Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damn it, Dean was so fucking screwed.

He glanced at the clock on Baby’s dashboard, wincing at the time. He wasn’t sure why he’d even fucking bothered to look, since he knew he’d been in trouble fifteen hours ago, but Dean had never been known for being overly intelligent. If anything, the extra glance just confirmed his doom. It was nearing midnight now.

Hopefully, Castiel would be asleep. Dean was exhausted, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to make it through an argument with his angel without breaking down somehow. It was late enough that Castiel was probably in bed already. Maybe Dean would get lucky and would be able to put off the inevitable fight until tomorrow morning.

His eyes were aching with the kind of exhaustion that could only be achieved by getting about six hours of sleep in three days. This last hunt had been brutal. Dean wished he’d had backup, but with Sam on a hiking trip with Eileen in the mountains and Jack and Castiel busy getting the last of Heaven in order, Dean hadn’t been able to get any help. Well, no. Scratch that. He hadn’t had the balls to admit that he’d needed help.

The therapist Castiel and Sam had been making him go to had spent a lot of time working with Dean on when to ask for help. He sometimes thought he was getting better at it, but then things like this happened and he remembered that he was permanently broken, and no amount of calming talks with a nice lady in a coat could make him better. The nest of vamps he’d been hunting had been vicious, bloodthirsty, and large. Three people had died because Dean ‘couldn’t ask for help.’

He was pretty sure therapy was supposed to make him feel better, but he was also pretty sure it was just making him feel worse. He was more aware of his problems than ever, which meant he couldn’t just push them off to the side and feign ignorance when they wrecked something else in his life. That meant that Dean knew it was his fault those three people had died. His fault, and his alone.

He tightened his grip on the wheel, clenching his jaw, praying that Castiel would be asleep. He knew the angel had taken a break from working in Heaven. Actually, Castiel had started his two-month ‘vacation’ yesterday evening, which was when Dean was supposed to be back. Twenty-four hours later, and Dean had received only an angry phone call from Castiel telling him that it was selfish of him to expect company at all times and then not be there when Castiel was actually available. Dean winced at the mere memory. It was selfish.

Selfish, stubborn, stupid. Broken, worthless, pathetic.

Dean tightened his grip even more, the muscles of his shoulders aching.

The throbbing, painful state of his body reminded him of yet another thing that he’d been noticing lately. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and it was showing. He was getting old. He was hurting. It took longer for him to get back up from being hit. It took longer for him to heal from being thrown into a wall. Dean wasn’t sure what to think of that, wasn’t sure if it was something he wanted to think about until he was absolutely forced to. If he wasn’t hunting, then what the hell else was he going to be doing? Sam had a life, Jack and Castiel had a job, and Dean had... Dean had nothing. He had hunting, and now... Now, he might not even have that.

The thought of not being able to hunt, of being so fundamentally useless that he couldn’t even do the thing he’d been raised to do, made Dean feel physically sick. He squeezed his eyes shut for the barest second, trying to force away the hot feeling that was rising in them.

That was another thing he and his therapist had been working on. Emotions. It’s okay to cry, she told Dean. Crying is good for you. It lets out stress hormones and bad emotions and all sorts of things. It will make you feel better. That sounded great and all, but Dean had been raised to understand that crying was what happened when he was hurt. When he’d broken his leg, or when he’d lost someone he loved, or when the odds were stacked against him and it seemed like there was no physical way out. There was none of that here. Dean should be happy. He should be. He hadn’t earned the right to cry.

He forced the tears down a little farther.

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t able to be happy. His therapist called it ‘depression’ and ‘PTSD,’ but Dean had thought that was for soldiers and people who had gone through trauma. People who had been hurt, who had reasons to feel that way. Dean... he should be on top of the world, right? He had his angel, his family was together, and the world was safe. It was everything he and Sam had been hoping for since they’d first lost their father to Azazel. So why couldn’t he be happy?

Dean knew why. He was broken on the inside. Irreparably broken in a way that not even a being as perfect as Castiel could fix.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut a little again, fighting down the hotness in his eyes and the tightness in his throat. God damn it, Cas was going to be so pissed.

Again, Dean wished they didn’t have to fight. He hated when they fought. Dean would honestly rather go on a coffee date with Alastair than fight with Castiel. He felt like the lowliest piece of shit on the planet when he was arguing with his angel. But he knew that tonight, he’d earned this argument.

The hunt had run longer than he’d expected. He’d had to chase the last two members of the nest fourteen miles down the river, where they’d almost drowned him in a trap he’d stupidly walked right into. He’d gotten out, of course, but he’d had to walk back to Baby and that had taken forever. It was now almost a day later than he was meant to be home. Castiel had every right to be upset with him.

Dean heaved a shaky sigh, silently praying that they wouldn’t fight for too long. The longest argument he’d ever had with Castiel had lasted a week and a half, but Dean had learned to cherish every moment he had with his angel. He had two whole months with him, and he didn’t want to start that with a fight.

Too bad I’m too much of a piece of shit, Dean thought. Wonder if this’ll be it. Wonder if this is the final straw. Maybe Cas’ll just leave me this time.

He hoped not. He’d bought the tickets to a honey festival next week and everything...

Dean clenched his jaw, fighting back tears for the third time in as many miles. God, he was fucking pathetic. He needed to get his shit together and get the fuck home. He could deal with arguments and everything else when he got there.

The hunt had been a couple hours away, so by the time Dean got back to the Bunker, he’d sort of dried off from his plunge in the river. He was still wet and cold, but his hair wasn’t dripping wet anymore. It had dried sort of crusty from the muddy water, which was disgusting. Dean silently prayed that Castiel was asleep again. He needed a shower. He’d feel better after a shower.

Even with the threat of an epic argument hanging over his head, pulling into the Bunker still felt good. One of the only things Dean was semi-comfortable talking to his therapist about was why the Bunker felt like home to him. He’d never had a home growing up. He liked having one now. It felt nice. It felt safe.

Dean climbed out of the car and winced at the dirty stain he’d left on the seat, murmuring an apology to Baby. He’d clean her tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he stumbled around to the back and pulled out the bag he’d brought with him on the hunt, swinging it over his aching shoulder. His body throbbed painfully as he locked Baby up and headed for the rest of the Bunker proper. Again, Dean was reminded that he was getting old.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, trying not to step too loudly as he shuffled inside. It was only when Dean had closed the door and started into the rest of the Bunker that he heard the familiar clink of someone doing dishes in the kitchen.

Great. Fucking great. Castiel was still awake.

Clenching his jaw, Dean limped into the war room and set the bag down on the table. He was tempted to stay in here, to stall and clean the guns and put everything away, but he knew that this wasn’t going to get any better if he waited. Castiel knew he was here. If anything, stalling would just make his angel angrier. It was better to get this over with now. Dean could clean the guns once Castiel had stormed off after their argument.

Steeling himself, Dean headed toward the kitchen. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, his entire body practically trembling with tension as he walked down the hallway and stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. He got his first look at his angel from there.

Castiel’s back was to him. He was elbows-deep in a sink of soapy water, clean dishes sparkling in the dish drainer beside it. He was wearing a black shirt that Dean was fairly sure was his own. It was tight around Castiel’s shoulders and arms. The sweatpants he was wearing added to the comfortable, homely look. It made Dean’s chest ache a little.

Despite how warm and soft he looked, Castiel’s voice was anything but when he spoke. “It’s almost midnight.”

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. He wished he could say something snarky. Anything snarky. Anything that could act as a shield, a defense. And oh, yeah, that was another thing he and his therapist had talked about: his tendency to use humor as a defense mechanism. Fucking shit.

You sound like a parent talking to their teenager, Dean wanted to say. Or maybe, I didn’t know I had a curfew. Or possibly something like, Thanks, Cas, I forgot how to read clocks for a second. Thank God you’re here.

Instead, what came out was a quiet, rough, “Yeah.”

Small, weak, pathetic. Dean squared his shoulders on instinct, years of his father’s sneering voice filling his head. His therapist called it abuse. Dean hadn’t gotten to that point yet.

Castiel braced his hands on the edge of the sink. The muscles of his forearms showed in the soft lights of the kitchen. It would have been hot in any other situation. “You said you were going to be here yesterday, Dean,” the angel growled into the sink of soapy water. He still hadn’t turned around. “It’s not fair for you to demand that I be here, then not be present yourself. It’s hypocritical.”

I guess I’ll add ‘hypocrite’ to the list of things that’s wrong with me, Dean thought. At the same time, he remembered yet another thing he and his therapist had been talking about. There was a difference between being something and behaving a certain way. He could be a hypocrite, or he could be acting hypocritically. There was a difference, she always told him.

He was pretty sure she was trying to teach him some pretty good shit. He wondered why he wasn’t good enough to understand it.

Castiel was still facing the sink, likely glaring down at the dishes and the soapy water. Dean felt his chest tighten at the waves of ire that he could feel radiating off of his angel. God, he didn’t want this.

He was tired. His body hurt. He’d tried, he’d fucking tried to make it home on time. He hadn’t meant to be late, he hadn’t meant to piss Castiel off. He just wanted to curl up on the couch or the bed with his head in his angel’s lap and sleep, maybe even with Castiel’s fingers carding through his hair in that way Dean pretended not to like.

The first step of asking for what you want is admitting you want it to yourself, his therapist always told him. Well, fucking fine. Fine.

He wanted warmth and softness and rest and his happy angel. Dean wanted to go to sleep with Castiel’s arms around him, and he wanted to wake up that way too. He wanted to... to cuddle. He wanted to watch a stupid old movie with his angel, and he wanted to take him to the honey festival, and he wanted to bake a pie with him, and he wanted to be held and... and loved.

There, he’d fucking said it.

Lots of good it had done him. Castiel was still mad, and Dean was still stupid and unable to open his mouth to speak. The angel seemed to reach that conclusion at the same time as Dean. His forearms flexed as he gripped the edge of the sink. “Aren’t you going to say anything, Dean?”

Dean swallowed. He’d gotten better at apologizing, at admitting he was wrong, at asking for forgiveness. He could say he was sorry. He was good at that. He was good at fucking up and being sorry.

Except it came out all wrong. His throat was too tight and his chest hurt too badly. Instead of a firm, steady voice, Dean’s apology came out in a choked whisper. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel finally, finally turned to look at him. Dean’s vision was too blurry by now for him to make out his angel’s expression, but he would bet twenty bucks Castiel was mad. The thought made his shoulders crumple inward, his head bow, his body curve into itself. He couldn’t have stopped the quaking sob in his chest even if he’d tried.

He wasn’t sure what he expected next, but gentle, familiar hands on the sides of his face wasn’t it. Dean jerked away on instinct, a life of hunting and fighting making him move out of the path of possible injury. Except all that really earned him was an awkward stumbling step back and a better view of the sad expression on his angel’s face.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel said softly. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound hurt. He sounded so, so sad. Dean’s chest quaked with a sob again. “Dean, sweetheart, come here.”

Even if he didn’t understand, even if he didn’t deserve it, Dean knew better than to take the offer for granted. He stepped forward into Castiel, into his angel’s open arms. It was like finally dropping a crushing load of weight from his shoulders. It was like a breath of sweet, fresh air. It was like coming home.

Dean ducked his head to fit it under the cut of Castiel’s jaw, burying his nose into the crook of his angel’s neck. His arms came around Castiel’s body to clutch tightly at the back of his shirt, his fingers digging into the soft fabric, as if Dean’s puny human form could possibly make an angel stay.

Said angel reached up and wrapped his arms around Dean in an embrace that the hunter couldn’t have misinterpreted if he’d tried.

He gave a low, trembling sob into Castiel’s neck, gripping his angel tighter to him. Castiel’s arms, which had come up to press around his, squeezed him gently. One of his hands moved to cup the back of his head softly. The other swiped a slow, soothing path up and down Dean’s back. The actions only made the sobs bubble up faster. When Castiel’s fingers began to gently knead at the soft skin of the back of Dean’s neck, it was the final straw.

Trying to suppress his sobs only made them come out harder. Dean’s whole chest quaked with the force of his hiccups, his shoulders trembling badly as he tried to force them down, to decrease the volume of his crying. He was embarrassing himself. He wasn’t able to stop. And Castiel was so warm, so steady against him... it was tearing him apart.

Dean was aware that he was speaking, repeating pretty much the same thing over and over. His voice broke repeatedly, flying up to an embarrassingly high whimper that was both pathetic and strangely freeing. “’M sorry, Cas,” Dean sobbed against his angel’s neck. “’M sorry, I’m so s-sorry. I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry, I’m s-sorry, I’m—”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Castiel soothed. His chest and throat rumbled when he spoke, vibrating against the bridge of Dean’s nose. “Shh, I know. You’re alright, my love. It’s alright.” He stopped stroking Dean’s back for a moment so he could squeeze the hunter tight against him. “Let it out, sweetheart. It’s okay, you can cry, love.”

Dean responded by heaving a loud sob into his angel’s neck. He felt pathetic and needy and stupid, but at least Castiel wasn’t annoyed. At least he wasn’t angry. He’d said Dean could cry, so it had to be okay, right? It was okay. Castiel had said it was okay to cry.

Dean’s throat ached. His head had begun to throb painfully. His back was hurting from staying in this little hunched-over position, too, but none of those sensations compared to the relief he could feel in his chest. This felt... it felt good, on some level. Dean had never been held and allowed to cry freely before, or at least, not with anyone else. Castiel was his safe place. Castiel was his angel.

“’M s-so sorry, Cas,” Dean sobbed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, my love. It’s okay,” Castiel soothed. He stroked a gentle hand up and down Dean’s back again, the fingers of his other hand still gently kneading the soft skin of the back of Dean’s head. “You’re alright, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Dean hiccupped, trying to gain enough control over his breath to ask, “’re you mad at me?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel soothed, turning his head to press a gentle kiss to Dean’s temple. “You’re okay. I’m not angry with you. I was, but I understand now that it wasn’t fair. I should have communicated with you better. We should have communicated better.”

Dean heaved a sniffling sob. “That’s always what we g-gotta do,” he pointed out.

Castiel chuckled softly, pressing another gentle kiss to Dean’s temple. “Yes, I suppose communication isn’t the strongest facet of our relationship, is it?” He squeezed Dean gently in his arms. “No matter. We always figure it out in the end.”

Dean exhaled harshly and gave a little nod. Yes, communication wasn’t exactly their strong suit, but Castiel was right. They always figured it out in the end. It brought Dean untold relief to know that.

His sobs had been reduced to hitching breaths now, hiccups and soft exhales of noise. His tears had slowed too, though Dean knew that he’d likely soaked Castiel’s neck and the collar of his shirt. His hands had gone numb from how hard he’d been clutching at his angel’s clothes. Dean only just now noticed that Castiel had been gently rocking them back and forth.

“Do you feel better?” Castiel asked, pulling away slightly. Dean peeled his face from where he’d shoved it underneath Castiel’s jaw, his skin feeling overheated and slightly unpleasant because of how wet his cheeks still were.

“Y-Yeah,” he managed. “Sorry.”

“Love, you and Dr. Jean have talked about this,” Castiel reminded him gently. “You don’t need to apologize for your emotion.” A quick glance at his angel’s face revealed that Castiel was smiling at him softly, something proud and warm in his beautiful blue eyes. “Thank you for trusting me with your sorrow.”

Dean snorted, looking down and away. He could feel his cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I cried and probably drooled on you. Nothin’ to be excited about.”

Castiel chuckled, the arm that had been stroking up and down Dean’s back stilling, circling around his lower torso instead. “Nevertheless, I am proud of your bravery and grateful for your trust.” The hand that had been cupping the back of Dean’s head came around to lift his chin gently, forcing him to meet his angel’s kind blue eyes. “You and the beauty of your soul never cease to amaze me, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s cheeks heated. “Aw, angel, you can’t just say shit like that,” he managed, voice clicking.

Castiel chuckled, the sound rich and warm and beautiful. “I can say what I like. It’s the truth.” He reached up to press a gentle kiss against Dean’s lips. When he pulled away, his eyes were more focused and assessing. “You’re exhausted. How much sleep have you gotten recently?”

Dean winced. His first instinct was to lie, his second was to brush it off. He forced himself to fight both of those and to tell the truth. It’s okay to admit if you’re not feeling well or if you need help, his therapist’s voice reminded him.

“You don’t wanna know,” Dean admitted quietly. “Not enough.”

Castiel nodded ever-patient and understanding. He was a Goddamn saint. “Thank you for telling me, Dean,” he said kindly. “How about we get you into the shower, and then into bed? Or are you hungry?”

Dean shook his head. He was hungry, but that could wait. His exhaustion felt like a physical weight on his shoulders and eyelids, dragging him down. Still... “’re you gonna come with me?” Dean managed, looking pleadingly at Castiel. His angel kissed him gently to disperse his worry.

“Of course, Dean. I was merely doing the dishes to pass the time until you returned.” With that, Castiel reached up to snap his fingers. To Dean’s amusement, the sink of soapy water and the pile of dirty dishes disappeared. Even the clean dishes were zapped out of the dish drainer, likely put right back where they belonged in the cupboards.

“You gonna do that to me?” Dean asked, half-curious.

To his surprise, Castiel shook his head. “You aren’t a porcelain plate, Dean,” he said gently. “You deserve care, not just a quick, easy fix. If you have any injuries that are troubling you, I will not hesitate to heal them, but aside from that... I would prefer if I could take care of you the ‘old-fashioned way’ instead.” Castiel smiled hopefully at Dean.

For a moment, Dean could only look at him, unable to wrap his mind around the situation. He wasn’t sure what he could have possibly done to deserve a being as beautiful and kind and pure as Castiel, but he was eternally grateful that this angel was his. His eyes were hot again when he nodded, his throat tight as he responded, “Okay, Cas.”

Dean’s angel beamed at him. “Perfect.” He leaned in to press another gentle kiss to Dean’s lips, then released him so he could pull away and start moving toward the exit of the kitchen. He was wearing one of Dean’s shirts, Dean realized. He looked damn good in it. He looked like Dean’s angel, and only Dean’s. It made the hunter’s chest warm with immeasurable affection. “Come with me, love!” Castiel called over his shoulder as he headed toward the bedrooms.

Dean could only smile and do as he was told.

Chapter Text

There was mud underneath Dean’s fingernails. It caked his hair, making the strands stiff and dry. It made his clothes hard and crackly, made his boots feel thick and heavy. He hated it.

Castiel was running warm water when Dean got to the bathroom. The angel turned and regarded Dean with soft blue eyes when he entered. “I wanted to get you a bath, but I didn’t think that would be very enjoyable.” He looked Dean up and down, taking in the mud caked onto almost every inch of him. “I believe the water would be filthy before we even began. I hope this is alright.”

“It’s fine,” Dean muttered, mustering a weak smile for his angel. He nodded at the water that was warming up. “You comin’ in with me?”

Castiel frowned. “I would be more than happy to accompany you, but I refuse to engage in strenuous sexual activity with you. You’re tired and you need rest.” He folded his arms, as if that would somehow make him seem more serious or something. In reality, it just made him look like a grumpy dork.

Dean’s grumpy dork.

“Strenuous?” Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Does that mean we can do stuff that isn’t strenuous?”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed. He sounded so fucking exasperated. Dean allowed himself a real smile, secure in the knowledge that though he was being annoying, Castiel wasn’t actually irritated with him.

When the water was hot enough to start steaming, Dean peeled off his muddy clothes and stepped into the spray, letting loose a soft moan as the warmth hit his aching muscles. Castiel snapped his fingers, making Dean’s pile of filthy clothes disappear, then began to undress himself. Dean watched appreciatively as his angel’s skin began to appear, first his arms, then his chest, then his lower half.

Castiel stepped into the shower with him once he was naked, arms immediately going around Dean. Dean had been expecting maybe a little of that sexual activity they’d been talking about earlier, but the moment his angel tucked him against his chest, Dean was a goner. He closed his eyes, letting the warm water of the shower hit the side of his shoulders and face.

This was nice.

Part of Dean, the man that had been raised by John Winchester, fought vehemently against this. His brain told him to shove Castiel away, to panic about the soft press of Castiel’s bare lower half against Dean’s hip. It told him that he was disgusting and wrong and perverted, that even if this wasn’t a direct flouting of the rules of nature, Dean didn’t deserve it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face a little, tucking his nose against the damp, slick skin of Castiel’s collarbone.

His angel’s left hand came up to cup the back of his head gently. His right hand kneaded gently at Dean’s shoulders, a feeling that was so good it should be fucking illegal or something. Dean moaned softly, relaxing into his angel’s chest.

“I’m sorry for getting angry with you earlier,” Castiel murmured softly. If Dean hadn’t been practically trying to meld their skin together at that point, he might not have heard the angel’s voice over the sound of the water beating down on them. “I was… I was frustrated. I should have thought more about how you would feel.” He stroked a thumb through the wet spikes of Dean’s hair, sending shivers down Dean’s spine. “I know you would never willingly be away from me for too long. It was unfair of me to get upset.”

“Wasn’t,” Dean mumbled into his collarbone. “You’ve got a right to get mad, Cas. If I don’t gotta apologize for my feelings, you don’t either, ‘kay?” He felt Castiel’s arms tighten around him, and he relaxed a little more. “‘Sides, you were right. I should’a been here.”

“What happened?” Castiel asked, pushing Dean away from him gently so he could reach for the shampoo. Dean kept his eyes closed, keeping one hand on Castiel’s ridiculously sharp hipbone to keep himself steady.

“Vamps,” Dean muttered, listening to the squirt of shampoo in Castiel’s hand. “They ran, I had to chase ‘em. Fell into the river and traveled halfway across the fuckin’ country before I could get to the bank. I had to walk back to Baby.”

“That sounds miserable,” Castiel said. He shifted his arms around Dean’s shoulders. In the next second, his hands had landed on Dean’s head.

Dean released a soft moan as his angel started massaging the shampoo into his hair. “Y-Yeah, that, uh… It sucked. I, uh… God, Cas, that feels fuckin’ incredible.” Dean moaned again. “I forgot what I was… what I was sayin’. Shit.”

Castiel chuckled, digging his thumbs in lightly at the base of Dean’s skull. “I can’t say I’m complaining,” he rumbled quietly.

Dean let his angel wash his hair, his eyes shut the entire time. He wasn’t feeling sleepy, not yet. Everything felt soft and warm right now, and he savored it. He could feel guilty about being so useless and needy later. Right now, even his crippling self-worth issues couldn’t distract him from the heavenly feeling of Castiel massaging shampoo into his scalp.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Castiel asked softly, rubbing at Dean’s temples with his thumbs. His other fingers dug lightly into the tense muscles at the base of Dean’s skull, making the hunter practically melt into a puddle on the shower floor. “I could have flown you back home.”

“Didn’ know,” Dean slurred, swaying a little. “I got back and by then, you’d already called me sayin’ you were home and you were mad. I didn’ wanna make you… madder. Fuck, tha’s nice…”

His angel hummed softly and continued massaging his head.

After a little while, all the mud had been worked out of Dean’s hair and he was suitably limp and floppy. Castiel finished and gently tipped Dean’s head back, cupping a hand over his forehead to protect his eyes from the soapy water like Dean was a child. It was such a gentle, thoughtful gesture. It was so like Cas, so fucking typical of his kind, sweet angel. It made Dean’s eyes prickle behind his closed lids.

He released a shuddery exhale, eyes opening just in time to see Castiel slick up his hand with body wash and gently wrap it around Dean’s dick.

“Oh, shit,” Dean choked, nails digging into where he gripped Castiel’s muscular shoulder. Pleasure zinged hot up his spine. “Shit, Cas. I thought we weren’t gonna, uh—ohh… I-I thought we weren’t gonna do anything.”

“I believe I stated that we weren’t going to be doing any strenuous physical activity,” Castiel said calmly. How he managed to sound so collected when he was stroking Dean’s dick like that was a mystery. “This is not strenuous, is it?”

“N-No,” Dean whimpered. He tipped his head forward, digging his forehead into the firm muscle of Castiel’s right pectoral. “Fuck, Cas, that’s g-good.”

Castiel hummed, pleased, and slowed his hand’s motion. He stroked a thumb underneath the sensitive head, causing Dean’s knees to quake. He groaned softly, the pleasure lighting him up inside with little sparks of sensation. It felt a little like his brain was being fried, but in a good way.

Dean wasn’t gonna last anyway, but then Castiel had to go and open his Goddamn mouth, and then it was pretty much over.

“I’m so grateful I can have this, Dean,” the angel said softly into Dean’s wet hair. “I’m so grateful for your trust and vulnerability. There is nothing more beautiful than your pleasure.”

Dean whimpered, shaking his head a little. He tried to refute the statement, tried to tell Castiel that he couldn’t just say things like that, especially when Dean couldn’t argue back. But all that came out was a weak, “Cas…” His eyes squeezed shut, as if cutting off his sight would also somehow cut off his hearing.

“I’ve seen planets being born, and the creation of the stars,” Castiel said, thumbing at the slit of Dean’s cock. Dean released a soft, trembling noise that made his ears pink with embarrassment. Castiel did it again. “I’ve seen civilizations rise and fall. I’ve traveled to the highest mountain peaks and the lowest ocean trenches, and I’ve never encountered another thing so beautiful as you.”

“Cas, please,” Dean panted, pressing his face up against Castiel’s firm chest, shower water dripping into his mouth where it hung open. His knees felt like they were going to give out, the pleasure from his cock becoming a constant, aching thing that built like the crescendo of a symphony.

“You put the moon and sun to shame,” Castiel whispered. “The stars hide their faces, because they know that even in all their eternal glory, they can never hope to outshine the beauty of your soul.” He reached up with his free hand, cupped the back of Dean’s neck in an undeniably protective, possessive gesture that sent sharp jolts of pleasure through Dean’s body. “You are the most beautiful thing in this universe, and you are mine.”

“Cas,” Dean gasped, nails digging into the silky skin of his angel’s shoulders.

“Come, Dean,” Castiel said quietly, firmly. “Show me your pleasure. My human, my hunter. My good, good boy.”

Dean came with a broken cry, knees finally buckling as he painted Castiel’s flat stomach white with release. His angel caught him before he could hit the tile of the shower floor, arms sure and strong. Dean didn’t even try to support himself, just leaned against his angel, body trembling with the aftershocks of intense pleasure.

He was sure Castiel was saying more nice things, but his ears were buzzing. Dean floated for a moment, letting the warm water and Castiel’s strong arms hold him in that soft, golden space. After what had to be at least five or so minutes, he felt himself coming back down to earth, body as floppy and limp as a cooked noodle.

“Wow,” Dean managed, smiling at Castiel dopily. “That was fuckin’ awesome.” He was slurring like a drunk man, but he didn’t care.

His angel gave him one of those beautiful gummy smiles that made Dean’s knees weak. “Good.”

Dean blinked sleepily, grasping at enough of his thoughts to understand that it was his turn now. He reached down for Castiel’s cock, but the angel stopped him before he could. Dean frowned. “Cas, lemme make y’feel good too.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said gently. “You’re exhausted. We can do this later. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

“C’mon, man,” Dean insisted. “I ain’t gonna be no pillow princess. You just gave me a fuckin’ awesome orgasm. Lemme at least try to return the favor?”

Castiel grasped Dean’s reaching hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss it gently, the sap. “Later,” the angel insisted. “I promise, we can do more once you’ve had an adequate amount of sleep.” His chapped pink lips quirked into a small, mischievous smile. “I intend to use our time together very efficiently. Especially since we are going to have the Bunker to ourselves for the rest of the week. But for now, it’s time for you to rest.”

Before Dean could argue, the angel reached for a washcloth and began to soap it up, running it over Dean’s tired muscles. If Dean had had more than six hours of sleep in the past three days, he might have put up more of a fight. As it was, he’d just cried his eyes out and then had a fucking awesome orgasm. He could barely keep his eyes open. Castiel seemed to sense this. He was gentle but quick as he finished washing all the remaining mud off of Dean’s body.

Maybe it was a good thing they got out of the shower anyway, since Dean was pretty sure the water was cooling. He sleepily pulled on the soft shirt and sweatpants Castiel summoned, nearly stumbling into the wall as he lost his balance trying to put one leg into his pants.

“I’m carrying you,” Castiel said calmly. There was no room for argument.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, holding his limbs out of the way to let his angel slip his arms underneath his hips and pick him up. “Then ‘m gonna make you br’kfast, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, smiling gently. “You’re going to sleep more than ten hours, right, Dean?”

“Mmm,” Dean hummed. “Mmm hmm.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Castiel carried Dean out of the Bunker shower room toward their shared bedroom. The air in the rest of the Bunker was noticeably cooler than it had been in the showers. Dean shivered, tucking his face into Castiel’s neck. He knew there was no one to see them, since Sam and Eileen were on that hiking trip and Jack was busy in Heaven. Dean was pretty sure he would have been too exhausted to care, even if his moose for a brother had been staring straight at him.

Dean must have been sleepier than he thought, because he lost time between when Castiel was carrying him and when he suddenly found himself flat on his back on their bed, his angel tucking him in. Dean hummed and reached for him, smiling as Castiel let him pull him back in. It never ceased to amaze Dean how a celestial being the size of a skyscraper let himself be moved around by something as small and insignificant as a human.

He managed to hold onto consciousness long enough to make sure Castiel was suitably wrapped up in his arms. After that, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Castiel chuckled softly, stroking a hand through Dean’s still-damp hair. “Sleep, my octopus impersonator. I’ll watch over you.”

“Not an oct’pus,” Dean muttered, just to be difficult.

He was asleep before he could hear Castiel’s response.