Grace: Grace [SPN, Destiel, R]

[uncannycucumber]

Title: Grace
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: angst, romance
Parts:  Feathers, Fallen  1 +  2

Warnings: Sexual situations, descriptions of wounds and bleeding
Summary: “I was told to stop you, because what you are trying to return to me is not yours to give.”

Important note: Despite the third person POV, all that is described is what the character in the center experiences. Nothing stated about others or the surroundings is absolute, everything is subjective.

A/N: I actually expected to finish this sometime next year. Look at me being productive. And tripping balls on lack of sleep also.


~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Dean flipped himself over and landed the back of his head on the already cooled pillow, the sound of a heavy guitar filling the quiet of the room. He held his hand open, feeling the angel's fingers pushing their way between his fingers. Castiel smelled of sleep and his movements were slow and burdened.
He seemed to react to being woken up with classic rock a lot better than Sam did. He almost seemed curious, bending his neck just enough to get a glimpse of the crappy CD-player Dean had dragged upstairs along with some CDs he felt like he wanted to hear.

It was 10am, and he'd been up most of the night. After Castiel had fallen asleep he'd sneaked downstairs and sought all the books and papers even remotely touching the angelic lore he could find in the house. Then, he'd retreated to the panic room that was still conveniently covered in Enochian sigils, just in case Castiel would wake up and seek him out. He'd have a lot to explain about his room choice but not nearly as much as he'd have if he tried to explain why he was digging up angelic lore and not asking Castiel about it.
Truth was, he'd found something to do. He had a purpose. It overwhelmed everything else, pushing all his other goals on secondary places, and it had struck him like a lightning while they'd made love for the first time the night before.
Castiel deserved to be happy.
The only way he could ever be happy was if he was full.
To become full again, he needed his grace.

Dean didn't consider himself, his happiness, a priority at all. He was much below the second place even. He'd shoved himself as far down the list as he could and swore he'd do his everything to keep Castiel happy there and then, that he'd enjoy what little time they did have together but never compromise his goal to hang onto that illusion of perfection they shared.
He didn't deserve any of it if it meant that the angel had to suffer.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, grinning as he turned on his side.
He tightened his grip of the angel's hand and found himself planting a light, half-hearted kiss upon the other's knuckles.

Castiel rubbed the side of his head against the pillow underneath and pursed his lips, closing his eyes for a moment and apparently suppressing a yawn while he was at it.
"I feel alive," he finally spoke, aiming his blue eyes to claim Dean's gaze, "It's a reasonably good feeling."

"Any muscle pain from training yesterday?"

"Some, yes," Castiel replied, probably highly downplaying the truth as Dean's much better trained muscles were still burning with exhaustion despite the stretching he'd done throughout the night and in the morning.

The older curled up, eyes still looking at Dean. A crooked smile grew upon his lips until he chuckled quietly and closed his eyes again. Dean raised a brow at him lazily, feeling an ache inside him, one that had nothing to do with sadness or longing. The more he looked at Castiel the more he hurt, and the pain was making him wish he could laugh out loud and bury his soul inside the older's being. He wanted to be lost in the other, so deep that nobody would ever find him again.
With a hickup the CD player switched tracks. Eye of the Tiger's intro wiped the younger's mind clear and he sighed, moving closer to Castiel and curling up against him.
Their knees touched, separated by two blankets still.
He could hear the wind picking up outside, it rummaged through the tiles of the roof and the windows shook in its wake, both glass and frames.
"I put the coffee dripping," he mumbled, "It'll be ready in a moment. If you want a cup, I'll bring it here."

He listened to Castiel breathing and forgot to expect an answer.

"I could have a cup, and... something to eat?"

Dean smiled.
"I'm not your servant," he grunted teasingly, "but maybe today. What would you like?"

The older's voice still echoed inside his mind when he laid his bare feet upon the stairs and hopped them down two at a time. He'd never really liked mornings, but the past week, mornings were his favourite time of the day. He started each with so much hope, so much faith and so little rational thought, like all his worries were somehow banished like shadows by the first light of the sun. He enjoyed making breakfast unreasonably much as well, like each cup of coffee he poured represented the way he felt, like each crumble of bread he wiped off of the table was a wrong he could finally make right. He pushed the thought of the day out of his mind, deciding this morning would last until the evening and that nothing would come between them now.

As he arranged their breakfast on the worn tray he'd found, he had his cellphone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, waiting for Sam to pick up.
Eventually the younger did. He spoke Dean's name in a hoarse and questioning voice.
"Hey, Sammy. I just thought - how are things going?" the older asked, pulling the tray up and eyeing the wobbling pan still containing the remaining coffee.
It settled, slowly but certainly, and he could take the first steps back towards his private paradise upstairs.

"Uh," Sam replied and by the sound of it dug something out of a pile of things, perhaps books, "Interestingly."

Dean raised his brows even though the younger couldn't see it.
"So you're not going to let me in?" he asked bluntly.

"I am - just a second."
Rumbling.
"Sorry, Dean."

Dean climbed up the stairs and took a turn, landing the tray on a table to get time to talk with the other. He pursed his lips, tore a dry bit of skin off of the lower one and tried about the healing wound on it with the tip of his tongue, careful not to stress it or wet it too much. It felt sore.
"Yeah, well, Bobby's out meeting a friend who owns a fishing boat here. We've been interviewing the locals about places the drownings and other odd disappearances and accidents happened and we have quite a good picture about the whole thing, the only thing that remains is actually hunting down the creatures. And, we're getting there fine so far. How's - Cas?"

"Cas is fine," Dean said and leaned his back to the wall.
Dust floated around in the sunlit air and the rugged carpet on the floor seemed more colourful and more stained than it had the last time Dean had laid eyes upon it. An odd combination.
"I've been teaching him some basics."

Sam chuckled.
"Sounds great. Look... I'm sorry about ditching you like that."

"Yeah."

"Don't 'yeah' me, Dean, it's not alright. You're pissed at me because I left with Bobby."

Dean rolled his eyes.
"No, I'm not," he replied truthfully, "At least not right now. I'm fine, really. I have things to do. Sam... it's Cas' grace. I'm going to find it."

In the silence, noise over the call sounded worse than it actually was. Sam dropped something heavy on a wooden floor and huffed as he picked it up, his clothes rustling as he kneeled down.
"You sure about that?" the younger finally asked, "I mean, that's great, I can stand behind that, but - you know - it's not going to be easy. I mean, did it fall? Where is it? How do those things disappear? Anna's landed as a falling star when she fell, but she didn't exactly fall like this either. I think she like... fell-fell. Cas just ceased to be an angel somehow."

"Yeah," Dean sighed, "That's my problem right now. I'm drowning in lore but it's nowhere near enough, most of it doesn't deal with their grace. I've so far found little to no mention of grace at all - and I mean, what I've found isn't even relevant, so I feel like I might need some help. I have no idea where to start looking."

Sam huffed.
"I'll see what I can find online," he said then, "Dean - I... think what you're doing is admirable, like, really."

"Oh, Sammy, don't get all sentimental."

"No, I'm serious. Shut up, Dean. You do realise it'll mean he'll be back to the way he was and that means that -"

"YES, Sam. I'm well aware. But I can't be selfish asshole like that. I can't just let him suffer because his suffering happens to benefit me."

"Wow," Sam said, sounding awed. "Wow."

"Good. Well, call me if something comes up, otherwise I'll just give you a call tomorrow, alright?" Dean replied to his awkward respect that still lingered between them as a certain sort of tension.

With an alright in reply, Sam hung up. Dean's ears caught the sound of the floor creaking and his head jerked up, but he saw nothing. No steps followed that one either, and despite the suspicion he felt, he didn't think it was possible for Castiel to sneak back in the room without making a single sound more, so it had probably been just the wind or nothing at all.
He picked up his tray after dropping his phone in the pocket of his loose, worn pyjama pants he'd dug out of his bag after taking a shower the other night. Its weight settled by his thigh and felt warm against his skin after being heated up by his hand and ear.
He brought the tray in, knocking the previously barely open door against the wall with its side. Castiel was sitting cross-legged on their bed and he looked at him with a small smile, fingers on the volume control of the CD player. He turned it down a little and tilted his head expectingly.
"You were talking with someone," he noted.

Dean nodded, handing him his sandwhich and the navy blue coffee cup. Before saying anything he laid the tray down on the bed and sat down on its opposite side.
"With Sam, actually," he replied and bit into his breakfast, "Just checking how the traitors are doing, that's all."

Castiel smiled awkwardly, perhaps not understanding whether or not the blame was meant to be taken seriously. He nipped at the edges of the bread and for a second, Dean wondered if he should have cut them off. Then he realised that Castiel probably could just well tear them off himself if he disliked them, just like Dean was doing with his own bread at that precise moment. The angel didn't. Instead, he seemed to be finding the currently playing Paint It Black somehow hypnotizing.
"I've never listened to music," he said as if he'd just realised this, "I've heard it but I've not listened."

"Cool. Then you better start listening, because this stuff is awesome."

As Castiel concentrated on the music, Dean slowly awoke to the fact the man was entirely naked, just covered with the white blanket lazily thrown across his lap. He had purple bruises on his ribs and a large black one on the side of his abdomen, an inch to the left above his navel. Dean noted the trail of fine hair leading down from his stomach, ending abruptly to the white edge of the blanket.
The younger swallowed with great difficulty and closed his eyes, sipping coffee to calm himself. He'd have to at least be able to contain his need to get all over the angel for the approximate time it took them both to eat breakfast, no matter -

- there were lips upon his and he nearly choked as he swallowed the coffee still halfway down his system. With a suppressed cough he answered the kiss and more quickly than he'd expected he found his hands digging into Castiel's hair again. He pulled back a mere inch or so to check his cup was safely out of their way and then, without further hesitation, pulled Castiel on top of himself, lying down on his back on the mattress below.
The older's lips moved onto his ear and nipped at the somewhat sore skin, gently as if knowing the area was damaged from the careless passion of the previous night. Dean enjoyed the return of the other's breath against that part of him.
"Somehow, I..." Castiel started, losing himself midsentence.

Dean pressed him firmly against himself and breathed in his scent, breathless and aroused already, ears aching from concentrating on the silence while Castiel tried to find the words.
"... I want closer than... than this, Dean."

"You're disgusting," Dean huffed in a tone that delivered exactly the opposite message.
He could feel the other trying to figure which one to take and believe in.
"It's like you fell out of some really nasty romance novel. Usually I'd say that's a huge turnoff, but with you, I don't even care."

Castiel let out a small sigh and rose to look Dean in the eye. His head was slightly tilted to the side and his expression serious.
"Disregarding that, have you already noticed how shamelessly naked I am?" he asked.

Dean was about to laugh but couldn't, as his body suddenly registered the line as a very honest fact. His breathing halted and he brought a leg over the older's hip, grinding against him in a trying manner, eyes locked with Castiel's.
The older smiled and Dean could feel him shivering and pushing his hips against the younger's in return. Dean let his hand slip along the angel's warm, toned back all the way to the lowest part of it, laying his palm across the soft skin on top of the tailbone. He felt like there was a silent communication going between them, a discussion he had no idea what was the subject of, as they stared into one another's eyes silently, their bodies rocking against one another in near secrecy.
Indeed, he wasn't the teacher anymore. He was a lover.

Castiel seemed to be thinking along similar lines.
"You've slept with quite a few people, haven't you?" he asked shyly.

"Damn it, Cas - way to make me feel like a complete whore," Dean growled and pushed the male off of him so he could get up to undo his pyjama pants, all the while holding up an insulted expression.
To his surprise, Castiel laughed, with no reservations whatsoever about whether or not he was serious.

"I'm only asking," he replied, gaze caught up about Dean's lower abdomen, "as you can probably show me how I can get as close as possible."

"You do realise that you're asking me to show you how gay sex works, right?"

"Indeed."

"Um, awkward," Dean muttered, finding himself climbing on the other's lap with both his arms over the older's shoulders.
He pushed his knees into the mattress for balance and tried to calm his heartbeat, feeling Castiel's erection pressing against his just as hard cock as he adjusted himself on the spot.
The angel seemed rather calm as he laid his hands upon Dean's sides and held him there, eyes upon his with a questioning, warm and mildly amused look in them.
"It's not going to work like this, man."

Castiel nodded.
"I'd feared as much."

"No, that's the wrong reaction. No. Jesus, Cas, c'mon."

"What is the correct one?" the angel asked, clearly amused, his right hand leaving Dean's side and landing in his hair instead.
His fingertips rubbed at Dean's scalp and made him bend his head into the touch almost involuntarily.

"I sort of hoped you'd just give up. You're not giving up, are you, though?" Dean sighed, not able to hide the smile that pushed itself upon his lips.

"No, I'd rather not. I'm not entirely sure how else to deal with this feeling I have."

"Welcome to humanity, asshole, that's called sexual frustration and it's the state I'm in nearly 24/7. It sort of follows naturally from having a dick."

Castiel grinned and stroked the younger's short hair, looking like he'd just discovered something precious that he couldn't not touch.
"Am I pressuring you?" he asked quietly.

Dean sighed and shook his head.
"No," he said softly, "But it's - nice - that you asked, anyway."
He sure as hell wouldn't have dared to.
"I'll show you how it works later. You'll have to do with just touch now. Honestly, I've never tried it, but I know enough to understand that charging in is the worst idea ever. So shut up and enjoy now, ok?"

The angel laughed.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically and traced Dean's cheek with his fingers, "I'm happy as we are, Dean."

*

The grass was still cold although the clouds were breaking apart and the wind had settled. Dean leaned back and pushed his fingertips into the firm dirt, facing the patchwork sky, its deep blue and dark gray on near white shreds of what had an hour ago been an unified blanket of clouds thrown across the heavens. The smell of grass filled the air along with the familiar scent of Bobby's yard, its trees, flowers, rusted car parts, oil and dusty grounds. Castiel was inside, momentarily captivated by the television, something that Dean wasn't very surprised about. He'd sneaked downstairs to the panic room and snatched a couple books with him that he considered easy to lie about, then walked out the door and sought a comfortable spot on the backyard. He'd found one by the foot of a thick ash tree, the trunk of which he was now leaning onto.
One of the books was open on his lap. It didn't sound promising.

Absently, the man's fingers escaped the rub his abdomen. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply, feeling the relaxation lingering in his body, the slight tingling of his being and the ghosts of the older's touched everywhere upon his skin. Slowly, the manner his fingers rubbed his stomach started feeling strange to him. His eyes opened just the slightest bit as he paid attention to the way he was touching himself, his fingers moving along an invisible, yet predetermined, track on his skin.

It couldn't be, he thought and swallowed. An awful thought had just begun to form inside his mind. His gaze fell down upon the book and got stuck upon the part that dealt with the healing power of angels.

Castiel had transferred Dean's fatal damage upon himself, and in return poured his strength and vitality into Dean to make up for what Dean had already suffered through.
In the process, he'd pushed himself past his limits, ignored his being's incapability to both hold itself intact after an incomplete resurrection and at the same time use such an enormous amount of healing energy on a mortal wound. That had been the reason he hadn't just healed Dean but halved the damage between the two of them.

Dean's hand halted upon his skin and he felt nauseous and cold again. He pressed his flesh as if trying to look for something physical inside himself, anything that'd either confirm or disprove his fear, but of course he felt nothing at all aside from his own muscles and guts. As he felt his skin starting to bruise he lifted the pressure and let his hand fall upon the coffee-stained, yellowed page of the book and struggled to swallow.

If Castiel had somehow transferred his grace inside Dean in order to save his life, had he done it on purpose or could it happen by accident?
Dean's fingers sought his phone from his pocket, but he'd left it in the attic room. He couldn't even call Sam as it was - and what would Sam even know more than he did?
More than anything, Dean just wanted someone to tell him he was being ridiculous, but inside somewhere, he feared his feeling was correct.

"I can't accept a gift I wouldn't deserve in a thousand lifetimes combined, Cas," he spoke quietly.

A gentle, warm breeze passed through his hair and left him with a drying tear upon his cheek. He brushed it off and forced himself to turn a page in the book, to keep reading, as if it was still relevant.

After two hours of trying to get around the theory he'd formed in his mind, Dean picked up his books and returned indoors, feeling down yet determined. At least he had a clue now - what remained to find still was the knowledge of how to return what did not belong to him.
He stuffed the books back to where they belonged to and joined Castiel in front of the television after digging out a bottle of whiskey from Bobby's cabinets. With a deep sigh he seated himself on the couch. The angel gave him a questioning look but he smiled it off.
"I hate reading," he answered it, "I think I'll leave that to Sam from now on. Don't drink the whole bottle, by the way, I don't think your system will handle it as it used to. You know, people don't drink a store and survive, so take it easy."

Castiel replied with a rather sad smirk, nodded and filled their glasses. As he settled down and handed Dean his drink, Dean brought an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, leaning his elbow to the arm rest of the couch. Castiel's warm weight rested by his side and he felt soothed by his presence. The hollowness that had settled by the pit of his stomach once more was being filled by the silent happiness that Castiel brought with him.

*

They spent the evening watching two movies, one good and one stupid action flick that failed to hold Dean's interest and through which he stayed out of the simple desire to do anything with Castiel, although he couldn't deny that the older's excitement about fake explosions and deaths was entertaining on its own accord. Afterwards, Dean took a shower that took on an almost ritualistic feel. He felt that if there'd ever been a moment in his life he wanted to be clean from everything - dirt, sweat, unnecessary or uninvited thoughts and feelings - that moment was now. He'd drank enough to feel a little tired, Castiel had drank enough for him to tell him to stop before he'd be too drunk for anything but sleep, and he'd retired to their temporary bedroom after a much briefer shower, smelling oddly like Sam after washing his hair with the same shampoo the younger brother used.

A nervous excitement settled in the pit of Dean's stomach as he gathered his things and joined Castiel in the bedroom. He'd never let anyone as close as he let the angel that night; clumsily, slowly and through more failures than victories he let Castiel take him, and the older loved him like no one had ever loved him, his emotion shining through everything he did like the act was nothing but a way to make his feelings physical, real enough for Dean to know them on his skin. Perhaps that came easier to the angel than words did. He'd always been bad with words, unable to express himself with the rough language they shared, but as he'd proved time and again in his short time as this man he was now, he knew better than well how to use his body. He didn't use it like a human, as humans never abandoned their addiction to feeling and self, but he used it in a manner that communicated effortlessly to Dean, like his intention was clear through the way he moved, touched and felt.

When they were done, Dean's body ached and he felt raw and bruised from inside, but he laughed in a voice he thought he'd lost a long time ago, in a tone with no shadow and no hidden message. He watched Castiel fall asleep next to him and wished he could stay, that he could close his eyes and fall into sleep that'd revive his worn body, but he had things to do, things that couldn't wait, things that shouldn't wait or he'd stop believing in them and bury them so deep inside they'd eat his whole self before resurfacing. But resurface they would, and as such, he could not afford to let himself drift into rest.
His legs trembled when he stood up and stumbled back in the shower. He wore a light shirt over a pair of black boxers and nothing more. As he moved through the silent house turning small lights on wherever possible, his eyes started feeling less and less unwilling to stay open, and when he entered the panic room, he was nearly fully awake again, or as close to that state as he'd gotten used to over the years.

He gathered his things and resettled in the library on ground level with a cup of coffee next to him. Hours passed him as quiet ticking of the clock behind his back. Time turned into irregular shuffling sounds of pages and bits and parts of information he scarcely considered worth the effort. Then he hit the gold vein, a hand-written legend of a martyr who'd 'shared the essence' of an angel and died to release the being. It wasn't the sort of a story Dean had wanted to find, but it was the sort he'd expected. As he tracked down books and notes of anything even loosely relating to the myth, he noticed his mind was already planning how he'd carve Castiel's grace out of his body, not how he could avoid dying in the process but rather how he'd say goodbye, how he'd get the other to accept what he had decided, how he could make Castiel understand that he couldn't live knowing he had stolen his very essence, the thing that made him what he truly was.

In his tired, feverish state, he concentrated on his task, piling books over the ones he'd already looked through until at nearly sunrise, he heard a voice call out his name. He jumped up from his seat so fast and so carelessly that he knocked over his empty coffee cup. It collided with the floor with a loud sound, rolling under the table without anyone paying any attention to it.

Castiel stood by the doorway, pale and unexplainably bloody, and for a moment Dean considered could he have possibly fallen asleep and whether or not it was possible that what he saw wasn't real. Then reality struck him and he crossed the room, rest of the world shrouded by his fear and each step he took flashing in his vision like a stop-motion film.
He reached for the angel but Castiel raised his bloody hand up to stop him. Fresh, thick, dark red drops ran down his arm and dripped on the floor from his elbow. Dean's eyes locked on the almost black holes on his wrists and his lips parted. He tore his gaze off of the wounds and, unable to speak out a single question, gaped at Castiel's face instead.

On the older's white features, further contrasted by the blackness of his hair, a small smile lit up.
He lowered his head and closed his eyes.
"I..." he started, his brows knitting together for a passing moment as he fought to find the words he needed, "... I was told to stop you."

"W-what?" Dean asked, his tongue stiff and difficult to control.

The blue of Castiel's eyes seemed electrified and intense as he looked up and into Dean's eyes again. He turned the palms of his hands up, revealing his pierced wrists, then turned his hands around again to press the point that the wounds went right through - the skin on the upper side of his wrists was torn out like something had forcefully entered his body from the inner wrist and pushed right through the skin on the other side, but Dean's hazy mind couldn't process what could produce wounds like that, or rather, what could have crawled in Bobby's house and hurt Castiel while he was so close by. He'd failed protecting the older, been too consumed in his own world.
"Don't be afraid, I... I'm not hurting, Dean."

"You - what?" Dean repeated, feeling a wave of pain wash through his head as his mind still refused to process what he was seeing and hearing, "Christ, we need to get those tied - what happened? Can you fight?"

Castiel shook his head indecisively. He leaned to the door's frame and seemed to become more aware of his surroundings. Blood trickled down his stomach and as Dean looked down, he noticed wounds on his ankles also.
Then it hit him.

"Cas - are those - is that - is that stigmata?" he breathed out, his voice hoarse and body still ready to sprint somewhere, grab something, kill something in defense.

The angel shivered and closed his eyes again.

"Don't speak," Dean changed his mind, "Don't say anything. Go sit in the kitchen, can you walk? Fuck, I'll help you there, just - I'll get you a cup of tea and patch you up and then you can talk if - if you can."

Castiel nodded slowly. He was still smiling.

*

"So... what... what in living hell happened, Cas?" Dean asked, wrapping the last bit of the bandage around his left wrist and taping it tight on place.
He hadn't closed the wounds. Castiel hadn't let him. If they were what he thought they were, then it didn't matter - they wouldn't bleed the male dry, they wouldn't get infected, but he had to do something about them if only to stop the blood from staining everything.

Storing the soft tape between his lips, Dean grabbed the older's right hand and carefully brought it closer to himself. He placed a thick gauze pad over both ends of the wound and taped over it to keep it in place with the adhesive tape he soon returned between his lips to free his hands to wrap the bandage around the gauze.

"I woke up," Castiel replied.
He sounded dreamy still, like he was asleep or high, and his body shivered like waves were washing over it.
"I wasn't here. I was... back home. In my heaven. In a place that doesn't exist as it existed before. In a place that shouldn't be. Alone, but not alone."

"Sounds trippy as fuck," Dean grunted, now taping again.

He patted the male's hand and lifted his leg, placing the bloody heel on his thigh. He was kneeling on the floor in front of the angel. The smells of early morning, blood, dusty floor and black tea mixed together in an inconvenient manner, all pouring into Dean's already overloaded senses like tar into a small pipe.
Castiel chuckled and shook his head. He grabbed the cup with both hands and brought it up to his lips, sipping the hot drink reservedly.

"You're kind, Dean," he said then, possibly referring to what Dean was doing or had done rather than the quite unkind comment he'd spoken earlier.

As such, Dean didn't know what to answer. Instead, he cursed under his breath at the gauze that kept falling apart due to the shape of Castiel's leg and taped twice around the ankle to make sure the pad wasn't budging until someone removed it.
As he placed the older's foot on the floor and picked the other one up, he raised his eyes expectingly to meet the dreamy look of Castiel's. The angel's lips parted and he breathed out slowly.
"I've seen God," he whispered almost inaudibly, "And I have no more doubts."

Dean blinked. His hands stayed upon the pad he was holding on place and he felt his pupils reacting to the words before his mind did. He felt like someone had jumpscared him, but the actual feeling of having been scared wasn't present, only the flood of adrenaline was.

"God?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed and he smiled, eyes locking into Dean's, their expression very clear and present again, "My Father has revealed himself to me. I am to stay human. It is for a reason."

"Slow down, Sonic. You saw God and God told you to stay human? Why the hell would God tell you that? Why are you bleeding? What's going on, Cas?"

Castiel shrugged. He sipped his tea again, this time more confidently as it had already cooled down a little. Then he peered at his bandaged wrists until Dean had finished with his ankle, pulled a chair and sat down next to him.

"Cas? I asked you questions, can you even try to answer some of them?"
The younger's voice was more dumbfounded than it was frustrated.

"Put yourself in my shoes for just one moment, will you?" the angel sighed.

Dean felt his cheeks growing hot. He leaned his heavy-feeling head onto his hand and landed his elbow on the table, wishing he had a cup of tea for himself just to have something to hold again now that he wasn't patching Castiel anymore. He felt entirely out of things to do and like an idiot on top of that. The angel relieved his anxiety by taking his hand and pressing his against the one still without a purpose so that Dean was essentially holding his hand with both of his. He let his fingers bend around the other's and held tight, aiming his mind again to the soothing warmth that he'd found refuge in so many times before.

"I did not ask questions. I know what I am to know, the rest is as He wishes. In my place, you would have chosen the same. I should apologise to you for not pushing the matter but I'd lie if I did so, as I have no regrets," Castiel begun, his voice wavering between certain and uncertain, showing exactly how conflicted he felt.
"I know of what you've decided. It shall not come to pass."

"Cut the angel talk, Cas, you're making me uncomfortable," Dean muttered.
He couldn't look the other in the eye. Something burned inside him and he held the angel's hand tighter.
Castiel huffed warmly.

"Old habits die hard," he apologised, "But you're avoiding the subject. I bleed to prove that the message I bring is from the Lord, and while it is according to my wishes, its purpose and importance lie out of my understanding. I was told to stop you, because what you are trying to return to me is not yours to give. It was taken from me because it is not what I need, rather, it is what keeps me from my purpose."

"And your purpose is?"

"Hidden from me."

"Of course. Awesome."

"Isn't it?" Castiel sighed, but he sounded like he meant it underneath the exhaustion he felt.
His fingers pushed between Dean's. With his free hand he raised his cup again and drank. Dean listened to him swallow and his ears felt like they were suddenly filled with water.

The silence stretched on for a long while, filling the newborn day with its presence as if to remind them that sound was the natural order of things. When Castiel didn't drink, Dean listened to them breathing and the sound of his own heartbeat rythmically echoing in his ears. He felt it in his fingertips and the joints against which Castiel's fingers pressed between his. Beat by beat he kept living on.
Somewhere, a bird started singing, and soon many more joined in to greet the rising sun.

"Dean?" Castiel called faintly, timidly.

Dean raised his head and looked at him.

Seconds ticked by.
"Yeah?"

He'd never seen Castiel blush, but there was a faint red tint along his cheekbones now, and a nervous expression on his features seemed to only make that shade deeper.
"I am in love with you. With all my being, everything I am, I do love you, truly, more than I love anything. You haven't taken anything from me that I wouldn't willingly give away, that I did not willingly let go of, that I didn't choose. You are what I was made for. You are what I exist for. You only. And I do love you."

*

Dean had immense trouble opening his eyes to the sound of the door opening and slamming closed repeatedly downstairs. Usually a sound like that would have woken him up in seconds, but now he didn't care. He could hear his brother's voice, it was enough to soothe him completely. He had no motivation to get up even if he knew that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again.
Castiel was breathing steadily against the back of his neck, curled up against him so tightly there was hardly any space between their bodies. His arm was still around Dean's body and the younger held onto it, the rough fabric of the bandage rubbing against his bare chest.

Dean's eyes scanned the room passively, stopping upon the shape of the shirt he'd worn during the night. There were spots of dried blood all over it. Seeing it made him smile, and at first he didn't understand why, but then he realised that seeing the blood and feeling the bandage where he'd tied it meant that everything had really happened. Everything included the confession Castiel had given him.

A warm feeling washed over the man and with a quiet sigh and a smile he let his eyes close again.
As he listened to Castiel's breathing he realised the other wasn't sleeping either, simply lying there like he was, unwilling to move.

"Good morning, Cas," he uttered softly.

"Good morning, Dean," the older replied, his voice toned by a smile he wore that Dean heard but couldn't see.

His body felt light as he rolled around to see it. Castiel examined him calmly yet curiously.
"Should we go down and greet them?" he asked.

Dean's eyes mapped the yellow-brown-purple bruise on his neck and he was momentarily stunned by the fact that only a couple nights ago he'd been living through feelings that had caused him to hurt Castiel in such an uncharacteristic manner. He licked his chapped lips and let out a heavy breath through his nose, eyes seeking contact that he was allowed without delay. The older looked convincingly human and entirely demotivated about getting up.
Bobby called Dean's name from downstairs and the younger grinned.

"I think they want us to report in," he sighed, stretching his body like a cat leaving an extraordinarily comfortable spot in the sun after an all too short a nap.

Castiel sat up and rubbed at the back of his neck absently, his eyes escaping to the blue sky visible through their window. He lost himself there.
Dean crawled on all fours up to his bag and pulled out clothes for himself. He was half done when Castiel stepped into the same set he'd worn the day before. Dean looked at him and smiled. Their eyes met again and Castiel smiled too, and at that moment Dean realised his life was full. There was nothing he needed but for things to stay this way. Whatever would come, he could take it as long as the older was there by his side, and he'd stand with him through whatever he'd go through just as well. It was a feeling he'd never had so certainly before, for once it was a pure feeling of trust and certainty with no trace of fear. There would be no end for them.

Bobby's voice called out for him again, adding Castiel's name afterwards. There was the slightest tint of worry in the tone. Dean smiled, closed his eyes and replied.
"Bobby we're fine, just give us a moment, alright?" he shouted and stayed to listen for a reply.
He got none, but he heard the man muttering something as he descended the stairs again.
Sam's laughter carried all the way upstairs and Dean couldn't help but smile at it.

When he opened his eyes again, Castiel was standing in front of him, holding out his hand.
"Let's not keep them waiting," he said quietly, and his smile was encouraging and empowering.

Dean took his hand and nodded.

"I feel ridiculous," he grunted.

"You are ridiculous," the older countered gently and lead them to the door.

Dean glanced behind his shoulder and saw golden dust dancing in the light seeping in through the small window. Something was missing.
Halfway down the stairs he let go of Castiel's hand - the angel looked at him in passing, a hint of a smile upon his lips, all too knowing that Dean simply did not want to present himself like that to his brother and the man who was like father to him.
At that moment, Dean's ears caught the sound of the clock downstairs, and he realised the one in their room had stopped ticking during the night before.

The younger slowed down and stopped, three steps before the landing. Castiel laid his feet upon the wooden floor and turned around with a questioning look. Dean hesitated.
"Do I deserve to be happy?" he asked silently.
His ears were deaf to the sounds of the two others unpacking in the kitchen.
Castiel reached his hand out again.

"Do I?" he asked, "Does anyone? Come on, Dean. I don't care anymore. The only thing I do care about is that we've waited enough."

Dean took a step down and accepted the older's hand again. His mind turned the older's words around and twisted them and bent them and broke them apart into pieces until there was no shape or sound left that had escaped his challenge. Silently, he accepted the answer and let go of his doubts.

"So have they," he finally spoke as if awakened from his inner battle, eyes on the door of the room from which the sounds were coming aside from a very quick glance he gave Castiel with a hint of a hesitant smirk upon his lips.

The angel held his hand firmly, nodded and followed him through the room separating them from the hunters back from a hunting trip.
A single step in advance to entering their field of view, their hands parted again.

"Took you long enough," Bobby grunted.
Sam raised his eyes and gave the two of them a quick examination in passing. He smiled as he turned back to pulling common groceries out of one of the two plastic bags positioned on the table between their heavy, worn bags that had gained a few mudstains each.

"I demand a full report," Dean announced, ignoring the blame.

"You'll get a report when I've gotten coffee, boy, don't get too comfortable, it's my goddamn house," Bobby replied annoyedly and eyeballed him in the passing.

Sam scratched something off of the table's surface and inspected it with an uneasy look on his face.
"Why's there blood on the table?"

Castiel shifted uncomfortably behind Dean.
"It's complicated," he muttered.

"And a long story, actually - you'll hear a short version once we've heard your long one," Dean spoke over him and patted him on the shoulder.

"Coffee, Dean," Bobby reminded him and slammed a jar full of fish on the table.

"I'm on it, I'm on it. By the way, the clock upstairs? It ran out of batteries."
Dean poured water inside the tank, enough for all of them to have a cup or two, and wrapped open a filter for the coffee.

Sam stood next to him, landing a fat bag of bread on the table. As he did so, Dean noticed he had deep scratches on the back of his hand that continued on under the sleeve of his shirt. Sam caught him looking and pulled the sleeve back to show that they continued all the way up to his elbow, a shamed smile on his face.
"Nearly got dragged into water," he explained quietly, "Bobby had a clean headshot for that, though."

Dean raised his brows. Mermaids had nasty claws toned with bacteria that often resulted in sepsis, but Sam's wounds were well taken care of and clearly had been cleaned with utmost care and haste.

From behind them, Bobby's hand appeared, holding a crumbled pack of batteries.
"I ain't going up there, no offense, son," he grunted.
Dean choked on his chuckle and nodded, taking the batteries. Sam wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve over the undamaged arm, but for that passing moment, it was clear that he'd nearly laughed as well. Then he turned around and sat by the table, letting out a long, weary but satisfied sigh. Castiel, who had already sat down earlier, possibly because he felt out of place in the commotion that was now slowly lifting from around him, gave Sam a look that the younger didn't note, as his eyes were upon the bandaged wrists of the older.

"Dean?" Sam called.

Dean turned, counted one plus one and grimaced.
"As I said, long story," he muttered, well aware of the fact that Sam was currently suspecting that he'd inflicted those wounds upon Castiel.

Castiel laid a hand over Sam's arm, causing the younger to jump a little. He shook his head, reading the situation right. A shade of minor relief washed over Sam's features.
"We better get started on the stories, then," the younger brother muttered and flashed an apologetic smile at Dean.

Dean shrugged and settled by the table, opposite of Castiel and next to Sam. Bobby stayed by the desk behind them, leaning onto it and sharply supervising the dripping coffee.

"You first," Castiel prompted and pulled back, his eyes on Sam still.

Sam smiled crookedly, drew breath and begun.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~