Clint Eastwood and the Bad Sex Curse (Dean/Cas -R - Everlasting Birthday Challenge)
Title:Clint Eastwood and the Bad Sex Curse
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Semi-graphic sex times
Word count: 6272
Summary:In which there is a sex curse no one talks about and everyone feels awkward.
Fic for ghostyouknow27's Everlasting Birthday Challenge prompt.
Disclaimer: Lol, nope.
Dean woke up to his phone going off at five in the morning, which either meant that Bobby had some urgent information on whatever the devil was up to, or Cas still didn’t understand things like how people need to sleep.
“Could you please train him not to do that,” Sam growled as he rolled defiantly over and pulled a pillow over his head.
“I’ve been trying,” Dean grumbled reaching for his phone. “Yeah?”
“Dean. Where are you?”
“Ugh, Grangeville. Idaho. Riversview Motel, room 7. Why are you - Oh hey. You’re here.”
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean was probably going to have to teach the angel how to smile at some point, too. After the lesson about not waking him up at ungodly hours.
Dean snapped his phone shut, “What’s up, Cas? Did you find god? Was he in Fern Gully?”
Cas frowned, bewildered, “Um, no. Actually, I’ve - I’m - The search has not been going well.”
“Cas,” Sam started slowly, “did you wake us up at five in the morning because you were bored?”
“My apologies, I didn’t-“
“Oh shut up,” Dean muttered, swinging his legs out from underneath the covers, “C’mon, let’s go get some pie.”
***
***
“So,” Dean stabbed vengefully at his slice of apple pie, “the search isn’t going well.”
Cas stared mournfully into the coffee Dean had ordered for him (“You can’t not order anything, that’s weird.”) that he had yet to touch, “I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from mocking me. Again.”
Dean grunted and finished chewing, “Hey, man, I think it’s good, what you’re doing, keeping your faith. I mean, I don’t think it’ll work-“
“Dean.”
“But I support you in all that you do. Or something.”
Cas stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Oh shut up, daytime television rots your brain.”
“Of course, Dean.”
“Just - never tell Sam I said that, okay?”
“Of course, Dean,” this time there’s a bit of a laugh hidden deep, deep down in the words and Dean’s a little bit proud.
“Sam and I found a hunt a few towns from here. It looks like your basic salt and burn, but, you know, if you wanted to come with. Or something.” It feels a bit like inviting Clint Eastwood to take part in an elementary school play, but the angel could probably use the distraction.
“I would like that,” the angel says with a tiny smile.
“Drink your coffee, it’s good for you.”
***
***
“You invited him hunting with us?” Sam asked, looking up from packing his bag.
“C’mon, man, you saw his face.” Dean shoved at a shirt until it fit. “He-“
“No, Dean, I think this is a good idea.”
“You do? ‘Cause it sounds nuts to me.”
“When are angelic superpowers a bad idea? And it’s not like we’ll have to worry about protecting him.”
“Exactly,” Dean actually hadn’t considered that aspect of it at all, but there was no need to tell Sam that.
“Besides he can probably intimidate the fuck out of witnesses,” Sam said as he slung his back over his shoulder.
“That’s true,” Dean said with a smirk, imagining someone else’s soul getting probed with the angel’s thousand-yard stare.
“We need to get him a badge.”
“Actually he, uh, already has one.”
“He does?”
“Do you remember when we split up after that thing with War? We went to go confront Raphael, had to talk to the local PD. I thought I told you about this.”
“You did, I just didn’t consider that he’d have to have a badge to do it,” Sam said, sounding vaguely hurt.
“God, he was awful, kept telling the guy about demons. We probably shouldn’t let him talk much.”
“Seriously? Yeah, no talking for him. Where is he anyway?”
“No idea. He flapped off as soon as we left the diner. Guy has no idea how to end a conversation,” Dean said as he opened the door.
***
***
“Okay, so the victim was a seventeen-year-old boy named Donald Marlowe. He seems like he was a pretty normal kid, was on the football and basketball teams at his high school, pretty average player, doesn’t seem like he had any enemies.“
“Just get to the suspicious death, Sam,” Dean commanded as he shifted into the exit lane.
“He fell off a swing and shattered his entire spine.”
“Huh, guess all those annoying moms are right.”
“Dean, he didn’t just break his spine. It crumbled like a cookie.”
“Hey, don’t bring cookies into this.”
***
***
Castiel and Dean were sitting in the car in the Marlowe’s driveway.
“One more time, what did we talk about?”
“I’m the bad cop.”
“And?”
“I’m Special Agent Eddie Moscone. I won’t mention ghosts, demons, spirits, voodoo, witches, or any other form of supernatural being. I should generally speak as little as possible and stare about impressively.”
“And your badge?”
“Will be displayed right side up at the same time as yours. We’ve covered this five times now, Dean.”
“Okay,” Dean said brightly with a friendly slap to Cas’ knee. “Let’s go.”
***
***
“Good morning, Ms. Marlowe. We’re agents Zevon and Moscone from the FBI. Could we have a word?”
The woman who had answered the door of the Marlowe home looked beleaguered “Can I see your badges first?” she asked from the other side of the screen door.
Dean pulled his out with practiced ease; Cas took a bit longer but at least pulled it out right side up this time.
“Please, come in. Is this about Donny?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She led them into a warm kitchen. “I just made coffee, if you want some.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
***
***
The diner was small and kind of cheesy and remarkably like any of the other thousands of diners across the country that Dean had favored with his patronage. They took a booth in the corner while Dean automatically noted all the exits.
“Why are you glaring at me?”
Cas fidgeted in his seat but didn’t answer.
Just then the waitress appeared, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “Hi, welcome to Angie’s. What can I get for you?”
“Hi…” Dean paused to read her nametag. “Bethany. Can I get a double bacon cheeseburger with everything on it?”
“Sure,” she nodded brightly, writing it down. “And for you?”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Cas snapped like he expected to have to duel someone for the right to processed meat product, “and a coffee. Black.”
“Okay. Coming right up.” She bounded off.
“Someone’s in a good mood.”
Cas toyed with his silverware.
“Seriously, you’re pissed at me. What the fuck did I do?”
“You think I’m incompetent.”
“What?” Dean asked, baffled. “No I don’t.”
Cas spun the knife around his fingers in way that might be threatening if it was something sharper than a basic table knife and didn’t reply.
“Fine, whatever.” Dean huffed and wondered when Cas had turned into a bitter housewife… that was an odd thought.
They remained silent while Dean contemplated why anyone would cover Lady Gaga.
“So I figure we should go talk to the girlfriend tomorrow. Thanks, sweetheart.” The latter was directed at the burger-carrying waitress and not Special Agent Eddie Moscone. “What was her name?”
“Claire Kennedy. Thank you,” Cas snapped at Dean as the waitress dropped his plate in front of him.
Dean watched Cas viciously devour his food with no evidence of actual enjoyment but a great deal of spiteful satisfaction.
***
***
“I’m starting to think this isn’t a ghost,” Dean said, settling down in an uncomfortable motel armchair, beer in hand. “Sam called when you were… off doing whatever. He said he couldn’t find records of anyone dying in or around that playground.”
Cas hummed and kept pacing in front of the TV.
“We should ask if any accidents ended in people going into comas. It could be like,” for a second Dean’s vision went white and he smelled flowers, “like fairy tale girl.” Dean muttered dazedly, unlacing his boots.
“Fairy tale girl?” Cas stood still and just frowned as Dean walked over to undo his tie and slid it off from around his neck.
“Yeah,” he undid the top button of Cas’ shirt. “There was this girl who went into a coma and her dad would read her fairy tales so she started acting them out with innocent people.” He ran his hands down Cas’ chest over his shirt. “Is it really hot in here, or is it just me?”
“I suppose it’s possible, though that seems like a rare occurrence. Why are you touching me?”
Dean looked up at him and ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “I have no idea.”
“I think perhaps this is-“ Cas stopped when Dean pushed his trench coat and suit jacket off his shoulders. “I don’t think that this is natural.”
Dean smiled dazedly, “You are so right.” He ran a finger along the top rim of Cas’ collar, then tugged him forward and kissed him. “So right,” he repeated and smiled, had Dean been in his right mind, he might have noticed Cas’ eyes flash to a dark purple for a split second.
Cas’ grin was as lazy and dreamy as his own and this time he kissed back. He was having trouble getting their lips to sync up and he kept getting Dean’s chin, but he didn’t mind.
“We should have sex,” Dean said with a smile as he wiped Cas’ saliva off his face.
“Yes.”
But undressing proved an ordeal. Cas, who hadn’t ever needed to take his clothes off before, wound up with his pants tangled around his ankles, trapped by shoes he was having difficulty unlacing. Dean tried to help unravel the mess and was kicked in the eye for his trouble.
“Sorry,” Cas muttered, not sounding particularly guilty as he had slightly better luck with the complex technology that is your basic button.
Dean shrugged and didn’t question why he didn’t really mind. Or why it didn’t hurt that much.
In the process of pulling his shirt off, he struck Cas in the chest so hard that the angel fell back onto the bed. Trapped inside his own shirt, Cas flopped onto his stomach, tugging uselessly at his cuffs. Dean caught hold of his collar from behind and tugged until he heard a seam rip, the shirt came off, and he surprised himself by not falling on his ass. He took it as a victory, then scratched his hand unzipping his pants.
***
***
When Sam returned from the library, Dean was balls deep in Cas’ ass
“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam said with a disgusted sigh, “Sock. Doorknob. Not that hard!” He closed the door halfway, then froze and gaped at them. “Ca- When - How- You - Oh Jesus fuck, I need to go,” this time slamming the door and retreating quickly.
Dean looked down at Cas and shrugged.
Cas awkwardly mimicked the gesture, but frowned when Dean accidentally elbowed him in the side. Again.
***
***
“We’re not talking about this,” Dean said firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed and running one hand through his short hair.
“Agreed.” Cas was staring at the semen on his stomach like he had no idea how it got there.
“You know that that wasn’t - I mean, I’m sorry for-“
“You wanted it no more than I did. We’re - we’re good,” Cas said, testing out the phrase.
“We need to figure this out. And not tell Sam.”
Cas let off poking at the mess at his stomach to glare at Dean, “He saw us. I don’t see the point in-“
“I’m not telling my baby brother that I somehow managed to get myself magically coerced into fucking you. I have some pride left, Cas.”
Cas’ scowl deepened and he, and his clothes, disappeared with the heavy sound of wings.
“You couldn’t have done that earlier?”
***
***
“Do we-“ Dean started over dinner and then decided not to finish that sentence. They were the Winchesters, men among men, they did not need to talk about things like little brothers discovering that their older brothers weren’t totally straight or were having weird, mutually nonconsensual sex with angels.
Sam looked up at him, terrified. “No, we’re - Nah,” Sam smiled, and sure it was forced as fuck, but there was no way Dean was going to push the issue.
“Good,” Dean muttered, dumping more ketchup on his burger, “Yeah. That’s good.” Dean just needed to figure out what had made that happen and then make it sure it never happened again, all without discussing it. Ever. With anyone.
Silence reigned except for the awkwardly loud sound of Sam crunching down on his salad.
“I’m cool.”
“What?” Dean looked up startled.
“I’m cool with it. I mean, if you-“
“Sam, we’re not talking about this.”
“I just thought you should -“
“Sam!”
“Right,” Sam ducked his head and said nothing more until they were both almost finished. He sort of wondered if he wanted to ask about the bruise mottling Dean’s right cheekbone and then figured it wasn’t worth the inevitable scarring.
“So I was thinking tomorrow I’d go back to the hospital and ask about coma patients and you and Cas can go talk to the girlfriend.”
“Um,” Dean stared at him with wide eyes. “Why don’t you take Cas?”
“What? Why? I thought you’d want-“
“No, I mean - It’s just - You should see the way he intimidates witnesses, like, wow,” he said with what he hoped was an expressive hand gesture, but probably came out a bit too desperate.”
“Uh, okay. Sure, Dean.”
“Also it’s probably a witch.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it a hunch.”
***
***
The girlfriend of the deceased, one Claire Kennedy, lived near the center of town in a two-story colonial with a basketball hoop in the driveway and a soccer net in the backyard.
Sam glanced nervously at Cas and wondered how good he actually was at interrogations. He didn’t know how to ask and wasn’t really sure he wanted to. The drive had been horribly silent, both before and after dropping Dean off at the hospital. Sam had considered talking to Cas about his newly discovered sexual relationship with Sam’s brother, but elected not to because A) he didn’t want to talk about it, and B) he was sure the angel would end up grossly over-sharing because he probably didn’t understand social niceties like not sharing details of sex with someone’s brother.
Sam sort of wondered how they’d managed to get in a relationship in the first place considering Dean was as emotionally communicative as a rock and the angel probably didn’t understand what he was feeling. And then Sam realized he was contemplating his brother’s sex life and upped the volume on the stereo even if he hated ACDC.
They rang the doorbell, which played a cheery rendition of “It’s a Small World” that went of on for far too long. After an increasingly awkward interval, a young boy answered the door the door was answered by a young boy.
“Hi,” Sam gave him his most charming, innocent puppy smile. “We’re from the FBI. We were wondering if we could talk to your sister. Is she home?”
Cas stared at him like he was a newly discovered poisonous bug.
“Mom!” the child yelled before darting off into the house.
A woman in a flour-dusted apron quickly took his place; a brief glance at their suits brought a forced smile to her face. “Can I help you?”
“We’re FBI agents investigating the death of Donny Marlowe, is your daughter home?”
“I thought it was an accident,” she said, quiet and puzzled.
“Ma’am, please, we really need to speak to Claire.”
She nodded shakily, “Yes, of course. Please come in.” She held the door for them while bellowing her daughter’s name up the stairwell.
Claire Kennedy proved to be an athletic blonde girl wearing a pullover for her school lacrosse team and ragged cut-offs.
“Yeah, Mom, what is it?”
“These men are from the FBI, they want to talk to you about Donny.”
“Donny’s death was an accident,” she said with a quiet certainty.
“Please, miss, it’ll only take a minute of your time.”
“I don’t know what you expect to find out, but alright,” she snapped as she stomped down the stairs.
“Claire, please,” her mother chided.
She spared her mother a scornful glance. “Living room?” she suggested to Sam and Cas, sweeping out an arm to indicate the room.
Sam nodded and followed her inside, Castiel trailing after.
Claire settled on the couch and wrapped her arms around herself. “Sorry about being rude earlier, it’s just - Donny’s death was so - I don’t think I’ve really accepted it, you know?”
Sam took a seat in the armchair across from her, “Of course.”
“My condolences,” Cas added with a decent amount of fake sympathy. Sam wondered where he’d picked that up.
“Claire, did Donny have any enemies?”
“Enemies? No, everyone loved Donny. Well, not his math teacher, but - He fell off a swing, why does it matter if he had any enemies?”
Sometimes Sam was so used to rattling off the usual questions that he forgot how weird they seemed in context.
“We just need to ask about everything. Standard procedure.”
“Oh, right,” Claire agreed with a slightly puzzled expression.
“Have you ever been to the playground where he died?” Cas asked from his place across the room, studying a collection of decorative plates.
“Yeah, I take Nate, my brother, there sometimes when Mom and Dad are too busy.”
“Have you noticed anything odd about it?” asked Sam, picking up on the angel’s line of questioning.
“Odd how?”
“Strange markings, cold spots, suspicious persons.”
Maybe Sam should have had a talk with Cas about subtle phrasing.
“You mean like pedos?”
“Pedos?” Cas frowned, unfamiliar with the abbreviation.
“You know, like -“
“It’s not important,” Sam cut her off her a raised hand, “Donny was too old for, um, that.”
“Is that it, officers?” Claire stood abruptly, brushing off her thighs.
“Agents.”
“I’ve got practice in half an hour and it’s a long drive.”
“Of course,” Sam stood as well and gave her one of their many fake cards, “If you think of anything, please let us know.”
“Will do.” She left the room and Cas scowled at her back.
“I believe she is a suspicious person.”
“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re a robot or if you just have a really odd sense of humor.”
Cas looked like he did after one of Dean’s many pop culture references.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk in the car.”
They met Mr. Kennedy in the front yard. He straightened up from where he’d been weeding a flowerbed to stare at them. “Hello.”
“We’re FBI agents. We’re here about Donny Marlowe,” Cas recited stiffly with a slight smirk in Sam’s direction. Odd sense of humor it was.
“Oh yeah, real shame, that,” he said in a way that implied he didn’t care in the least. “He and Claire never had a chance to make up.”
“Make up?” Sam asked, perking up. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Claire tell you? She’d found out the little turd had been cheating on her two days before he died. She was really unhappy about it, but probably would’ve gone back to him anyway. You know how teenaged girls can be.”
***
***
“No coma patients. It’s gotta be the girlfriend, right? I mean it all screams girlfriend.”
“Yes, you’ve said that several times now,” Cas replied without looking up from the television to where Dean was scowling at his laptop.
“Can’t we just go kill her now?”
“I think you’re overreacting.”
“We had - She made us - Who else could it be?”
“It happened after we spoke to the parents, not the girlfriend.”
“Yeah, but they were really upset, I know fake grief when I see it. Maybe she saw us going to talk to them or - Where’s Sam?”
“He went to go get pizza five minutes ago. You were there.”
“That son of a bitch,” Dean stood up, “he can’t leave us alone like this! What if -“
“We’re probably not going to - Dean, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Cas,” his voice was soft and warm and under normal circumstances Cas might enjoy the sound, as it was, he stiffened up and watched Dean’s approach with wide eyes.
“Dean, you should probably sit back down.”
“But I don’t want to,” he curled a hand around Cas’ outstretched ankle, slid his fingers underneath cheap black slacks and up to touch skin.
“Okay,” the dopey smile from earlier returned to Cas’ face as he sat up. Dean settled on the bed with his knees on either side of Cas ankles and tugged Cas forward by his tie. Cas lurched forward and his forehead collided painfully with the bridge of Dean’s nose.
“Son of a -,” he swore, but stopped, distracted by the sight of Cas wriggling awkwardly in his efforts to get the trench coat off. He was still sitting on most of it and seemed reluctant to stand up. Dean jerked back to avoid a flailing elbow to the groin and fell mostly off the bed because of it. Happily, he caught his balance before he brained himself on the corner of the dresser.
With a lot more flailing, an impressive backbend, and only one half-slide off the bed, Cas managed to get his coat off. Dean’s luck was not as good; his over shirt must have shrunk in the wash. It had certainly never been so hard to get off before. Trying to take it off at the same time as his shoes had probably not been one of Dean’s best ideas, he thought as he stared at the broken lamp lying on the floor.
***
***
“I‘m usually much better than this,” Dean muttered after his tongue almost slid up Cas’ nostril. Again.
Cas made a noise of assent, but wasn’t really listening; his attention was focused on where his dick seemed to be refusing to just get inside Dean already.
“Really, Cas, it’s not rocket science,” Dean grunted moving one of his hands down to help.
“It’s very slippery,” Cas replied, sounding like this sex was the key to finding his father and stopping the devil and bringing back unicorns or something.
“You’re the one who vaporized the lube bottle.”
With a face like that Cas would make an excellent disapproving housewife one day. “The cap was stuck.”
***
***
Mercifully, by the time Sam got back with the pizza they’d put their clothes back on and were sitting awkwardly on separate beds watching Dirty Harry.
Sam paused in the doorway and stared at them, his gaze shifted from one to the other, and then abruptly had trouble actually looking at either of them.
Cas readjusted his legs and said nothing.
“Did you get the meat lover’s?” Dean grunted.
“Yes, Dean, I got the meat lover’s. When do I not?”
Cas made an indistinct sound and shifted uncomfortably again.
Sam gave Dean the box of his pizza. “Don’t you have this movie memorized?”
“Clint Eastwood never gets old.”
“I’m beginning to see the appeal,” Cas grumbled as he leaned over and grabbed a slice of Dean’s pizza.
“Hey!”
“You’re the one who insists I try human things like coffee and sex,” he paused, “so shut the fuck up.” He bit angrily into the pizza and almost lost a chunk of sausage to his lap.
“I don’t think -“ Dean sniped with honest-to-god air quotes.
“TMI!”
“I was referring to the time you took me to the den of iniquity.”
Sam choked, “You took the angel to a whorehouse? Oh my god. Dean, you are the worst person ever.”
“At least I never drank demon blood,” Dean muttered spitefully.
“Low blow, dude. At least I don’t -” His gaze shifted to Cas and he shut his mouth with a click of his teeth.
Dean stared at him like he was contemplating picking his gun off the bedside table.
“If it helps, I occasionally find you both worthy of smiting.”
No one said anything after that, and the only sound in the room was Clint Eastwood growling threats.
“I apologize, that was unworthy of me. You both have shining souls.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I mean it,” Cas said sincerely, leaning forward to capture Dean’s eyes, ”Dean, your soul is so bright I could see it shining at me from the depths of hell.”
“Uh,” Dean blushed, wordless, and across the room Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wondered if Dean would throw something at him he offered to give them some time alone.
***
***
The brothers were awakened at seven the next morning by the sound of wings and a newspaper hitting a table.
“What now?” Sam asked, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
“Someone else died. She was attacked by a rabid bear late last night,” Cas said, sounding inappropriately excited. He’d clearly needed this vacation more than Dean had suspected.
“Who was it?” Dean mostly just wished Castiel had thought to bring coffee.
“A teenaged girl named Sarah Jane. She went to the same high school as Donald Marlowe.”
“Any connection?”
“None that was mentioned in the paper.”
“I guess we know who we’re talking to today,” Sam groaned, picking his jeans up off the floor.
“Can’t we just go kill the girlfriend now?” Dean whined. “Save us the effort.”
“We can’t be sure it’s her, Dean.”
“Sam, we need to take care of this before-“ he looked guiltily at Cas and stopped mid-sentence.
“Before what?”
“Don’t worry about it, there’s no hurry.”
“Yes, she probably won’t waste time going after the FBI agents who asked too many questions,” Cas drawled.
“Motherfucker,” Dean flopped back onto the bed, “can’t we-“
A knock at the door interrupted him.
Sam and Dean reached for their guns in unison while Cas went to answer the door. “Hello?”
“Hi, um, can I talk to you?”
Cas stepped back and allowed the girl to come inside.
“Aren’t you the waitress from the diner the other day?” Dean frowned, brain not functioning quite yet.
“My name’s Bethany Knox, I need to talk to you about my friend Claire.”
***
***
“It started out with just little things, you know? Better grades, clearer skin. I never thought she’d go so far.”
“Right. Course not. Magic always ends well,” Dean snorted with a roll of his eyes.
Bethany ignored this and continued, “When Donny died, Claire said it really was an accident, that it had nothing to do with us. I-“
“A guy shatters his spine falling off the kiddy swing after you curse him and you believe it could possibly be an accident. Yeah, now I know why you’re on the honor roll.”
“Dean,” Sam snapped.
Dean glared, pursed his lips, and said nothing.
“Claire had just found out Donny was cheating on her with Sarah, she was furious. So we hexed Donny - just to mess up in sports. When he died - But then I read about Sarah in the paper this morning and I knew it had to be her. I got the name of your hotel from Donny’s parents.“
“You were the one who cursed us!” Dean accused with a pointed finger.
“I heard you talking at the diner, I thought you might do something bad to Claire, so - So I cast a spell on you, something to distract you. That was before I knew she was killing people.”
“You are fucked up, you know that? I mean generally cursing people is bad enough, but bad sex? That’s just cruel.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I - what?”
“Wait, what?” Sam cut in, voice sharp, “I thought you two were actually - oh. Oh wow. This is awkward.” He took a sip of his coffee and dropped eye contact.
“I mean, couldn’t you have given us hives or a tail or just made us forget the case entirely. Bad sex is -“
“Dean, can we please listen to her explanation before Claire kills someone else? Somebody like us.” Sam said mildly, still not looking at his brother and blushing furiously.
“I didn’t - I didn’t curse you to have bad sex. I would never do that, that’s just mean.”
That gave Dean pause. “Then please explain to me why me and him have been screwing like bunnies. Badly!” He flapped a hand between himself and Cas who was standing awkwardly in the corner, contemplating Sam with a serious expression.
“Oh,” her eyes widened as a blush spread across her face. “That’s, um, it wasn’t a sex curse, it was exactly what I said; a distraction. You were just supposed to do things you’d enjoy until I thought of something more permanent. That didn’t involve killing anyone.”
Sam choked on the mouthful of coffee and tried not to smirk too obviously; blackmail for life.
Cas frowned. “I don’t understand. I’d never had sex before, how could I, or the curse, possibly know if I enjoyed it?”
A look of shock and disbelief came over Bethany. “You’d never - But you’re so-“ Her eyes raked up and down Cas’s body. “Huh.”
“I don’t enjoy having sex with him! I didn’t even want to!” Dean burst out, having spent the previous minute or so staring straight ahead with a look of utter confusion and distress on his face. “What did you really-“
“This actually does make a certain amount of sense,” Sam cut in.
“What?” Dean stood up, outraged, “How does -“
“Dean, shut up for a minute. You like having sex, right? And, Cas - you like hanging around with Dean, right?”
“…Not in that manner, but yes.”
“There you go, yours melded with his and there you go - sex!”
Dean gawped wordlessly and Cas studied the stain patterns in the motel’s carpeting.
“But why was it bad?” Dean wailed.
“I guess you’re just bad in bed.” Bethany was picking up bad behavior from Sam that Dean really wanted to end with his gun.
“I’m awesome in bed. I’m a fucking sex god! And it is not that hard to not kick someone in the head.”
Cas sent a look that could almost be described as a pout Dean’s way. “I’ve apologized for that multiple times.”
“You’re really hung up on this, aren’t you?” Sam drawled.
“It’s a serious question!”
“Some of the herbs I used weren’t the freshest.” Bethany twined some hair around her finger, “Maybe that was the problem?”
“Whatever. Fix this, but if you do more magic after, we’ll come back and kill you, okay? We need to go deal with your psycho best friend.”
***
***
Cas started hunting with them more often. He didn’t talk about it, but it was pretty obvious he was losing hope about finding his Father. Between his extensive knowledge of all sorts of supernatural beasties and “angelic superpowers” he was damned useful so neither brother complained and Bobby was probably pretty grateful for not being called every other day with demands to look up something or another.
The problem wasn’t Cas’ presence; it was Dean’s reaction to it. The way he would sit too close to Cas in diners or stand in what was clearly an invasion of Cas’ personal space. The angel never seemed to pick up on it, though he did sometimes look at Dean strangely when he’d jump back like he’d been scorched. If Sam noticed he didn’t say a word.
The breaking point was when Dean started to fall half-asleep on Cas’ shoulder during a four in the morning dinner after an hour long chupacabra chase. It wasn’t like the waitresses of Middle America would suffer from not being flirted with by Dean Winchester, so it was really all okay.
Until he realized what he’d been doing and pulled away violently. Cas stared at him over the rim of his coffee cup but didn’t say a word. As always.
He knew. There was no way he couldn’t know.
“I’m gonna -“ Dean jerked his thumb in the direction of the bathroom and left the table hastily. Cas watched him walk away with an expression that was firmly camped on the line between disappointed and baffled.
Sam quirked his eyebrows, opened his mouth, and then thought better of speaking and returned to his omelet.
***
***
There were times when keeping the number of pretty much everyone you’ve had dealings with in the past three months, longer, if they were significant, was a pain in the ass, and there were times, like now, when it came in handy.
Dean eventually found Bethany’s phone number on a receipt underneath the numbers of the book club that had had a vampire run-in in Addison and the waitress from Boise, he really should have called her.
He glanced at the clock, making sure he had time before Sam got out of the shower. He stepped out into the parking lot anyway.
She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Bethany, this is Dean, you know, the guy you cursed a month ago,” he says in his best ‘I am charming and armed’ voice.
“Right, I remember, one sec, I’m eating dinner with my family.”
He heard the muffled sounds of her excusing herself over the line and then, “What’s wrong? Claire hasn’t done anything, I’ve been watching.”
“This isn’t about Claire, this is about you.”
“I haven’t done anything either, I swear,” Her voice rose an octave and cracked on the second half of ‘either.’
“Yeah, and you also didn’t take the curse off properly.”
“What?”
“The curse you put on me and Cas, You didn’t take it off right.”
There was a pause. “Dean, I did that spell perfectly. I checked the Latin with my now very confused teacher and bought all the herbs that day. There is no way I fucked that up.”
“Then why -“ he paused then started again, taking care to keep his voice low and calm, “then why do I keep thinking about Cas?”
“Thinking about him h- Oh. Oh geez, um,” her voice got squeaky and Dean was willing to bet good money she was blushing furiously. “Maybe that’s, um, just, you know, you?”
“What?”
“Um, I think - I think that you… maybe you’re just attracted to him,” she said all in one breath. “Which is completely not my fault, please don’t hurt me.”
“One more time.”
“Dean, I cast the spell perfectly. If you - if you’re doing that, it’s just - it’s all you.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
“Dean, I know it’s not my place, but there’s nothing wrong with you being attracted to another man.”
“He’s not - I’m not gay!”
“You had a rough childhood, didn’t you?”
***
***
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Dean jumped and whirled away from gathering the laundry into a bag to take to the Laundromat.
“What? No I haven’t.” Dean denied easily, a lifetime of lying coming in handy as he regretted refusing to go with Sam to see that stupid artsy movie. (“Sorry, Sammy, but I draw the line at subtitles.”)
“I apologize if our actions when under the curse are causing you continuing discomfort,” Cas rumbled, stepping closer. “Neither of us are responsible for-“ he reached a hand out and Dean jumped back into the dresser so violently the lamp fell to the floor.
“I see,” Cas said and stepped back with the defeated expression he’d been wearing far too often lately.
“Look, Cas, it’s - It’s not you, it’s me.” It was nice that the angel didn’t recognize the trite line as the falsehood it generally was, even if not in this circumstance.
He tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Fuck,” he rubbed his forehead, “can we just agree that you’re not doing anything wrong and that I have some stuff to work through?”
And the head tilt rides again.
“I just, I keep thinking about it, okay? Now can we please stop talking about this?”
“I told you before, it’s not your fault.”
“I’m not thinking about it like that! I’m thinking about what it would be like if…”
“Oh.” Cas’ eyes widened, “Okay.”
“… what?”
“Dean,” Cas frowned and pursed his lips like he hadn’t learned how to say this in a language other than Awkward Angel, before giving up, taking a step forward and pulling at the back of Dean’s neck until they were kissing.
For a horrible, horrible second Dean thought that maybe Castiel really was an awkward fucking kisser and that sex with him was doomed to be weird and uncoordinated until the twentieth time when he finally figured it out, if they even got that far. But then Cas got it, he proved that he did know what to do with his tongue and how to not drool all over both of their faces and it was actually really, really fucking good.
So Dean grabbed his ass like the gentleman he was and turned them around so Cas was pressed up against the dresser with Dean’s hand in his hair, pulling so the angle was just right and the angel made a soft noise into his mouth while his fingers clenched in the back of Dean’s t-shirt. A mild nudge had him lifting himself up and back until he was sitting on the dresser’s edge with his legs wrapped tight around Dean’s waist, keeping him close and exactly where they both wanted him.
Dean moved hesitantly, small rolls of his hips, because they’d done this before, but not really, and if he scared Cas away now he’d never forgive himself. Cas made a frustrated noise and planted a hand on the dresser behind him and thrust up hard against Dean.
“We should have sex,” Dean pulled away to gasp into Cas mouth.
“Yes.”
And they did.
And it was good.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Semi-graphic sex times
Word count: 6272
Summary:In which there is a sex curse no one talks about and everyone feels awkward.
Fic for ghostyouknow27's Everlasting Birthday Challenge prompt.
Disclaimer: Lol, nope.
Dean woke up to his phone going off at five in the morning, which either meant that Bobby had some urgent information on whatever the devil was up to, or Cas still didn’t understand things like how people need to sleep.
“Could you please train him not to do that,” Sam growled as he rolled defiantly over and pulled a pillow over his head.
“I’ve been trying,” Dean grumbled reaching for his phone. “Yeah?”
“Dean. Where are you?”
“Ugh, Grangeville. Idaho. Riversview Motel, room 7. Why are you - Oh hey. You’re here.”
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean was probably going to have to teach the angel how to smile at some point, too. After the lesson about not waking him up at ungodly hours.
Dean snapped his phone shut, “What’s up, Cas? Did you find god? Was he in Fern Gully?”
Cas frowned, bewildered, “Um, no. Actually, I’ve - I’m - The search has not been going well.”
“Cas,” Sam started slowly, “did you wake us up at five in the morning because you were bored?”
“My apologies, I didn’t-“
“Oh shut up,” Dean muttered, swinging his legs out from underneath the covers, “C’mon, let’s go get some pie.”
***
***
“So,” Dean stabbed vengefully at his slice of apple pie, “the search isn’t going well.”
Cas stared mournfully into the coffee Dean had ordered for him (“You can’t not order anything, that’s weird.”) that he had yet to touch, “I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from mocking me. Again.”
Dean grunted and finished chewing, “Hey, man, I think it’s good, what you’re doing, keeping your faith. I mean, I don’t think it’ll work-“
“Dean.”
“But I support you in all that you do. Or something.”
Cas stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Oh shut up, daytime television rots your brain.”
“Of course, Dean.”
“Just - never tell Sam I said that, okay?”
“Of course, Dean,” this time there’s a bit of a laugh hidden deep, deep down in the words and Dean’s a little bit proud.
“Sam and I found a hunt a few towns from here. It looks like your basic salt and burn, but, you know, if you wanted to come with. Or something.” It feels a bit like inviting Clint Eastwood to take part in an elementary school play, but the angel could probably use the distraction.
“I would like that,” the angel says with a tiny smile.
“Drink your coffee, it’s good for you.”
***
***
“You invited him hunting with us?” Sam asked, looking up from packing his bag.
“C’mon, man, you saw his face.” Dean shoved at a shirt until it fit. “He-“
“No, Dean, I think this is a good idea.”
“You do? ‘Cause it sounds nuts to me.”
“When are angelic superpowers a bad idea? And it’s not like we’ll have to worry about protecting him.”
“Exactly,” Dean actually hadn’t considered that aspect of it at all, but there was no need to tell Sam that.
“Besides he can probably intimidate the fuck out of witnesses,” Sam said as he slung his back over his shoulder.
“That’s true,” Dean said with a smirk, imagining someone else’s soul getting probed with the angel’s thousand-yard stare.
“We need to get him a badge.”
“Actually he, uh, already has one.”
“He does?”
“Do you remember when we split up after that thing with War? We went to go confront Raphael, had to talk to the local PD. I thought I told you about this.”
“You did, I just didn’t consider that he’d have to have a badge to do it,” Sam said, sounding vaguely hurt.
“God, he was awful, kept telling the guy about demons. We probably shouldn’t let him talk much.”
“Seriously? Yeah, no talking for him. Where is he anyway?”
“No idea. He flapped off as soon as we left the diner. Guy has no idea how to end a conversation,” Dean said as he opened the door.
***
***
“Okay, so the victim was a seventeen-year-old boy named Donald Marlowe. He seems like he was a pretty normal kid, was on the football and basketball teams at his high school, pretty average player, doesn’t seem like he had any enemies.“
“Just get to the suspicious death, Sam,” Dean commanded as he shifted into the exit lane.
“He fell off a swing and shattered his entire spine.”
“Huh, guess all those annoying moms are right.”
“Dean, he didn’t just break his spine. It crumbled like a cookie.”
“Hey, don’t bring cookies into this.”
***
***
Castiel and Dean were sitting in the car in the Marlowe’s driveway.
“One more time, what did we talk about?”
“I’m the bad cop.”
“And?”
“I’m Special Agent Eddie Moscone. I won’t mention ghosts, demons, spirits, voodoo, witches, or any other form of supernatural being. I should generally speak as little as possible and stare about impressively.”
“And your badge?”
“Will be displayed right side up at the same time as yours. We’ve covered this five times now, Dean.”
“Okay,” Dean said brightly with a friendly slap to Cas’ knee. “Let’s go.”
***
***
“Good morning, Ms. Marlowe. We’re agents Zevon and Moscone from the FBI. Could we have a word?”
The woman who had answered the door of the Marlowe home looked beleaguered “Can I see your badges first?” she asked from the other side of the screen door.
Dean pulled his out with practiced ease; Cas took a bit longer but at least pulled it out right side up this time.
“Please, come in. Is this about Donny?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She led them into a warm kitchen. “I just made coffee, if you want some.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
***
***
The diner was small and kind of cheesy and remarkably like any of the other thousands of diners across the country that Dean had favored with his patronage. They took a booth in the corner while Dean automatically noted all the exits.
“Why are you glaring at me?”
Cas fidgeted in his seat but didn’t answer.
Just then the waitress appeared, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. “Hi, welcome to Angie’s. What can I get for you?”
“Hi…” Dean paused to read her nametag. “Bethany. Can I get a double bacon cheeseburger with everything on it?”
“Sure,” she nodded brightly, writing it down. “And for you?”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Cas snapped like he expected to have to duel someone for the right to processed meat product, “and a coffee. Black.”
“Okay. Coming right up.” She bounded off.
“Someone’s in a good mood.”
Cas toyed with his silverware.
“Seriously, you’re pissed at me. What the fuck did I do?”
“You think I’m incompetent.”
“What?” Dean asked, baffled. “No I don’t.”
Cas spun the knife around his fingers in way that might be threatening if it was something sharper than a basic table knife and didn’t reply.
“Fine, whatever.” Dean huffed and wondered when Cas had turned into a bitter housewife… that was an odd thought.
They remained silent while Dean contemplated why anyone would cover Lady Gaga.
“So I figure we should go talk to the girlfriend tomorrow. Thanks, sweetheart.” The latter was directed at the burger-carrying waitress and not Special Agent Eddie Moscone. “What was her name?”
“Claire Kennedy. Thank you,” Cas snapped at Dean as the waitress dropped his plate in front of him.
Dean watched Cas viciously devour his food with no evidence of actual enjoyment but a great deal of spiteful satisfaction.
***
***
“I’m starting to think this isn’t a ghost,” Dean said, settling down in an uncomfortable motel armchair, beer in hand. “Sam called when you were… off doing whatever. He said he couldn’t find records of anyone dying in or around that playground.”
Cas hummed and kept pacing in front of the TV.
“We should ask if any accidents ended in people going into comas. It could be like,” for a second Dean’s vision went white and he smelled flowers, “like fairy tale girl.” Dean muttered dazedly, unlacing his boots.
“Fairy tale girl?” Cas stood still and just frowned as Dean walked over to undo his tie and slid it off from around his neck.
“Yeah,” he undid the top button of Cas’ shirt. “There was this girl who went into a coma and her dad would read her fairy tales so she started acting them out with innocent people.” He ran his hands down Cas’ chest over his shirt. “Is it really hot in here, or is it just me?”
“I suppose it’s possible, though that seems like a rare occurrence. Why are you touching me?”
Dean looked up at him and ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “I have no idea.”
“I think perhaps this is-“ Cas stopped when Dean pushed his trench coat and suit jacket off his shoulders. “I don’t think that this is natural.”
Dean smiled dazedly, “You are so right.” He ran a finger along the top rim of Cas’ collar, then tugged him forward and kissed him. “So right,” he repeated and smiled, had Dean been in his right mind, he might have noticed Cas’ eyes flash to a dark purple for a split second.
Cas’ grin was as lazy and dreamy as his own and this time he kissed back. He was having trouble getting their lips to sync up and he kept getting Dean’s chin, but he didn’t mind.
“We should have sex,” Dean said with a smile as he wiped Cas’ saliva off his face.
“Yes.”
But undressing proved an ordeal. Cas, who hadn’t ever needed to take his clothes off before, wound up with his pants tangled around his ankles, trapped by shoes he was having difficulty unlacing. Dean tried to help unravel the mess and was kicked in the eye for his trouble.
“Sorry,” Cas muttered, not sounding particularly guilty as he had slightly better luck with the complex technology that is your basic button.
Dean shrugged and didn’t question why he didn’t really mind. Or why it didn’t hurt that much.
In the process of pulling his shirt off, he struck Cas in the chest so hard that the angel fell back onto the bed. Trapped inside his own shirt, Cas flopped onto his stomach, tugging uselessly at his cuffs. Dean caught hold of his collar from behind and tugged until he heard a seam rip, the shirt came off, and he surprised himself by not falling on his ass. He took it as a victory, then scratched his hand unzipping his pants.
***
***
When Sam returned from the library, Dean was balls deep in Cas’ ass
“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam said with a disgusted sigh, “Sock. Doorknob. Not that hard!” He closed the door halfway, then froze and gaped at them. “Ca- When - How- You - Oh Jesus fuck, I need to go,” this time slamming the door and retreating quickly.
Dean looked down at Cas and shrugged.
Cas awkwardly mimicked the gesture, but frowned when Dean accidentally elbowed him in the side. Again.
***
***
“We’re not talking about this,” Dean said firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed and running one hand through his short hair.
“Agreed.” Cas was staring at the semen on his stomach like he had no idea how it got there.
“You know that that wasn’t - I mean, I’m sorry for-“
“You wanted it no more than I did. We’re - we’re good,” Cas said, testing out the phrase.
“We need to figure this out. And not tell Sam.”
Cas let off poking at the mess at his stomach to glare at Dean, “He saw us. I don’t see the point in-“
“I’m not telling my baby brother that I somehow managed to get myself magically coerced into fucking you. I have some pride left, Cas.”
Cas’ scowl deepened and he, and his clothes, disappeared with the heavy sound of wings.
“You couldn’t have done that earlier?”
***
***
“Do we-“ Dean started over dinner and then decided not to finish that sentence. They were the Winchesters, men among men, they did not need to talk about things like little brothers discovering that their older brothers weren’t totally straight or were having weird, mutually nonconsensual sex with angels.
Sam looked up at him, terrified. “No, we’re - Nah,” Sam smiled, and sure it was forced as fuck, but there was no way Dean was going to push the issue.
“Good,” Dean muttered, dumping more ketchup on his burger, “Yeah. That’s good.” Dean just needed to figure out what had made that happen and then make it sure it never happened again, all without discussing it. Ever. With anyone.
Silence reigned except for the awkwardly loud sound of Sam crunching down on his salad.
“I’m cool.”
“What?” Dean looked up startled.
“I’m cool with it. I mean, if you-“
“Sam, we’re not talking about this.”
“I just thought you should -“
“Sam!”
“Right,” Sam ducked his head and said nothing more until they were both almost finished. He sort of wondered if he wanted to ask about the bruise mottling Dean’s right cheekbone and then figured it wasn’t worth the inevitable scarring.
“So I was thinking tomorrow I’d go back to the hospital and ask about coma patients and you and Cas can go talk to the girlfriend.”
“Um,” Dean stared at him with wide eyes. “Why don’t you take Cas?”
“What? Why? I thought you’d want-“
“No, I mean - It’s just - You should see the way he intimidates witnesses, like, wow,” he said with what he hoped was an expressive hand gesture, but probably came out a bit too desperate.”
“Uh, okay. Sure, Dean.”
“Also it’s probably a witch.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it a hunch.”
***
***
The girlfriend of the deceased, one Claire Kennedy, lived near the center of town in a two-story colonial with a basketball hoop in the driveway and a soccer net in the backyard.
Sam glanced nervously at Cas and wondered how good he actually was at interrogations. He didn’t know how to ask and wasn’t really sure he wanted to. The drive had been horribly silent, both before and after dropping Dean off at the hospital. Sam had considered talking to Cas about his newly discovered sexual relationship with Sam’s brother, but elected not to because A) he didn’t want to talk about it, and B) he was sure the angel would end up grossly over-sharing because he probably didn’t understand social niceties like not sharing details of sex with someone’s brother.
Sam sort of wondered how they’d managed to get in a relationship in the first place considering Dean was as emotionally communicative as a rock and the angel probably didn’t understand what he was feeling. And then Sam realized he was contemplating his brother’s sex life and upped the volume on the stereo even if he hated ACDC.
They rang the doorbell, which played a cheery rendition of “It’s a Small World” that went of on for far too long. After an increasingly awkward interval, a young boy answered the door the door was answered by a young boy.
“Hi,” Sam gave him his most charming, innocent puppy smile. “We’re from the FBI. We were wondering if we could talk to your sister. Is she home?”
Cas stared at him like he was a newly discovered poisonous bug.
“Mom!” the child yelled before darting off into the house.
A woman in a flour-dusted apron quickly took his place; a brief glance at their suits brought a forced smile to her face. “Can I help you?”
“We’re FBI agents investigating the death of Donny Marlowe, is your daughter home?”
“I thought it was an accident,” she said, quiet and puzzled.
“Ma’am, please, we really need to speak to Claire.”
She nodded shakily, “Yes, of course. Please come in.” She held the door for them while bellowing her daughter’s name up the stairwell.
Claire Kennedy proved to be an athletic blonde girl wearing a pullover for her school lacrosse team and ragged cut-offs.
“Yeah, Mom, what is it?”
“These men are from the FBI, they want to talk to you about Donny.”
“Donny’s death was an accident,” she said with a quiet certainty.
“Please, miss, it’ll only take a minute of your time.”
“I don’t know what you expect to find out, but alright,” she snapped as she stomped down the stairs.
“Claire, please,” her mother chided.
She spared her mother a scornful glance. “Living room?” she suggested to Sam and Cas, sweeping out an arm to indicate the room.
Sam nodded and followed her inside, Castiel trailing after.
Claire settled on the couch and wrapped her arms around herself. “Sorry about being rude earlier, it’s just - Donny’s death was so - I don’t think I’ve really accepted it, you know?”
Sam took a seat in the armchair across from her, “Of course.”
“My condolences,” Cas added with a decent amount of fake sympathy. Sam wondered where he’d picked that up.
“Claire, did Donny have any enemies?”
“Enemies? No, everyone loved Donny. Well, not his math teacher, but - He fell off a swing, why does it matter if he had any enemies?”
Sometimes Sam was so used to rattling off the usual questions that he forgot how weird they seemed in context.
“We just need to ask about everything. Standard procedure.”
“Oh, right,” Claire agreed with a slightly puzzled expression.
“Have you ever been to the playground where he died?” Cas asked from his place across the room, studying a collection of decorative plates.
“Yeah, I take Nate, my brother, there sometimes when Mom and Dad are too busy.”
“Have you noticed anything odd about it?” asked Sam, picking up on the angel’s line of questioning.
“Odd how?”
“Strange markings, cold spots, suspicious persons.”
Maybe Sam should have had a talk with Cas about subtle phrasing.
“You mean like pedos?”
“Pedos?” Cas frowned, unfamiliar with the abbreviation.
“You know, like -“
“It’s not important,” Sam cut her off her a raised hand, “Donny was too old for, um, that.”
“Is that it, officers?” Claire stood abruptly, brushing off her thighs.
“Agents.”
“I’ve got practice in half an hour and it’s a long drive.”
“Of course,” Sam stood as well and gave her one of their many fake cards, “If you think of anything, please let us know.”
“Will do.” She left the room and Cas scowled at her back.
“I believe she is a suspicious person.”
“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re a robot or if you just have a really odd sense of humor.”
Cas looked like he did after one of Dean’s many pop culture references.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk in the car.”
They met Mr. Kennedy in the front yard. He straightened up from where he’d been weeding a flowerbed to stare at them. “Hello.”
“We’re FBI agents. We’re here about Donny Marlowe,” Cas recited stiffly with a slight smirk in Sam’s direction. Odd sense of humor it was.
“Oh yeah, real shame, that,” he said in a way that implied he didn’t care in the least. “He and Claire never had a chance to make up.”
“Make up?” Sam asked, perking up. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Claire tell you? She’d found out the little turd had been cheating on her two days before he died. She was really unhappy about it, but probably would’ve gone back to him anyway. You know how teenaged girls can be.”
***
***
“No coma patients. It’s gotta be the girlfriend, right? I mean it all screams girlfriend.”
“Yes, you’ve said that several times now,” Cas replied without looking up from the television to where Dean was scowling at his laptop.
“Can’t we just go kill her now?”
“I think you’re overreacting.”
“We had - She made us - Who else could it be?”
“It happened after we spoke to the parents, not the girlfriend.”
“Yeah, but they were really upset, I know fake grief when I see it. Maybe she saw us going to talk to them or - Where’s Sam?”
“He went to go get pizza five minutes ago. You were there.”
“That son of a bitch,” Dean stood up, “he can’t leave us alone like this! What if -“
“We’re probably not going to - Dean, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Cas,” his voice was soft and warm and under normal circumstances Cas might enjoy the sound, as it was, he stiffened up and watched Dean’s approach with wide eyes.
“Dean, you should probably sit back down.”
“But I don’t want to,” he curled a hand around Cas’ outstretched ankle, slid his fingers underneath cheap black slacks and up to touch skin.
“Okay,” the dopey smile from earlier returned to Cas’ face as he sat up. Dean settled on the bed with his knees on either side of Cas ankles and tugged Cas forward by his tie. Cas lurched forward and his forehead collided painfully with the bridge of Dean’s nose.
“Son of a -,” he swore, but stopped, distracted by the sight of Cas wriggling awkwardly in his efforts to get the trench coat off. He was still sitting on most of it and seemed reluctant to stand up. Dean jerked back to avoid a flailing elbow to the groin and fell mostly off the bed because of it. Happily, he caught his balance before he brained himself on the corner of the dresser.
With a lot more flailing, an impressive backbend, and only one half-slide off the bed, Cas managed to get his coat off. Dean’s luck was not as good; his over shirt must have shrunk in the wash. It had certainly never been so hard to get off before. Trying to take it off at the same time as his shoes had probably not been one of Dean’s best ideas, he thought as he stared at the broken lamp lying on the floor.
***
***
“I‘m usually much better than this,” Dean muttered after his tongue almost slid up Cas’ nostril. Again.
Cas made a noise of assent, but wasn’t really listening; his attention was focused on where his dick seemed to be refusing to just get inside Dean already.
“Really, Cas, it’s not rocket science,” Dean grunted moving one of his hands down to help.
“It’s very slippery,” Cas replied, sounding like this sex was the key to finding his father and stopping the devil and bringing back unicorns or something.
“You’re the one who vaporized the lube bottle.”
With a face like that Cas would make an excellent disapproving housewife one day. “The cap was stuck.”
***
***
Mercifully, by the time Sam got back with the pizza they’d put their clothes back on and were sitting awkwardly on separate beds watching Dirty Harry.
Sam paused in the doorway and stared at them, his gaze shifted from one to the other, and then abruptly had trouble actually looking at either of them.
Cas readjusted his legs and said nothing.
“Did you get the meat lover’s?” Dean grunted.
“Yes, Dean, I got the meat lover’s. When do I not?”
Cas made an indistinct sound and shifted uncomfortably again.
Sam gave Dean the box of his pizza. “Don’t you have this movie memorized?”
“Clint Eastwood never gets old.”
“I’m beginning to see the appeal,” Cas grumbled as he leaned over and grabbed a slice of Dean’s pizza.
“Hey!”
“You’re the one who insists I try human things like coffee and sex,” he paused, “so shut the fuck up.” He bit angrily into the pizza and almost lost a chunk of sausage to his lap.
“I don’t think -“ Dean sniped with honest-to-god air quotes.
“TMI!”
“I was referring to the time you took me to the den of iniquity.”
Sam choked, “You took the angel to a whorehouse? Oh my god. Dean, you are the worst person ever.”
“At least I never drank demon blood,” Dean muttered spitefully.
“Low blow, dude. At least I don’t -” His gaze shifted to Cas and he shut his mouth with a click of his teeth.
Dean stared at him like he was contemplating picking his gun off the bedside table.
“If it helps, I occasionally find you both worthy of smiting.”
No one said anything after that, and the only sound in the room was Clint Eastwood growling threats.
“I apologize, that was unworthy of me. You both have shining souls.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I mean it,” Cas said sincerely, leaning forward to capture Dean’s eyes, ”Dean, your soul is so bright I could see it shining at me from the depths of hell.”
“Uh,” Dean blushed, wordless, and across the room Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wondered if Dean would throw something at him he offered to give them some time alone.
***
***
The brothers were awakened at seven the next morning by the sound of wings and a newspaper hitting a table.
“What now?” Sam asked, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
“Someone else died. She was attacked by a rabid bear late last night,” Cas said, sounding inappropriately excited. He’d clearly needed this vacation more than Dean had suspected.
“Who was it?” Dean mostly just wished Castiel had thought to bring coffee.
“A teenaged girl named Sarah Jane. She went to the same high school as Donald Marlowe.”
“Any connection?”
“None that was mentioned in the paper.”
“I guess we know who we’re talking to today,” Sam groaned, picking his jeans up off the floor.
“Can’t we just go kill the girlfriend now?” Dean whined. “Save us the effort.”
“We can’t be sure it’s her, Dean.”
“Sam, we need to take care of this before-“ he looked guiltily at Cas and stopped mid-sentence.
“Before what?”
“Don’t worry about it, there’s no hurry.”
“Yes, she probably won’t waste time going after the FBI agents who asked too many questions,” Cas drawled.
“Motherfucker,” Dean flopped back onto the bed, “can’t we-“
A knock at the door interrupted him.
Sam and Dean reached for their guns in unison while Cas went to answer the door. “Hello?”
“Hi, um, can I talk to you?”
Cas stepped back and allowed the girl to come inside.
“Aren’t you the waitress from the diner the other day?” Dean frowned, brain not functioning quite yet.
“My name’s Bethany Knox, I need to talk to you about my friend Claire.”
***
***
“It started out with just little things, you know? Better grades, clearer skin. I never thought she’d go so far.”
“Right. Course not. Magic always ends well,” Dean snorted with a roll of his eyes.
Bethany ignored this and continued, “When Donny died, Claire said it really was an accident, that it had nothing to do with us. I-“
“A guy shatters his spine falling off the kiddy swing after you curse him and you believe it could possibly be an accident. Yeah, now I know why you’re on the honor roll.”
“Dean,” Sam snapped.
Dean glared, pursed his lips, and said nothing.
“Claire had just found out Donny was cheating on her with Sarah, she was furious. So we hexed Donny - just to mess up in sports. When he died - But then I read about Sarah in the paper this morning and I knew it had to be her. I got the name of your hotel from Donny’s parents.“
“You were the one who cursed us!” Dean accused with a pointed finger.
“I heard you talking at the diner, I thought you might do something bad to Claire, so - So I cast a spell on you, something to distract you. That was before I knew she was killing people.”
“You are fucked up, you know that? I mean generally cursing people is bad enough, but bad sex? That’s just cruel.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I - what?”
“Wait, what?” Sam cut in, voice sharp, “I thought you two were actually - oh. Oh wow. This is awkward.” He took a sip of his coffee and dropped eye contact.
“I mean, couldn’t you have given us hives or a tail or just made us forget the case entirely. Bad sex is -“
“Dean, can we please listen to her explanation before Claire kills someone else? Somebody like us.” Sam said mildly, still not looking at his brother and blushing furiously.
“I didn’t - I didn’t curse you to have bad sex. I would never do that, that’s just mean.”
That gave Dean pause. “Then please explain to me why me and him have been screwing like bunnies. Badly!” He flapped a hand between himself and Cas who was standing awkwardly in the corner, contemplating Sam with a serious expression.
“Oh,” her eyes widened as a blush spread across her face. “That’s, um, it wasn’t a sex curse, it was exactly what I said; a distraction. You were just supposed to do things you’d enjoy until I thought of something more permanent. That didn’t involve killing anyone.”
Sam choked on the mouthful of coffee and tried not to smirk too obviously; blackmail for life.
Cas frowned. “I don’t understand. I’d never had sex before, how could I, or the curse, possibly know if I enjoyed it?”
A look of shock and disbelief came over Bethany. “You’d never - But you’re so-“ Her eyes raked up and down Cas’s body. “Huh.”
“I don’t enjoy having sex with him! I didn’t even want to!” Dean burst out, having spent the previous minute or so staring straight ahead with a look of utter confusion and distress on his face. “What did you really-“
“This actually does make a certain amount of sense,” Sam cut in.
“What?” Dean stood up, outraged, “How does -“
“Dean, shut up for a minute. You like having sex, right? And, Cas - you like hanging around with Dean, right?”
“…Not in that manner, but yes.”
“There you go, yours melded with his and there you go - sex!”
Dean gawped wordlessly and Cas studied the stain patterns in the motel’s carpeting.
“But why was it bad?” Dean wailed.
“I guess you’re just bad in bed.” Bethany was picking up bad behavior from Sam that Dean really wanted to end with his gun.
“I’m awesome in bed. I’m a fucking sex god! And it is not that hard to not kick someone in the head.”
Cas sent a look that could almost be described as a pout Dean’s way. “I’ve apologized for that multiple times.”
“You’re really hung up on this, aren’t you?” Sam drawled.
“It’s a serious question!”
“Some of the herbs I used weren’t the freshest.” Bethany twined some hair around her finger, “Maybe that was the problem?”
“Whatever. Fix this, but if you do more magic after, we’ll come back and kill you, okay? We need to go deal with your psycho best friend.”
***
***
Cas started hunting with them more often. He didn’t talk about it, but it was pretty obvious he was losing hope about finding his Father. Between his extensive knowledge of all sorts of supernatural beasties and “angelic superpowers” he was damned useful so neither brother complained and Bobby was probably pretty grateful for not being called every other day with demands to look up something or another.
The problem wasn’t Cas’ presence; it was Dean’s reaction to it. The way he would sit too close to Cas in diners or stand in what was clearly an invasion of Cas’ personal space. The angel never seemed to pick up on it, though he did sometimes look at Dean strangely when he’d jump back like he’d been scorched. If Sam noticed he didn’t say a word.
The breaking point was when Dean started to fall half-asleep on Cas’ shoulder during a four in the morning dinner after an hour long chupacabra chase. It wasn’t like the waitresses of Middle America would suffer from not being flirted with by Dean Winchester, so it was really all okay.
Until he realized what he’d been doing and pulled away violently. Cas stared at him over the rim of his coffee cup but didn’t say a word. As always.
He knew. There was no way he couldn’t know.
“I’m gonna -“ Dean jerked his thumb in the direction of the bathroom and left the table hastily. Cas watched him walk away with an expression that was firmly camped on the line between disappointed and baffled.
Sam quirked his eyebrows, opened his mouth, and then thought better of speaking and returned to his omelet.
***
***
There were times when keeping the number of pretty much everyone you’ve had dealings with in the past three months, longer, if they were significant, was a pain in the ass, and there were times, like now, when it came in handy.
Dean eventually found Bethany’s phone number on a receipt underneath the numbers of the book club that had had a vampire run-in in Addison and the waitress from Boise, he really should have called her.
He glanced at the clock, making sure he had time before Sam got out of the shower. He stepped out into the parking lot anyway.
She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Bethany, this is Dean, you know, the guy you cursed a month ago,” he says in his best ‘I am charming and armed’ voice.
“Right, I remember, one sec, I’m eating dinner with my family.”
He heard the muffled sounds of her excusing herself over the line and then, “What’s wrong? Claire hasn’t done anything, I’ve been watching.”
“This isn’t about Claire, this is about you.”
“I haven’t done anything either, I swear,” Her voice rose an octave and cracked on the second half of ‘either.’
“Yeah, and you also didn’t take the curse off properly.”
“What?”
“The curse you put on me and Cas, You didn’t take it off right.”
There was a pause. “Dean, I did that spell perfectly. I checked the Latin with my now very confused teacher and bought all the herbs that day. There is no way I fucked that up.”
“Then why -“ he paused then started again, taking care to keep his voice low and calm, “then why do I keep thinking about Cas?”
“Thinking about him h- Oh. Oh geez, um,” her voice got squeaky and Dean was willing to bet good money she was blushing furiously. “Maybe that’s, um, just, you know, you?”
“What?”
“Um, I think - I think that you… maybe you’re just attracted to him,” she said all in one breath. “Which is completely not my fault, please don’t hurt me.”
“One more time.”
“Dean, I cast the spell perfectly. If you - if you’re doing that, it’s just - it’s all you.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
“Dean, I know it’s not my place, but there’s nothing wrong with you being attracted to another man.”
“He’s not - I’m not gay!”
“You had a rough childhood, didn’t you?”
***
***
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Dean jumped and whirled away from gathering the laundry into a bag to take to the Laundromat.
“What? No I haven’t.” Dean denied easily, a lifetime of lying coming in handy as he regretted refusing to go with Sam to see that stupid artsy movie. (“Sorry, Sammy, but I draw the line at subtitles.”)
“I apologize if our actions when under the curse are causing you continuing discomfort,” Cas rumbled, stepping closer. “Neither of us are responsible for-“ he reached a hand out and Dean jumped back into the dresser so violently the lamp fell to the floor.
“I see,” Cas said and stepped back with the defeated expression he’d been wearing far too often lately.
“Look, Cas, it’s - It’s not you, it’s me.” It was nice that the angel didn’t recognize the trite line as the falsehood it generally was, even if not in this circumstance.
He tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Fuck,” he rubbed his forehead, “can we just agree that you’re not doing anything wrong and that I have some stuff to work through?”
And the head tilt rides again.
“I just, I keep thinking about it, okay? Now can we please stop talking about this?”
“I told you before, it’s not your fault.”
“I’m not thinking about it like that! I’m thinking about what it would be like if…”
“Oh.” Cas’ eyes widened, “Okay.”
“… what?”
“Dean,” Cas frowned and pursed his lips like he hadn’t learned how to say this in a language other than Awkward Angel, before giving up, taking a step forward and pulling at the back of Dean’s neck until they were kissing.
For a horrible, horrible second Dean thought that maybe Castiel really was an awkward fucking kisser and that sex with him was doomed to be weird and uncoordinated until the twentieth time when he finally figured it out, if they even got that far. But then Cas got it, he proved that he did know what to do with his tongue and how to not drool all over both of their faces and it was actually really, really fucking good.
So Dean grabbed his ass like the gentleman he was and turned them around so Cas was pressed up against the dresser with Dean’s hand in his hair, pulling so the angle was just right and the angel made a soft noise into his mouth while his fingers clenched in the back of Dean’s t-shirt. A mild nudge had him lifting himself up and back until he was sitting on the dresser’s edge with his legs wrapped tight around Dean’s waist, keeping him close and exactly where they both wanted him.
Dean moved hesitantly, small rolls of his hips, because they’d done this before, but not really, and if he scared Cas away now he’d never forgive himself. Cas made a frustrated noise and planted a hand on the dresser behind him and thrust up hard against Dean.
“We should have sex,” Dean pulled away to gasp into Cas mouth.
“Yes.”
And they did.
And it was good.