn't mean to say them, didn't mean to leave them there between them, "—doesn't want me."

"I want you, Cas." Always have. Those claws around his hips threaten to break skin. Dean wishes those hands would move. Touch more of him. All of him. All over. "'Just… wanted you all to myself. Selfish. I don't deserve it." I don't deserve you.

"What are you saying, Dean?" Cas cranes his neck look at Dean's eyes over his shoulder. His own are no longer that faded blue of far off hills on long drives. They're yellow, now. Werewolf eyes. It strikes Dean as odd that they're almost just as beautiful. No more or less intense. Still Cas.

"I'm saying… tonight — you need me. So… have me." Cas sucks in a sharp breath through his fangs, a low wanting whimper escapes him and he blushes. Dean didn't think Cas could even do that anymore. It reminds him how selfish he's being. Dean Winchester destroyed the world, in what universe does that mean he gets something like this? Something he aches for. Something he wants and wants and wants. Cas needs him, though, so… "Just this once."

Damn, he can practically see the smoke coming out of Cas' ears with how hard he's thinking. Considering. They both know this is a stupid, reckless game they're playing. The plausible deniability is as thin as a dragonfly wing. But it's there. Is Cas going to use it? Take full advantage of the opportunity Dean is presenting him with? They can't do this… not under normal circumstances. But hey. End of the world, an angel-turned-man-turned-werewolf has everything he wants within the grasp of his claws, maybe he will just take.

Dean silently begs for it. Begs Cas in a prayer he may have once been able to hear.

Maybe he still can, because in the next moment, Cas is on his knees and has his claws in Dean's patchwork jeans and ratty boxers, yanking them as far down as his thigh holster will let them fall, the waistband tucked up under his cheeks. His dick springs free and he groans, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate to Cas as it does to his own ears. His ass is blessedly naked, warmed only by the fire to his left and Cas' inhuman heat behind him.

Cas has Dean's ass-cheeks caught in his broad palms, "What— what're you doi— oh fuck!" the next thing he knows Cas is licking a broad stripe from the back of his balls to the small of his fucking back and back again. The man (were-angel?) groans like it's his own ass getting eaten out. This… of all the ways Dean thought they were about to get off on one another, this was not in the cards.

The wolf-gene had to have made some changes to Cas' tongue because there ain't no way the thing is that broad and long… right?

Dean's cock is shoved, bare, up against the cold drywall as Cas laves at him with that much force. The shocking chill only works to make him push back against Cas' face and tongue, spurring him on.

Cas pulls back from circling his rim to take a few hearty breaths, "So good, Dean."

"fffuu—" he breaks off into a whimper. Cas makes another pass, his scruff scratching at his inner thighs as he laps at Dean's balls and perineum before coming back to his hole.

It's official. Dean has never been this hard in his goddamn life.

He's never thought of seeking this out. Certainly not with Cas. Honestly, none of this is how Dean thought his relationship with Cas — if he ever got the opportunity — would progress. Never in his wildest dreams did he think they's leap right out of the gate into fucking rimming. He thought, well, in those tiny moments alone where he allowed himself the indulgence, that he'd take it slow with Cas. Try a few vanilla moves he'd seen in porn back when the internet was still around. Frotting, oral, a little hand stuff here and there. He should have known better with Cas. This Cas, at least. Mortal, hippie-dippie, orgies-after-breakfast Castiel who takes any hit of dopamine he can muster. Of course he'd dive head (tongue) first. Werewolf or not.

He's drooling against the wall by the time Cas' tongue disappears. Replaced by fangs nipping at his cheeks and thighs. Dean is seeing stars.

Cas stands up behind him, his hands pull at Dean's coat, nearly tearing it off his shoulders. Dean shucks it off, kicking it and his shirts towards where his boots rest by the fire. It'd be nice to have them warm up anyway. Then Cas paws at his holster until the clasps release and it drops with a clatter to the floor before the rest of Dean's clothes join them. Cas snarls frustratedly as he struggles with his own fly and before Dean can offer to help, he hears the fabric tearing and multiple metal buttons hitting the floor and walls in all directions.

Then it happens.

Cas' bare cock is sliding the length of his ass-crack, slick from his saliva and now pre-cum, just enough to not be painful for either of them as he thrusts his entire length up and back down again.

Dean can't take it anymore. There's practically a puddle at his own feet where his cock has been patiently begging for attention. He's able to slip his hand between himself and the wall, Cas is not letting up for a single second, and takes himself in hand. Sweet relief. His moan, however, catches Cas' attention, who sees what Dean's trying to do.

"No" He snaps, slapping Dean's hand away.

"'No'? The fuck you mean 'no'?!" Dean tries to turn his head, affronted, but Cas pushes him harder against the wall.

Cas moves in closer. His face, those brilloant sharp fangs, are right in Dean's face when he snarls, "Mine." against the shell of Dean's burning ear.

And… okay, yeah. Dean's dick throbs in agreement and clearly he's been out voted.

"C'mon, Cas," He protests, "You gotta give me something!"

Cas grabs Dean, threading his arms through the bend of Dean's elbows, and spins them around before lifting Dean by the underarms and tossing him over the side of the thick, plush armchair with a heavy thwunk.

Dean'd be offended if he weren't so turned on by being man-handled like that by Cas. He can't even complain, His hipbones are pushed into the arm of the chair, his ass is up in the air for the whole world to see and he doesn't even care because the couch is warm from the fire and offers delectable friction on his hard, aching cock. When Cas knocks his elbows out from under him so his face plants into the soft crocheted blanket on the seat, he just about comes right there.

Cas is relentless. Before Dean's brain has even caught up to everything else, the were-Cas is back on him. His cock is in his hand, lining himself up with Dean's rim and letting it catch just before sliding up and back down. He feels Cas' balls slap against his cheeks on the upstroke, the length of him lining up between them. There's so little room between the two men, Cas pants at the pressure. Soon enough, with each stroke, the head catches on Dean's rim, threatening to go in dry. Dean's not sure where Cas' head is at, but he definitely doesn't wanna get fucked in the ass with little to no prep.

"Cas? Cas, buddy—" Cas' heavy free hand lands against Dean's scarred shoulder, keeping him down. "Okay, I get it, but you gotta open me up a bit if you want me like that."

"Want you?" He laughs. "Dean, I crave you. I'm starved for you." Cas bends over him, emphasizing his point by nipping at the rise of Dean's shoulder blades.

"Alright, I get it. If this keeps you from eating me, have at it, just…" Dean looks around. He had scoured the place when they got in. No lube in the bedside tables, no Vaseline in the medicine cabinets in the bathroom… fuck. He's gonna be sore tomorrow. He almost gives up when he remembers, "Hey! Hey, that bag over there, I found olive oil."

Cas' hips still. "I don't want to eat you, Dean."

Dean chuckles, "Well, that's a relief, but that isn't what I mean." He sees Cas brow pinch where he peeks over his shoulder, "Lube. Cas. Do as the ancient Greeks do."

Castiel's wolfish eyes twinkle at the thought, he looks down at his hands where they continue to stroke over Deans hips and ass. He digs in the pads of his fingers, only a slight pinch from his claws. "… you would let me?"

Dean lets out a huff. Honestly, right now, he doesn't think there is anything he wouldn't let Cas do. "Yeah," He breathes, knowing it sounds way more desperate than he intended it to. To combat that, he wiggles his ass in a way he hopes looks tantalizing and not just silly. "C'mon, man, oil me up."

Cas' hand passes reverently over his bare skin and, if Dean didn't know any better, he would think Cas still has some grace left in him the way his whole body tingles with it.

That hand waits until the absolute last possible second before leaving his body as Cas makes his way over to the bag Dean had stashed the olive oil in. From where Dean is pressed into the armchair, he has a front row seat to the half-naked Cas show. And if that ain't a sight for sore eyes…

Cas is toned, muscled from the strain this life puts on a man, but a bit thin from lack of food. Dean knows food is scarce, he also knows Cas not only forgets to eat, but he also refrains from eating when he thinks someone else will go without. Now, without the layers he wears — especially on cold winter outings like this — the change in his body is apparent. His legs are solid and strong, covered in a dusting of hair that Dean imagines tickling his palms as they slide up his thighs. He hopes all that hair isn't just the wolf gene, it suits Cas well.

Letting his eyes trail up from Cas' bare feet (who knew wolves got a bit of claws on their toes, too? Huh.), his eyes linger at the jut of his Cock between his soft thighs. He inhales sharply at the sight. It's long and thick, an angry pink all the way down his shaft but achingly purple at the top where the head sticks past his foreskin; needy and poking up under Cas' favorite blue shirt.

Dean is overwhelmed by it. Consumed by the thought Oh, fuck. That's going to be in me. Cas is going to be in me. His heart kicks up and he can't tell if he's excited or terrified. Maybe both.

Cas takes his place back behind Dean, who hasn't dared to move a muscle. He pets across Dean's skin again. Taking one cheek in hand and squeezing, spreading him just a bit but doing nothing else. Like he's just admiring Dean's most intimate areas. Dean groans, eyes fluttering.

"Are you sure about this?" Cas asks, barely above a whisper. Maybe this is just as monumental to him as it is to Dean. Dean doesn't know if that is possible. Cas isn't lacking for sex and ever since the angels left, he hasn't been some blushing virgin. Dean knows all too well what he gets up to behind that beaded curtain.

No, Dean thinks, and yet, at the same time, I've never been so sure about anything in my long, miserable life. "Do it."

Cas' shirt ends up on the floor then there's the soft, snick, snick of the cap being unscrewed behind him. Its partially absurd, the olive oil is being drizzled over his tailbone, dripping down his crack. He instinctively bucks away from it, pressing himself further into the — now slick — arm of the chair.

Cas runs his fingers between his oiled cheeks and god. God, god, god it feels like soaring over long abandoned roads in Baby. That exciting, stomach sinking feeling of flying over rolling hills and old back roads. Castiel is going to fuck him sensless and he can't wait. But—

"Cas, Cas. Claws! Ow, fuck, Claws!"

Cas' hand flies off him, "Oh shit! I'm sorry, Dean."

"No. No. It's okay." Dean breathes. He wants this so bad. He can't possibly turn back now. He wants to ride home in the jeep and feel every single bump in the road along the way. He wants to memorize this night so he can come back to it when he finally gets some peace and quiet at camp. He wants to look at Cas from across the table in the mess hall and know what they did here tonight. Even if he can never have it again. Especially since he can never have it again. There's no way he's turning back now.

He takes his own hand, awkward at this angle, and reaches behind himself. After rubbing some excess oil over his fingers, he presses against himself. Feeling the tight muscles there flutter beneath his fingertips.

Cas whines and growls above him. His breaths come fast and heavy. "Yes, Dean. Just like that." Those big meaty paws grab hearty handfuls of his ass and spread his cheeks while Dean continues teasing himself.

He doesn't know if he can do it. Doesn't know if he can take that last step to press into himself, the thought terrifies him. That makes it all real. That's the point of no return. He figures it's like anything else, like ripping off a band-aid. He's just gotta take that plunge… so to speak. So he does, he pushes into himself a little to hard, a little too fast and yelps at the intrusion. Cas' hand is around his wrist in no time. Long fingers wrapping almost all the way around. Dean shivers.

"Take it slow, Dean." He commands and god, with a voice like that, why isn't he Camp's fearless leader? The finger in his ass slows, back down to the first knuckle. "That's it," Cas purrs, petting his flanks comfortingly, "Go slow." He orders. "Breathe, you need to be relaxed."

"Fuck you, 'snot like you've done this before." Dean snaps, face scrunched in the afghan. Cas is… eerily quiet behind him. "You've done this before." It isn't a question, but Dean isn't sure what answer he's hoping for.

There's a long pause, like Cas is debating whether or not he wants to share more with Dean. That maybe, as Dean's bare ass is in his face, folded over the broad arm rest of some stranger's leather armchair, to admit this would somehow be emasculating in Dean's eyes. "… Maria has a dildo."

"Maria??" Dean stops fingering himself to push up and look back at Cas. It's still a shock to see him like this: fangs, scruff around the jaw and cheeks, yellow eyes… but still undeniably Cas. "Quiet, shy, book-keeping Maria has fucked you with a dildo??" He doesn't like the teasing glint Cas gets in his eyes. The smug smile that says 'I know you're trading jealousy for shock.' He nods.

He's always thought of Maria as a quiet, Velma-from-scooby-doo type. Huh. Tonight is full of revelations.

Still, with the crackle of the fire behind them (and the smell of slightly singed chicken soup), Dean can't stop imagining it. Maria and maybe a few others, spreading Cas open just like this, fucking him with some sculpted hunk of silicone. Cas writhing and moaning beneath their ministrations.

And they don't even need an excuse to see him like that.

He shakes off the thought and reaches back behind himself, more determined.

"Do you like that?" Cas grumbles, his voice suddenly close as he bends to breathe against Dean's back, sucking marks into it as Dean breaches himself once again, "You like the idea of me being on my hands and knees?"

Dean moans, writhing against his own hand, pushing a bit deeper.

"You like the thought of me whimpering and needy for it? Begging to be filled by a thick cock—"

"Cas-"

"—just like you are now?" He emphasizes his point by pressing his hot length against Dean's cheek and sucking another bruise into his shoulder blade.

And, maybe — even an hour ago — Dean would have denied it. Maybe he'd even be affronted by the mere speculation. But they've built this cozy little bubble in the world where he's already come this far. And it's Cas. So… "Yeah. Yeah- want it. Want it so bad." Bad enough that he presses another finger inside himself. Two fingers feeling impossibly wide already. He whines when Cas' heat leaves him, and again when he feels more oil being drizzled onto his fingers, working themselves in and out and back in again. Fucking himself beneath Castiel's penetrating gaze. Rutting desperately against leather.

Then, oh, then, Dean feels another finger sliding against his own. The claw pressed against his own knuckles to be sure not to scratch somewhere unwanted. He pushes in, stuffing Dean to the brim and he feels his cock leak another bead of pre-cum that he thrusts down into. There's no room for thought as Cas' finger pulls out as his own push in, merciless, overwhelmed by sensation, stretched and filled and somehow he knows he's ready for more.

"Need you," He doesn't want to give up his fingers, but he has to in order to get to his prize. Something he thinks he may have been waiting for way longer than just tonight. "Please."

"Oh, Dean—" Cas pulls back, taking Dean's wrist again and pulling him out of himself. "Anything you ask."

There was never a moment before tonight that Dean actually thought he would be here. Living out his most secret fantasies after a mission gone bad. About to be fucked senseless by a monster. No, Cas wasn't a monster. Never was. Not even as a creature so holy and unreachable as an angel and not as he fights against a werewolf bite. Castiel is anything but a monster.

Cas' cock bumps up against his hole and, embarrassingly, he feels himself flutter and clinch in anticipation.

"Ready?" Cas asks it as if he himself could never be ready. Dean looks over his shoulder again, Castiel, angel of Thursday, back-lit by the warm glow of the fire, the glow bouncing around in his irises.

"Beautiful." Dean breathes. Oh fuck he said that out loud. He must have because Cas' jaw goes a bit slack and he scans Dean's face for a moment. They stay like that for a long time.

The idea that this is some kind of pity fuck — that they're only doing this for some reason pertaining to Cas' werewolf instincts — flies out the window with that one uttered word. He didn't mean to say it. Didn't even really mean to think it. Cas is still for a long time and Dean squirms, he wishes he could take it back. Go back to the nice bubble of deniability they had carefully crafted this evening. But its out there now.

Cas blinks and shakes himself out of his thoughts. Hiding a smile, he looks back down where the two of them are a hairsbreadth away from joining. He takes himself in hand and lines back up before shifting his hips ever so slightly forward and…

Other than the crackling fire, their labored breaths are the only sounds in the cabin. Cas' cock is inside him. Just a little. He shifts forward another fraction and Dean feels the slight pop as the head gets fully buried inside. He can't help the way his body clinches around him, drawing a moan from Cas who digs his fingers into Dean's hips. Dean knows that feeling. The first moment of breaching a partner, the overwhelming intensity of it. The trust, the intimacy. He's giving that moment to Cas and receiving it in return.

The broad hands on his hips tremble, Dean can feel the way Cas shakes with the monumental effort it must be taking to hold back every monster instinct telling him to take, claim, possess.

Cas attempts to catch his breath behind Dean, "Okay?" he asks, his voice dazed, trembling as much as the rest of him.

Dean nods, discovering a bit of drool under his cheek, "Yeah. Yeah, you can keep — ah, fuck — going."

Dean feels more oil being drizzled over him, making him feel a bit like a greek salad at this point. When he pushes a bit deeper Dean is certainly grateful. He feels every millimeter as Cas goes deeper. He feels himself widening and stretching over the thick middle of his length and relishes in it, trying hard to stay still for this part. To not make Cas' fight any harder than it needs to be.

Something shifts. It's like his body finally realizes that it's just them. Just him and Cas at the end of the world, just like always. His muscles seem to melt at the thought and open up for him. Cas sinks into him in one long swoop that has butterflies kicking up a storm in Dean's belly. Cas' balls are pressed against him, his pubic hair tickling in the excess oil over his skin. Dean lets out a long cry, something pathetic and desperate in the shape of Castiel's name. And isn't that a sensation: he feels Cas' cock twitch inside his own body.

Cas likes this.

Cas likes being inside Dean and he likes hearing Dean mewl his name as they both swim in their pleasure.

It feels good, being stretched out and filled, it makes his own cock twitch with need and his fingertips tingle as they tangle in some poor dead person's afghan. But to be honest, as Cas begins his shallow thrusts, he thought it would be a bit… more? Maybe? He's not quite sure. He's always heard about how great anal is and gay guys seem to like it a lot in the porn he's seen — but how realistic is that, really? Maybe it has something to do with the mental aspect, the loss of control to another man. Or maybe it's the intimacy, the trust.

"You okay?" Cas asks, his voice as low and gravely as a grave.

"… y- yeah. Don't stop."

"It just seemed like you got lost there for a moment." Cas slowed down again, dammit.

He growls, "for god's sake, move," Dean cringes at himself.

There's an indignant huff behind him. Then Cas knocks his legs apart with his feet and pushes Dean's head into the cushion with a fistful of his hair.

He pulls out, almost all the way, the very tip threatening to leave him, before slamming into him again and —

"Oh, god!" The change in their angle lined Cas' cock up perfectly, overwhelming him with a new kind of pleasure he's never fuckin' felt before. Something sparking all through his veins, lighting him up like the fourth of July from the inside. If he could think, he'd know that Cas finally found his prostate, but as it is, all that comes out is an incoherent string of expletives he isn't sure is even English anymore.

That fuckin' bundle of nerves must be the brain's off-switch.

He already didn't know how he'd not come yet but now… the fact he's still holding out is a goddamn miracle in itself.

"Dean… Dean, Dean," Cas moans against his skin.

The claws against his scalp send chills up and down his body while the abuse on his prostate combats them, they meet in the middle where Cas is sucking on his back and shoulders and Dean thinks he might actually die if this is the only time he ever gets to feel like this.

Cas keeps thrusting in and out, their skin sticking a bit where his sweaty hips meet oiled ass-cheeks. Are those Cas' nipples he feels? But there's— there's something— Each time he thrusts something else is catching. Stretching at his hole in an entirely new way.

"Whu- whassat?" Dean asks around a tongue that is way too heavy for his mouth.

Cas lifts up to look at where they're joined, "Uh… I think it's… werewolves and other canids have— something called— the bulbus glandis…"

Holy shit. Dean's read about this. Bobby had a copy of this book called 'He-wolf, She-wolf: A Study in Werewolf Transgenderism' and Dean may have skimmed through it, sue him. It had a section of werewolf reproductive structures.

Cas has a fucking knot.

"Give it to me." Slips out of his mouth before he could think even a little bit. Like at all.

Cas pauses, cock jerking, "What?"

Well. In for a penny, he supposes, "I want it. Give it to me, Cas."

Oh and if Cas doesn't like that. He trembles all over, panting like a dog (Or wolf?) and thrusting in and out of Dean as his knot swells much faster than before. Fast enough to make Dean wonder if Cas had been trying to hold it back all this time.

"Dean- I- I can't—"

"Come for me, Castiel." He reaches and takes Cas' free hand, threading their fingers together and relishing in the bite of his claws as Cas' knot catches inside him and he comes, clamping his fangs into the thick meat of Dean's shoulder. The searing pain plus the swelling heat against his prostate, plus the aching need in his own cock has Dean screaming as he follows Cas billowing right over that edge. Cas whines in his ear with every spasm around his knot.

For a while they just breathe. Relishing in the aftershocks as they come down and the shock of what just happened.

Cas just fucked Dean's brains out and Dean let him. And it was better than he could have imagined. And maybe his father would have killed him (for a mariad of reasons) but the end of the world is going to do that anyway so he can't really care right now.

His back is aching and his hips are starting to cramp and the leather of the arm is all sticky and Cas is still inside him. "Uh… Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You gonna get up, pal?"

"Um. It seems the, uh, the bulbus glandis—"

"The knot," Dean interrupts.

"—my knot… may take some time to go down."

Dean lets that sink in for a second, "How long we talkin' here?"

"I have no way of knowing."

"Ballpark it."

"Could be anywhere from several minutes to several… hours."

"Hours?!I can't stay here bent over the arm with your dick in my ass for hours!"

Dean finds himself being swept up against Cas' chest as he carefully maneuvers them both, stopping with a wince when one wrong move tugs sharply at his knot. Dean winces in sympathy, though he has no idea what that would feel like. It can't feel great. Cas lays them both down on their sides in the big plush chair so Dean is leaning against the opposite arm and Cas is tucked in behind him.

"There's a full length couch right there." He points out.

"You wanna be the one to carry us over there?" Cas grumbles.

Dean can't help it, he bursts out in a belly laugh. The first laugh he's had in, hell. Well, over five years. The last time he's laughed like this, he and Cas were kicked out of that strip club.

"Dean," Cas raises the alarm, "Dean, fuck, If you don't stop, I'm gonna—" Then he feels it. Cas comes inside him again. His arms tightening around Dean's middle as he pushes his cheek against his back, working himself through the shudders.

"This has been the weirdest fucking night." Dean says once Cas' breathing has evened out again.

"I'll say." Cas agrees, tenderly kissing the back of Dean's neck and shoulders.

His shoulder, "Fuck, Cas. You bit me."

"Huh," Cas' index finger traces the shape of the bite in his right shoulder. "That I did."

"That's all you have to say?! You're a freakin' werewolf right now, dude!"

"Yeah, but I can't spread it."

"The entire camp is gonna think I got it from a Crote. Or one of the wolves we were fighting." Cas kissed over the bite. "You pervert. You're getting off on marking me up, aren't you?" A low, petulant chuckle against his skin confirms Dean's suspicions. "What, your giant mitt on my other arm wasn't enough for you?"

Cas avoids the question, "It's low enough, you can cover it with your shirt."

"Not the point."

"Ah, yes. You won't be getting laid any time soon either. At least not until it heals." The very tip of his claw traces over Dean's shoulder, "Poor Risa. Or was it Jane?"

Dean swallows. He wasn't even thinking of them at all. To be fair, they'd probably be just as relieved. Dean hasn't been the best performer in the intimacy department in a long time anyway. Dean just makes a noncommittal grunt and reaches back to pull the crocheted blanket over them both. Cas buries his nose in Dean's hair and sighs like there's no where he'd rather be. It makes Dean's heart thud embarrassingly in his chest where Cas' palm holds him snug.

Winter isn't known for being the sunniest season, but there's just something about it when the sun does decide to show itself. Maybe it's the way it bounces and glimmers off the snow and ice that makes it seem that much brighter as its gentle glow floods the Cabin through the windows. Or maybe its the warm body holding fast to him on the armchair that makes everything feel more vibrant and vivid as Dean blinks awake. Memories of last night replay in his mind over and over, making his heart thump excitedly behind his sternum. Cas fucked his brains out last night. Cas did. Dean can't help the goofy grin that spreads over his face thinking about it.

Cas' plump little ass as he went to get the oil, peeking out from beneath his soft, blue shirt. His hair was wild and Dean didn't even get to grab fistfuls of it to hold on for dear life. No, he was manhandled and bent over the arm of the chair and just taken. Just like that. Fucked and marked and — dare he say it — knotted by a were-cas. The memory is so heady, he could easily allow himself to get carried away if he doesn't control his thoughts.

Cas had clearly slipped out of him at some point in the night, but the lack of uncomfortable stickiness or itch tells Dean the former angel also cleaned them both up.Most likely with some of the rags Dean had found yesterday.

Cas' breaths are still slow and rhythmic behind his head. His arms sleep-heavy where they wrap around his middle and they're both still delightfully buck-ass naked against one another. Dean thinks… for the few precious moments before Cas wakes, he could pretend. He could pretend this was their life. That instead of carnage and mayhem and death just beyond those walls, its just… snow. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow accumulating over their little corner of the world. They could have this. Maybe, he pretends, they decided to go on some kind of winter retreat or vacation and they're renting this cabin instead of it being abandoned to the apocalypse.

What could have been, Dean ponders dangerously, what would it have been like if none of this ever happened? If he had pulled his head out of his ass and just said 'yes' to Michael in the first place? Or, better yet, if he had been there for Sam and talked him out of saying 'yes' to Lucifer. He thinks, if that had been the case, he would have made a move on Cas way sooner. He wouldn't feel so god damn guilty all the time for wanting and he'd just do it. And maybe he and Cas would quit the life and find some little place like this to live with one another. And Sam'd meet a nice girl and have a bunch of little rugrats and he'd be a much better father than their own. He'd never be too far to visit, Dean's sure of it.

If they'd just saved the world from the one threat that tore it all up… things would be different.

He absently strokes the — considerably less hairy — arms wrapped around his bare chest and turns his head just enough to see Cas' sleepy face smushed into his neck and he realizes there's no going back. He can't give Cas up again and he can't share him. Here Dean is taking more from the ruined world than he should ever be allowed to have but he's a selfish son-of-a-bitch and he'll rot in hell for it (again) but he's taking it. This one last thing at the end of the world is his.

He's gonna tell Cas as soon as he wakes up.

Dean is thinking about how to unravel himself from Cas' octopus limbs to take a piss and make breakfast when Cas stirs.

"Mornin' sleepyhead." Dean grumbles with his dried-out, sticky mouth.

He wants to turn in Cas' arms to face him and kiss him silly but Cas doesn't smile, and doesn't meet his eyes as he extricates himself from behind Dean and stands. Wait, this isn't how this was supposed to go, The little fool in Dean's chest whines as Cas pulls on his boxers and jeans. Dean straightens, tucking the blanket over his crotch as he tries to understand what just happened.

Cas is looking at the fly of his jeans and around the room with his brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?"

"I seem to have no way of fastening my pants." He says, deadpan.

Yeah, you ripped the buttons off to free your were-dick, "No, I mean are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and his eyes don't reach dean's eyes… and he pulls on the rest of his clothes without another word and Dean is just frozen still with his ass sticking to the leather seat like an idiot.

Cas regrets it.

Of course Cas regrets it. He wasn't in his right mind last night. He was completely under the influence of a temporary were-wolf fever or something and now he's freaking out because he mounted and fucked his best friend like a dog and, hell, for all Dean knows Cas is straight as an arrow. He only ever has sex with the women in the camp. Sure, he's invited Dean to the orgies but it wasn't like that. It was almost always to get some kind of rise out of Dean and Dean is so fucking stupid.

He thought… Last night… but no.

They're both silent as Dean shuffles around, holding the blanket awkwardly to keep himself covered while he pulls on his own clothes beneath it.

There's no fucking air in this cabin as Dean brews the little bit of coffee he was able to nick from the kitchen and he spreads some (long expired) jelly on the couple pieces of toast Goldie packed him. Their hands bump as Dean passes Cas his slice and you'd think it hit like an exposed wire the way that single touch shoots through Dean. Those hands had been wrapped snug around his hips last night. Strong and bruising. God, Dean hopes there's bruises. Ones in the shape of those hands so he can poke and prod at them as he fucks his fist because he's certainly not going to be fucking Cas the way he wants to because Cas regrets sleeping with him.

"— Dean?" Cas' voice shakes him from his spiral. His toast is half-way to his open mouth and he's just been sitting there frozen, staring at his buddy's long, strong hands.

Dean' takes a big mouthful of toast and talks around it, "So, all cured, then?"

Cas watches him with those eyes that feel like they're looking straight through to his deepest, darkest, thoughts and Dean tries to not let it make him feel the way he wants it to. But then he looks away with something like shame and Dean is unable to keep himself from taking it personally. "Yeah. We should get going." He stands and starts gathering their things.

Dean hums in agreement.

They strip the cabin in uneasy silence. Gathering up all the extra linens and pillows. Knowing Camp could use it. Along with all the towels in the bathroom. Dean pauses at the foot of a soft, plush, queen mattress in the main bedroom on the second floor.

They had been so desperate for each other last night Dean hadn't even thought that they could have fucked the night away in a real bed. He could have woken up to the sun splashing across a thick, white duvet instead of an old afghan. His back probably wouldn't have that pinching pain in it, and he might've had Cas' thick legs tangled over his own. And maybe it would have been easier to turn in his arms and wake him up by trailing kisses over his skin until he had Cas' nipples between his teeth, or his cock between his lips.

"Dean? You coming?" Cas shouts from downstairs.

"Yup." He tears the sheets and blankets off the bed. Folding them up as tight as his humiliation lets him, and carries them down and out to the jeep.

Cas has a blunt hanging from his lips as he loads an armful of towels into any empty space left in the jeep's backseat. It looks like he used a curtain tie to fasten his jeans like a belt.

Just as Dean gets the car started, he realizes there's one thing in that cabin he can't leave without.

"Be right back."

One hand rubbing at the bandage on his shoulder hidden beneath his clothing, he takes one more look around the living-room. At the cooling embers in the fireplace from their coffee. The burnt noodle soup sticking to the sides of the blackened can. The wall he had been slammed up against. The plush, oversized armchair that knows him a little more intimately than an armchair probably should.

His hands are a bit shaky as he takes the afghan from it, listening to the little whoosh as it slides against leather. Cas hadn't taken it himself. It's softer than it looks, and he knows someone spent a long time on it. Maybe it was a gift at some point. The blue and green yarn makes almost a plaid pattern made of little knots. He folds it gently, taking care to line up the corners and tuck it against itself so it can fit under his seat, somewhere it won't possibly fly away in the breeze of the open-air jeep.

Cas eye's him strangely as he tucks the blanket away. Dean isn't going to think too hard about it. He gets himself situated, brushing some snow off the seat and heading out.

It's times like this he misses Baby. Or at least radio. Just something other than the sound of tires against asphalt to drown out the overwhelming silence in such close proximity. The jeep doesn't even have a tape-deck. Just CD, and it's busted. It isn't good to be distracted, anyway. They mostly cleared out this part of the map but unfortunately Crotes have a tendency to wander so they need to keep their eyes peeled.

Cas is… very distracting. He's wrapped himself snugly in a blanket and finishes off his blunt, stubbing it out on the dash before tossing it out the side of the car. "Dean… Last night—"

"Don't worry about it." Dean grits through his teeth, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"No. I was completely— It was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened and I am so sorry."

Well, there it is. A mistake. Straight from the horse's mouth. It makes sense, doesn't it? Sure, Cas likes sex, but having sex as an out-of-his-mind beast with none other than the man responsible for ending the world? That can't be easy for an angel. Former or otherwise.

"No, Cas, I'm sorry. I should have stopped it. You clearly weren't in your right mind and I took advantage of that."

"'Took advantage'?" Cas huffs a laugh, "It isn't like you could stop me. I'm afraid the blame falls on me, I knew what I was doing and you were powerless against my advances."

Dean laughs, "I know how to handle one werewolf, I have been a hunter for—"

"Not when they're your friend—"

"Friend or not, I could have handled myself if I wanted to."

Cas' head spins around, "What do you mean by that, Dean?"

Something is in the air. A vibration between them, theres been a vast gap between them since last night. It was like an asteroid hit and had thrown them out of their usual graceful orbit, sending them both spinning, reeling. Dean's felt like what little grip he had left on his only real friend left in the world was slipping and soon Cas would be cast off all because he couldn't keep it in his pants when presented with the opportunity.

He starts searching for the right combination of words that will put all of this to bed while simultaneously, somehow, someway, getting them back on equal footing so he doesn't push Cas away any further. What can he say that will keep Cas from going off on his own? Leaving Dean behind to face all this shit alone.

Dean is distracted. He isn't looking at the road. For too long a moment, he only has eyes for Cas and the heavy weight of what he just admitted to and what the hell he's supposed to say to fix it.

"DEAN LOOK OUT!!" Pulls him back into his body just in time to hear a blood-curdling scream as the jeep jolts and jumps over the woman he just ran over. He slams on the breaks. Her scream cut short. She lies still as death on the cracked and overgrown patch of road behind them in the rear-view. Blood snakes behind her on the snow where she had been dragged several feet.

"She's a crote, right?" Dean asks, heart pounding.

"I don't know."

Dead silence fills the air as they both watch her with bated breath.

She moves. Sucks in a sharp, painful breath that comes out in a painful wail.

"I gotta go help her," Dean puts the jeep into park. Cas grabs his wrist to stop him. But then releases it like it burns.

"Dean- she could be one of them."

Dean takes in the few sparse buildings on either side of them. He sees nothing that gives him any immidiate red flags. "She seems to be all alone. Crotes hunt in groups."

Cas looks around them too, "Okay. Okay, just… be careful."

This area is just a little blink-and-you'll-miss-it type town square. It had been crawling with Crotes when the virus first hit, but once Dean and the others had set up Camp not too far from here, they'd worked to clear areas like this one out. There are no known Crote packs set up here anymore. It isn't so strange that a lone traveler would come through a place like this looking for supplies.

God, she could have been reaching out to the only clear-headed humans she's seen within a hundred miles. And he was too focused on the mistake of getting boned by his buddy last night and ran her over. He's a selfish fucking idiot is what he is. He can't go a day without making some fucked up error that gets someone killed.

Gun drawn, he approaches her.

"You gotta help me!" She shrieks, "Please, Please!" Her dirty face is streaked through with tears. She tries to push herself up but collapses back on a broken arm.

"They bleed on you?" He asks. It's protocol. He tries to look for any sign of infection, a strange cut, a bite, something inflamed and oozing but he cant tell. She's all torn up from being ran over, if there's anything like that it'd be like looking for a single drop in a bucket.

"No! No! I haven't seen any of those things— please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me!" She begs, clutching her broken arm to her chest.

With one last look around, he holsters his weapon.

"Cas! Help me get her in the jeep!" He calls.

When he crouches down to get a better look at the poor woman's injuries and how best to move her, she strikes like a coiled snake. Her arm — which had been bent at an unnatural angle only a few seconds ago — snatches his own with a deadly grip. Before he knows it, the woman is roaring, knocking him backwards and straddling him, pinning him with all her Croatoan might.

Her head explodes above him, and he flinches just fast enough that none of her blood gets in his eyes or mouth. He shoves her limp body off and scrambles away, looking up just to see another Crote appear from somewhere and tackle Cas to the ground where he'd stood as he shot the woman. Soon they're coming out from everywhere. Between buildings, from inside, falling from the rooftops. Running, limping, crawling to get at them. There's a dog pile forming over Cas. One monster rears up a boot and brings it down on Cas' ankle, he can hear the snap from here, Cas screaming as he holds off as many as he can. If Dean doesn't act, Cas is gone.

He didn't act fast enough with that wolf yesterday and Cas got bit. They're more than lucky that Cas' body was still able to fight off something like a werewolf bite. A demonic virus is an entirely different thing. Cas will be lost and Dean'll have to be the one to pull that trigger.

Dean's gun is free of his holster and back in his hand in a flash that'd impress even the fastest of gunslingers in the west. He fills crotes with bullets. A few of them redirect to the new, more dangerous threat and run at him. Hot lead between their eyes has them falling limp to the icy pavement.

There's one left on top of Cas. He aims. Lines up the shot. Near the back of the skull so the blood has less of a chance of splashing Cas' face. Deep breath in. Out. Squeeze the trigger and —

click.

His pistol is empty. His only spare is in the Jeep and Cas and the Crote are between him and the car with more closing in. Fuck it.

He runs. He dives. Knocking the thing off of his best friend and slamming it into the ground.

One thing he's made crystal clear over the past few years of dealing with these things is that you never engage with bare skin. You never use your fists when there are any other options because all it takes is you splitting your knuckles over their bloodied teeth to get infected. But when your only friend left in the world — the very friend that you've been in love with for god knows how long — is about to lose his life in front of you after you had finally fucked for the first time and you still hadn't been brave enough to just man the fuck up and tell him… well, you'd do just about anything to save him.

"DEAN!" he thinks he hears Cas cry behind him. Dean is pulling his fist back, preparing for another blow to the thing's blackened face when its head explodes beneath him, the sound of the gunshot stunning him a bit, he stares absently down at the bloodied pulp below him. Its nose is sticking out from a pile of brain and teeth. The thought 'that was a man once' passes through his mind but it doesn't stick enough to dwell on it.

Cas limps to him, foot broken, checking Dean over as he still straddles the dead Crote, catching his breath. "Dean? Dean, are you hurt?" Cas' voice is desperate, filled with panic, "Did it get you? Please, Dean, talk to me, did it bleed on you?" Cas takes Dean's face in his palms and Dean realizes he cant lose Cas without him knowing.

Dean's throat and lungs burn with each exhausting, freezing breath he takes. He tastes pennies in the back of his mouth. He can't quite get his eyes to focus on Cas' face. It feels like looking through a shitty kaleidoscope.

"I'm in love with you, Cas."

Cas is quiet, his face is too out-of-focus for Dean to get some kind of hint at how he feels about that. Fuck. Why did he say it? He distantly feels Cas taking his hands and inspecting his knuckles. He knows by some miracle they aren't split but they're bruised as hell.

"We've gotta get out of here, Dean. Now." Somehow they get themselves up off the icy ground without slipping on their asses. Cas slings an arm around him and he knows he helps get Cas to the jeep where Cas shuffles him into the passenger seat. He wraps Dean in the blanket before climbing himself into the drivers' side and using his left foot to step on the gas and get them the hell out of there before the rest of those crotes can hop onto the jeep.

Dean doesn't know how long they've been driving by the time everything starts to come back into focus again. The fog in his brain clears and he realizes that… fuck. He just told Cas he's in love with him and got nothing back.

"Cas," His voice is a scratchy whisper, he's in desperate need of some water but he's gotta fix this now before it's too late, "Cas, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot- I shouldn't have dumped that on you like that, we can… we can just forget about it okay."

"Did you not mean it?"

He can't lie. But he isn't about to admit to it out loud again. Cas is angry with him. He can't even look at him. Again. "I know you don't feel the same way, I shouldn't have put that on you. I'm so—"

Cas… is laughing. Of all the responses Dean thought he'd get in this moment, being laughed at wasn't even on that list. Or, well, it wasn't high on the list. It cuts through him worse than he'd expected. He bites his tongue to keep his stupid eyes from watering and turns his body away from Cas. He's stuck here until they get back to camp but that doesn't mean he needs to sit here and be mocked.

"Dean why do you think I'm in this hellhole instead of up in heaven with my brothers?" Cas asks. It doesn't sound like the kind of thing one would say to further tease their pal after a half-baked, gay love confession. "I could be sitting back watching all this go down from a distance sipping on divine ambrosia taking bets on who's gonna get in more punches in this ridiculous cosmic bar-fight."

The answer seems obvious to Dean: "Because its the right thing to do."

Cas seems to consider that, pursing his lips, "Sure, there's that. But no. You. Dean. I fell for you a long time ago. In every sense of the word."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you know."

Dean's mind, still vaguely foggy from the adrenaline crash, just can't seem to keep up with what Cas is insinuating. It can't be… possible, can it? Cas is — was — an angel. Is it even possible? He knows Cas likes sex, sure but —

"Then whats with all the- the women and- and- the orgies?"

"You try being mortal for the first time, experiencing sexual arousal for the first time… all while the object of your long held desire and affections is running around in loose collared shirts and that fucking thigh holster…" Cas smiles, tilting his chin at the holster in question. Dean tells him to watch the road. "All the while, thinking there was no way he'd ever return my affections…. wishing I had just chosen a different vessel to get stuck in."

They keep driving. The windshield doing very little to hold off the icy chill that whips at their sides.

So… they have mutual feelings for one another. And it's all out there in the open.

To be honest, Dean doesn't really know where to go from here. He didn't think he'd actually get this far. When he did allow himself to fantasize about it he always thought it would be some big, showy declaration that ended in kiss that sparked like fireworks in the sky. That he and Cas would be surrounded by stars and a chorus or some shit. Now it's just out there and they're shivering in a jeep with no doors.

Dean scoots as far as the center console will allow him and wraps his blanket around them both. From the corner of his eye, he can see a goofy little smile on Cas lips.

There's no fanfare when they get back. No welcome party that was wondering where they'd been all night. They roll up to the gates, the watchmen on duty run through the routine checks, they open the gate and let Dean and Cas in. Dean helps Cas over to the medical cabin to get his foot looked at.

Being out overnight isn't a crazy concept these days. Travel takes a bit longer, sometimes you have to find somewhere to hunker down overnight. Dean leans against the cabin's railing, sipping on some pine needle tea someone had handed him, thinking… If Sam were here, he'd be drilling Dean for being out all night without sending out a carrier pigeon or something. He'd tear him a new one, not knowing if he was safe or if the wolves out there had torn him apart. And Dean would chuckle and tell him he was fine, all while thinking about how fine he had actually been last night.

But Sam's not here and it's Dean's fault so all he's got is his well-trained grunts who are only disappointed that the wolf pack was a dead-end toward reaching their goal of killing his brother's puppeted corpse.

He looks around Camp Chitaqua. The cabins are a bit old, they have their issues. The usual wear-and-tear of wooden buildings withstanding the elements, but otherwise… its almost picturesque. The snow caps them in brilliant blue-white, contrasted by the dark shadow of pines and winter-dark trees towering above them. There's a make-shift greenhouse over there that grows the camp's food. Pauly and José are laughing softly as they head to relieve Bill and Jem on east watch. Baby, off to the side and covered in foliage, is decommissioned, her parts repurposed for more useful things. Maybe Dean should feel grateful about that, like a car's version of an organ donor but honestly it just feels like a cruel joke.

This doesn't feel like home.

Pat comes out to give Dean some basic care tips for helping Cas' ankle heal while they don't have plaster casts, x-ray machines, or pretty much anything else that would help Cas heal properly. They help Dean carry Cas back to his cabin and Dean thanks them for their help. Pat tells him they'll try to scrounge up some pain meds for him, but Dean has a suspicion that Cas has his own stash somewhere and tells them not to worry about it.

Dean lays Cas out on his bed, using some of the extra pillows they'd taken from the rental cabin to elevate his foot. He winces which makes Dean jump and Cas laugh at him.

"Listen," Dean starts, "You're human and we don't have the equipment to patch you up properly. If you ever want that foot to work right again you've gotta listen to Doc's orders, capiche? "

"I capiche." Cas squirms where he's situated on the bed, trying to get a bit more comfortable despite the foot in the air.

The beaded curtain jingles against the closed door before Dean hears a knock. "You taking visitors?"

Cas nods, so Dean opens the door, his heart sinking as he sees Mayra and Camille holding a bouquet of artfully arranged branches and straw. He gives them something he hopes passes for a smile and lets them in. They rush to Cas' bedside, cooing over him and offering the sprigs to brighten up the room. Dean watches the way Cas smiles at them, clearly enjoying the attention and affection from the ladies. They tell him how much they missed him, how they worried when he didn't get home last night, how they had been so excited for their plans. Cas is tucking hairs behind their ears and giggling along with them and Dean thinks he could heat the whole camp with the inferno brewing in his gut.

So, he and Cas have mutual feelings for one another. That's great. They didn't talk about it further than that, and Dean forgets Cas has his own thing going on at camp. If Cas is happy with the arrangement he has here with Mayra, Camille, and the others, Dean will just have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Dean clears his throat, catching their attention, "I'll, uh. I'll get out of your hair, then. Rest up, Cas."

"You're going?" Cas sits up as much as he can in his position, wincing again as it jostles his bandaged foot.

His face is wounded, those big blue eyes meeting Dean's and something sharp and heavy buzzes between them. Dean is all too aware that they aren't alone, he does his best to school his features and act casual, "I don't want to— in- interrupt anything, y'know." He says, shifting his feet and looking anywhere but at the ladies who continue to offer Cas gentle pets and caresses, fussing over his swollen leg. It's a crazy sight, especially knowing what these women are capable of. Mayra killed her own father when he became infected, and just last month, Camille took out two vampires with one swing of a machete. They're so soft with Cas. They must like him a lot.

"No!" Cas shouts, taking everyone by surprise. He huffs, bringing his voice back to a normal level, "No, Mayra and Camille were just leaving, weren't you, ladies?" He gives them a pointed look that Dean doesn't get but it's apparently enough for them.

"Uh," They look back and forth between the two men, something like concern in their brows, "Y-yeah, sure. We'll catch you later, Castiel." They plant kisses on his forehead, sensing the awkward tension and thankfully not going for his lips. Dean thinks he'd make decisions unbecoming of a fearless leader if they had.

Once they're gone, Dean closes the door gently, "Look, Cas, I don't want to mess up what you've got goin' here—"

"You aren't messing up anything." Cas says, the wind howling against the sides of his cabin, making the beaded curtain dance against the door, keeping out the cold. Dean stands at the door, they stare at one another, taking each other in. "I want you, Dean. If that isn't clear."

Dean likes hearing it, he'll admit, "So… what about—" He tosses a thumb in the direction of either the women who just left, or the camp at large because he knows those two aren't the only ones who enjoy Cas' particular brand of recreation.

"You want me to stop having sex with women?"

Dean slumps, "Don't make it sound like that."

"… I'm confused."

"Cas, look," Dean goes over to sit on the side of the bed, using the time it takes to find the right words, "You can do whatever you want, whoever you want—"

"You."

Dean bites his lips, Cas isn't getting it, "Okay. I understand, but I can't… I can't share you, Cas. Not you. So if… if the women and the orgies and all that is what you need…" He looks down at his useless fucking hands, the rest can only come out as a mumble and he doesn't mean it to sound manipulative but it comes out that way, "Better to know now. Before this goes to far."

Cas is quiet behind him for a bit. Dean tries to give him the space to think. Just because he wants Dean doesn't mean he'd want to give up all he's built here in camp. It's obvious he has a connection with these women. And maybe it's a strange concept but they do outnumber Dean. How much can Dean really mean compared to that? He's just one fucked up dude. It isn't too late to go back to just being… being best friends and nothing more. Letting Cas get on with whatever gets him off.

"Okay." Is Cas' answer and Dean… deflates.

"Yeah." He says weakly, wiping his clammy palms on his jeans before getting up, fighting off the burning behind his eyes. Fuck, he said it wasn't too late to go back to whatever they had going on before last night but it fucking hurts and he just wants to go back to his pathetic, lonely cabin and lick his wounds. "Okay. I'll see ya, 'round, bud."

"Wha- wait, where are you going?"

Dean doesn't dare look at him, doesn't want him to see the shine of his traitorous eyes. His voice breaks as he speaks but he tries to hide it, "I- gotta go, uh, give Chuck the mission report."

"Stay." Cas demands. Patting the bed beside him.

"Stay?"

"I want you, Dean." Dean is lost. "Did you think— Dean. It's you. It's only you. Always. I've give up heaven and earth for you, you think I can't give up this?"

"Well— I, uh—"

"Come 'ere." He says patting the bedside again. Dean climbs in next to him, Cas' neck crooked so he can face Dean beside him. "You know what I thought about? Every time I was with them?" He asks, his voice a gentle murmur, building that little bubble between them that blocks out the rest of the world. Dean wonders how he does it. "When their lips were on mine… when their hands found my body… when they touched every bit of me?"

Dean shakes his head, unable to keep his eyes from Cas' lips. They still hadn't kissed. What would it feel like? Those pillowy, pink lips against his own.

"Well, first I thought about how much I liked it."

Dean rolls his eyes, Cas' hand catches his sleeve before he can pull away. "Then I thought about how much I wished it were you." Dean's breath catches in his throat, examining the sincerity in Cas' eyes. "How I wished each mouth over my skin was your mouth." Cas trails a finger over Dean's lips and Dean lets him. Wanting to stick out his tongue and taste Cas' fingers. "How I wished all the skin beneath my own mouth was your skin. What it would be like to taste your freckles." Cas' hot, heavy puffs of breath break across Dean's lips and cheeks and they're so close. Just a scant few inches and Cas' fingers between them. Dean feels dizzy.

Me, too. He wants to say. Maybe not when he was with women, but when he was alone… when he was in his cabin, door locked and cock hard as iron and leaking. He'd try to think of someone else, to give himself the pretense that he wasn't completely gone on a former angel at the end of the world, but no, his mind would always wander back to those blue eyes and baby pink lips. Wondering what he'd look like, eyes looking up, glossy and wide. Lips spit-shiny and wrapped around Dean's cock. The image always got him there. Then he'd crash at the realization of what he'd just gotten off imagining.

For lack of better words, he kisses the pads of Cas' fingers. Reveling in the full body shudder he gets in return.

Millimeter by millimeter, Dean closes the space between them, taking his time enough for Cas to pull back or close the gap. Hearing only the rasps of their mingling breaths in the silence. Sure, he had thought their first kiss would be all sparks and fireworks. Maybe rough and desperate in the heat of a final battle. Maybe it would be a tragic, needy kiss of goodbye as Dean goes off to kill the devil. That has nothing on this. It may be timid, sweet, their lips just barely brushing, but there's no space for anything else in his mind. No distracting fireworks or explosions around them. No ticking time-clock on a devil-ganking opportunity. Its just them in the quiet evening. A warm little bubble against the icy winter howling just beyond the walls.

After that initial brushing of lips, they both realize how much their minds and bodies have been craving this. The kiss turns wild. Needy. Dean fists the collar of Cas' shirt, hanging on for dear life while Cas slides his hands up into Dean's hair, gripping fistfuls that drives Dean as wild as it had last night. The angle is awkward as Cas tries not to jostle his leg.

Their hissing breaths turn frantic as they scramble for more skin. Dean peels himself out of his clothes, feeling Cas' hands on each fresh inch of exposed skin. Goosebumps springing over him with each touch. When Cas finds a nipple and pinches Dean keens an embarrassing sound that escapes against his will. Cas laughs. "Shut up," Dean says with a grin as he rips Cas' shirt over his head. Dean finally gets to feast his eyes on Cas' bare torso. The wolf definitely made him hairier, but Cas is plenty hairy on his own. It sets Dean on fire. He wants to bury his hands in the hairs dusting his chest, so he does, loving the feel of Cas' deep breaths beneath his palms.

He gets his revenge and pinches a nipple, making Cas toss his head back, exposing the long, stubbled line of his throat. "Fuck, Cas." His hands aren't enough. He bends over and tastes Cas. Laves his tongue over his nipples, noticing a little mole over his right pec, nipping at it with his teeth. Cas' hands are relentless in his hair and over the scars on his shoulders. Possessive bastard. Squeezing and tugging wherever he can reach to get Dean closer without moving his foot.

Dean is painfully hard against his jeans, trapped and aching, but he can't focus on that right now. He pushes his fingertips just below the hem of Cas' pants, searching blown-out, blue eyes for permission. Cas thrusts forward, whining out the sweetest little "Please." Dean walks himself down on his knees, tearing at the elastic waistband of the sweatpants Pat gave him after Cas' bird-bath, tucking it under Cas' heavy balls and making the whole thing spring up, slapping the dense hair beneath his bellybutton and making Dean's mouth water.

His breath comes out shaky as he wraps a hand around Cas and gives him a few lazy tugs, relishing in the thick feel of a hard, hot cock that isn't his own. Sure, Dean likes men. He's known it since he was a teenager, but he's never had the opportunity to experience this. The environments he's been in growing up weren't the kind of places that were safe for that sort of experimentation. One wrong move and he'd get beaten to a pulp behind some bar. And it wasn't like he had anyone to show him the ropes. But it doesn't matter now. He's got Casti-fuckin'-el's big, thick, cock in his hand and has the man moaning and squirming beneath him and fuck if that isn't a sight.

A bead of precome swells at the slit and Dean wants nothing more than to taste it. He can't resist, he's wanted this so long. He settles himself onto Cas' bed, the angle awkward, since he can't lay between his legs but he gets comfortable. Cas' plush thigh is like a pillow and he cant resist giving it a nibble and bite that makes Cas curse and push on the back of Dean's head like he wants more.

He sucks mark after mark into the soft skin of his thigh and hips, giving his cock teasing attention that is just enough to drive anyone crazy. When Cas tries to buck against him, Dean pins him to the bed, letting his breath fall over his damp skin in a way that speaks of more to come but isn't quite there yet.

No, Dean's been waiting too long. Yeah, he's thought about the roles being reversed here; Cas being the one on his knees. But who is Dean kidding, more often than not he comes with his own fingers in his mouth. Even if he's never had the opportunity to do this, he's always wanted to give it a try. To ease himself into it, he licks over Cas' balls. feels the way they move under his tongue. Feels the way his dick twitches against his cheek. Fuck, the smell of him. Cas is aroused and leaking and it's all Dean's doing. He thinks he could stay right here with his face buried in the crooks of Cas' legs and die a happy, happy man.

But he isn't even close to being done here yet.

Cas begs and pleads for more above him, gripping his hair and trying to pull his head to his needy, throbbing cock. Dean groans and finds himself rutting desperately against the mattress, the rough denim (yeah, he's commando, what about it?) too much and too little so he shifts his hips to unzip and finally feels himself against Cas' fairly soft bedspread. When he settles back in place, he runs his tongue up a salty-sweet bead of precome that had dripped down his shaft like candle-wax.

"D-Dean…" Cas pants, "You don- you don't have to—"

Dean pulls back, his mind hazy with desire, "I want to… please, I want to."

He feels the strong jerk that causes in his palm. Cas pets over his face with a smile like he can't believe this is happening, "Anything, Dean."

Dean closes his mouth over the round head of Cas' cock, overwhelmed by the knowledge of what he's doing. Of who and what is between his lips. It makes his eyes roll back in his head. He wants this to be good. He wants to do good for Cas. God knows Cas has probably had some insane blowjobs in his short life here on earth, and Dean is completely inexperienced on the 'giving' end of a blowjob, but damn it if he isn't gonna give it his all.

He knows he likes it when a woman uses her tongue on that little sensitive bit under the head. But Cas' is covered with skin. He considers his options and decides on sticking his tongue between the foreskin and the head, sucking there and swirling around the tip before rubbing little circles over his target.

"Oh, God!" Cas cries out, his back arching off the bed. Dean tries to suppress a smile, being rewarded for his efforts like that. "Jesus, Dean, do that again."

Dean pops off with an audible smack, "When did you get such a dirty mouth?"

Cas can't seem to catch his breath, "Dun-dunno, whenever, I don't care… please don't stop, fuck!." Dean takes him into his mouth again, pushing deeper, testing his own boundaries. He uses his hand to squeeze at the base where his mouth can't reach and starts up a steady rhythm. Timing it with the thrust of his own hips against the bed.

God, it's all so good. The velvety blanket on his own cock where its trapped under his belly, the salty-sweet taste of Cas' skin and precome, the heady smell of his arousal mixing with everything else. Dean feels like he's in a fucking trance. Everything in the world concentrated around the thickness of Cas in his mouth, the stretch of his jaw, the building pleasure tingling up and down his spine.

When he needs to rest his jaw he keeps a hand on Cas, kissing over his thighs and shaft, kissing his tip, sucking at his balls.

Cas sends him a litany of praise that Dean doesn't even feel worthy of. Things like "So good." and "You're so good to me, Dean." and "That feels so fucking good," and Dean's favorite, "Please, don't stop. Don't stop." Chanted over and over as Cas begins to thrust into his mouth. Not enough to choke him, but enough to drive Dean wild.

Dean uses his free hand to tug and squeeze Cas' balls. Then he gets an idea. An idea that leaves him feeling dizzy and feral and like if he doesn't do it he might die. He runs his spit-slick fingers down under Cas' balls. His eyes watching Cas' face for any sign that he should stop. He holds his steady pace with his mouth and when he slips over Cas' perinium Cas freezes for a moment, head snapping up from where he had been arching into his pillow to look at Dean. "Yes. Yes, Please, Dean. Do it." Dean moans around him at the permission, the vibrations making Cas fall back against his pillow.

Dean pushes his finger back further, and further, until he feels it. Cas' hole against his fingers. He feels the way the muscle flexes when his cock jerks in his mouth. He's touching Cas' tight hole.

Dean comes. A little bit afraid that he might chomp down in the process but god he doesn't want to pull off. His body jerks and trembles and he feels the hot, sticky, wetness splashing over his belly.

"Fuck, Dean— I'm so close." Just the sound of Cas' voice so breathy and wrecked makes Dean want to come again, "Inside me. Please."

Dean bobs his head with a vigor he knows he's gonna feel in his neck and shoulders tomorrow, but who is he to deny Cas anything? He pushes against Cas' rim until he pops inside, just to the first knuckle, unable to go any further without proper lube — but it's enough. Cas gets all tense and still, then his cock bucks against the roof of Dean's mouth as he spills and spills inside, cursing at nothing and praising Dean's name and something in Enochian that Dean doesn't catch.

The taste is different than the precome, and its certainly thicker, and there's just so much that Dean doesn't know what to do with it. When Cas finally pushes him off, Dean picks up his discarded shirt and spits into it. He didn't like the shirt anyway. He uses a different corner to wipe off his belly, then Cas' cock before tossing the shirt and tucking Cas away and tearing off his own jeans.

Cas reaches for him, "Come here," he asks, pulling Dean in for a sloppy dirty kiss. If Dean didn't know better, he'd think Cas was trying to taste himself on Dean's mouth. When Cas' hand finds Dean's spent cock he looks at Dean concerned, question in his eyes.

"I already did."

Cas' eyes widen, "You what?" He smiles, the bastard.

"Shut up." Dean pinches Cas' nipple in retaliation.

"One of these days I'm gonna be the one to make you come."

Dean snorts, "What makes you think you weren't?"

Those blue eyes shine down on him, a goofy love-drunk smile takes over the whole of Cas' face. Then the smile turns serious, sincere, as if Cas needs dean to know what he is about to say isn't teasing in the least, "I love you." Passes the angel's lips for the first time. Dean laughs with joy and relief, plastering himself over Cas' sweaty chest before he can see the tears forming in his eyes.

"Love you, too." He murmurs around his smushed cheek.

For a while they just lay there, basking in the afterglow. Dean traces patterns and protection sigils over Cas' flank, runs his fingers through his treasure trail. Cas shuffles around in his little bedside table and pulls out a hand-rolled cigarette and lighter. He lights it and takes a long drag. Dean rises and falls with his chest before the smell of smoke fills the room.

Cas offers him a drag and Dean waves it off, "It's just tobacco."

Dean sits up, "Where the fuck did you get tobacco?"

"Same place I get the mary-jane." Cas says, taking in another lungful and blowing it gently over Dean's face. Dean breathes it in and sure enough, it's pure tobacco.

"First of all, no one calls it that anymore, and second… where is that?" He hadn't thought about it before. He figured someone had come into camp with a stash or something.

Cas chuckles, deep and smoky, "We grow it." There's an implied dufus that Dean could do without.

Dean shakes his head, "Where??"

Cas squints at him from the corner of his eye. As if weighing whether or not Dean can be trusted, "A secret greenhouse."

This is so ridiculous dean has to laugh, "A secret greenhouse."

Cas holds up the cigarette to Dean's lips, who gives in and takes a pull of real tobacco, its good and hot in his lungs. "What, you think all me and the ladies get up to is sex and yoga?"

He says it so flatly that it makes Dean splutter and cough out the smoke and the look in Cas' eye tells him he knew exactly what he was doing, so Dean shoves him in the shoulder. "Hey! Foot! Careful!" Cas feigns his outrage, settling his foot back onto his pillow.

"You son of a bitch." Dean teases, poking him in the ribs. Cas pokes back and they have as much of a tickle fight as you can have when one of you can't move your foot.

That's when Dean feels it. Camp Chitaqua — hell, even Earth — isn't home anymore. But this, right here, this is. Castiel, former angel, turned mortal (turned werewolf then back again) is home. Has been for a long time. Dean smiles as he settles in next to Cas, pulling the blue and green crocheted blanket over them both that he'd brought in from the jeep and resting against his chest, letting his eyes slip closed.

He falls asleep thinking, Yeah. This is home.